When the laps were completed, Harry was allowed back into the house. Geraldine opened the door for him and looked down at her new charge.
"Youre all sweaty," she announced with obvious disgust. "Go and wash, then come back downstairs." She watched as young Harry crept up the stairs, his tired legs shaking and his swollen buttocks wobbling at each step.
Randall looked at his watch. "You certainly took your time, didnt you? It seems time means nothing to you. Well, it will be another thing that has to be taught you. When you come back, Mrs. Randall will do the teaching. Two dozen with a little tawse will not do you much harm. Now run along and hurry up with that bath."
Once upstairs and safely inside the bathroom, Harry looked into the large mirror. Turning, he inspected his wealed bottom. He tested one cheek with a slight tap and winced at the pain. He had never been told that he was fat. On the contrary, some of his friends had commented on his athletic body when they were taking their morning shower baths.
He quickly drew some water into the tub and washed. When he was finished, with a towel wrapped around his middle, he limped downstairs again.
Geraldine was waiting, tawse in hand. "Take that towel back into the bathroom, boy," she snapped angrily. "It does not belong down here. Next time you will be neater; I will not tolerate your leaving your things lying around the house. You will get six extra for that."
A few minutes later, Harry was back, close to tears. "Please, Maam, dont whip my any more. My bottom hurts awfully."
"I suggest you refrain from stupid excuses and bend over that chair. Legs wide apart as you were for the cane. You will get fifteen good slaps across each cheek. If you move or cry out, it will start all over. I hope you have learned that by now."
Harry looked fearfully at the "little tawse." It wasnt little at all. As a matter of fact, it loomed huge in his eyes. Long, thick, gleaming and pungent with the smell of well-oiled leather, it exuded the menace of sharp pain. But he obeyed and bent. Naked and vulnerable, he had no wish for additional punishment.
Geraldine took the boy by the hips and positioned his bottom to her liking, at the best angle to receive the benefits of that tawse. "Thirty strokes, my child," she said pleasantly. "You are just a naughty little boy who deserves a very sound and prolonged thrashing to teach you that you will put a bit more effort into your daily run from now on. Itll do you good. Mr. Randall feels you are too fat and regardless of whether that is really so, boys need a great deal of rigorous exercise to keep them fit. Now lets get started."
She raised the tawse, her eyes measuring distance and direction. Then she brought it down full force across his lower buttocks. The small round hemispheres jumped at the impact and the skin almost immediately turned a deep red. The purple cane marks made an artistic contrast. Harry whined with the burn that spread across both cheeks.
Geraldine took her time. She knew that for a whipping to be effective, it had to be extended as much as possible. Give the boy time to smart and time to think about the next painful stroke. When she thought the time was right, she brought the heavy leather slashing across the boys underbum. She had aimed for some bruises down there and was instantly rewarded with a loud cry of pain from the bending child. She paused and looked at the boys punished buttocks. Small boys could be kept under control only through regular thrashings, she knew and this boy needed it more than others if she was to educate him to work properly at his chores just as Randall would do to teach the boy his school lessons.
She raised the tawse and brought it down with all her strength on the lower buttocks and young Harry squealed. Geraldine walked around the front and lifted the boys head with one finger under his chin. She saw with satisfaction that the childs face was wet with tears, his eyes streaming, his face red and strained with the effort to remain in the required position.
"P-please, maam," he muttered, "please stop. It hurts so. My bottom is so sore."
Geraldine laughed. "My dear boy, we have only just started and if you make me lose count, I will have to start with number one again, wont I? Now how many did you get?"
"Er - th-three, maam," Harry mumbled.
"Very well, then," Geraldine said, walking back to the boys posterior view, "we still have 27 strokes to give, isnt that right?"
Again Harry could do nothing else but agree.
The next 3 strokes were applied with good impact on the wobbling little globes and the boy cried louder. His bare backside wriggled and writhed at each stroke, but otherwise Harry kept himself properly bent. His hands were clamped firmly around the front legs of the chair.
At one point Randall had come back into the room and watched for a moment. Seeing that his wife was doing a serviceable job at punishing the young culprit, he withdrew again. Geraldine had paused a bit longer after the first dozen, to rest her arm and to allow the boy a few minutes to recover. His bottom should not get numb from too many lashes too quickly. Each stroke must be felt to the fullest if the punishment was to have the desired effect. Then she resumed her task.
At the 18th stroke, this one again across the upper thighs, the weeping boy had allowed his hand to creep back towards his injured behind but when he realised what he was doing, he quickly replaced the hand around the chair leg.
Geraldine was not fooled. "Three extra strokes for moving your hand," she said matter-of-factly. When those stingers had been planted across the inflamed, swelling flesh, she resumed, unconcerned with the naughty boys remonstrations.
The next strokes were placed accurately, alternating between cheeks, three hard cracks on each, and young Harry sobbed and pleaded to no avail. The thick leather burned deeply into the crimson flesh slowly turning it purple.
For the last six strokes, she stood at the boys head and targeted the cleft between the widely-spread buttocks. Six times the strap cracked sharply down the cleft and between the boys legs to the accompaniment of the boys shrill screams of anguish.
The whipping had taken only 10 or 15 minutes yet to the blubbering boy it had seemed hours and hours. Now he lay sobbing and trembling across the chair back, limp and exhausted, waiting for permission to rise.
Geraldine replaced the tawse where she would have easy access in the near future and surveyed once more her handiwork. Thick dark welts covered the lower bottom, the results of the earlier caning and the little buttocks were now entirely as red as an overripe tomato suffused with dark bruising. The small buttocks had visibly swollen up. Exactly what a well-punished little boys backside should look like, Geraldine decided. Yes, so long as a boys rump was sore and tender, he would be amenable to obedience and hard work.
"All right, boy," she finally said after an adequate pause, "get up and go upstairs and dress. Shorts and shirt. Then come into the kitchen. You have work to do. It will be hard work but not difficult. You will finish before noon if you dont want to feel Mr. Randalls cane again.
Harry finished cleaning, sweeping, scraping, polishing just before noon. He had rushed the many jobs and Geraldine complained to Randall about the sloppy work the boy had done. Accordingly, shortly after a quick lunch of dark bread, an apple and a glass of milk, Harry was promptly marched back into the study. There it was once more off with the shorts, over a chair and eight of the best with the junior cane.
When the doorbell rang, Harry, still crying and busy rearranging his shorts, was told to open the door. Sweaty and red-faced, the boy faced a middle-aged couple with a teenaged daughter. They were all tall, slender and blond and the boy squirmed with embarrassment at his own disheveled appearance. He quickly finished buttoning his small shorts.
"Come on in," Geraldine called from the kitchen. "Ill be right with you. The boy will show you into the living room. Ask him for refreshments."
The visitors, who had watched with amusement as Harry finished with his flys, handed him their hats and coats and proceeded into the large, bright living room. After Harry had hung up the coats, he slowly and painfully followed them.
The man looked down at the boy. "Ill have a glass of white wine, my wife will have some apple juice and Dorothy will have -" he looked inquiringly at he girl.
"Get me a glass of plain soda water," she said curtly, looking disdainfully at the grubby little boy with the tear-stained cheeks.
Harry walked stiffly into the kitchen to prepare the drinks, feeling the visitors' eyes on the seat of his shorts . His bottom burned and throbbed, his hands shook. Twice he spilled a bit onto the countertop. Geraldine shook her head and left to greet her visitors.
When Harry brought the tray with the drinks, Geraldine was busy explaining his presence in the house.
"Yes, Martha," she was saying, "we took the boy most reluctantly. We just hope that Brian will be able to train him properly and quickly. He still hasnt learned much about preparing drinks, I can tell you. I just watched him spilling things all over the kitchen."
Harry was standing directly in front of the woman visitor waiting for her to take her glass off the tray. Instead, she put a hand on his bare thigh. "Turn around, child," she said, giving him a little push. Harry, still holding the tray with several glasses, carefully turned his back to the woman.
"Ah, from the welts on his thighs can see the boy was punished only recently. He was just finishing dressing when we came. Was it because of the spilt drinks?"
"No," Geraldine replied. "That was for disobedience and slovenly housework. The messing of the kitchen will be dealt with later. Harry, turn around now and finish serving the guests. Dont be so slow or Ill get the tawse."
"Oh, yes," the man now joined the conversation, "I saw that tawse hanging by the door. I think I also saw one hanging by the entrance door. You have those things hanging in all the rooms?" he asked with a short laugh.
"Yes, that was Brians idea. Reminds the boy to mind his ps and qs. Not to let him forget that he will be severely disciplined for misbehaviour of any kind."
"So all his misdemeanours are punished physically?" he asked.
"Yes, Ralph, of course. What other methods are there for boys? A sound whipping is really all they understand."
"What is that?" Brian entered the room and held out his hand. "Martha, Ralph, how good to see you again. And Dorothy. My, you have grown since we saw you last. Sit down, sit down. What did I hear? Has Harry misbehaved again?"
"Well, we were just saying that boys must be thoroughly thrashed to make an impression on them. But yes, Harry needs a few with the cane. You should have seen the negligence he displayed when he prepared a few simple drinks for our guests."
By then Harry had disposed of all the glasses and stood awkwardly, the empty tray still in his hands. He felt himself flush again and his body felt sticky with perspiration.
Brian took him roughly by an ear and twisted it painfully. "So far this boy has caused nothing but annoyance," he said, pulling at the boys ear until Harry was on tip-toes, his head bent to one side. He will be caned, but this is not the time or place. We will deal with him later this evening."
"It would be interesting to see your methods," Ralph said. "We have no boys and Dorothy only is reprimanded for her peccadilloes. And by now she is too old and too mature to merit even that. We would like to see how boys are handled."
"Very well," Brian said, still holding the boys ear in a tight grip. "We will all meet in my study once you have finished your refreshments."