Harry stood in the corner and waited. His lip burned and his chest ached. The bruise on his cheek seemed to be swelling because he could see part of it when he glanced downward. Not that his bottom and thighs had fully recovered from a thrashing the day before. He had not been able to do the ten laps in fifty minutes and Mr. Randall had given him two dozen with the tawse, mostly across his upper thighs. He was sure that the manager at the club had seen the marks and his face flushed at the memory.
Somehow, despite his present predicament, he felt some excitement at prospect of having someone teach him to box. He had watched big boys in the ring at his previous school and they had looked so strong and athletic. He wanted to be like that. He just hoped the bout next week wouldnt be against such a big boy again. He wanted a smaller adversary, someone he could beat up. Yes, that would be fun for a change.
His mind was brought back to his imminent punishment when he heard Mr. Randall return.
"Well, Harry, I hope you realise hat you behaved like a lazy, cowardly child earlier today. Even if you had not been able to beat Alfred, the least you could have done was to defend yourself and try to hit him maybe once. No, you preferred to stand there and let him pummel you to his hearts content. Well, this is going to change. You are going to get 18 strokes with the cane and I want you to count each one and thank me for it. Loudly and clearly, or you will get extra strokes. And I do not want to hear you cry out. I want complete silence. Come over here."
Randall took the boy by an ear and pulled it painfully, dragging him towards the heavy, straight-backed chair. "Lower your shorts and bend over," he ordered.
Harry obeyed with trembling hands. He knew how painful that cane was and the number of strokes was so big! Even six of the best, which he usually got when he made mistakes during his daily chores, (or a dozen with the tawse for a repetition of the same fault) were always more painful than he could manage without crying. When his shorts were around his ankles, he bent over the back of the chair presenting his bare buttocks to his uncle.
Randall stood and surveyed his nephews chubby little backside. The dark welts and ridges still visible were not serious enough for him to make any allowances during this new whipping. Randall intended to make this caning something special. He wanted to see the boy perform better next week when he would meet another boy. He stroked the trembling little hemispheres with the tip of the cane and smiled when he noted the quiver in the flesh.
One last tap and he raised the cane, held it there for a moment and then - with a great swing of the shoulder - brought the flexible rattan slashing down and upward into the underside of both buttocks. The force of the stroke drove the cheeks up and the boy kicked a foot out, swung his head up and, with an open mouth, howled.
Randall stopped. "Harry, I believe you just dont want to listen to what I tell you. You cried out, you did not count and you did not thank me. That merits 3 extra strokes, one for each disobedience. The next time it will be 2 strokes for each. I really suggest you obey orders this time. So, let us begin again. The total has been increased to 21. Remember that."
The cane was raised and brought down viciously across the same area. Randall watched as the boys body writhed, the bottom shrank inwards, one foot kicked again and a gurgling sound came from the boys constricted throat.
"Oh - er - one, sir, th-thank you, sir," the boy hissed with pain.
"Loud and clear, remember, boy? Was that a loud and clear response?"
"N-no, sir, but I cant... it hurts... please... You hit so hard..." gasped the bending boy.
"You are being punished, my boy. You seem to forget that. Punishment is meant to hurt so you remember it the next time. Now let us try it again."
The cane whistled and struck. This time the boy controlled himself a little better and managed to say, "One, sir, thank you, sir" more loudly. The cane rose and bit once more into the underbum where now three deep red welts formed a single wide band. Randall aimed slightly lower and added a bit to that band. The boy keened softly and earned himself number 22.
No matter how much the boy begged, how his body shrank and twisted at each stroke, how one little foot seemed to jump at each stroke, Randall felt no sympathy. He knew that what this boy needed most was a rigorous beating that would eventually force him to stand up to his opponents more manfully. He wanted the boy to endure a prolonged period of intense pain. That pain would be limited to an insignificant portion of his anatomy where it would do no harm, to teach him to avoid future, more serious, damage to head or chest.
Feeling that this caning was a necessary part of any boys upbringing, he swung the cane with all his strength, repeating any stroke that the boy did not take silently with the count and thanks. Even a dull boy like Harry in time would understand that it would be in his own interest to obey orders. He whipped the cane across the boys upper thighs and watched the welts rise.
When he at last heard the boy stammer, "Twenty-six, sir, thank you, sir," Randall put down the cane. He surveyed the beaten backside with satisfaction. Yes, the lower parts were definitely starting to swell up and bruises were darkening a deep purple. He walked to the cupboard to replace the cane.
"I hope you have learned this little lesson," Randall said, returning to his desk and letting the bending boy wait. "Next week you will engage another boy and I know your performance will be considerably improved. Am I right, boy?"
"Yes, yes, Uncle," Harry gasped. His bottom was throbbing and burning atrociously. He wanted to cup it with both hands and desperately waited for permission to rise.
"After I we are finished here, you will go downstairs and help your aunt in the kitchen and do all the chores she requires. Do them well, or you will be back here or across your aunts knees for a good tawsing. Your bottom may be a bit too sore for that so I would suggest you do as she says immediately. She will give you lunch, I believe she has prepared a slice of dark bread and an apple for you. That should suffice with a glass of milk. When you are finished, you will do your homework. I will check your work later on. Following that you will do some laps in the lake. I dont think the surface is frozen yet; its still too warm for that. You will swim naked. I will let you know how many laps in how many minutes. It may also depend on the quality of your homework.
"Now stay there until I return. You are not to move an inch. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
It was about 30 minutes later that Harry was allowed off the chair, back into his shorts and into the kitchen. For the next few hours it was cleaning, scrubbing, polishing, washing, waxing until he was exhausted. After a bath, he ate his nutritious lunch and went to his room to do the math exercises he had been given and to read the chapters in his History and Geography texts. There were also English grammar, spelling and composition which he had to study and memorise before his uncle came back.
He did not survive his kitchen and bath duties without Geraldine administering some resounding smacks with the tawse. He had not counted the strokes, which were delivered mostly across his thighs, but his best estimate exceeded 4 dozen, evenly divided between his two thighs. They were fiercely burning from buttocks down almost to his knees.
Now he sat, bare-bottomed as instructed, on his hard chair writing and studying and trying to remember all the facts and numbers, the rules and spelling that had been set him. His bottom throbbed and his thighs burned and he tried to ignore both, concentrating on his lessons. He shifted his weight from one bottom cheek to the other without finding the slightest relief. He was crying long before was midway through his studies.
By the time Randall joined him in his room, Harry was frantic. He knew that the little h ahd absorbed would be forgotten the moment his uncle asked the first question. And knowing he would fail, he imagined his penalty, saw in his mind the dreadful cane being once more whipped across his very sore backside. This picture was to become reality only too soon.
After almost two hours of interrogation and tearful, stammering answers, the verdict was in. The boy was lazy, refused to learn, was too spoiled to pull himself together and concentrate. In other words, Harry was ripe for another good thrashing.
Randall brought out the heavy tawse. Long and thick, three heavy tails reeking of well-oiled leather, it dangled near Harrys bare legs. "Do you want your punishment before or after your swim?" Brian asked the frightened youngster.
"After, please," the boy whispered, glancing fearfully at the instrument of punishment so close to his skin.
"Very well, but remember, if you do not do well in your swim, you will just add to your punishment. It will take place after supper in my study. Be there at seven."
Harry was stripped naked and marched outside. The air was cold and the wind did not warm it. "You will swim to the float and back. This will be one lap. You will do ten laps and you will do them in 30 minutes. I will be watching and counting. I advise you to obey this time. Get in."
The nude child gingerly approached the edge of the lake.
"Hurry up and jump in, boy," Randall called out impatiently. "You are not on a vacation beach in the Pacific."
Harry realised that quite well. The water was freezing He quickly immersed himself and swam as fast as he could to the float, turned, and swam back. Randall checked his stopwatch. "Very good, boy. Keep it up and you will make it in just under 28 minutes."
But of course Harry could not keep that pace for long. After 3 laps he tired and his pace slowed visibly. He heard his uncle call for him to "put some effort into this" and he tried harder. He was breathing hard and flailing his legs after 6 laps, his heart beating fast, whether due to the exercise or fear of the coming beating he didn't know. Probably both. His breathing now came in gasps and he started to swallow water.
When at last he saw his uncle signal that he had completed his 10 laps, he emerged shivering and sputtering. His wet skin shone in the setting sun and his bottom, glowing much darker than a sunset, wobbled comically as he staggered out.
"Almost thirty-five minutes, boy," Randall said with deep disappointment. "I thought you said you knew how to swim. Obviously that was another one of your lies or exaggerations. From now on, after your morning run, you will have ten laps in the lake. Ten minutes rest in between. And you better improve quickly if you want to spare your bottom, because I will not spare it."
Supper was a quiet affair. Harry had a small slice of boiled fish with spinach and a glass of milk. An orange was his dessert. Not that Harry was very hungry. He kept thinking of his sore bottom and the whipping that was still to come.
When he had finished, Randall stood up. "You will excuse us, Geraldine," he said pompously, "Harry and I have a little business to settle."
Geraldine nodded and looked at the boy. "Your uncle told me about your misbehaviour," she said with a deep frown. "I hope he gives you a sound flogging. You certainly deserve it. I wish I had the strength to give it to you personally, but Mr. Randall is so much more skillful in handling lazy little boys who wont learn. Brian, please dont spare the boy. He worked dreadfully this afternoon and will not listen to instructions. You will use the cane, I hope?"
"Yes, I certainly will. Of course his bottom is still quite tender from some previous applications."
"No matter," Geraldine said firmly. "Boys need it and we should supply it. Whip him hard, Brian."
"Yes, of course," Brian smiled.
Then it was off to the study. Geraldine remained in the dining room listening to the boys loud cries as his punishment was duly carried out.
It was a very sorry little boy who was finally given a thorough bath and put naked to bed. He lay on his tummy and he did not require the sheet to cover his flaming and spectacularly discoloured backside. It had been a tiring day and he quickly cried himself to sleep.
Tomorrow the day would follow a similar course.