The next day sitting on the hard school bench was still agony, although most of the burning and throbbing from yesterday had dulled. It was like sitting on a big bruise and I tried to move as little as possible. I tried not to think of Jack Reinhardt but to concentrate on todays lessons. At the moment, we were busy working on maths problems that had been written out on the blackboard in front of us.
"Hopkins!" I heard Mr. Powers voice and looked up, startled.
"Yes, sir?"
"Get up when you speak to me," the teacher shouted and I jumped up, my face turning red.
"Did you give my note to your Uncle?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"And what did he say?"
"He - er - he punished me," I stammered.
"Excellent. I hope he did a thorough job. Sit down and finish the work."
An hour or so later we had to put down our pencils and hand our papers up front. "I will reviews these later. For now, take out your English texts and read chapter 12."
The next hour was spent going over what we had read, explain and comment, answer questions. We were all sweating when it was over.
"Whittlers," Mr. Powers called out and a dark-haired boy of thirteen stood up. His face expressed the fear we all experienced when called up. "I have gone over your maths answers and come to the conclusion that you left your brain at home this morning witless Whittlers. Let me see if I can get it back into your head. Come up here."
Whittlers approached the dais with tentative steps and shaking legs. Then he stood before the teacher, looking at his feet, the picture of a naughty schoolboy awaiting just punishment.
"Bend over the desk boy," Mr. Powers said, retrieving a cane from the stand by his desk. "I will let you off with eight for the time being," he said, tapping the tightly stretched seat of the boys trousers.
As was his custom when dealing with us, Mr. Powers caned very hard and Whittlers, although trying hard to keep his composure, soon cried out in pain. Again and again the cane ripped through the air and bounced off the round buttocks making the boy whimper and squirm. When it was over, he was sent back to his desk. His face stained with tears, his mouth twitching, Whittlers slowly shuffled back to his seat holding his bottom with both hands.
"Hopkins," I now heard and my heart sank. I stood.
"Disgraceful, that is the only way I can describe your English work. I must say your maths was not too bad for a change, but you still had three wrong answers. You will get two strokes for each. But for your English comprehension, I am afraid I cant be as lenient. Come here."
A few minutes later I was bent over the desk the way Whittlers had been. Six strokes landed high up my thighs, just below the hems of my shorts and I shrieked at each.
"This was for the maths," Mr. Powers said. "Now take down your shorts and I will give you eight for your poor performance in English."
There was a murmur from the class when they saw my bare bottom. I guessed the weals from yesterday were still plainly visible. Mr. Powers didnt comment; he just tapped my bottom with the cane for a moment, then sliced into me eight times with great force.
Weeping and shaking, I stood, pulled up my shorts and waddled back to my seat. Three other boys followed for various faults and had their backside soundly caned, one older one across the seat of his trousers, two younger ones had to take theirs down.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully and I thanked my lucky stars, but all too soon it was 3:00 oclock and time for me to rush off to Mr. Reinhardts house. It was difficult for me to run because my bottom hurt with every step and, much more immediate, my lack of enthusiasm for this visit.
I knocked on Jacks front door, still panting from my exertion but certain that today I was not late. He opened it after a few minutes and stood looking down on me with a frown.
"You look a mess, boy," he snarled. "Your hair looks like a birds nest, your shirt tail is out of your waistband, one of your socks is around your ankle, the other down around your calf. You will be punished later. And you look all sweaty, which is fine; boys should sweat as much as possible, from exercise and running as well as under punishment. A good way to lose excess puppy fat. Get inside."
I remembered to change my sneakers for slippers and then followed him into the study where he gave me my English lessons. I unpacked my books as I had done yesterday
"Lets see if today you will be able to retain something in that thick skull of yours," he said looking at my bare thighs. "Are those marks from today?"
"Yes, sir," I mumbled, feeling my face go quite red. "At school."
"Ah, day dreaming, eh?"
"Er - no, sir. I didnt do well at maths."
"How about English? I hope you improved in that subject after our little lessons yesterday."
"Well," I said, wondering how to get out of this, "actually I - Mr. Powers punished me for not doing well enough."
Jack shook his head. "Being a bit obtuse, are we? But we know how to cure a boys obtuseness, dont we?"
My hands crept unknowingly towards my sore bottom and Jack smiled. "Yes, I see you do. Well, lets get started. Sit down."
We were about to begin my ordeal when the door bell rang.
"Ah, that must be Mrs. Cross and her daughter. Just start working on your school text. You know which chapter. Well review the entire chapter from the beginning. Ill be back shortly."
I bent over my work, shifting on the hard chair.
I was startled when the door opened and Mr. Reinhardt and his two visitors entered.
"Marie, Heather, this is my new charge. His name is Michael, he is eleven years old and very lazy, not to mention mentally slightly deficient."
I looked up, feeling my face getting hot again. Mrs. Cross was a tall, blond woman, perhaps in her forties . She was slender and stood very straight. She looked at me with frosty grey eyes. Heather, the daughter, was a smaller version of her mother. She seemed to be about 9 or 10.
"So this is Michael," Mrs. Cross said, looking down at me. "A very handsome boy, I must say."
Heather smiled at me. "Nice to meet you, Michael," she said in a soft voice.
"Hello," I stammered.
"Stand up when a lady addresses you," Jack snapped at me and I jumped up. "Im sorry, sir."
"Dont apologise to me, boy. Direct yourself to Heather - or rather Miss Cross to you," Jack said.
"I - I am sorry, Miss Cross," I mumbled. I felt myself starting to sweat.
"Heather is going to join us in the lessons," Jack said. "Sit over here, Heather." He pushed another chair next to mine so the girl could share the desk space with me. "Heather, you can take out your books and study the geometry your mother said you were not doing well in school."
With a short goodbye from Mrs. Cross, she and Jack left the room. Heather and I sat in silence, each doing our own work. We were left by ourselves for about an hour before Jack returned.
"Well, lets see what the two of you have produced," he said briskly and took up Heathers notebook where she had written busily during all the time we were alone.
While I kept re-reading my assignment, Jack reviewed Heathers notes.
"I am sorry, Heather," he finally announced, "but this is all wrong. I think you started out from the wrong premise, and once the premise is wrong, everything else that follows is bound to be false as well. You will have to do it over. Really, Heather, I had expected better from you."
Heather sighed, took her notebook and went back to work.
"Very well, Michael," Jack now continued, "lets see what you have learned."
Taking my school text, he started asking specific questions which I answered hesitantly at first, but with more confidence as it progressed. Following this, he made me explain in detail what I had read. When we had finished, I was sweating again, but hoping to have satisfied my tutor.
"Michael," Jack said at last, putting down the book, "it seems you did not understand the meaning of this chapter. I had explained it to you earlier but apparently you were sleeping while I talked. Come here."
"But sir -" I started.
"I said come here" Jack said, raising his voice.
I stood and approached the desk. Heather was watching us with curiosity.
"Drop your shorts and bend over the desk," Jack said.
I gasped. "But sir, the girl -"
"Never mind Heather," Jack interrupted me. "Just do as you are told or you will be very sorry, my boy."
Almost dying with shame, I unbuttoned my shorts and pushed them down. With a quick glance at Heather, I bent over the desk. Heather seemed to be staring at my bottom, fascinated.
"This is the second time we have gone over the same chapter, Michael," Jack said, picking up his cane. "This time you will not get off as easily as yesterday. Eight strokes."
With my bare bottom towards the young girl I decided I would not cry out. I would show the girl that a boy can take it. But after just three ever so hard cuts, I could not restrain myself. I cried out with pain. Three more, down low near the thighs, and I screaming .
The last two, across my upper thighs, were the worst, but then it was over.
"Pull up your shorts and get back to your desk. We will review the next chapter later. Heather, have you finished?"
"Yes, Mr. Reinhardt," the girl said. I felt her looking at me but I kept my head low and my eyes on the text. I couldnt bear to look her in the eyes.