It was close to 6:30 and time for me to go home. Heather had finished and closed her books. Mr. Reinhardt was still reviewing the essay he had me write. When he finished, he shook his head.
"Come here," he said.
I burst into tears. "But sir -"
Jack looked at me coldly and I shuffled closer. My bottom was glowing.
"Shorts down," Jack snapped.
It was useless to argue so I obeyed. Heather sat and watched as before.
"I am sorry to interrupt," the housekeeper said from the door. "Mrs. Cross is here to pick up her daughter," she said.
"Tell her to come in, will you?" Jack said.
A moment later Mrs. Cross joined us in the "lessons room." She stood for a moment taking in the scene: me, my bottom fully exposed, Jack, cane in hand behind me and Heather sitting with her eyes on my wealed backside.
"Mother, look," Heather exclaimed. "Michael is going to be punished. And look at his bottom!
"I apologise. I came at the wrong time?" Mrs. Cross said, making a movement towards the door.
"No, no, Marie. This wont take long. Just a quick punishment for a very lazy boy. He will get eight for bad lessons and 4 for having arrived here completely disheveled. A round dozen for a naughty boy."
Mrs. Cross stood next to her daughter. "Arent you being a bit hard on the boy?" she asked. "His behind is quite bruised already."
"Not to worry, Marie. Boys bottoms are made for a sound caning. No harm is ever done. And I cant overlook his faults if I expect him to improve." He raised the cane and began the caning. He swished me with relish, ignoring my previous weals as well as my pleas for mercy. Each stroke bit deep into the swollen flesh of bottom and thighs until the full dozen had been administered.
"Well, that was certainly a very thorough whipping," Mrs. Cross declared when Jack had put down his cane. "Do you always cane your boys this hard?"
Jack laughed good-naturedly. "My dear Marie," he said, "I know you have no experience with boys but I assure you this is exactly what they need. Most of them need it every day."
"Well, I certainly would never punish Heather like that," Mrs. Cross smiled.
"Of course not," Jack concurred. "I am sure she is a very good little girl."
"Well most of the time," he mother said. "We have to admonish her sometimes."
"With boys it is different," Jack explained. "The cane is the only means of persuasion that will work on them. And Michael here is an especially obdurate little fellow, arent you, Michael?"
I was still lying there, bare bottom throbbing and exposed , wishing I could draw up my shorts. "Yes, sir," I said.
"As you can see, the boys bottom is well padded and looks as if anxious to get the cane. So I oblige it as often as necessary."
"What school is he attending? I hope they dont cane boys there as well."
"On the contrary. Randalls Academy is known for their strict discipline and that is what Michaels uncle wants for the boy. He - the uncle - has the right idea in my opinion," Jack said.
"Well, we will have to go. See you next week?" Mrs. Cross said and Heather got up, reluctantly, it seemed.
"Yes, but Michael will be back tomorrow, wont you, Michael?"
"Yes, sir," I said. I wasnt looking forward to it.
When they had left, Mr. Reinhardt allowed me to get back into my shorts. Another day had passed and I slowly limped back home.
The next day, Wednesday, was uneventful. I was given six by Mr. Powers, as well as 3 or 4 other boys, but Mr. Reinhardt was more satisfied with my work.
"Well, Michael, it seems the cane has finally thrashed a bit of sense into that hollow skull of yours. Congratulations. This essay is much better."
I beamed with pride and was just picking up my books when Mr. Reinhardt said,
"Of course your handwriting still needs a lot of improvement. And the grammar. Tomorrow I will give you diagrams to learn so you will see what a conjunctive sub clause is. Now take down your shorts."
"But, sir," I wailed, "I thought -"
"When you are supposed to think, you dream, but now, when you are supposed to obey orders, you suddenly start thinking? That will earn you an additional 3. So get across the desk for 9 strokes for poor handwriting."
I guessed it had been too good to be true, so I lowered my shorts and took up the usual position. Of course I howled but when it was over, I was allowed to return home.
Thursday, however, was not so good because Mr. Powers was in a bad mood and whipped boys practically the entire morning. Then he gave some of us notes for our parents which, especially in my case, meant a double thrashing in the evening.
But before that, Mr. Reinhardt had so many complaints I think I spent the entire 3 hours with my shorts around my ankles. I cried and pleaded, but to no avail. The cane was brought out at the slightest pretext.
That evening when I limped home, holding my bottom as if afraid it would fall off if I let go, I had to present the note to my uncle.
"Michael, I dont know what to do with you. That note you brought from Mr. Powers again tells the same story. You dont pay attention in class, you disrupt lessons by dropping books, you cant answer the simplest questions. I really have to talk to Mr. Reinhardt. He doesnt seem to thrash you thoroughly enough. Now come into the study and we will review some of your crimes. You will not be seeing Mr. Reinhardt for 3 days, so it is up to me to see you dont spend these days slacking."
"Seeing that your backside is still in a rather tender condition, I will not cane you," my uncle said when he had found his first opportunity to punish me "for slacking."
"I will use the heavy tawse but you will have to expect more strokes than you would get with the cane. You understand that, dont you?"
"Y-yes, sir," I mumbled.
"So, instead of the dozen I would give you with the junior cane, it will have to be 20 with the tawse. Do you agree?"
"Er - well, er - y-yes, sir."
"Good, then you will please lower your shorts and bend over the sofa arm rest. face in the cushions, bottom well up and spread the legs."
He opened his desk drawer and withdrew the thick tawse. Then he stood by my left side and cracked the leather across my left cheek with great force. Rather than a hot slice into the buttock, the tawse spread fire across the entire cheek and after just 3 or 5 whacks I was howling. After 20 I was practically in hysterics.
"Stay there," my uncle said tersely. "I will be back in 20 minutes and give the 20 across the right cheek."
I cried like a baby the full 20 minutes and when my uncle returned, tawse in hand, I yelled, "Please, sir, no more! I cant take any more. Im so sore. My bottom is on fire! My skin is coming off! Im bleeding!" I was completely out of control.
"Oh, very well," my uncle grumbled. "Go to your room. We will wait until after supper for the rest of your punishment."
There was no getting around it. Although I was still begging my uncle to spare me the second 20 strokes, he was unmoved. "If you dont obey now, after the remission I granted you, I am afraid I will have to use the cane after all. Boys in this house do not disobey. They follow orders to the letter - instantly. Clear?"
So I found myself once more across the sofa, blazing bottom exposed again, and this time my right cheek suffered untold agonies. My screams didnt affect my uncles arm in the least and the last vicious lash was as hard, if not harder, than the first. When it was finally over, my bottom and thighs were on fire and I waddled, shorts around my knees up the stairs and into my room to cry myself to sleep that night. This was Friday. I didnt dare think about the next 2 days.