"Charles, dont dawdle," Aunt Maude admonished the boy trotting behind her and Sally, trying not to drop any of the many, heavy packages he was carrying.
They were in the shopping mall to buy Sally a new dress and shoes. Next week was her 16th birthday and they had panned a nice, big party for her. She was excited and skipped along while Charles had trouble keeping up. At eleven, his legs, long as they were, were no match for those of his aunt and Sally. He was puffing nosily as he rushed ahead.
"Oh, look, Mum," Sally exclaimed, pointing. "Doesnt that look good? Lets go inside . Id love to have some of that ice-cream cake."
"I seems a bit crowded," Aunt Maude said, hesitating. "With all these packages... Well, all right. Charles, youll have to stay outside with those packages. There isnt enough room inside. Just keep an eye on them so that they dont get stolen while were inside. We wont be long, I just hope we wont have to wait more than a few minutes.
Mother and daughter entered the air-conditioned shop. There was a long line of customer and all tables were taken. Charles, in the meantime, put down his load and gratefully sat on one of the sturdier boxes to rest. His thin, brief shorts ran up further and his white briefs peeked from between his legs as he sat, knees spread wide.
After maybe ten minutes, Aunt Maude stepped out and towered over the hunched-up boy.
"What are you doing, Charles?" she thundered so loudly people turned their head towards them. "You sit there like an old beggar, practically on the floor, probably crushing that box with that fat backside of yours. Get up this minutes! "
Before Charles knew what was happening, Aunt Maude had extracted the thick leather tawse from her bag and whipped it sharply across the boys bare thighs, high up near his groin. Charles felt two hot lashes before he managed to stand up. He rubbed his burning legs as wide, deep red welts already made their appearance.
"It seems you have already forgotten what happened last night in Uncle Brads study. Well, just wait until I get you home. Well see what your uncle has to say to this kind of behaviour. Now stand up straight, hands to your side, shoulders back, stomach in. You will remain like that until we leave. Is that understood?"
"Y-yes, Aunt Maude," the boy mumbled, assuming the rigid posture she had demanded.
"And place the packages against the wall, then stand facing them. Ill be watching from the shop, so dont you dare move."
As she returned to the shop, Charles stood as instructed. He was unhappy. He knew that thick, purple weals on his upper thighs were visible under the brief hems of his shorts and he felt that all eyes were on them. He thought of his uncle Brad, as he insisted on being called by Charles, as he stood, flexing the long, whippy cane, scolding him for negligence in his chores. Sally had apparently complained about dishes not having been washed properly and finding dust in the corners of her room where Charles had been ordered to sweep and dust. Uncle Brad had sentenced him to 8 strokes. But, as usual, he had not been able to maintain his shaming position, kneeling on the arm rests of the large, heavy leather chair and bending over the back. The chair was so wide that placing his knees on the armrest forced him to spread his legs to their maximum. Then, bending over the low back, his spread buttocks were lifted well up and a perfect target for that swishy cane. In his frantic contortions, a knee had slipped off one arm rest and then the other. Twice he had put his small hands back to protect his flaming buttocks or thighs from further assault and was rewarded each time with 2 additional, but but harder, strokes. By the end, his throbbing buttocks had absorbed 16 strokes instead of the original 8.
Worse yet, Sally had brought over a friend for the night and they both stood, goggling and whispering, as they witnessed Charles shame. The boy had tried so hard not to move, not to cry out, not to plead for a reprieve but in his agony he had forgotten these resolutions and bawled, roared and blubbered like a six-year-old, much to the girls amusement.
So now here he stood, exposing his bare, striped thighs to the world, sweating with discomfort, all too aware of the middle seam of his tight shorts digging deep into the cleft between his bottom cheeks and the hems practically ending just at the fold between buttock and thigh. All his bruises were exposed in addition to the fresh red stripes left only minutes before by that thick strap his aunt always seemed to carry with her when taking the boy outside the house. Inside, she had a handy strap in almost every room, although sometimes she made Charles fetch a tawse from the room farthest away even when a strap was handily available at hands reach. It always added to his humiliation having to carry that piece of leather through the house for the specific purpose of having his bare backside whipped. Guest would smile or joke whenever they saw him slinking through the living room trying to be inconspicuous, holding the long, two-tailed tawse near his bare legs so the visitors wouldnt see it. But they always did and usually teased him mercilessly.
These were the thoughts that went through his head as he stood and waited for Aunt Maude and Sally to emerge from the cafe.
It was close to an hour before they did. They were laughing and chatting as they slowly made their way outside. They had enjoyed their ice-cream, coffee and cake. Sally had watched Charles through a window as he stood, red-faced and sweating, with his hand by his sides.
"Charles," Aunt Maude snapped sharply, standing behind the boy whose legs were now visibly trembling with fatigue, "Sally tells me you fingered your thighs while you were supposed to stand at attention. I consider that willful disobedience and that will not be tolerated." She opened her bag and withdrew the short strap. As passers-by stopped to watch, she whipped the strap repeated across the backs of the boys bare thighs near the buttocks. "I will have a serious talk with Uncle Brad when we return and I will ask him to deal with you more severely from now on. It is obvious that, if not properly controlled, your behaviour is getting out of hand. At eleven years of age, you are getting to be a big boy now and in special need of really firm discipline. We have been lenient with you so far because we thought that you were too young for the severity boys always require, but now this will change. Now take the packages and move along. You will walk well ahead of us and if you dawdle, you will feel the tawse again and again until we are home. Move!"
During this speech, the short tawse had been very active and by the time Charles had retrieved all the packages and was tiredly stumbling along the passages of the mall towards the exit, his thighs were a mass of burning, scarlet inch-wide weals. Only the mocking glances of strangers kept him from bursting into tears. By the time they had reached their car at the parking lot, he had accumulated another dozen or so sharp lashes across his already burning thighs and now tears were slowly running down his cheeks.
"Put the packages neatly on the back seats," his Aunt instructed the boy as Sally sat in the passenger seat. "Now kneel on the floor in the back. There is no room for you to sit. Put your hands on your head and not a squeak out of you if you know whats good for you."
Sniffing, Charles did as instructed and knelt awkwardly on the floor behind the front seats. Because of the raised center, he had to spread his knees wide. He just hoped no one would see him like this, but of course there was always some person who noticed his shame and pointed so that several other heads turned towards the kneeling boy in the back of the automobile. They were still laughing as Maude slowly drove away.
"Take those packages to Sallys room," Aunt Maude told the boy when they had arrived home. "These others you will take to my room. Then you will come downstairs and meet me in Uncle Brads study. Today is Saturday and he will not be going out until the afternoon so the two of you will have the rest of the morning to understand each other completely."
Sally went upstairs and while her cousin deposited the packages on her bed, she went into the guest room where her friend, Ruth Hallison, was still sleeping.
"Ruth, get up. Its almost eleven. And I have another treat for you."
Ruth raised her head from the pillow and blinked at her friend as Sally opened the curtains. "Whats going on?" she asked sleepily.
"Charles has been told to report to my fathers study," she explained excitedly. "And that means he is in for another good thrashing. Feel like watching? It promises to be something special. Hes been particularly naughty this morning."
Ruth was now wide awake. "Golly, after that whipping he got last night? How can that little behind of his take another one so soon after?"
Sally laughed. "I can tell you dont have any brothers," she said. "Boys are all little brutes, vulgar and rude. Their backsides are just as tough. My mother always says a boys discipline always has to be extremely severe or they grow up to be common criminals or simply vagrants. A good beating never did a boy any harm. On the contrary, she says. They benefit greatly from each and every stroke they get on their bare bottoms."
The girls laughed. Then Sally excused herself so Ruth could finish dressing and then meet her downstairs. "I dont want to miss anything," she said.
Charles trudged to his aunts room and left the rest of the packages on her table. His legs were still stinging and he dreaded the coming encounter with his uncle. But he knew better than to linger; he had felt the painful consequences only too frequently. So he slowly trudged down the stairs, along the corridor and towards his uncles study.
"Come in," Uncle Brads voice boomed from inside after Charles had knocked and the boy, his heart beating rapidly, he entered the feared study. His aunt was already there, waiting for the boy to make his appearance.
"Well, its about time," she spat. "What kept you? Dawdling again? After what I just told you at ther mall? Brad, you really have to teach this boy some obedience. You should cane him properly this time or he wont listen and learn."
Uncle Brad stood and looked down on the small boy who stood, trembling, before him, head down, fingers playing with the brief hems of his thin shorts.
The door flew open and Sally and Ruth rushed in. "Sorry, were late, Dad," Sally said brightly. She looked at Charles crestfallen face, his nervous fingers about his shorts and smiled. "Oh, good, I see you havent started yet." She took her friend by the arm and positioned themselves by the window, interested bystanders watching an execution.
"Sally, bring the senior cane from the stand, would you? It seems this boy has to be taught a good lesson this time. Charles, your aunt tells me you misbehaved greatly during your shopping expedition this morning. What do you have to say for yourself?"
The boy was silent, still playing with his shorts.
"I want an answer, boy," his uncle said sharply. "Or do you want to add impertinence to the list of your misdemeanours?"
"No, Uncle Brad. I mean - er - I dont know what I did wrong," Charles muttered miserably.
"Oh? You think dawdling when told to hurry up, or moving when told to stand still and generally disobeying my orders is nothing? It seems to prove that this boy need to learn what disobedience really means. Brad, I think you should give him a full dozen this time."
Sally had handed the fearsome cane to her father who was now bending it with great relish as he watched the boys face. Charles was staring at the instrument of discipline. The cane looked so thick and heavy, pregnant with pain and he knew his bottom would soon be in close contact with it. He swallowed hard. He realised that the two girls were watching the scene intently and his face burned.
"Sally, please remove the boys shorts," Uncle Brad said finally.
"But Uncle Brad," Charles started to whine, "not in front of - " He pointed towards the visitor.
"Yes, in front of the visitor." Aunt Maude cut him off. "Sally, also his underpants."
"No! Please! At least ask them to leave," the boy now pleaded.
"Perhaps we should add a few extra strokes for renewed disobedience?" Aunt Maude suggested.
"Oh, no, please..."
"Sally, please proceed," Uncle Brad encouraged his daughter.
Sally was only too happy to oblige and quickly unbuttoned the boys small shorts and pushed them down to his ankles. "Step out of them," she said and Charles obeyed. He was close to tears again. The underpants followed. The polo shirt was not long enough to hide his modesty and he quickly covered himself wit his hands. His face and ears were flaming with shame.
"Ruth," Maude now addressed Sallys friend who was watching wide-eyed, her mouth slightly open, her breath fast, "Please come over here and take off the boys shirt."
"But Aunt Maude," the embarrassed boy now exclaimed, very alarmed, "Ill be naked!"
His aunt nodded. "Thats the idea. Maybe this way your lesson will sink in. Go ahead, Ruth. All the way off."
Ruth was pleased to be of help and quickly had the boys shirt off. They now all looked at the small boy, naked down to his ankle socks and slippers.
"Charles, you will now remove your slippers and socks yourself, if you can manage that without another fuss," his aunt instructed. After a moments hesitation, the boy bent to remove slippers and socks while the audience watched. When he straightened up, his face was even redder. "Hands behind your neck, boy," his aunt admonished and when the boy had obeyed, he was exposed to everyones view. He started to cry silently.