An Unusual Courtship, Chapter 11

Copyright Mael DelaVara

The morning just hasn't gone as planned, Audrey thought, as she made another pot of coffee. She'd expected that Michael would come. They'd chat and, without prompting, he'd admit that he'd been masturbating. Then she'd take him over her knee and they would have a long discussion about his failings, punctuated by a liberal application of the Vermont bath brush. He'd spend some time in the corner reflecting on the error of his ways. Then she'd hug and forgive him, and they'd go on to enjoy lunch together.

But it was now almost lunchtime, and the salad was already made, yet the bath brush remained in her bedroom, and its usurper looked insubstantial. Why didn't she cut two, better still, three switches, Audrey remonstrated with herself.

She placed a cup of coffee and a plate of crackers in front of Michael, picked up the switch, and went into the bathroom.

Michael suddenly felt like a schoolboy being mothered through his homework. He nibbled on a cracker and heard the tub being filled. No, that's not possible, he reasoned, anxiously sniffing his armpits. She can't mean to bathe me. But then the water stopped running and Audrey came out of the bathroom without the switch and opened the opposite door leading to the basement.

Michael heard a laundry hamper being dragged, a lid slamming shut, the scraping of a chair across the floor, and then silence.

"How many strokes did your Aunt give you?" Audrey had appeared noiselessly behind him and startled him into misspelling her name.

"Twelve. It was twelve," he replied, as he carefully made a correction.

"Well, you're a big boy now," Audrey said almost reassuringly. "You're three times as old as when your Aunt whipped you, so you need three times as many strokes. I think thirty-six strokes is most reasonable."

Michael's handwriting worsened appreciably.

"But we could make this interesting," Audrey added with a calculating smile.

She went to the drawer that had held the sheaf of paper, took out a pack of cards and a pair of dice, weighed the choice before her, and then put the cards back in the drawer and the dice in front of Michael.

"I said you deserve thirty six strokes. And you know you do. But you could let fate decide how bad you've been. Let's say you have to take again the twelve strokes your Aunt gave you, and we add to that the two numbers you throw with the dice."

"You mean if I throw two ones, I'd get only two extra strokes, fourteen in all." Michael's eyes brightened at these odds.

"No, silly. You'd get only thirteen. You really want that extra stroke.?"

Michael did not understand this new math.

"The two numbers get multiplied," Audrey explained. She rolled the dice. "See, here we've got a 4 and a 2. Multiplied, that is 8. And added to the 12 you're due, that makes 20 strokes. Here, you have a go. This isn't for real. It's a trial run."

Michael rolled the dice. There was a 3 and a 4.

"So 3 times 4 is 12, plus 12, making that 24 strokes," Audrey said triumphantly. "So what do you want to do? Settle for 36 strokes, or take your chance with the dice?"

Michael was paralyzed with indecision.

"How many lines do you have left?"

"Only five."

"Finish, and then decide." Audrey went to pour herself a coffee.

The rhythm of writing Audrey's phrase created in Michael a calm confidence.

"I'm done," he proclaimed, "and I'm going to roll the dice."

Audrey looked over his lines. The handwriting ranged from bad to atrocious. He deserves a spanking just for his poor penmanship, she thought to herself. But then she was also to blame because she had not set clear expectations and warned of the consequences of failure. She frowned, as much at herself as at what she was holding.

"OK, roll the dice."

Michael snatched the dice and rushed to hurl them when Audrey grabbed him by the arm and asked, "Don't you want to say a little prayer first?"

Michael looked puzzled.

There's so much we don't know about each other, Audrey thought. "Do you pray?" she inquired.

"Kinda." Michael wasn't sure what kind of answer Audrey wanted to hear.

"Well now would be a good time," Audrey smirked.

Michael bowed his head for a second in a show of piety and then rolled. He got a 1 and a 5. But before he could congratulate himself on his good fortune, he saw that Audrey was already standing outside the bathroom door, dripping switch in hand.

"Bring your lines," she ordered. "We're going to conduct your punishment in the basement."