This story is very topical for me personally. I know a young lad who stands accused of violating his sister and whilst justice will take its course, I have wondered if my approached outlined in this story could be an alternative to him going to prison which I suspect he will, being aged 16. Quite often the victim his humiliated in court testifying against the perpetrator and whilst my story is fiction, it deals with a wider issue of guilt. Guilt of the victim and guilt of the criminal wishing he could turn the clock back.
I am also reminded of a story my father once told me when as a young lad, (1930's in mid Wales) my father witnessed the village elders tar and feather a young lad and paraded him around the village for all to see "local justice" at work.
The story begins.
The following week after Mr Mercer had spanked Steven in his shed for stealing his tighty whities, Mr. Mercer was tending to his garden when he noticed the local priest, Father O'Malley, and the sheriff, Sheriff Jenkins, walking up his driveway. The sight of them together, looking so serious, sent a chill down his spine. He knew that news travelled fast in their small town but hadn't anticipated this kind of attention.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Mercer," the priest began, his eyes flickering towards the barn. "We've had a bit of a situation arise in the community. It seems that many members of our community support the way you dealt with young Steven, and many have said your way might be the best way to keep young people out of prison and to teach them an important lesson in the hope they learn to understand that bad behaviour will not be tolerated."
Mr Mercer's heart raced as he realised the implications of their visit. He'd hoped that the incident with Steven would remain a secret, but it was clear that wasn't the case. "I see," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "What exactly have you heard?"
Sheriff Jenkins took over, his voice gruff. "Look, we know about the stolen underwear and the spanking you gave him. Word's been spreading and it appears the community are behind your method. The good Father here and I are wondering if maybe we could... borrow your method. You know, for the greater good of the community."
Mr Mercer felt a strange mix of anger and pride. Anger that his business was now public fodder and pride that his punishment had had such an impact. He wiped the sweat from his brow, considering their proposal. "I did what I thought was right," he said finally. "But I'm not in the business of doling out punishments to every troublemaker in town."
The priest nodded; his eyes thoughtful. "We understand your hesitation, but we believe that a firm hand might just be what these boys need to get them back on the straight and narrow. And we're willing to offer you our support, should you decide to help us out."
The sheriff added, "We'd keep it all hush-hush, of course. Nothing official, just a way to keep the peace and teach 'em a lesson they won't soon forget, and the good Father and I believe that the boys should be offered a choice. Agree to be punished as the community dictates or face justice and in some instances, prison and the ruin of the young person’s reputation."
Mr. Mercer took a moment to think, his gardening shears paused in mid-air, "I'll think about it," he said, not committing to anything.
Days later, Mr. Mercer found himself unable to shake the idea. He'd always had a powerful sense of justice, and the thought of helping to keep the town's youth from falling into a life of crime was compelling. He discussed it with Mrs Mercer, who, after some initial hesitation, agreed that if it could truly make a difference, it was worth considering.
So, Mr Mercer made an appointment to see Father O'Malley and Sheriff Jenkins. They met in the quiet of the church's office, the scent of old books and incense lingering in the air. The sheriff looked hopeful; the priest solemn. Mr. Mercer cleared his throat, "I've thought about your proposal. And I believe there's merit in it."
They exchanged glances as they waited for his condition. "I'll do it," he said, "but on one condition."
They leaned in, eager for his terms. "I need funds to build a shed, a place where this... punishment can take place. And I'd like to design a spanking stock, something more permanent than the bench. It needs to be a place that'll serve as both a warning and a deterrent and the punishments will be witnessed by you Father and you Sherrif to provide an official but unofficial legitimacy, if you know what I mean."
The priest's eyes lit up at the mention of the spanking stock, a tool he had seen in his youth back in Romania and believed in its effectiveness. "We can arrange that," he said. "The church can donate some of the funds, and I'm sure we can get donations from other community members who support this idea."
Sheriff Jenkins nodded in agreement. "I'll speak with the town council and see what we can do about the funds. We'll keep it off the books, of course."
The meeting concluded with a handshake, sealing their unconventional agreement. Mr. Mercer felt a strange mix of satisfaction and unease. He was about to become an unofficial enforcer of a very peculiar kind of justice, all in the name of keeping his town safe and its youth out of trouble.
Days turned into weeks as Mr. Mercer designed and built the shed in his backyard. It was a simple structure, but sturdy, with a heavy oak spanking stock at its centre. The stock was a masterpiece of his craftsmanship, with intricate carvings and a padded area to hold the recipient's torso and neck firmly in place as the subject would be bent over. It was clear that this wasn't just a whim; it was a tool built with care and purpose.
Mrs Mercer watched from the kitchen window as her husband worked tirelessly, her mind racing with thoughts of what was to come. She knew he was doing it for the right reasons, but she couldn't shake the image of Steven's tear-streaked face. Still, she supported his decision, knowing that the alternative for these boys could be much worse.
Finally, the shed and the spanking stock were complete, and little did Mr Mercer know, his reputation as the town's strict guardian of morals was about to spread like wildfire.
A month passed and the quiet of his evening was disrupted by an unexpected invitation to a hearing at the Church. A young man, not even out of his teens, had been accused of a heinous crime that shook the very foundations of the tight-knit community. The boy's father, a well-respected man named Mr Thompson, had approached Father O'Malley in a state of desperation. His sixteen-year-old son had allegedly raped his twelve-year-old sister in a twisted act of depravity that had left the family in shambles. The father, unable to bear the thought of his daughter's suffering being dragged through a public trial, begged the priest for an alternative.
Father O'Malley knew the gravity of the situation and called for an unorthodox solution. He thought of Mr. Mercer and the discussion they had shared about discipline and redemption. The priest had seen the impact of the man's firm hand on Steven who had started attending church since the incident and hoped that perhaps, just perhaps, he could offer the same guidance to the Thompson boy.
Mr. Mercer arrived at the church, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. The pews were filled with concerned faces, whispering in hushed tones. The young man, barely more than a boy, stood before the makeshift tribunal of Father O'Malley and Sheriff Jenkins, his head bowed in shame. His father, Mr Thompson, sat in the back, his eyes red-rimmed and his face etched with pain.
As Mr. Mercer took his seat, the whispers grew louder, the anticipation electric. The priest spoke solemnly, "Mr Mercer, we've called you here today to discuss a grave matter. A matter that requires your unique set of... skills."
The accused boy, Jimmy Thompson, lifted his gaze, his eyes full of terror. He knew the whispers were about him, about the unspeakable thing he'd done.
Mr Mercer steeled himself, looking from the priest to the sheriff, then back at the trembling teenager. "I'm listening," he said, his voice firm.
Father O'Malley spoke with the gravity of a man delivering a last rite. "The boy has confessed to his crime. His father has requested that you administer a punishment that will serve as both penance and a warning to others. A punishment that will hopefully save his soul from the fires of hell and our town from the scourge of his future misdeeds."
Jimmy's father nodded, his face a mask of grief. "Please," he pleaded, "I don't want him to go to jail. I just want him to understand the gravity of what he's done."
Mr. Mercer studied the young man before him, his mind racing with the implications of what was being asked. This was not a simple case of theft; this was something much darker. But he had agreed to help the community, and here was a chance to make a real difference, to save a life from ruin.
The sheriff spoke up, his voice gruff. "We've got enough evidence to put him away for good, but the father's right. Prison turns boys into monsters. Maybe this is the better way."
Mr Mercer nodded slowly. "I'll do it," he said. "But I need to speak to the young girl and whether she agrees to the punishment being planned for her brother. She is after all the victim."
The priest and the sheriff agreed and asked the father, Mr Thompson whether he approves that Mr Mercer can talk to his daughter to which Mr Thompson gave his consent.
The next day, Mr. Mercer found himself in a quiet corner of the church, opposite the girl, Lizzie Thompson. Her eyes were wide and haunted, the innocence of her youth marred by the horrors she had endured. He approached her gently, kneeling to meet her at eye level. "I'm here to talk to you about your brother," he began, his voice soft but firm. "I know this is hard, but I need to know if you think this will help him and satisfy you that justice has been done."
Lizzie looked at him, her gaze flickering with fear and anger. She spoke in a small voice, "Jimmy hurt me. He did something terrible." Mr Mercer's heart ached at her words, but he knew that he couldn't let his emotions cloud his judgment. "I know, sweetheart," he said. "But we want to make sure he doesn't do it again."
He explained the punishment her brother would receive, and the community's belief in the power of discipline to prevent future wrongdoing. Lizzie listened intently, her eyes never leaving his face. "Will it... will it hurt him?" she asked, hope tinged with doubt.
Mr Mercer took a deep breath. "It will hurt him, yes," he said gently. "But it's a pain that will hopefully teach him a lesson, a pain that will remind him of what he's done to you every time he thinks about acting that way again."
Lizzie thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay," she whispered. "Do it. If it'll stop him from hurting me or anyone else, I want you to do it."
Her words hung in the air, and Mr Mercer felt the gravity of the situation settle heavily upon his shoulders. He turned to Father O'Malley, his expression solemn. "Does the Good Book suggest how many strokes are considered reasonable for such a crime?"
The priest looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking. "The Bible speaks of the importance of discipline and the value of atonement, but it does not provide a specific number for this kind of transgression. However, I believe that a punishment severe enough to be remembered is what is required to truly change a person's heart. However, in the Middle East, some penalties allow up to 200 strokes."
Mr. Mercer took this information in, his mind racing with the implications. He knew that the boy had done something monstrous.
"Very well," Mr Mercer announced, his voice resonating through the silent church. "Jimmy will receive 150 strokes of the paddle. But it will not be done in one sitting. We must consider his physical health and the depth of the lesson we wish to impart. It will be administered over two days. And during that time, he will remain in the stock, never to leave until his punishment is fully served."
Lizzie's eyes filled with tears, but she nodded. "Thank you," she whispered. Mr Mercer knew it wasn't easy for her, but he believed it was the right thing to do.
The word of the unusual verdict spread through the community like wildfire, reaching even the confines of the police jail where Jimmy was held. Jimmy's face paled as he heard the details of his punishment, the reality of his fate finally sinking in. The other inmates, some of whom had known the Mercers' strict reputation, gave him a wide berth, their fears reflected in his wide, terrified eyes.
Mr. Mercer walked into the police station with the weight of his new role as the town's moral enforcer pressed down on him and approached Jimmy's cell. "Jimmy," he called, his voice steady. "Your father and sister have agreed to this. And now, I need to hear it from you. Will you accept your punishment?"
Jimmy looked up, his eyes wild with fear and desperation. "I-I don't have a choice, do I?" he stuttered.
Mr Mercer nodded gravely. "You do, Jimmy. You can choose to learn from this, to become a better man, or you can choose the easy path of denial and resentment. But know that this punishment is designed to be the first step in a long journey of atonement but once it's finished you can return to the community knowing you have paid your dues. Prison on the other hand is your alternative but that would be excruciatingly humiliating for your sister who would have to testify against you."
Jimmy's shoulders slumped, and he nodded his agreement. "Okay," he murmured, his voice cracking. "I'll do it and if it means anything, I'm truly sorry. Please tell me sister that if you can."
Mr Mercer told Jimmy. "Your punishment will be administered in private, but Lizzie has the option to witness if she wishes but the Good Father and the Sherrif will be there, and it will be tomorrow morning."
The following morning, Mr. Mercer rose with the sun, his thoughts heavy with the task ahead. He walked to the shed, his stride purposeful, the dew-kissed grass cold under his feet. Inside, the spanking stock loomed, a silent sentinel of his new role. He took a deep breath, his hand lingering on the leather tawse that he had purchased from a Scottish Corporal Punishment website. The implement looked suitable and terrifying Mr Mercer thought and it wouldn't be long until someone would find out.
As the church bell chimed, Mr and Mrs Thompson arrived, their eyes red from a sleepless night. Lizzie walked alongside them, her face a mask of determination. Behind them, Sheriff Jenkins drove up in his cruiser, a grim expression etched on his usually jovial face. The gravity of the situation was not lost on anyone present.
Jimmy was led out of the police car, his wrists shackled and his head down in shame. The sheriff unlocked the cuffs, and Mr Mercer took the boy's arm firmly, guiding him to the shed. The wooden structure stood tall in the early morning light, a stark symbol of the impending judgment and once inside, the spanking stock loomed, a silent sentinel to the consequences of his actions.
"Jimmy, take your clothes off until you are only in your underwear." Mr Mercer told him.
The young boy looked at him with a mix of horror and despair but did as he was told until he stood in only his tighty whities as he stared at the spanking stock and then looked around at the people present waiting to bear witness to his punishment.
Mr. Mercer bent Jimmy over onto the stock, his chest comfortable on the leather padding. He then secured the boy's neck and wrists by lowering the wooden block designed to restrain the subject and once lowered and locked, Jimmy was firmly in place. The boy's eyes were wide with fear, darting around the shed as if searching for a way out. Mrs Mercer had set up a chair for Lizzie, who sat, her face a mask of pain and anger. The priest stood by her side, offering silent comfort, as Sheriff Jenkins took a position by the door, his face a stoic mask.
With a heavy heart, Mr Mercer pulled down Jimmy's tighty whities, exposing his bare bottom to the cool air. Jimmy whimpered, his face red with embarrassment as he felt the leather strap of the tawse caress his bare skin. The fabric of his underwear fell to the ground, leaving him fully exposed, his young body trembling with fear and anticipation.
"You will receive seventy-five strokes today," Mr Mercer said, his voice steady. "And tomorrow, you will receive another seventy-five. You will remain in the stock until then, with no breaks for food and to relieve yourself. Water will be administered to you by Mrs Mercer." He paused, his hand resting on the small of the boy's back. "Do you understand?"
Jimmy's voice was muffled by his position. "Yes, sir," he choked out, his voice trembling.
Mr. Mercer took a moment to compose himself, then raised the tawse high above his head. The leather strip, thick and heavy, caught the light as it arced downward, coming to rest against Jimmy's bare skin. The boy's body tensed, bracing for the first strike.
Crack!
The sound echoed through the shed, making everyone flinch. Jimmy's eyes squeezed shut as pain exploded across his bottom. His whole body jolted, and a muffled cry escaped his lips. Lizzie's grip on the armrest of her chair tightened, her knuckles white as she watched the scene unfold.
The punishment continued stroke after agonising stroke, each one landing with a precise and deliberate force. Jimmy's skin began to redden and swell, the leather biting into his flesh and leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His cries grew louder, more desperate until he was sobbing uncontrollably.
At stroke fifty, a warm wetness spread across the leather pad beneath him. Jimmy had lost control of his bladder, a humiliating sign of his fear and pain. Lizzie's eyes narrowed, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her face as she watched her brother's suffering. She knew this was what he deserved, but it was still a difficult sight to stomach.
The final twenty-five strokes were the most brutal, Mr Mercer's arm gaining speed and power as he went. Jimmy's sobs turned to screams, his body convulsing with each impact. The air grew thick with the smell of sweat and fear, and the only sounds were the wet thwacks of leather on his skin and the boy's desperate pleas for mercy.
Finally, it was over. Mr Mercer stepped back, his arm trembling from the exertion. Jimmy was a mess, his face buried in the padding, his body shaking with sobs. His bottom was a deep, angry red, crisscrossed with the marks of the tawse.
Mr Mercer cleared his throat. "Jimmy, you're going to stay in this stock until tomorrow morning. Think long and hard about what you've done, and maybe, just maybe, you'll find some way to make amends."
Jimmy's only response was a muffled whimper as Mrs Mercer applied some soothing lotion on his skin and then gently draped a blanket over him, hiding his nakedness and his shame from view. Lizzie rose from her seat, her expression a mix of anger and relief. "Thank you," she said stiffly, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for doing this."
Mr and Mrs Thompson looked at their son, their hearts heavy with pain and regret. "We're sorry," they whispered, their voices barely audible over the sound of Jimmy's sobs.
Mr. Mercer nodded solemnly. "It's not about blame," he said. "It's about making sure this never happens again."
The door of the shed clicked shut, leaving Jimmy alone with his thoughts and his punishment. The day and night would be long, but he had a second chance, a chance to make amends and change his ways, a chance that not everyone in his position would get.
The following morning Mrs Mercer had attended to Jimmy who had spent a day and night without a personal break, cleaning his lower body before the small group gathered again, their faces etched with the gravity of what was to come. Jimmy had spent a cold, pain-filled night in the stock, his mind racing with fear and remorse. The sight of the leather strap made him want to retch, but he knew he had to face the rest of his punishment.
Without a word, Mrs Mercer removed the blanket covering his body as Mr Mercer stood waiting to begin again. Mr Mercer resumed the punishment, each stroke landing with a precision that spoke of his commitment to the task. Jimmy's cries grew more desperate with every hit, his body jerking and writhing against the unforgiving wood.
Lizzie watched; her expression unreadable. She had come to witness her brother's suffering, to find some kind of closure for herself. As the strokes continued, she felt something shift inside her, a strange mix of anger, pity, and something that might have been hope.
Again, Jimmy lost control of his bladder as warm water gushed from his flaccid penis in a final act of personal humiliation.
The final stroke fell, and Mr Mercer stepped back, his arm aching from the effort. Jimmy's bottom was a bruised and swollen mess, a stark reminder of his crime. The boy slumped, his body spent, his eyes squeezed shut against the agony.
Mr. Mercer leaned in, his voice low as he unlocked the wooden block over his neck and wrists. "Jimmy, I hope that this has taught you the price of your actions. You're free to go now, but remember, this is only the beginning of your journey to redemption but your debt to your sister and community has been paid. Your slate is clean again and you can resume your place within our community to repair your ruined reputation."
The young man stumbled upright, his legs shaky, and turned to face Lizzie. She was still seated, but her hand was outstretched, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and sorrow. She looked at her brother, her expression unreadable. "I forgive you," she whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of her words. "But you must promise me, swear to me, that you will never hurt me again."
Jimmy nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. "I swear," he said, his voice hoarse from screaming. He took her hand, feeling the warmth and comfort of her touch. For the first time since his arrest, he felt a flicker of hope.
As Mr Mercer, Father O'Malley, and Sheriff Jenkins filed out of the shed, they saw the siblings, a picture of pain and healing. Lizzie had moved to stand beside her brother, her hand on his back as she offered what comfort she could. The priest and the sheriff exchanged a knowing look, understanding that the true punishment had come not from the leather tawse, but from the love and forgiveness of the girl who had been so grievously wronged.
The town whispered about the events of that day for weeks, the story of Mr Mercer's harsh but ultimately merciful justice becoming a cautionary tale. The shed in Mr Mercer's backyard stood as a silent sentinel, a reminder to all that there was a cost to crossing the line. But it also became a symbol of hope, a beacon that showed that even in the darkest moments, there could be a path to redemption.
Jimmy Thompson would bear the physical scars of his punishment for a long time, a constant reminder of the pain he had caused. But it was the emotional scars that he would carry with him forever, a burden that would shape his future, ensuring that he never strayed from the righteous path again.
The priest and the sheriff knew that this unorthodox method of justice was not for every situation, but in this small town, it had served a purpose. It had brought a family back together and given a young man a chance to atone for his sins. And as they drove away from the Mercer's house, they couldn't help but feel that perhaps, in their way, they had helped to save a soul and protect a community.
