AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have received some requests to continue with the James "saga", so here goes. I must also thank thoses who have e-mailed me. It's nice to know people read and enjoy my stories. If you enjoyed "Sorting out James", read on.
James' behavior had deteriorated again, and I was tired of being diplomatic and patient. It had been many months since I had given him his first real hiding at home, with my belt, finishing with one stroke from my cane. It was clearly time to bring the boy back into line. Hard.
"It's time you had another good hiding, isn't it, my boy?" I enquired, watching the eleven year old's face carefully for any signs of rebellion. There were none, just dismay. He knew that he had gone too far again, and would end up with a very hot butt.
"No dad! Please! I'll be good!"
"Too late for that, my boy," I responded, "go to your room and get ready. You know the procedure."
James slowly mounted the stairs and went to his room. I waited a while, then followed. When I opened his door, I was mildly surprised. I had expected to find him sitting on the side of the bed in his underpants again. Instead, he was lying stark naked on the bed - face down and bottom pushed up by his pillow and hands, which he had pushed under his hips, and legs well apart. He must have thought that I would be impressed by his acceptance of his punishment and submission to his coming whipping, and go easy on him. I was impressed, but mercy would not be his reward this evening.
"Get up," I ordered, and the surprised boy quickly struggled to his feet, turning to face me. Maybe he thought I had decided to commute his sentence, and not thrash his bottom after all.
"What did I say would happen to you next time I had to give you a hiding?" I enquired and saw the horror dawn on the youngsters face as he remembered, and looked up at me, his eyes pleading.
"You said I'd get a caning," he murmered.
"Right. You're twelve in a few months, so you're old enough. Let's go to the study."
"No, please daddy! Give it to me with the belt!"
But I had already left the room, and could hear as the naked boy padded along behind me to my study, and the dreaded cane. I entered the room, and ushered the already crying little chap through the door, closing it behind him. I strode purposefully towards a cupboard and took out my cane. Taking my time, I flexed the stick in true school master fashion, letting my son's anticipation build. Just to add to the show, I swung the cane in the air a few times, listening to the "swish" it made. Satisfied, I turned my attention back to the trembling boy.
"Come here and bend over," I commanded, "just like last time."
James shuffled over to me, and bent over, les straight, fingers on toes and feet slightly apart. I tapped the cane on his upraised little bottom, so white and tender in comparison with his long suntanned legs and slim back. Determined to make an issue of this, I once more swished the cane in the air, and I could see that the eleven year old's knees were shaking, and there were goosebumps standing up on his bare behind. Again, I tapped the cane on my target, then let fly, with a mighty stroke right across the middle of James' bottom.
James gasped in pain, and his body jumped slightly, but of course he maintained his position. I waited for a few seconds, then gave him another, just below the first, and just as hard. Again the boy jumped slightly, and his gasp was a little more desperate. I knew it was sore - I was hitting him pretty hard, but I really wanted to beat this lesson home.
I shifted my own position, then hit again, landing the cane with force about three quarters of the way down James' bare bottom. This time, the jump of pain was more pronounced, and the boy took longer to put his fingers back on his toes. He yelped with the pain.
I stepped back, and took a good look at my work. The three stripes stood up as dark red welts across the lad's naked little bum, but there was plenty of white flesh still showing - I would make sure that this was one boy who would remember this punishment clearly for days, especially when sitting down.
I took my position, aimed and delivered another vigorous blow, slightly below the second and above the third. James howled and jumped right up this time, but still had the presence of mind to bend straight back down and only then plead with me.
"Ow, daddy!" he sobbed, "Please stop! It's so sore! I'll be good!"
"Forget it, young man," I growled, "you're going to be well punished - there's still plenty to come, so keep still."
I smashed the fifth stroke below the third, and the sixth right in the crease, just above his legs. They came in quick succession, so James was taken by surprise, especially by the sixth. He screamed this time, and leapt up, clutching his fiery bottom with both hands.
"Ahh!" he howled, "Please! I've had enough now!"
"Alright," I conceded, "have a rub, then I'll carry on."
The boy gingerly rubbed his bottom, and then with one hand tried to wipe the tears off his face. Then he let go of his tail, and started to bend back into position for his next dose.
"Not so fast," I stopped him, and led him by the arm to a leather armchair, "bend over the arm of this. I need you in a slightly diferent position for the rest of your hiding."
Obediently, James lowered himself into position, so that his head was buried in the seat of the chair and his legs dangled over the edge of the arm, just above the carpet. His tucked his hands under his chest and widened his feet without being prompted. He was beginning to get the idea. This gave me a different view altogether. I could now see James' well beaten little bottom as it pointed up at me, instead of above in profile as it had been when he was touching his toes. The six welts were already starting to become long, multicolored bruises - although the dominant color was still without doubt dark red. I waited for the boy's breathing to settle, then raised the cane, this time high above my heard, and cracked it down, diagonally across his sticking up buttocks. James' howl was muffled by the chair, and his new position made it difficult for him to move, but his body still jerked convulsively. The next stroke fell diagonally across his bottom again, but in the other direction, so that a neat cross was created across my son's naked hot rear. The reaction from the punished child was the same.
I took a long pause, then, with all my might, I smashed the cane once more diagonally down, almost on top of the first diagonal stroke. James lifted his head and screamed, and almost fell off the chair. But he dropped his shoulders once more and assumed his position. I could see the beginnings of blood blisters where the stripes all crossed, and decided to finish off. I lashed the boy's bare bottom for the last time, this time diagonally again, as close as possible to the second diagonal stroke, and his reaction was the same, although by now his voice was a little hoarse from the screaming and howling. I think if I had hit James' bottom once more, he would have bled, and I didn't want that.
I left the boy lying there, crying fitfully, and put the cane back in the cupboard. Then I soaked a handerchief with cold water from my bar fridge, and walked back over to the chair with the bent over form of my young son across it. The skin of his bare bottom from halfway down was lined with six heavy, red but turning purple stripes, but the real masterpiece was the cross formed by the last four lashes - deep red and raised. James would remember this hiding for a long time. Carefully I placed the handerchief on his burning bum.