My mother started dating Sam about a year ago, when I was ten, but we'd never really gottn along. True, I was a difficult boy at the best of times, and spoilt rotten by my widowed mother. I knew that Sam was dying to get his hands on me. Often, he had tried to persuade my mother to give me some "good, old fashioned and painful medicine", but she had always made some or other excuse up for my poor behaviour.
The day finally came when my mother set out on a two week conference, leaving Sam responsible for me. Not for the first time, but this time it was a little different. I had been particularly rude and obnoxious for a few days, and mouthed off at her at every turn. As she left, her parting comment to Sam, in front of me, had been,
"And this time Sam, deal with Shaun as you see fit - punish him your way if you need to. I don't even want to know about it."
I should have heeded the obvious warning, but, as with most eleven year old boys, I tended not to pay much attention to last chances.
Just three days after she had left, I decided to go surfing straight after school, before doing my homework. This was contrary to one of the few rules that my mother insisted that I obey. When I arrived home, it was nearly dusk, and Sam was sitting quietly in the kitchen. I put my surfboard away, and hung my towel over a chair to dry, ignoring the man in the room - as usual. Then, standing in my damp surfing baggies, I started hunting through the fridge to find a Coke.
"Have you done your homework?" Sam's deep voice was a constant source of irritation to me, and I was too blind to see the danger from the large man sitting behind me.
"No," I snapped, not bothering to turn around.
"You know your mother's rules,"
"So what?" I replied cheekily, "she's not here."
"Please go and do it now," A simple command that, had I obeyed it, would have saved me considerable discomfit.
But still, I was not thinking,
"_f_u_c_k_ you, I'll do it when I'm good and ready!"
I realized at that moment that I had overstepped the mark, and stood stock still, facing the fridge, hoping that my remark would be overlooked. No such luck. There was a silence behind me.
"Turn around,"
Slowly, I turned. Sam's face was like granite, but I could see a vein throbbing in his forehead. He was very cross.
"I won't be spoken to like that by a little punk like you," he said in a deep, even voice, "this has been a long time coming, but tonights the night that I finally thrash your backside."
"No way!" I responded, feeling uneasy, "My mom doesn't believe in bearing children!"
"Oh, don't worry, Shaun, I'm not a child beater. I'm just going to give you a well deserved lesson in manners - and your mother gave me permission to give you a hiding, so now's the time,"
I tried to walk out, but he was faster than me. He got up and grabbed me by the ear. Protesting and whining, I was led into the sitting room.
"Now," he began, still holding onto my ear painfully as we stood in the middle of the room, "you can take your punishment the easy way, or the hard way, which will be much worse. Choose."
Although I was sometimes silly, I was no fool. I knew that I was going to get a hiding one way or another, so I decided to take the easy option.
"The easy way," was my response, and I tried to sound sorry and humble.
"Good, and I'm going to take the opportunity to change your general attitude as well, so expect a very hot butt."
That sounded ominous, but I wasn't about to admit to being scared - I didn't want Sam to believe that he was intimidating me. But the next instruction sent a chill down my spine.
"Take off your pants,"
My swimming trunks were all that I was wearing, so after slipping them down to my ankles and off, I was completely naked. I put my hands in front of me to cover up my hairless little _c_o_c_k_ and balls. Sam walked around me slowly, appraisingly, and I felt like a young calf being examined before the slaughter. I realized, now that I was naked, how small I was, or, more appropriately, how big and muscled Sam was! The top of my sunbleached hair did not even reach the bottom of his chest, and I became embarrased by my little layer of puppy fat around my middle, giving me my famous chubby bottom.
"Go and stand in the corner," Sam grunted, "facing the wall."
Relieved to be able to get out of the centre of the room, I quickly went and stood in the corner, nose pressed to the wall. I listened intently as Sam moved some furniture around, then fetched something from the shelf next to me. Then there was a long silence. Standing in the corner, without a stitch of clothing on, waiting for my first ever domestic hiding, I realized that I was in serious trouble. No mommy to help me out here - I actually had to take the consequences for my own misdeeds. This would be bad.
Finally, Sam's voice grumbled again,
"Turn around and come over here,"
Still clasping my hands protectively in front of me, I turned around. Sam had pushed an armchair into the centre of the room, and was standing behind it, hands on hips, a grim expression on his face. I shuffled slowoly towards him.
"Bend over," Sam took hold of the back of my neck, and forced me over the back of the chair, in the classic thrashing position. He grabbed my tightly pushed together legs above the knee and pulled them so widely apart, I almost lost my balance. Although my legs were fairly muscled for a boy my age, each of Sam's hands easily wrapped around them.
Then I had to wait. Sam came around in front of me and slowly slipped off his heavy leather belt. I was entraced by the thick leather that came out of the loops in his jeans - thinking that that leather would soon be slicing across my very vulnerable feeling bottom. As Sam walked back around me, my eyes focused on the coffee table. So that what he had taken off the shelf as I had stood in the corner - a cane! It lay menacingly on the table, slightly longer and thicker than the one I had felt frequently as school. But I knew instinctively that this cane was going to be used on my bottom far more severely than the headmaster's cane. Sam didn't have to worry about school punishment rules here - my nudity and compromising position over this chair proved that.
My attention was so drawn to the cane on the table, that I barely noticed Sam's hand being rested on the small of my back. But I was quickly brought back to reality as the belt was snapped across my bottom, introducing the opening sting of what was going to be an intense and prolonged thrashing. I kept as still as I could, and Sam smashed the strap again across my soft, pre-teen bottom. I yelped loudly. Another hard stroke fell across my bare butt, and I tried to stand. A strong hand pushed me back down.
"Stay bending," he warned, "or I'll call one of my gym buddies to come and hold you. They've been encouraging me to whip your ass for a long time now."
That would have been too much for me to handle, so I stayed where I was, determined to hold out for as long as possible. Again and again, the belt whipped across my naked bottom, and all the begging and crying didn't help one bit.
"I'm sorry, Sam! Please stop!"
"No chance you little _s_h_i_t_," he was really mad, "and this is just the warm up. Wait still you feel how hard I can cane!"
But the belt continued its assualt across my poor little bottom, and before long I couldn't even identify the individual lines of agony.
Eventually, my strapping stopped, and the only sound in the room was me crying. I felt Sam's big, callused hand kneading my soft, sore bottom. Normally, I would have freaked about someone touching my bum, but Sam's attentions brought much needed relief to my tender flesh.
"Stop snivelling, boy," sam commanded, " still a good deal more hiding to come!"
The hand was lifted, and the belt snapped down, high up on my raw, upraised behind. Sam worked the belt thoroughly down my rear end, ensuring that the whole area of my bottom was bright scarlet. He then focused several hard strokes on my sensitive under bottom. I squealed and squirmed, but the big man just put his hand on my neck, pushed me right down and continued beating.
Again, the time came for the belt to stop its terrible work, and Sam placed a hand once again on my blazing bottom.
"Now that your backside's good and red, you'll appreciate a sound caning," Sam announced.
"No, please!" I begged, "Sam, I promise I'll be good. Use the cane next time. Please!"
"Absolutely not," Sam was determined, still kneading my bum cheeks, "this bum of yours needs a decent thrashing. Six of the best, and every time you try to get out of position, I'll add one extra!"
I could sense that it would do me no good arguing. I just had to take my punishment. Sam walked around in front of me, putting his belt back on, then he picked up that fearsome cane. Just like a headmaster, he flexed it in front of me, and I caught a gleeful glint in his eyes. He was enjoying bringing me down a peg by administering a well deserved hiding.
He took the cane behind me, and soon I was feeling the tapping the terrible instrument of punishment on my very tender feeling eleven year old bottom. I had felt the cane being lined up across my backside before, but never bare, and never wielded by someone as big and willing to hurt me as Sam. This was going to be a caning to remember.
There was a buzzing sound behind me, then a distinctive crack as the cane snapped across my naked buttocks, about two thirds of the way down. For a second, I felt nothing, then the most unbelievable agony coursed its way across my tail. My already well thrashed bottom felt like it had been cut in half! I leapt up with a shriek, clutching both cheeks with my hands, and did a little dance behind the chair. Sam said nothing, just stood there, cane in hand, waiting for me to settle.
When I calmed down, he spoke,
"Five more plus one for standing without permission. Now bend over and take your punishment. Don't forget to spread your legs wide - I want to whip you properly!"
Slowly, reluctantly, I bent over in the required position. Sam's tone had made itclear that if I disobeyed, things would only get worse for me. Besides, my arrogance and attitude had long since been thoroughly beaten out of me.
The cane was lined up again, and the thrashing continued. Sam must have been putting a lot of effort into my hiding - the strokes were harder than anything I had ever experienced. I kept my eyes tightly closed and firmly gripped the seat of the chair as cane was vigorously applied to my appraised bare bottom. He was really making me suffer, taking more than a minute between strokes, leaving me lying there, riding waves of pain and trying to prepare for the next agonizing lash, tears flowing down my face. Each time the cane bit across my little tail, I howled, but still I managed to maintain my position, bottom pushed up defenseless for the next stripe.
When my punishment was finally over, I had to kiss the cane and return it to the shelf, thank Sam for teaching me a lesson and put the chair back in its normal place. Only then was I allowed to touch and rub my fiery bottom.
For the rest of my childhood, this became the punishment ritual (Sam married my mother). If Sam decided that I needed a hiding, which he did every few months, I had to report to the sitting room, undress, turn the chair around, fetch the cane and bend over to await correction.