"We have discussed your limits on the Internet often, boys," I lectured angrily, "and now I discover that you've been using my credit card number to enter pornographic websites!"
Twelve year old Albert and ten year old Sean couldn't even raise their heads to meet my eyes.
"This is a crime, boys - fraud. And you've been effectively stealing from your own father!"
I was really laying on the guilt, but they had to appreciate the seriousness of what they had done - I was going to lay on the whip in a little while, too.
"What would you two consider an appropriate punishment for this kind of nonsense?"
Their was a lengthy pause, as the boys considered the inevitable. They knew what the consequences would be, but by them suggesting it, they would have accepted their own punishment fully.
"A severe hiding, dad," Albert finally answered, lowering his blond head further, hoping that I wouldn't see the lone tear creeping down his cheek.
"Yes, daddy," added Sean, sniffing, "you have to thrash our bare bottoms - hard."
I looked at them. They took after their late mother, dead now for almost eight years. Blond, lightly tanned, with almost perfectly proportioned bodies. Albert was growing quickly now, already his head was close to reaching my shoulder. But physically and mentally, he was still a mischevious little boy. Sean. eerily similiar to his brother, if a little stockier, was still rather short, the top of his head not quite making it to my chest. They both knew that hidings from me were no minor sanction - this would indeed be a very painful session.
"Get yourselves ready and in position for a hiding in my study," I ordered, and two very downcast lads shuffled off to do as I had bidden.
Ten minutes later, I entered my tidy, cozy and book lined study. The boys were in position, as expected. They had each dragged one of the leather armchairs into the centre of the room, and turned it to face the back wall. In between the chairs was a small table, with two punishment straps placed upon it - a heavier, thicker weapon for Albert. Both boys had stripped off all their clothing in their bedrooms, and I was faced with two sets of sturdy, wide apart legs, holding up white young bottoms (one bigger than the other), as the boys remained in our traditional family thrashing position, bent stark naked over the back of an armchair, as I closed the door behind me. It was a sight that I had seen often before, although usually with just one of the boys awaiting his punishment, rarely both together.
I walked first to Sean, and gently squeezed the little bottom presented to me. My hand covered both the boy's cheeks. Reaching back, I took a good wind up and slapped the little bottom hard, eliciting a yelp from the ten year old. Five more times a spanked my youngest son's bare bottom, then resumed kneading the soft, warming flesh.
"Warmed up yet, Sean?" I inquired, softly.
Knowing full well that the light hand spanking was not even a fraction of the pain he was still to feel, Sean replied in the affirmative. My boys knew that hidings from their dad were prolonged, excrutiating experiences, not to be taken lightly. This was probably why they got far fewer hidings than many of their friends - they knew to avoid having to bend over while I took my wrath out on their bottoms!
I left Sean and stood behind Albert. Although his bottom was bigger, and firmer than his little brother's, I had no trouble in warming him up nicely with my hand, spanking his rounded butt cheeks hard.
Standing back, I looked at the backsides of my two sons. Both had been spending a lot of the summer outdoors, usually wearing nothing but a Speedo and sun - block, so their white bottoms stood out clearly against their suntanned legs and torsos. Constant exercise had firmed them up, although Sean's bottom was still more chubbier than his big brother's - he would grow out of his baby fat soon. The behaviour of the boys had been getting poor during the last few months, and I was in a way grateful for an excuse to tan their backsides vigorously - it would keep the peace for a considerable period - especially now with the schools going back in a few weeks time. I'm a great believer that the fastest way to sort out a boy's mind is by thrashing his bottom.
"Albert, you've forgotten something," I commented softly, "and it's going to cost you dearly, my boy."
"Dad?" the twelve year old was clearly confused, turning his head around to look at me, his blue eyes sparkling with concern.
"What did I tell you that I would begin using next time you had to have a hiding?"
Quickly, understanding dawned on the boy's face,
"Oh no, daddy, please!"
"Get up and fetch it."
Slowly, Albert got up and walked over to a cupboard. carefully, he reached up to a high shelf and brought down the cane that had been resting there. He returned to his chair, placed the cane on the table next to his strap and resumed his submissive position bent over for punishment.
I picked up the heavier of the two straps, and, without another word, smashed it across Albert's bare bottom, hard. He howled in pain, and a thick red stripe appeared on his already pink, naked bum. His obvious pain didn't stop me, however. I continued to thrash him with firm, even strokes, covering as much of his exposed bottom as I could with the heavy leather. The young boy kept as still as he could, determined to impress me by taking his punishment well, but the agony of the strap whipping across his naked tail was a lot to handle, and soon I had him writhing in place, begging me to forgive him and stop. I gave him another four, firm lashes, then put the strap down once again on the table, while the crying boy tried to regain his composure. His bottom must have been blazing, and I stepped back to admire my work - the twelve year old's backside was scarlet.
Sean had only been able to hear the methodical slapping of leather against bottom flesh, and hear his brother's cries and sobs. Now it was his turn to be whipped.
I picked up the lighter strap and tapped it against my hand as I looked at the ten year old's smooth, chubby little bottom. Goose bumps, from fearful anticipation stood up on my target area, but the boy had no choice but to keep his bum well pushed up for his hiding. I began the belting without a delay, using the same steady, methodical approach that I had with Albert, and after only five hard lashes Sean was also sobbing and crying. His bottom, being that much smaller, took fewer strokes to make it uniformally bright red, while the crying boy battled to keep his legs apart and still, and his head down. But I continued with the punishment, determined to leave my son's backside crimson and bruised - to remember the lesson that he was being so painfully taught today.
After a dozen hard strokes, I stopped whipping Sean and put the strap on the table. But instead of turning my attention back to Albert, as the boy had expected, I picked up the heavier strap and returned to the sobbing ten year old.
"Sean," I began, "today Albert is getting his first caning. That means that you're now old enough to get a hiding with the big boys strap. I'm going to give you a taste of your future hidings."
"Oh no, daddy," Sean wailed, "I know it's sore. I could hear Albert crying and I've seen his marks before. You don't need to thrash me with it today!"
"Your opinion doesn't matter, young man. Keep still and brace yourself for six lashes."
I waited for the trembling ten year old to settle down and prepare himself for what was likely to be an experience of pain like he had never previously had. then I lashed the strap firmly across his bright red bottom. He squealed and leapt up, clutching his fiery cheeks, and dancing with the additional level of pain. I allowed him to calm down.
"Bend over, Sean," I quietly commanded, "I'll let you off an extra one for that, but you won't be so lucky next time."
I thought for a moment, looking at the little boy red bottom. It was very sore and sensitive by now, and he would really not be able to contain himself for another five strokes, so I turned back to Albert, who hadn't moved, his welted bottom still up and presented for the rest of his punishment.
"Albert, get up and come here," the boy obeyed, knowing that this was not a reprieve from the promised caning, "go and stand in front of your brother, and hold down his wrists. If he gets up again before his hiding is finished, he'll get extra, so save him some pain."
Albert moved to obey, leaning down to hold Sean's writs steady on the seta of the chair. I saw the twelve year olds face, red from crying, and his blond hair pasted to his forehead with sweat from his beating, and fearful anticipation of his first encounter with the cane.
Once again, I was faced with a red and bruised ten year old backside, up and ready to be further beaten. I tapped the little fellows ankles with my foot, making him spread his feet wide, then I thrashed the tender flesh of his bottom once again. Sean screamed and jerked, but Albert held him steady. I methodically whipped my young son, turning his crimson bottom to an even deeper red, turning blue with the individual welts from the strap. Albert grimly kept the agonized boy still.
When I was through, I warned the child to remain still and in position, then sent Albert to fetch a tub of cold cream from the bathroom. He ran his errand, then went, on my instruction, to stand with his nose against the wall in the corner.
Gently, I smoothed the cream onto Sean's fiery bottom, gently rubbing his cheeks while waiting for the lad to settle down. When his crying was down to a few sobs, I allowed him to stand.
"Have you learnt a lesson today, my boy?"
"Yes daddy," a little, tearful voice, "I must never steal from anybosy, especially you."
I hugged him and sent him on his way - probably to his bedroom where he could cry privately. I doubted that he would put his pants back on yet.
When the door closed behind the naked ten year old, I turned my attention back to Albert.
"You are the oldest, Albert," I began, " and no doubt the instigator here. You have caused, indirectly, your little brother a lot of pain, and you also knew the full seriousness of what the two of you did."
Albert, still facing the wall in the corner, shuffled his feet and nodded his head. He was well aware that he had some serious punishment on the way.
"Come here," I summoned, and Albert turned around and walked over to me, head hanging in shame, "fetch the cane."
The boy stepped over and picked up the typical junior school cane, and with reverence and awe carefully handed the punishment tool over to me.
"Firstly, there's the matter of you needing reminding to fetch this cane. Bend over."
Albert turned around and bent his body forward. He was unsure of how to proceed, so I continued with my instructions.
"Widen your feet, then, keeping your legs straight, touch your toes."
The twelve year old complied, following instructions perfectly, presenting his bottom in the age old manner of school boys for a caning. I had purposefully decided to begin his first ever hiding with a cane in this maner - it is a humiliating and submissive position for any boy to assume, and Albert needed soem of both of those qualities. He would not be able to hold this position for the full thrashing that I had planned, soon he would be back over the chair, but this would be a good start.
Gently, I tapped the stick on the red young bottom presented before me. Using a good swing, flicking my wrist and remembering to follow through, I administered Albert's first ever lash with a cane. His reaction was electric. It must of stung like crazy - he gasped and almost stood. But the brave boy quickly regained his position. I caned him again, getting the same reaction, then I administered the third, blistering stroke to his exposed buttocks.
"Stand up and rub your bottom, Albert," the boy needed no second invitation, leaping up and trying to rub some of the pain away from his throbbing bare bottom.
"What did you think of that, my boy?"
"It was very sore, daddy," Albert gasped, "please can you let me off the rest of my hiding with the cane - just give it to me with the strap!?"
"Sorry, son," I responded, shaking my head and flexing the cane in my hands, "a caning is called for, and a caning is what you're going to get. Now go and bend over the back of the chair for the main part of your hiding."
Albert shuffled back to the chair, sniffing and still holding onto his sore little behind. He gave his butt one more firm squeeze, then bent himself back over the chair in the more familiar hiding position - bare bottom up and ready to receive the real thrashing of the day.
I stood slightly to the side of my son, gently rubbing his sore bottom, feeling the three stripes starting to rise from the punished flesh. The little boy was beginning to sob again, quietly in anticipation of the coming pain, especially when I transfered the gentle rubing of my hand to the gentle taping of the cane.
Using the full momentum of my body, I began to give my son a thrashing that amounted to the most severe hiding that he had ever received in his twelve short years. I set the marks from the first three strokes to lay out the hiding - never caning higher than half way up his bottom, and taking care not to lay the lashes on top of one another. Albert's buttocks were not accustomed yet to the cane, and I wanted to avoid drawing blood, but still giving the boy a great deal of excrutiating pain. He would always remember his first caning, especially as the hiding was given on his bare bottom. Anything he got at school in future would pale with his memories of this thrashing.
After eight strokes bent over the chair, Albert was howling and begging for a reprieve. His bottom was no longer white - with crimson, turning blue, weals across his little tail.
"Please daddy!" he sobbed between strokes, "I've had enough! Please stop!"
"Very well, my boy," I conceded, deciding that the naked lad had been punished sufficiently, "kepp still while I soothe your bottom."
I gently rubbed soothing cream into Albert's inflamed backside, carefully kneading the cream into the welts that the cane had left across his little bottom. When he had calmed down, I sent him to follow his brother.
As is my procedure, I had the boys report to me every evening, lower their pyjamer pants and bend over my knees so that I could check that the bruising was fading. Sean's bottom took nearly two weeks to get back to its normal, white chubby self. But Albert was still sporting eleven faint bruises for nearly a month after his hiding.