I walked into my son's bedroom and closed the door behind me. According to my wife, he had been expecting me all afternoon - as soon as she'd gotten to the bottom of his behavior. I would be getting to the bottom of things too, in a somewhat different manner, though.
Unbeknown to us, Jason had played truant from school for several days, even forging a sick note with my name. This only came to our attention when my wife received a call from the owner of a local store, informing her that Jason had been recognised on a security camera's film, stealing sweets one morning. as the owners knew our family, and liked Jason, they had decided not to prosecute, aware that Jason would be severely dealt with at home. My wife had gotten the truth out of the ten year old boy, and he had been waiting in his room for a well deserved thrashing ever since.
The boy stood at attention in the corner of his room, wearing nothing but his underpants, hands at sides and nose pressed against the wall. For a boy only a few months shy of his eleventh bithday, he was well built, although I noticed some baby fat around his middle, and his chubby bottom was filling out his polka dot undies. That fat would disappear as soon as his as yet undeveloped height caught up with his strong build. jason had been spending a lot of time in the swimming pool, and he prefers to wear a Speedo, so his back and shoulders had been tanned a deep brown, the back of his legs only slightly lighter. His blond hair had in patches been bleached almost white by the sun. He needed a haircut too. I knew that when he turned to face me his bright blue eyes would stand out from his suntanned face with startling clarity. I felt a twinge of pride looking at my near naked son - pride that was tempered with anger a his appaling actions. He shuffled slightly as I closed the door, knees trembling. Jason feared hidings from me terribly, and I intended for this one to be memorable indeed.
I ignored Jason initially, sitting down at his desk and carefully checking through his homework. This was a ritual I went through almost every evening, although he usually sat next to me on a stool, or even on my lap, while I helped him with difficult sections. Tonight was different, although I called him out of the corner on two occassions to correct errors, sending him back to stand quietly, awaiting the punishment that he knew would be forthcoming.
Eventually, I was satisfied, and turned to look at the boy standing in the corner.
"Do we need to discuss your actions, Jason," I asked, "or has your mother said enough?"
"Mom's spoken to me, dad," the little trembling voice answered, "I'm ready for my hiding now."
"Take off your underpants,"
I watched as Jason slipped his underpants down his rounded young bottom, to his ankles and off. He stood in position again, back to me. His soft, white bottom stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his brown body. I would shortly be doing my best to give him an even tan!
I got up, and moved the chair into the centre of the room. Then I walked over to my son and put a hand on his shoulder. From experience, he knew the procedure from here, and took a large step back. Then he bent over slightly, putting his hands in his knees, pushing his bottom up and widening his legs. I kept my hand on his shoulder, and with my other hand I reached down and kneaded the soft flesh of my son's bum. Drawing my hand back, I slapped it hard on the left cheek, then on the right. I could have covered his whole little bottom with one slap, but I liked to concentrate on one cheek at a time for this part of a hiding. I gave each cheek ten spanks, making them a nice shade of pink. Although the hand spanking must have stung, Jason kept silent, bobbing slightly with each slap. He knew that I was only making his young bottom tender for the real thrashing.
"Get up," I commanded, "and bend over the chair for your belting,"
Again, Jason knew just what to do. Giving his bottom a quick squeeze, he crossed over to the chair. The boy placed both hands on the seat of the chair, bending over with his bottom high up and his feet well apart. The boys backside was a satisfactory shade of pink, and I noticed my partial hand prints on it in places. Without hurrying, I slipped off my heavy, wide leather belt and doubled it over in my hands, snapping the two halves together to remind the boy what I had in mind for him. I rubbed my hand over the small of the boy's back, and tapped the belt gently on his upraised bottom.
"I'm sorry that I have to do this, my boy," I began, "but you know that your behavior is not acceptable, and you must be severely punished?"
"Yes daddy," came the tearful voice, and the little blond head bobbed in affirmation.
"After I'm finished thrashing your bottom with the strap, there will be more to come, so be prepared,"
The child sniffed in response.
I took my hand away from his back, then stepped back. Without warning, I swung the belt hard across Jason's bare bottom, eliciting a a yelp from the bent over boy, and leaving a thick, slightly curved red stripe across his naked tail. Again, I strapped the ten year old's bottom hard, slightly higher. I paused, then smashed the belt across the little bum, just above the boy's legs. He squealed in pain, but I was not moved. I smacked him again, right across the centre of his pink bottom. The width of my belt was slightly more than a quarter of Jason's entire little bottom, from his back to his legs, so it was not long before his entire rear end was bright red. I was careful to pay attention to his whole bottom, so that after ten strokes it was an even shade of scarlet. I let him stand, and the boy leapt up, grabbing his bottom and trying to rub the sting away.
I turned the crying boy around, and looked down into his blue, tear filled eyes.
"Are you having fun, Jase?"
"No daddy!" the boy cried.
"Is it worth taking time off school and stealing, my boy?"
"No it isn't daddy!"
"Good," I continued, "But your hiding still has a long way to go."
This caused a fresh burst of tears and pleas from the little fellow, but they fell on deaf ears.
"Bend over again,"
Jason turned around and bent over, assuming his compromising position, bright red bottom pushed up for the strap. His scorched flesh would absorb no more abuse, so I knew that every new lash would create purple bruising that would be present across his bottom for days after the redness had disappeared.
I gave him another ten merciless lashes, unheeding of his screams and cries for mercy. Although in excrutiating pain, Jason did not move from his position. He knew that to do so would be the ultimate shame, and would almost certainly mean starting the hiding again, right from the hand spanking. This time I concentrated my belting on the lower half of his bottom, where the boy was the most sensitive, and knowing that these were the lashes that he would feel every time he sat down. He squirmed and howled, but he kept his hands on the seat, and his legs apart, never once trying to move his bottom away from the direst course of the biting strap.
After the tenth stroke, I put my belt back on, leaving the sobbing boy in position.
"Stand up and rub your bottom," I allowed finally.
Jason stood slowly, keeping his legs apart. Some of my lashes had snapped right into the crack of his bottom, and it must have been very sensitive. He kept his head down, and I could see the tears dripping down his nose.
"I gave you exactly the same hiding six months ago for smoking and lying, didn't I Jason?" I asked my son after he had settled down a little.
"Yes, daddy," he responded softly, "it was very sore then too."
"I'll be back in a few minutes to give you that little extra I promised," I continued, "make sure that you're back at attention in the corner, and leave your underpants off!"
Jason nodded, and I left the room, closing the door behind me.
I went outside to my garden shed and selected a garden cane about the thickness of my index finger. I measured a length of about three quarters of a metre, and cut the stick to size, being sure not to split the end. A few strokes with the cane would end off Jason's punishment this time. I had decided that since the boy would be eleven soon, the cane would play a more prominent role in his hidings. A few months ago, he had informed me that he had had to bend over for three strokes with the cane at school for demerits, and had told me how much it had hurt him, even through shorts and underpants. We had joked about him getting it bare - and now it was to be a reality.
Carrying my new cane, I returned to the boy's bedroom. As expected, he was standing in the corner again, although this time he couldn't bring himself to close his legs properly - still stinging I suspect, and of course he had no underpants on. His little bottom was no longer white - it was bright red, with the beginnings of bruises where I had lashed him particularly hard with my belt.
"Turn around, Jason,"
The little boy turned around, and his already big eyes widened further as he spied the cane in my hand.
"Oh no daddy!" he pleaded, "Not a thrashing with the cane a well - please!"
I ignored this outburst, and signalled to the chair, still in the centre of the room.
Obediently, Jason returned to the position in which he had so recently been given such a beating, pushing his bottom up for more. But I wasn't satisfied. This would be a lot more painful, and I wanted him in a position that would be more difficult to leap up from, and I needed a better target for my new cane.
"Put your nose on the chair as well, Jase," I ordered, and the boy slowly obeyed, pushing his bottom even further up.
Seeing the little boy bent over in front of me, deep red bottom presented once more for thrashing, brought some pity to my heart. I had planned to give him a traditional six strokes of the cane. But he was after all only ten, and already that little backside was well beaten, so I settled on three with the cane. I only really wanted him to get a taste of future bare bottom canings.
I didn't cane Jason particularly hard, but I made sure that each stroke bit into his soft, bruised and tender under bottom with a sharp, painful sounding crack, leaving three distinctive red stripes. He squealed with each one, and battled to maintain his position, so I was satisfied that the lesson was well learnt. Leaving him in position, I rubbed his hot little bum with my hand. I felt the three welts rising, knowing that they would remain visible long after the rest of the bruising had faded away. He had been very naughty, but Jason had taken his punishment, and all was forgiven.