I don't remember the boy's name. There were three children in my charge that night and the boy was the oldest and full of trouble. His parents gave me full permission to spank him with a thick, white belt if he acted up but I shrugged it off. The kids would be good. All kids I baby-sat were good. I was a favourite baby-sitter of parents.
Two times when I baby-sat I spanked. The second boy's name I at least remember.
The nameless boy would not stay in bed. He hid my school books, he threw food; he was just unruly and testing.
I pulled the belt from the hook and gave him one whack on his pajamas. He said nothing. No reaction and I knew it was a hard whack.
He settled to sleep, so I thought, and I went to study.
He was up, testing again.
The boy was six or seven years old and I had no difficulty pulling him over my lap.
I looked at his little bum and rubbed it lightly. My heart beat fast and I said, 'now you're mine.' Without spanking him I pushed him off my lap and went about the house. I took a wooden spoon from the kitchen, a hairbrush from the bathroom, a ruler from my binder, and the only punishment tool he'd known, to my knowledge, the white belt.
When he saw my collection, the boy thought nothing of it as he flipped through the pages of some textbook of mine.
I lay the instruments on the coffee table and ordered him over my lap. The boy did not move so I pulled him over my lap; not too roughly. Again I rubbed his little bottom. I rubbed him for a few moments, saying nothing.
'Slap' Slap' light slaps, no sting. Slowly I picked up the pace and the impact. after ten light hand spanks turning rougher he squirmed a bit.
I took his hand and pinned it behind his back. Slap slap with all my might. Still no reaction from the boy other than squirming a bit.
I picked up the hair brush and rubbed it on his bottom. Then "whack' Whack' lightly at first. Slowly I picked up the pace. A few shots made him grunt but nothing more. after ten, concluding with some very hard shots, I rubbed his bottom again.
Slipping my fingers in his waste band I pulled his pajama bottoms down half way across his bottom. With the ruler I slapped his upper buttocks noting the red marks being left behind. Whap whap went the ruler. I hit the boy on his pajama clad part randomly so he never knew whether or not a whip would really hurt. I was playing a game and getting so turned on spanking this boy.
After a few minutes I removed his pants completely giving me a bare target. I was enjoying every second, especially watching the red marks form on his tiny bum.
I decided to work the ruler down low, like my aunt had often done to me. Just where bottom meets thighs. Now the boy was moaning low, a squirming, wriggling bottom rubbing against my lap. I stopped after leaving his lower bottom glowing red and picked up the wooden spoon. Simultaneously I lifted his bottom higher, spreading his small crack, revealing his boy hole.
All the things done to me I was doing to him. I took the kitchen spoon and attacked his crack with a flurry of stinging strokes, hitting his anus without mercy. He jerked and buried his head into the couch, his little prick getting firm while I reddened his crack up and down.
He went limp, tears streaking down his face. The savage attack was unexpected.
I let him rest a moment but did nothing to ease his pain.
Instead I took the hairbrush and patted his bottom, conveying a message that there was more to come. I could not believe what I was doing but never once did he say 'stop. I decided his rest period was over and then, without mercy nor pace nor rhythm, I savagely hit his bottom with the hairbrush. The pain must have been incredibly for such a small boy but how he deserved it. Fifty or more times I beat his tiny bottom. He cried, and screamed into the couch, never expecting such brutality.
His bottom had turned scarlet and hot to the touch. The burning pain had sunk deep in his bottom. So piteously he writhed. I turned the brush around and with the bristles I rubbed his wounded bottom. Again he screamed into the couch, writhing from the new, but different pain, rubbing his beaten skin raw. I hefted him higher to rub the bristles in his crack.
Now he was in agony and struggling to get away from me.
Unfortunately for him, I had become so carried away in my lust for punishing his bottom. His pleas went unheeded. I asked him if he wanted me to stop with the hair brush and ha begged me to do so.
I tossed the brush aside and picked up the ruler. I choose his thighs and slapped them hard, ten to each thigh. Then I gave him ten to each buttock sending him in another wave of new found pain. I stopped, curious about his tiny pricklet and rolled him on his back. He tried to cover his privates but I slapped his hang away. His three inch penis was firm and hard. I longed to touch it but instead simply carried him to his bedroom.
He said in a quiet voice that he would be good while we went into his room. I stood him in the corner and told him to put his hands on his head. He did so quickly.
I sat on his bed, admiring my handiwork, giving little thought to what his parents would say to his well beaten bottom.
I told him he could rub his bottom if he wanted and he squeezed his little bottom instead. still crying, he had been doing a little dance on his feet.
I ordered him to come to me and he did so, a broken boy.
"Bring me your father's belt and your pajama's" I told him.
He hesitated, horrified. 'fine' I said, I'll get them. I left his room, dizzy with excitement.
I returned with belt and pajamas in my hand. I told him to put the pajamas back on. He was so relieved to get protection back on his bottom.
While he dressed I put his pillow in the middle of his bed and then decided it was not high enough. In this spoiled child's room of so many toys there was a giant stuffed bunny in the corner. I picked up the bunny and placed it on the bed. I put the boy in almost a hump the bunny position and again pulled his pants down.
Straddled over the bunny, his beet red bottom high in the air, I doubled over the belt and gave it a test swat against the bed by his head. The boy gasped.
'If you move,' I warned him, " I will wake up your sisters and let them watch.'
'Noooo' he begged, 'I hate when they watch!'
'Then don't move.'
The angle and momentum struck the boy even harder then I expected. He howled and jumped up, hands flailing against his butt. 'Nooo' Nooo"
I ordered him back down, wondering how his sisters could sleep through it all. Then I held him into position for a few seconds. Confident he would stay still, save the shaking, I hit him again. And again he jumped up. I repeated the routine fifteen times.
The beating has harsh and exhausted he lay over the bunny. Sobbing, he hugged the bunny.
I examined his bottom and had most certainly bruised it with welts from the belt.
I let him lay there crying while I went searching for creme in the medicine cabinet.
I found Noxema TM and Ben-gay TM. The Ben gay would hurt something awful, renewing his pain. I opted for the sun burn medicine and rubbed it in his backside.
I redressed him and tucked him in.
That was the last time I baby-sat him. Somewhat overcome by the guilt of it, I told my father what I had done, omitting all but the belt part.
He asked me what I deserved for it and I replied a good hiding, which he did, one hundred strokes with the belt while I lay over the arm of the couch.