Gregg walked slowly down the hallway to where his uncle and headmaster were waiting for him - in the spacious drawing room of the rambling old mansion. A servant had summoned him from his bedroom, where he had just been preparing for bed. Gregg had lived with his caring but hard handed uncle for seven of his nine years, and justifiably feared the large brooding man's anger. His uncle loved him dearly, but believed unquestionably that the only way to deal with a little boy's misdemeanours was to soundly thrash his young bottom.
Gregg tapped lightly on the door, then entered the room. The two men waiting did not move from their chairs, and Gregg went to stand before his uncle, hands behind his back, as he had been taught to when being addressed by an adult. The headmaster watched the proceedings with interest as the large man in the armchair spoke to the slim nine year old bfore him. Gregg was wearing his long flannel pyjamers, in defference to the chilly evening, and his uncle's concern that he stay warm to avoid a cold, especially after a swimming training session - Gregg was a competitive and very enthusiastic little swimmer. His dressing gown was smartly tied around his waist, and reached down tp just below the boy's knees. His green eyes, complimented by his blond hair neatly combed off his sunbronzed forehead, were filled with concern. A perceptive boy, Gregg had taken in the sombre mood of the two men, and suspected that he had some trouble coming.
"Gregg," began the boy's uncle in his deep voice, "Mr Mason is here to discuss your lack of progress with me. He tells me that you are an exceptionally bright boy, but you have put very little effort into your school work over the last few months."
"That's right, my boy," the headmaster continued, "you simply are not applying yourself these days. I've noticed a gradual, but steep drop in the quality of your work."
"Mr Mason has also informed me of the difficulties that you are giving your young grade four teacher, Miss Smith," Gregg's uncle continued, "with your disobedience and bad manners. This I will not tolerate!"
Gregg could not think of anything to say. He had half expected a confrontation to come eventually, but had not expected it to come at home, and from his uncle.
"Have you anything to add in your defence?"
"No, Uncle," the little boy whispered, looking intently at the carpet. He knew that he was in for it now.
"Tell Mr Mason how I deal with you when you are naughty,"
Gregg looked across at the glowering headmaster.
"My uncle gives me a good hiding," he replied, unable to meet the teacher's eyes.
The boy's uncle stood up slowly, and looked down at the little boy before him.
"Dressing gown off then, young man,"
Gregg slipped his gown off, neatly folding it over the arm of a chair. Then he followed his uncle into the middle of the room. He looked so much smaller without his dressing gown on, clad only in his blue pyjamers, dwarfed by the bulky form of his uncle.
"Bend over," the large man ordered, without preamble.
Gregg bent over and grabbed his ankles, keeping his knees straight and widened his feet to the same width apart as his shoulders. Gregg had his back to his headmaster, so the man was treated to a view of the little boy's pushed up bottom, clearly outlined by the single layer of blue flannel. Without haste, the boy's uncle unbuckled and slid off his heavy leather belt. He doubled it over in his fist, and gently tapped it against his nephews tight little bottom.
"Apparently, you've had this coming for some time, my boy,"
With that comment, he stepped back, lifted his arm and delivered a mighty lash to the nine year old's bottm. The belt made a satisfying 'SNAP!' as it cracked across the child's bent over buttocks, wrapping around his slim hips. To Mr Mason's surprise, Gregg didn't move or make a sound. With only pyjamer pants to soften the blow, it must have stung like crazy, but the schoolmaster didn't know that Gregg had suffered far worse in the past.
It was only with the delivery of the fourth powerful stroke across his little tail that Mr Mason noticed the boy's knees buckle slightly, and heard a faint grunt of pain from the little chap. The fifth and sixth stroke elicited the same reaction.
Gregg's uncle straightened after the sixth blow to his nephew's backside, leaving the boy still bent over, bottom in the air. He turned to Mr Mason.
"As you can see," he started, a little breathless form the exertion of pounding the child's bum with the strap, "I believe that a boy of Gregg's age learns his lessons best when bending over and getting his backside thrashed. The sad demise of corporal punishment in schools today is really bad for the children."
He patted the little chap's still upraised bottom.
"Your turn," he held out the belt to a very surprised Mr Mason.
"I couldn't..."
"Nonsense. He is misbehaving in your school. Now punish the boy. Give him a good hiding - six strokes, like I did."
Hesitantly, Mr Mason got out of his chair and took the proffered strap. He hefted it in his hand, enjoying the weight and feel of good leather and appreciating the fact that this belt wasn't only for keeping trousers up. His eyes fixed on the rounded little buttocks before him. Gregg remained silent.
"Are you ready, Gregg?" the schoolmaster asked.
"Yes sir," came the little voice. Only the slightest hint of tears there, Mr Mason thought. Obviously accustomed to a sound whipping.
The first stroke was not nearly as hard as those administered by the boy's uncle, but the headmaster soon got his eye in, and delivered another five blistering strokes to the little bottom. Although Gregg was trying to be brave, the hiding was becomming seriously painful, and his sobs were audible to the two men.
When he was finished, Mr Mason was surprised to hear Gregg's voice,
"Mr Mason?" a tearful sniff from the bent over child.
"Yes Gregg?"
"Thank you for punishing me with a good hiding sir,"
"It was...well," the headmaster was confused, "necessary Gregg. Don't let it happen again."
"Yes sir,"
Gregg's uncle took his belt back,
"You may get up and rub a bit now, Gregg,"
The boy quickly stood up and grasped his stinging bottom to give it a good rub. Again, Mr Mason was surprised. Althuogh Gregg's eyes were brimming with tears, his cheeks were still dry. This was indeed one tough little boy. What he didn't know, and Gregg did, was that the hiding was far from over.
Mr Mason took his seat, and Gregg's uncle took up his position once again behind the blond boy.
"Bend over, Gregg,"
Immediately, Gregg resumed his compromising position, bottom up. His uncle, still holding the belt in one hand, slipped his other hand into the waitband of the child's pyjamer pants, just below the boy's back, and slipped the light garment down the lad's bottom, down his slim brown legs and let them rest around his ankles. Now Gregg's bottom was fully exposed. It had been pale, especially compared to the lad's suntanned legs and back. But now the tender buttocks were shades of angry red from the attentions of the strap. Althuogh the width of the belt was nearly a quarter the the size of the boy's whole bottom, it was still possible to pick out some of the individual welts from where the punishment instrument had landed.
The bulky man lost no time in swinging the belt firmly across those tender little cheeks again. The sound of thick leather snapping across bare boy flesh, and the gasps and sobs from the little boy himself were the only sounds in the room as another dozen strokes were mercilessly laid on to crying little chaps naked young bottom.
"Pull up your pants,"
Gregg obeyed his uncles command gingerly after the belt had landed for the twelth time across his bare bum, and his uncle had had time to put it back on while his half naked little nephew had remained bending over. The boy turned to face his uncle, and Mr Mason could now see real tears running down the youngsters cheeks.
"That concludes tonight's punishment, Gregg," the boy's uncle announced, "I'm sure that Mr Mason is satisfied that you are well on your way to being back on the 'straight and narrow' as it were."
"Yes Uncle," Gregg agreed, taking his hands bravely away from his burning bottom.
"But we know that I'm not finished with you, don't we?"
"Yes sir," responded a very humble little boy, "shall I report to your study now?"
"No, my boy. Go to bed. Tomorrow is Saturday. Be ready in my study at ten sharp for a caning."
The boy quietly acknowledged the instruction. He collected his dressing gown, bid the two men a good evening and went off to his bedroom. When he had left, Mr Mason turned to the boy's uncle.
"You certainly believe in severe punishment, don't you?"
"Oh yes. Young Gregg has had a good few hidings. He is rather difficult at times, and I've often had to beat his bottom soundly."
"Don't you think that his hiding tonight was sufficient punishment?"
"No, my friend. That is a tough lad. He must sweat it out, and tomorrow I shal give him some stripes to remember this by."
"A caning is a little severe for a nine year old."
Don't worry. I don't use a real cane. The stick I use on Gregg is a rather thin, flexible implement. It is light and short - the perfect weapon for tanning the bottom of a boy his age, I assure you. I shall only start really caning him when he is a little older."
With that, the conversation turned to other matters. Gregg's uncle was a prominent local business leader, and personally funded several school projects.
Gregg, of course, could not get his mind so easily off the events of the evening. His bottom burned like crazy, and although he had put on a brave face before his punishers, he lost his composure as soon as he was back in his room. He quickly stripped off his pants and danced round his bed, holding onto his bottom, the tears streaming down his face. The bare bottom thrashing had been exceptionally painful, and his uncle had covered the complete surface area of his little behind with the belt thoroughly, especially the sensitive area just above his legs. But the worst thought for the nine year old boy was the knowledge that his uncle was far from finished with the punishment. In the morning his poor bottom would move into another dimension of pain, as the cane slashed across his soft little bum cheeks. Gregg had been caned once before by his uncle, just before his ninth birthday, and he remembered well the terrible pain of that hiding - and that was without the added tenderness of a recent hiding with the belt! He threw himself onto his bed, and eventually fell asleep, face buried in his pillow, bare, red little bottom exposed to the cool air.
Gregg's uncle came into the room much later, and crossed over to the sleeping boy. He put a hand onto the child's bottm, and rubbed the bare flesh gently. The redness was fading, although it would remain slightly marked for several days. That was the benefit of a well applied belting - the boy's backside would heal quickly. He knew that the whipping that he would adminiter in the morning would leave parallel lines across the sensitive flesh for more than a week - reminding the boy of his hiding every time he sat down. He covered his nephew with his blankets before he left the room.
At ten o' clock the next morning precisely, Gregg's uncle entered his study. He was not surprised to find his blond little nephew waiting for him, hands on head, nose pressed to the wall. Unlike the previous evening, Gregg was not wearing his pyjamers - he was completely naked. The boy had a sinewy, strong little body, long legs and well defined back, clearly visible from the nature of his posture. The deep tan of his body was a strong contrast to his blond, almost white, hair, and, of course, his little bottom - protected from the sun when swimming by a Speedo. Most of Gregg's bottom was back to its startling white - although there were faded reminders that the boy had suffered a hiding the night before - especially faint bruising where the strap had wrapped around the lad's thighs. The child had taken that belting well, but now would be the really painful session.
Leaving Gregg standing in position for the time being, the boy's uncle opened his cupboard, and, from his small collection, took out the cane that he would be using to whip his nephew's bottom. It was a pliable, thin stick, about sixty centimeters long, tapering slightly at the end. He placed the cane on the desk, and turned back to the nervous little boy.
"This is your second ever caning, my boy," he began, "but expect it to be a bit more severe than the first time."
Gregg said nothing, but his uncle saw him drop his head slightly. The little fellow knew that he would find this hiding very sore indeed.
"Of course, I am aware that you are still onyl nine. And I'll punish you in an age appropriate manner," he continued - although his reassurance in no way meant that the boy would get off lightly, "When you are a little older, you shall experience genuine hidings, with real school canes. But for now, the same little stinger that you were thrashed with last time shall suffice."
Gregg didn't move throughout this speech. But at the mention of the cane used for his previous hiding in this study, he involuntarily clenched his buttocks with the memory of that painful day. His uncle had laid eight strokes across his bare little bottom - the punishment for being very rude to one of the servants in the mansion. He had been a very polite little boy indeed after that lesson!
"Very well," the moment finally arrived, "you know the procedure from last time. Come here and bend over."
The young boy slowly turned away from the wal and shuffled over to where his uncle was standing - behind one of the old, expensive leather armchairs that faced the desk. Gregg paused for a moment behind the chair, then obediently bent his little body forward, so that he was effectively bending over the back rest of the dark brown piece of furniture. As his uncle insisted that he keep his feet well apart, he had to rise up on his toes and stretch his arms right forward in order to rest his hands on the seat of the chair. Now he was in a completely helpless and submissive position. His bottom was pushed well up, and the nature of his position meant that he could not easily squirm or clench his bum cheeks.
Gregg's uncle rested his hand gently on the boy's little soft bottom. His large hand easily covered the entire area of his behind, and Gregg knew that he would be lectured while his uncle gently rubbed his rear end, a prelude to the pain that the man would soon be administering.
And lecture he did. Gregg's uncle went on for at least five minutes, although it seemed like hours to the trembling boy, while the calm stroking of hi bare bottom continued. But finally the big hand was lifted, and Gregg knew that the moment of reckoning was almostupon him. He watched as his uncle walked to the desk and picked up the vicious looking cane that was on the blotter. The lad knew that older boys were beaten with longer, thicker canes, and that he ought to be grateful that he was only getting his hiding with this little implement. But he also knew that this little cane was excrutiating when applied skillfully and vigorously across his poor, exposed bottom.
Gregg's uncle disappeared behind the bent over boy, and soon the little chap felt the cane tapping gently on his upraised bottom. His uncle was gauging the distance and aim for the first of the many lashes that the youngster was to receive. With no more preamble, the cane snapped across his bottom, right in the middle. Gregg yelped with the almost immediate pain across his bare little backside. Aftr another long pause, the cane bit across his exposed rear end again, and the little boy squealed with the pain. His uncle was unmoved. He simply placed a big hand on the child's back, to hold him steady, and cracked the cane for the third time across his naked target. For the fourth time, the cane lit a fiery path across Gregg's tail, and the boy howled. His uncle administered the fifth lash really low, on the curve of his naked nephew's bottom. The boy was squirming now, struggling to keep his feet in the wide apart position. Hs uncle rested the cane against the leg of the chair, and resumed rubbing the child's bare bottom. Heat was flowing off the little guys bum, and five individual welts were beginning to rise rom the battered flesh.
"Just a few more," he announced, a touch of sympathy in his voice.
The naked nine year old continued sobbing, so his uncle waited patiently for him to clam down, spread his legs and lie still.
"Ready, Gregg?"
The child nodded his head, and braced himself as best he could for the continuation of his punishment. The cane was lined up carefully, low on his little bottom once again, then raised and smacked down, no softer than any of the previous five lashes. Gregg screamed with agony once more, but the only response was the stick whipping down again across his very sore bare bottom. The boy was wiggling, desperate to try and move his bottom out of the way of his uncle's slashing cane. But he knew better than to try to close his wide apart legs. His uncle had no trouble pressing the slender nine year old firmly into the chir, keeping him immobilised with one hand while he thrashed him with the cane held in the other. The last three strokes of the cane felt to Gregg as if he were being cut in half.
The man stepped away from the naked form og his nephew, releasing him and expecting him to leap up, rubbing his stinging little bottom - he had indeed suffered a sound hiding. But Gregg remained in place over the back of the chair, bottom up showing the disitinctive stripes across his little backside. The little boy battled to bring his crying under control, and come to terms with the burning pain, flaring every time his pounding heart pulsed blood through his body.
"You may get up now, Gregg,"
Gingerly, the nine year old struggled out of his compromising hiding position and carefully touched his bottom, scared that he would further damage the bruised flesh. Slowly he began to rub, then as he gained confidence he rubbed harder, hopping from foot to foot.
"Thank you for a good hiding, sir," he sobbed, and was rewarded with a tender hug from his uncle.
Gregg hobbled off to his bedroom, to regain his composure and wonder if he would be able to put on his underpants and school shorts by Monday, let alone sit on his hard wooden school chair. Well, at least the headmaster would understand if he wiggled around a little bit!