Over the years different folks had lived in the house next door but none made an impression on young Stevie quite like Mr Samson did. He was a tall muscular man in his late twenties. The truck he used for his successful plumbing business was usually parked in the street outside the plain cedar wood house. Mr Samson lived alone but had a lady friend in another town. He always treated Stevie like a grownup instead of just a schoolboy.
The boy was 15 years old. His parents were busy professional people who worked from home. Stevie's choice of music was a constant source of friction until Mr Samson came up with a solution. He gave his young neighbour a key to his place. Stevie was welcome to use the plumber's state-of-the-art CD player and generally make himself at home. Mr Samson told Stevie to help himself to soft drinks from the fridge.
"Don't touch the beer", the plumber warned: "You are too young. OK?" Stevie nodded his agreement.
So, most days after school Stevie went next door and turned his music up LOUD. The house was secluded so the noise did not bother anyone else. Stevie's parents were relieved their good neighour had come up with a practical solution. Stevie was an only child and his parents spoiled him a little. He'd never had so much as a finger laid on him.
Mr Samson's house was neat as a pin. For a single man he kept the place spotless. He told Stevie that it took just as much effort to live in clean and tidy surroundings as it did to be a slob. Stevie liked his neighbour a lot. However, after a few weeks he began taking advantage of Mr Samson's generosity. Instead of limiting himself to a soft drink Stevie took a Steinlager and drank it. He felt real grown up. Stevie reckoned the fridge was full to overflowing with beer cans and one would not be missed. The first pangs of conscience soon disappeared and every afternoon he helped himself to a can of his neighbour's beer.
One night, after Stevie's family had finished their evening meal, there was a knock on the door. It was Mr Samson. He asked if he might borrow Stevie to help him put up some new curtains? His parents were only too pleased to be able to help their good neighbour so Stevie walked next door with him. When they were inside the house the boy could not see any sign of the 'new curtains'. However, lined up on the kitchen table were 6 empty beer cans which Mr Samson had retrieved from his trash container.
Stevie tried to talk his way out of trouble but only succeeded in admitting he had drunk the beer. He was very sorry and offered to pay his neighbour out of his pocket money. Mr Samson looked grim. He said it was too serious for that. He had no option but to tell Stevie's parents the bad news that their precious son was a good for nothing little thief. Stevie blushed deep red knowing that what his neighbour spoke was the truth.
"When I was growing up", Mr Samson told his guilty young neighbour: "My father kept me in order with his belt. When I misbehaved, he whacked my bare bum, hard. I couldn't sit comfortably for days afterwards but it taught me a lesson".
There was a long silence until Stevie said: "I guess the reason I'm a thief is because nobody bothered to discipline me like that". Mr Samson nodded and then unlooped his thick, leather belt. Stevie swallowed nervously. Mr Samson told him that if he took a hiding then the slate would be wiped clean. His parents need never know about the theft of the beer. Reluctantly, Stevie agreed.
Mr Samson took his young neighbour through to a bedroom. He told the schoolboy to strip naked. Stevie started to protest but then did as he was told. He removed his top first and his shorts and jockeys last. Mr Samson caught a glimpse of the terrified boy's small genitals before they were covered by a shaking hand. The man put a sleeping roll in the centre of a single bed and told the boy to position himself over that. When he was in place his older neighbour paused to admire the boy's virgin bare buttocks. There were tiny golden hairs sticking up from the firm, pink flesh. Meanwhile, Stevie felt sick, fearful about what was to happen to him.
The belt was raised high in the air and cracked down across those defenceless mounds. Stevie yelled as a sudden broad river of pain snaked around his backside. Again and again the leather smacked those twin-orbs. The pain was frightful and Stevie bawled after each hard lick. His golden hairs were flattened under the relentless leathering. There was a brief reprieve while the man changed sides but, all too soon for Stevie the belt was again connecting with its small target. The boy tried to wriggle out of the path of the punishing leather but the end of the belt slammed inside his opening bum-crease, torturing the very tender inner flesh. "OW!!!" yelled Stevie, tears running down his face. His bum felt tight and swollen. Nothing else had ever hurt so bad.
Time was measured by the rise and fall of Mr Samson's belt and Stevie's blazing backside was the centre of his universe. The older neighbour lived up to his biblical namesake with each powerful lick increasing the hurt 100%. Saliva dribbled from the boy's mouth. The only sounds were the plumber's ragged breathing from the exertion, the whack! of leather hitting flesh and Stevie's heartfelt yells.
Mr Samson put all his strength into punishing the thief. He made those twin orbs change colour from pink to red and then purple. He paused for a moment and touched the fiery flesh. Stevie whimpered. How he wished he'd never taken the cans of beer! Stevie knew boys in his class who talked about getting a hiding from their dads and he felt respect for them. If only he'd known how much it would hurt!
Mr Samson examined the sobbing boy. He noticed where the poor whipped cheeks had separated, exposing the hairless crease and tiny puckered boy-hole. The plumber hardened his heart and resumed the severe hiding.
Stevie yelled as the belt continued to lash his poor bum. The pain was savage. He wished he might faint but was never more alive. Then he felt his shrivelled-up penis stir. Amazingly, the terrible hurt turned to something akin to pleasure. Each fresh lick radiated a wonderful sensation from his red-hot bottom to the tip of his now erect penis. It was like a continuous orgasm until his penis exploded. Stevie shuddered with the forceful pleasure of the ejaculation. It was the best, ever!
Mr Samson continued thrashing the young boy's behind until drops of bright red blood stained the bruised flesh. Stevie had paid enough for the stolen cans of beer so he put down the belt. His young neighbour lay still, his backside in flames. Mr Samson went to the kitchen and returned wih two cans of soft drink. He gently rubbed the ice cold cans over Stevie's burning mounds. The schoolboy sighed his appreciation. Then he slowly got off the bed. The man noticed the damp patch on the bedroll and thought the poor kid must have been scared to wet himself like that. He watched as Stevie gingerly pulled his pants back up over his bruised and swollen behind. The boy accepted the offered soft drink and his neighbour drank from the other can. The debt had been paid in full.
If Stevie's parents had been a little less preoccupied with business they might have noticed a change in their son. For a couple of days he could not help groaning every time he sat down. That was just a temporary side-effect of his correction. Far more important was the change in Stevie's attitude. The spoilt brat was now a self-assured, kind-hearted young man. There was a change in the plumber as well. When he made love with his girlfriend there was a new passion, an urgency about him which she enjoyed - little knowing that all the while her partner was thinking about the time he had to leather a young boy's cute bare bottom .....