Background: This is based on the story of Lassie, a Collie dog that has, to quote the title of a popular new age book, Many Lives, Many Masters. The story of a boy and his dog is hardly original, but Lassie is probably the best known of the genre. This particular story deals with the 1950's TV incarnation of the story when Timmy (played by Jon Provost) is Lassie's master. Timmy was an orphan being raised by his aunt and uncle and was about seven where I've placed this story. One curious note; while animal trainers usually used females for films and TV, all the Lassies were males. It must be something particular to that breed.

"C'mon, Lassie!" Timmy Martin said to his dog as he set out proudly from his home that Sunday. As Lassie bounded up to him, he held out his hand so that she would not jump up on him. Aunt Ruth had bought him a new suit to wear in Sunday school and she would not be happy to find muddy dog prints on it when he came back.

He need not have worried; Lassie was too well trained a dog to do anything so foolish. She just came up to his side and paced along with him as he made his way to the small church.

"Hey, Timmy!" he heard a familiar voice call as he reached his destination. He picked up his pace as he recognized his best friend, Ralph "Boomer" Bates.

"Hi, Boomer," he said as they got within talking distance, "Look at my new suit!"

"That's nice," Boomer said as he glanced at it. He didn't seem very impressed, but he was a young boy so that can be forgiven. Truth be told, once the two boys went inside and a few people made nice comments, Timmy forgot about it as well. It was only clothes, after all, and that was very low on the list of things Timmy found important. When Sunday school was over, he and Boomer rushed outside with the rest of the children. They chatted with the others for a bit, but then started to wander off in the general direction of their homes.

"Hey, Timmy, you wanna play catch?" Boomer asked, producing a softball from his pocket.

"Sure!" Timmy chirped as he jogged ahead of Boomer and held his hands up. Boomer threw and he deftly caught it, pausing only a moment before he threw it back. Back and forth they went with the ball while wandering down the path. Lassie barked at them, a little frustrated that she could not get into the game, (Boomer did not want teeth marks on his ball), but enjoying running between the two boys every time they threw it. So caught up were they in their game that the two boys were not really paying attention to where they were going. Timmy was in front and as he dashed forward to catch a throw that Boomer had misjudged, he encountered a wet spot in the path. The foot that landed on the damp soil slid underneath him, causing him to accelerate even faster while he tried in vain to stabilize himself with his other leg. His momentum was too much and he landed on his side in the mud. Amazingly, he'd managed to both catch and hold on to the ball. "Timmy, Timmy, are you all right?" Boomer called out anxiously as he raced to his friend's side. Lassie was already there, barking out her concern. "I'm fine," Timmy said as he sat up. "I didn't get hurt." In fact, both his head and elbow hurt quite badly from his spill, but he didn't want Boomer to think he was a sissy, so he held back the tears that threatened. It was only when he looked at himself, that a new concern surfaced in his mind. "Oh, no, my new suit!" he said in dismay. "It's ruined!" "No, it's not," Boomer reassured him. "It's just dirty. Your aunt can wash it. It's only mud, it'll come off." "Oh, she's going to be so mad!" Timmy checked the elbow of his jacket to make sure that it was not torn. That really would have been the icing on the cake, but it was undamaged. Still, it was a mess; there was no getting away from that fact. Boomer didn't have much to say. He felt kind of responsible because it had been his idea to start the game of catch, but there was no going back now. Neither of them had meant for this to happen, but it had. "I gotta run home, Boomer," Timmy said. "Aunt Ruth is out 'till later this afternoon taking care of Jenny the operator because she's got the flu. Maybe my uncle can help me wash it so she won't be quite so mad." "Yea, that's a good idea," Boomer said, happy that there was a possible solution to his friend's dilemma. "I'll see you later then?" "Yea, okay," Timmy said as he stood up and wiped off the loose mud. He walked off toward his house feeling rather sorry for himself. Lassie was looking at him with an inquisitive look. "It'll be all right, girl," he said. "Uncle Paul will take care of everything." Lassie was not at all certain that her human companion's optimism was well founded, but she trotted along beside him, ready to offer whatever comfort she could. When Timmy got home, he was careful to wipe his feet on the mat before going inside. Tracking in mud at this stage of the game would be unwise in the extreme. "Timmy?" Uncle Paul said as his nephew walked sheepishly into living room. "What happened?" "I slipped and fell in the mud," Timmy admitted, a little alarmed by the tone in Uncle Paul's voice. "Well, I can see that, lad, but how? And in your new suit! How could you be so careless, do you know how much your Aunt and I paid for that?" Timmy realized he'd made a mistake in thinking that his uncle would be blasé about this. It was clear to him that Uncle Paul was more than a little cross. How could he get out of this? Inspiration quickly struck him and he acted on it before he thought about it very much. "When I came out of Sunday school, Lassie was so excited to see me, she ran right up to me. I wasn't looking and she put her paws on me and I fell over. It was an accident." "Well, gosh darn it, Timmy, you need to watch out," Uncle Paul groused, sounding slightly mollified. "You can't expect a dog to care what you're wearing, even one as smart as Lassie. All the same, your aunt is going to be upset with both you and her when she gets back. Timmy turned and looked over at his dog. He knew that he'd told a lie, but he'd considered it a harmless one. He'd not realized that he'd implicated Lassie for something that she didn't do. It would be nice to think that he would have corrected his mistake, but as it was, he never got the chance. "Woof!" It was not just a bark, but a protest. "Don't bark at me, girl," Uncle Paul scolded the dog, "You shouldn't have knocked Timmy down and gotten him dirty." "Woof! Woof!" Timmy knew his dog well enough to realize what she was trying to convey, but his voice had disappeared. Would Uncle Paul catch on? Lassie shot her master a dirty look and then rushed out of the room. "What on earth is that dog up to?" Uncle Paul wondered. He didn't have long to wait. Lassie returned with a ball in her mouth and went and dropped it at Timmy's feet. "No, girl. Timmy's not playing catch right now," Uncle Paul said. "We have to get him out of his suit and clean it up before his aunt gets home. "Woof! Woof!" Lassie's barking was more urgent now and for the first time Mr. Martin noticed how nervous his nephew was. "What are you trying to tell me, girl?" he asked. Lassie very pointedly looked at the ball, then at Timmy and then barked again. "You didn't knock Timmy down, did you girl?" "Woof! Woof!" came the answer. Even Uncle Paul could translate that as a 'no'. "So what did happen, something with a ball?" "Woof!" An obvious yes. At this point, it was clear to Timmy that he'd been found out. He knew that he should speak up and confess while he could still save a little bit of face, but he just couldn't get his mouth to work. His stomach was filled with butterflies. "Let me guess. He was playing with a ball and that's why he fell in the mud, yes?" "Woof!" "Timothy?" Uncle Paul asked, looking at his nephew with a very stern expression. There was no withstanding that gaze and Timmy broke into tears. "I'm sorry Uncle Paul," he blubbered. "Boomer and me were playing catch and I slipped. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry." "Timothy, you shouldn't have been playing ball in your new clothes. You know better than that. For that bit of carelessness alone, I'd have to punish you, but then you went and lied about it. And in lying, you blamed it on someone else. Lassie is supposed to be your friend, how could you blame it on her and get her into trouble for something that was entirely your fault?" "I'm sorry Uncle Paul, I just didn't want you and Aunt Ruth to be mad at me." "Well, you did the wrong thing. If you'd told the truth, I'd have been a bit upset and your aunt more so, but I'd have understood at least. That's just the sort of thing boys do. I'd have had to punish you, but this lie is just so much worse. Now I don't have any choice but to spank you. "No, Uncle Paul, don't spank me!" Timmy pleaded. "I'm so sorry!" "What do you think, Lassie," Uncle Paul asked the dog. "Does Timmy deserve a spanking?" In fact, Mr. Martin had already made up his mind to spank his nephew, but he wanted to see what the dog would say. Not surprisingly, she barked out an enthusiastic affirmation. Timmy felt a little betrayed by his friend for sealing his fate, but he realized within himself that he could hardly expect any less. He had tried to blame Lassie for something that he alone was responsible for. "Take off your jacket and tie, Timothy," Uncle Paul ordered. With silent tears creeping down his pale cheeks, Timmy obeyed. He hung the soiled jacket carefully over a chair and then detached his bow tie and put it in the jacket's pocket. Upon completing his assigned tasks, he turned to Uncle Paul for further instructions. "You may as well take of your shirt, too, Timmy," he said. That's going to have to be washed as well." With fumbling fingers, Timmy went to work on the buttons on the front of his shirt. It seemed to take forever; just when he thought he'd undone the last one, he'd find one more and had to try and get his trembling hands to do what they were told. When at last the front was open and his bare chest was exposed, Uncle Paul turned him around and took hold of his shirt by the collar. He lifted up his arms as the man pulled his shirt off, untucking it from his pants. "And your shoes," Uncle Paul said. Timmy had a tendency to kick when spanked and Mr. Martin did not want to be accidentally hit with one of those hard dress shoes. Sniffing as silent tears streamed down his face, Timmy kicked his shoes off. His socks were still on, but Uncle Paul didn't seem to care about those. Standing before his uncle's chair, he awaited the final order. It was not long in coming. "Bend over my lap, Timothy," Uncle Paul said with a firm voice. Timmy gulped in dread as he climbed over the man's lap. As soon as he was lying prone across his knees, Uncle Paul took control of the situation, using his strong arms to position Timmy so his bottom was sticking up in the most vulnerable spot. Timmy gazed upside-down between his spread legs and saw Lassie watching the proceedings with interest. "Now Timothy," Uncle Paul was saying, "this is about three things. First of all, you should not have been so careless in your new clothes. But then you tried to get out of it by lying. And even worse was the type of lie you told. I'm very disappointed in you, lad. Friends should not tell lies about their friends. That's being very disloyal. Even Lassie understands that. While I'm spanking you, I want you to think about how mean it was for you to betray her like that." In defense of Timmy, it's fair to say that at this point he did feel very guilty and sorry, and not just because he was about to be spanked. He understood what Uncle Paul was telling him and it made him feel very small. All the same, despite the penance that the impending spanking offered, he was dreading in so much his whole body was quivering. WHUMP! went Uncle Paul's hand on the seat of his pants and he jerked in pain and surprise. The stinging blow had come without warning and his bottom had been unclenched. WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP!! Uncle Paul wasted no time tearing into his backside with vigor and Timmy's body started to buck reflexively with each blow. His head was bobbing up and down when he noticed that Lassie was moving toward him. Had the dog changed her mind and was going to get Uncle Paul to stop? "Woof!" With Lassie's sharp bark, Uncle Paul's hand stopped descending. Timmy took advantage of the man's distraction to reach around and rub his already sore rear. This had been a mild spanking by Uncle Paul's standards, but Timmy still felt very sorry for himself. "He really hasn't had enough yet, girl," Uncle Paul was saying. Timmy disagreed, but decided his opinion wasn't likely to count for very much. He'd just have to rely on Lassie to plead his case. What he was not expecting was for his dog to gently grip the upper part of his pants leg in her teeth and tug at them, but that's exactly what she did. Was she trying to tell Uncle Paul to let him up? "Oh. You think Timmy's pants should come down!" Uncle Paul said, correctly deducing Lassie's suggestion. "That's probably a good idea." 'No!' Timmy's mind screamed, 'It's a really bad idea!' But he knew better than to verbalize this and could do no more than cry harder as Uncle Paul lifted his middle up, undid his belt and pulled down his little zipper. Lassie was still tugging at his pants, so at that point they started to slide off. As the dog backpedaled, they fell down his thighs, past his knees and soon were gone completely. Lassie took them over to the other chair and dropped them on the seat. Then she returned to watch the further chastisement of her naughty little master, now clad only in short socks and tight white briefs that did nothing to hide the definition of his plump little bottom. Timmy heard a WHAP! as Uncle Paul brought his hand down on the thin cotton and he cried out in dismay. This was twice as bad as before and the spanks were coming just as hard and fast, WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!! Timmy's cries filled the room as the heat in his backside increased. Oh, how he wished Boomer had left his ball at home! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! This time, Timmy's eyes were too full of tears to notice that Lassie was in motion, so when he heard her bark from so close behind him, it startled him. Surely this was the end of it, he thought as he lay prone and crying over his uncle's lap. But even before Uncle Paul had a chance to ask Lassie what she wanted, he felt a blast of hot dog breath up the small of his back and a cold nose pressing just above his waist. Even in his spanked state, he could tell what was happening; Lassie was gripping the waistband of his underpants in her teeth and tugging down. "Go ahead then, girl," Uncle Paul said. "If you think Timmy should be spanked bare-bottomed, then that's the way he'll get the rest of it." "No, please," Timmy sobbed, but neither man nor dog were listening to him. Lassie gave a sharp tug and his briefs slid down over his burning bum, exposing the hot pink cheeks. The boy hoped that would be the end of it, and pressed his middle down against Uncle Paul's knees trying to keep his front covered at least. Lassie, however, was having none of it. Making the slight growling noise that she did when they played tug-of-war, she yanked at his underpants again and they started sliding down in front, exposing the "v" of hairless flesh above his limp boyhood. One more tug and they were free. In a matter of seconds, Timmy was naked except for his socks, which hardly counted for much in this instance. It wasn't a question of modesty, but Timmy felt much more vulnerable with his little dick and balls out and resting against the rough denim of Uncle Paul's pants. WHACK!! WHACK!! WHACK!! WHACK!!! Uncle Paul's callused hand on his bare skin was the final straw. He kicked his legs and clenched and unclenched his butt cheeks, trying in vain to derive some protection from the stinging slaps. His hot bottom was turning bright red now, and Uncle Paul was not letting up. "Oooooh!" he howled, "Please stop, I'm sorry!" His only answer was more spanks, right on the most tender part of his bottom, WHACK!! WHACK!! WHACK!!! He'd not seen Lassie dash out of the room, and neither had Uncle Paul. But he saw her come back in and could tell when his uncle did to, because the awful spanks paused. He blinked his eyes trying to clear them. What did Lassie have in her mouth? "The hairbrush, girl? You think Timmy deserves to have his bottom hairbrushed as well?" The dog padded over and held the wooden brush for Mr. Martin to take in reply. "No, no!" Timmy screeched in a hoarse voice, "Not the brush! Please, Uncle Paul, Lassie, I'm sorry!" "It was Lassie you told the lie about, Timmy," Uncle Paul reminded his howling nephew. "If she thinks you should have to be spanked with the hairbrush to pay for it, then so you shall. And I agree with her." SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! Timmy's screech split the air as the hard wood descended on his fleshy bottom. All the spanking from Uncle Paul's hand had brought it to a point of sizzling heat. Not one square inch of naked skin had been left unspanked and now the brush was inflicting a new level of burning pain. At last Timmy was beyond resistance. He just lay there and took his well-deserved spanks, howling with each fresh blow, but no longer kicking his legs or bucking on his uncle's lap. Realizing that the boy had finally gotten the message, Uncle Paul gave him a half-dozen more hard spanks to drive the lesson home, SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!!!! Uncle Paul let the boy lay over his lap for a while as he cried his eyes out. When the hitches in his breath stopped and the crying subsided to a level that allowed him to talk without shouting, he gently stood his nephew up. "All right, Timmy, that's enough, now. I think you've learned your lesson. I'll go wash your clothes so your aunt won't hit the ceiling when she comes home. Now I think you should go and stand in the corner for a while and think about everything. Keep your hands at your sides and I'll let you know when you can move." Timmy shuffled off to the corner, his bottom hurting with every step he took. He pressed his nose against the wallpaper-covered wood and let his hands hang limply by his sides. Although he longed to try and rub the sting out of his bottom, he dared not, despite the fact that Uncle Paul had left the room with his clothes. If the man came back and found him disobeying, he'd likely have another taste of that dreaded hairbrush again. Lassie came up behind him and whined softly. "I'm sorry I told a lie about you, girl," Timmy said in a sniffling whisper. "I won't ever do it again, I promise." Lassie's response was to lick Timmy's red backside. The boy knew that his dog was telling him that she forgave him and was trying to make him feel better, but Lassie's wet, raspy tongue was not exactly comfortable on his tender flesh. "Thanks, girl, but you better not do that," he said diplomatically. "Uncle Paul doesn't want me to rub it. I guess he thinks I'll lean better if my bottom hurts for a while." Lassie backed off and lay on the floor just behind her master. Timmy did use the time to think about what he'd done. He was aware that his uncle was moving around outside and in other rooms of the house, but he was unaware of how much time had passed when the front door opened. "Hey, Timmy," he heard a familiar voice call out, "What did your uncle...." There was a long and uncomfortable pause as Boomer walked into the room and saw the position his friend was in. "Hi, Boomer," Timmy said weakly. He was blushing so much, the colour of the cheeks on his face matched those on his bottom. "Um, I was going to ask what your uncle said about you getting dirty, but I guess I can see for myself," Boomer said awkwardly. "Didn't think he'd be as mad as all that." "I kinda made it worse by lying, Boomer," Timmy admitted. "That's really why I got spanked." He had no intention of telling his friend the nature of the lie. He was just too ashamed of himself over that. "Boy, is he still mad?" Boomer asked nervously. If Timmy's bottom was any indication of the mood Mr. Martin was in, he figured he'd better make himself scare. "No, I'm not still mad," Uncle Paul said as he came into the room. "Timmy was punished for what he did and it's over." "I've hung your clothes on the line, Timmy," he continued. "Why don't you go and get dressed, now. You and Boomer can run along and play for a while. Just be back in plenty of time for supper." "Yes, sir," Timmy agreed, glad that he would not be home when his uncle told Aunt Ruth what he'd done and how he'd been punished for it. He moved out of the corner and went to his room with Boomer in tow. "You're bottom's sure red, Timmy," the other boy observed as Timmy bent over his drawers to get out some fresh clothes. "Is all that from your uncle's hand?" "Um, no. I got it with a hairbrush at the end." "With no clothes on? Wow, bet that hurt." "Yea, it did," Timmy agreed, wishing that Boomer would drop the subject. He found a suitable set of clothes and pulled them out. "Ah, Timmy?" Boomer asked as he stood back up. "Yea?" "Can I touch it?" "Touch what?" Timmy asked as he paused in his movements. He had a good guess just what Boomer wanted to touch. "You know, your butt. I want to see what it feels like." "All right," Timmy reluctantly agreed as he turned around so his back was toward his friend. "But be careful. It's real sore." Boomer came up behind him and he felt the other boy's hand gently caress first the right cheek and then the left one. "It's so hot," Boomer observed. "What'd you expect?" Timmy said in a grouchy tone, "It was even hotter before." "I'll bet!" the other boy said as he took his hands off his friend's bottom, "Thanks, Timmy." Timmy put his clothes on, although the fresh underwear was uncomfortable on his bare skin and they went outside. Lassie followed them as they headed down towards the creek. They made small talk on the way, and Timmy found Boomer to be unusually subdued. "What are you so sulky about?" Timmy finally asked him as they skipped stones across the creek. "I was the one who got spanked." "Yea, but I was the one that started the game of catch," Boomer said as his latest missile bounced fourteen times across the water before landing on the other side. "What does that have to do with anything?" Timmy asked as he tried to match the other boy's feat. "I shouldn't have taken out the ball when we were still in our good clothes. It's my fault you got into trouble." "Boomer, mostly I got into trouble because I lied about what happened. That wasn't your fault," Timmy pointed out. "I should have come home with you," Boomer said, skipping another stone, "I thought about it, but I was afraid that your uncle would be mad at me for starting it and I chickened out. If I'd come with you to tell him how it happened, you wouldn't have lied and gotten into so much trouble." "I don't guess so, but so what? You didn't." "I just don't think it's fair that you got punished and I didn't," Boomer summed up with another toss. This one left his hand badly and plunged right into the water after one weak bounce. "I should have come with you and stuck up for you. That's what friends do." Timmy had no answer to this. Here was Boomer worrying about not taking his share of the blame when Timmy had tried to transfer his to an innocent party. It only made him feel more ashamed. He looked at Lassie, but the dog just stared back. "Hey, don't worry about it, Boomer," he said, putting his hand on the other boy's shoulder. "I got what I deserved and that's the end of it." "But I didn't get what I deserved," Boomer pressed, "I should have gotten some punishment and I didn't. I'm a lousy friend." "No, you're not, Boomer, you're the best friend I ever had." "I didn't act like it. I wish I'd gotten spanked, too. Then I wouldn't feel so bad." "You didn't want Uncle Paul to spank you, Boomer," Timmy advised him. "I'm not gonna be able to sit right for a week." "Yea, but that's mostly because you lied. I'd only have gotten it for playing catch in our good clothes. But no, I didn't want your uncle to spank me. Not my dad, either." "Well, I don't know why you're so upset, then. What do you want?" "I want you to spank me," Boomer said in a rush, turning his head towards Timmy. "What? Why me? I'm not mad at you." "But it's you that got into such a mess because of me. Please, Timmy, I don't want to tell my dad or your uncle about this, and I don't know....if I want to get spanked all that hard, but I do know that I want one." "Are you for real, Boomer?" Timmy asked, searching his friend's face. "Yea, I'm for real." Timmy detected no trace of anything but sincerity in Boomer's manner. "Okay, I'll do it, then." "Your uncle made you take your pants down, right?" Boomer asked as he undid his belt. "Well, not at first, but everything came down in the end." "Let's just save time, then," Boomer said, pushing down his pants and underpants in one go. This was hardly the first time that Timmy had seen his friend's naked _c_o_c_k_, but somehow this was different than before. It excited him in a way that he didn't understand. Trying to take his mind off of these strange new emotions, he found a tree to lean against and gingerly sat on the ground. As Lassie watched with bemused interest, Boomer laid himself over Timmy's lap, pulling up his shirt so that it was out of the way. His pants were around his ankles and his bare bottom was pointing right up at Timmy's face. He realized that this was the view his uncle had had of him a few hours ago. "How hard do you want me to do it?" he asked as he put his hand on Boomer's naked rear. "Um, hard enough to hurt. So when you're done, it's all red like yours." "Okay, Boomer, but once I start, I'm not gonna stop just because you ask me." "Yea, I know. Spank me now, Timmy, I wanna make everything square between us." As far as Timmy was concerned, things were already square between them, but he understood that this was about how Boomer felt, not him. If his friendship meant so much to the boy that he needed something like this to absolve himself of any guilt he felt over the situation, what else could he do but meet his friend's need? Feeling a bit silly, he slapped Boomer's naked bottom, SPANK! "You gotta' do it harder than that, Timmy," Boomer told him. "It's not like I've done this before," Timmy complained. His hand went SPANK! again. "How was that?" "Better. That stung some. Spank me as hard as you can, Timmy." Now that he was warmed up, Timmy did as he was asked. SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! went his hand on Boomer's bare bottom. At first, he could make out his handprints on his friend's rear, but soon they all merged together in two big red patches, one on each cheek. His hand was stinging and he knew Boomer's rear had to be sore, but he didn't let up, SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!! He expected Boomer to cry out and ask him to stop, but he just lay there taking it. Timmy could hear him grunt when he struck a tender area and there was a high-pitched cry just underneath his breath, but that was the extent of it. At last Timmy's hand could take no more and he gave one last hard SPANK!! and ended it. He was breathing hard and so was Boomer. They stay there not moving of a few minutes before Boomer started to shift. "Is everything okay?" Timmy asked, trying to be all-inclusive in his inquiry. "Yea, we're even-Steven," Boomer said as he stood up. He bent over to get his pants from around his ankles and Timmy could not help but notice that Boomer's hairless little dick was hard. While this sometimes happened to Timmy himself, it never did after a spanking. Those new emotions rushed back at him, stronger than before. He resolved to ask Boomer about it at a more appropriate time, because he was very curious how being spanked could make him go hard like that. "Wait," Timmy said before Boomer got his pants all the way up, "I want to touch it." "Didn't you touch it enough just now?" Boomer asked with a weak grin. He'd cried some, but his tears were drying and there were no fresh ones. "I want to use my other hand," Timmy clarified. "I just want to see how hot it is." Boomer stood there while Timmy fondled his rear. He was amazed that he was able to get Boomer so hot with just his hand. How much worse would it have been with a hairbrush? "Okay, just checkin'" he said and Boomer pulled his pants the rest of the way back up. They skipped a few more stones and then went on to a new spot. They played together for another couple of hours, but never brought up the subject of spanking again. When Timmy finally went home with Lassie at his side, he thought about what the day had taught him. Between Lassie, Uncle Paul and Boomer, he had a much better grasp on the concept of true friendship and felt like a wiser boy because of it. The End