Swimming unsupervised in the farm pond was strictly banned to us children. My uncle had made this clear to me when I had arrived a week previously to visit my big cousin Richard, who was nearly twelve, and my younger cousin, and best friend, Scott, who was my own age - nine. Uncle Jo also made it perfectly clear that disobeing this "out of bounds area" would mean a sound hiding. But boys will be boys, and, led by Richard, decided that the pond was far enough away from the house to avoid discovery. We stripped off our clothes, and slipped into the icy water for a quick skinny dip. Of course, we couldn't control our squeals and shrieks as we played in the freezing water. Little did we know that Uncle Jo was working in a nearby field and heard the commotion.

The first indication that we had been caught was the loud voice of the angry farmer as he shouted above the playful noises that three naked little boys made as we leapt about in the water, bare bodies almost blue from the delightful cold.

"What the hell do you lot think you are doing?"

Shocked to silence, we looked up, spotting Uncle Jo standing, hands on hips, on the bank next to our clothing.

"Get out of there at once!"

Guiltily, we swam to the edge of the pond, and climbed out into the warm sunlight. Folowing my cousins' lead, I didn't try to recover my pants - I just stood there with them, head down, hands covering privates. After standing there staring at us for what seemed to me to be forever, my uncle slowly started to unbuckle his heavy leather work belt. Without being told, Richard stepped up to his father and bent over, grabbing his ankles and spreading his legs to present his pale, chubby bottom to the angry man. I could see the goose bumps of the cold standing up all over the young boy's body. Even although I regarded him as my big and fearless cousin, Richard looked very small and vulnerable bending over before the big man.

Uncle Jo doubled the leather over in his fist, then, using all the strength in his mighty shoulder, lashed the blet across the eleven year old's naked backside. Richard yelped, but didn't move. I was horrified to see a red welt appear quickly across his white behind. Again Uncle Jo lashed my big cousin with the belt, getting the same reaction from his son. A third lash was administered, and Richard's bottom was looking very sore indeed.

"Get up and go to the study," my uncle ordered, and Richard leapt up, grasping and rubbing his stinging bare bottom. Still not recovering his clothes, and battling to hold back tears in front of his little brother and cousin, Richard trotted up towards the house.

Now Scott stepped up to his dad, and, also without being told, bent over and grabbed his ankles, preparing to receive a hiding on his bare bottom. Bending over, Scott, aged nine, barely made it to his dad's knees. The belt was whipped across his bare bottom too, not much softer than Richard's lashes. Three strokes were snapped across the little boy's naked bum, leaving it bright red. Scott couldn't hold back the tears - when he stood up, holding his burning bottom, his his face was red and wet. He followed Richard back up to the house. Now it was just my uncle and I.

"Well Jamie, you know my rules, and you must take the consequences too. Come here and bend over,"

Now I must tell you that although I was a bit scared, I wasn't terrified. I was not inexperienced at getting hidings. I had had my share. My dad had made lots of use of a little ping pong paddle on my bare bottom. But even so, my knees were shaking as I stepped up to my uncle and bent over as my cousins had done. Uncle Jo was much bigger than my dad, and I'd never been thrashed with a belt before. It looked very painful indeed.

I was right. The first lash took my breath away. The belt wrapped around both cheeks, just missing my thighs, lighting up a thick swathe of fire across my nine year old bottom. I leapt up, but one look in my uncle's eyes made me quickly bend over again in the required position. Again the belt lit up my poor bottom, and my uncle barely gave me time to come to terms with the pain before snapping his doubled over leather belt a third time across my exposed behind. I didn't need an invitation to stand up. I leapt up, grabbing my stinging, hot little tail with both hands. This was already rating high up in my "hiding of my life stakes" in my short nine years.

"Follow you cousins," Uncle Jo commanded, and I dashed after Scott, still hanging on to my throbbing nether regions.

I found Richard and Scott in my uncle's study, trying to regain their composure.

"That was a pretty sore hiding!" I exclaimed, ruefully rubbing my bottom.

Richard turned to face me. He wasn't smiling. In fact, he looked decidedly glum.

"Jamie," he began, his big blue eyes wide, blond hair pasted to his forehead - a mixture of sweat and dampness from the pond, "that was only the beginning. We've got a lot worse to come!"

I couldn't believe my ears, but Scott was nodding in agreement with his big brother,

"Yes Jamie, Dad was just warming us up. Real hidings always are in here. And we're in for a real hiding!"

I noticed that the boys had turned a large armchair around and placed it in the dentre of the room. I was no fool. I knew that that was for bending over. Richard was rummaging in a cupboard. With a sigh, he removed what he had found and placed it carefully on the seat of the chair. I was horrified. It was a cane! The real thing! I had seen the Headmaster carry one around, but had never had a hiding from one. It was long, thin and flexible. I looked really sore!

"Richard, are we really getting a caning?" I asked, hoping the answer would be no.

"Oh yes. All of us. Dad takes swimming in the pond without an adult very seriously. He says we can easily drown. He'll really thrash us now."

We waited quietly in the study for ages. My uncle must have been finishing some job on the farm before coming to deal with three naked, very worried little pre-teen boys.

When he did arrive, Our nakedness and vulnerability only served to emphasise his physical size and very obvious strength. He looked less angry, but very menacing as he picked up and flexed the cane in his huge hands, all the time lecturing us about safety and obedience. Then,

"Richard, you are the oldest and will therefore be punished double. You should have known better. I'm going to thrash you first, then again when Scott and Jamie have had their hidings."

Richard gulped, looked at the carpet and nodded. I had never seen my big cousin look so scared.

"Bend over,"

Richard walked over to the armchair and bent over the back of it. His feet only just stood flat on the carpet. He spread his legs wide, and waited for his hiding to begin. His white, chubby eleven year old bottom looked so soft and little as the cane was lined up on it. I'm sure the delicate, pale flesh was trembling a little, and I could see that Richard was trying to clench his buttocks, even although his legs were spread wide apart. Uncle Jo swung back, then, with a good flick of elbow and wrist, snapped the cane hard across Richard's bottom, two thirds of the way down. I had never seen a man smack a boy so hard. The cane made a terrible purring noise as it hummed through the air, then a crack as it bit across my cousin's bare bottom, leaving a deep scarlet welt where it landed. Richard gasped with the obvious pain, but didn't dare to move. His father took his time, then administered another tremendous blow, just below the first.

Richard sobbed, and jerked with the pain. But still he kept his head down and his legs still. A third vicious stroke was added to the two lines across my cousin's bare bottom, and now, to my amazement, I could hear the distinctive sound of my big and almost immortal cousin crying! If Richard was crying, it must be unbelievably sore! Again, the wicked snap of the cane resounded in the room, followed by the sob of a little boy as the heat across his naked backside built up. Richard's chubby bottom was no longer pure white. Four deep red lines, with bruising starting to form along the edges of each one, crossed it. Uncle Jo must have been caning just hard enough not to break the skin. But my big cousin sure was feeling it.

Uncle Jo ignored the eleven year old's sobs, and laid the fifth lash down, just above Richard's legs. The boy howled. Then he lashed his son again, diagonally across the other five stripes. This time my cousin really did cry out,

"Ow, daddy! I'm sorry!"

"Get up Richard," Uncle Jo wasn't even short of breath, "you'll get another six when I'm finished with these two,"

Richard pushed himself off the chair, and immediately grasped his poor injured bottom with both hands. He rubbed vigorously, tears streaming down his face. I had never seen my big cousin in such distress.

"Scott, bend over."

"Scott walked slowly over to his chair, glancing once pleadingly at his cane bearing father. The nine year old was already rubbing his little bottom in anticipation, after watching his brother's hiding. His bottom was just as rounded and chubby as Richard's only smaller. I realized that Richard and Scott weren't the only ones with their hands behind them. As soon as Richard's hiding had started, I had grasped my bum cheeks, one in each hand, partially in sympathy, but mostly in a futile, sub conscious effort to protect them from the thrashing that I knew I would be getting shortly.

Scott could barely touch the seat of the chair with his hands, while keeping his toes on the floor, but Uncle Jo waited patiently for the little guy to assume the required position. Like Richard, it was clear that Scott knew what to do, and had bent over like this for the cane before. The punishment stick was tapped gently on a much smaller target this time, and Scott shifted nervously as he waited for his dad to let fly with the first lash. His little cheeks looked so soft and vulnerable pushed up waiting to be thrashed. But all I could think of was that clearly it would be my nine year old bottom up there next.

I jumped as the cane snapped across Scott's bum. My uncle didn't cane his younger son as hard as he had caned Richard, but still hit him very hard indeed. He was putting a lot of strength into these hidings. Scott squealed softly, and his body jerked. The red stripe looked much bigger on his bottom, but it was of course a smaller bottom than Richard's so it looked a lot worse. Uncle Jo paused, then whipped Scott again, the tip of the cane making a nasty snapping sound as it bit across the little boy's bare bum. Scott cried out, and shifted around a bit, unconsciously trying to move his poor bottom out of harm's way. My uncle put one big hand onto Scott's punished behind, and squeezed and rubbed it until Scott was still again. He only needed one hand to completely cover the whole surface of the boy's tiny tail. But soon he tapped the cane on the nine year old's bottom again, and smashed it across the tender flesh.

Now Scott had had three lashes, and Uncle Jo whipped the cane across the snivelling boys bottom again. Scott howled with the pain. It must have hurt like crazy! But his dad ignored him, simply caning his bottom again, down low, for the fifth time. Then, as he had with Richard, Uncle Jo gave Scott his last lash right across his blazing rear end, crossing the other five burning welts.

"Get up, Scotty," my uncle ordered, and Scott leapt up off the chair, proceeding with the 'spank dance' around the room, crying and rubbingh his sore bottom.

Now it was my turn. My uncle said nothing, just looked at me, wicked cane in hand. On trembling and unsteady legs I crossed over to the armchair, hands still clutching my bare bottom protectively.

Reluctantly, I released my behind and bent over the chair, as my cousins had. It was a terrible feeling. My poor little nine year old bottom felt so vulnerable pushed up by the leather armchair, and I had to strain to reach the seat with my sweaty palms. My uncle pulled my legs well apart with his big, hard hands, and then I felt the gently tapping of the cane half way down my rear end.

"Have you ever been caned before, Jamie?" my uncle enquired softly.

"No, Uncle Jo," I whispered, voice shaking. I hoped fleetingly that this would mean a reprieve, but also wanting, in a way, to get as well thrashed as my cousins to show that I too could take a severe hiding.

"Hold him, Richard,"

The cane was still resting on my bare bottom, but Richard came and grasped my wrists, holding them down onto the seat of the chair.

"I'm really sorry about this, Jamie," he whispered to me, "just close your eyes and it will be over soon,"

I heard the whir of the cane as it buzzed through the air behind me, then I heard the crack as it made contact with my naked flesh. The pain folowed an instant after, and I couldn't hold back the squeal - the agony of my first ever stroke with a cane was indescribable. Unbelievably, the second lash, landing just below the first, was even worse! In all my nine years, I had never had such a sore bottom. But the cane just struck again, burning its line of fire across my naked tail. I would never have been able to take my punishment if Richard hadn't been holding me down.

My uncle stopped briefly to pull my legs apart again (I had slammed my ankles together after the third stroke), and give my burning little bum a quick rub with his big hand. But the hiding quickly carried on. Uncle Jo had ignored the top half of my buttocks, as he had with Richard and Scott, and each stroke cut progressively lower into the soft and really tender flesh of my delicate nine year old backside. Each merciless lash seemed more painful than the previous one. The fifth landed right in the crease between my legs and bottom, and I really scremed. I thought that this was the limit to the pain I could endure. So when the sixth lash was smashed diagonally across all the others, I thought I was going to die of a sore bottom!

But Richard let me go, and I leapt up, doing an even more energetic spank dance than Scott had done. They waited for me to settle down, and eventually I had the pain down to a more manageable level. I wouldn't be letting go of my poor backside though until I had most of the immediate pain rubbed out.

It was through teary eyes that I watched Richard step up to the chair and bend over for the second instalment of his punishment. His bare eleven year old bottom looked so sore with its distinct three stripes already burnt across it. Each stripe was scarlet, with purple bruising along the edges, but he bravely pushed his backside up to his father for another severe hiding.

Uncle Jo lined up the vicious yellow cane on his son's bare little bottom again, and began to administer another terrible six strokes. I was amazed that Richard could keep still as lash after vigorous lash was carefully placed between that stripes of his previous whipping. This was a thrashing the likes of which I never would have believed a boy could get. But, even although Richard screamed and cried with each stroke, he never once tried to move his prepubescent bare bottom out of the direct flight path of his father's cane.

At last the diagonal stroke was laid on, opposite to the previuos number six that Richard had suffered, and the boy was ordered to get up. His face was red and wet with his tears, and he rubbed his bottom even more enthusiatically than I had rubbed mine.

We were all sent back to the "scene of our crime" to fetch our clothes. But even although our bottoms felt like they were thousands of degrees above body temperature, we kept well clear of the water!