My step-son Damon was a good boy. He was a good looking, fairly tall, dark haired eleven year old boy, with all the interests of most eleven year old boys - especially an interest in doing as little school work as possible. When his mother and I married, we agreed that Damon would be disciplined by me - the understanding being that corporal punishment would begin to feature in the boy's life. We agreed that punishments would be carried out when Damon's mother was out the house - a hiding is a private thing between a man and a boy.
Surprisingly, Damon was almost bouyant about the discipline regime that he would now be under. He got his bottom tanned at school occasionaly, and told us that he would much rather take a hiding from me (whom he liked), than be subject to long lectures and even longer groundings.
Damon's first chance to test the strength of my arm came only two months into our new arrangements. His mother had gone away on business, leaving Damon and I alone for a few days. It was me then who opened his school report, and I was horrified by the evidence of laziness and obvious lack of effort that the boy put into his work.
I took the report and walked into the sitting room, where the boy was sitting watching his favourite TV program. He'd just had his bath, and looked all freshed and scrubbed sitting in his pyjamers, giving me a big, sparkling grin when I walked in. It would be hard for me to thrash this charming child, but it had to be done.
I turned off the TV.
"Damon, this is your report, and it's appaling. What have you got to say for yourself?"
Damon's brow furrowed. He sensed that he was in serious trouble. Wisely, he got up, and stood before me, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed.
"I'm sorry. I didn't really learn. I'll do better next time,"
"Yes you will do better," I agreed, "and I'm going to give you some motivation this evening,"
I could see that the little boy was chewing his bottom lip, and he run one bare toe up the back of his other leg. Nervous.
"Are you going to give me a hiding?"
"Yes, I am," I confirmed, "how do you feel about that?"
"Well, I suppose I deserve it," he continued, looking up at me, "will you whip me hard?"
"Yes, my boy, very hard indeed."
Damon sniffed, but I continued,
"Go upstairs. You will fetch something, and leave something behind. Do you know what those things are?"
"No, dad,"
"Right, well, you'll go to my cupboard, open it and look in the back. There you will find three canes. You may choose today which one you want to be thrashed with - that's what you'll fetch."
"And what must I leave behind?"
"You pyjamers - you won't be needing them."
"I'm getting my hiding naked?"
"Yes, you are, my boy. Now get on with it."
Damon unhappily padded out of the room, and I heard him heavily ascending the stairs. I sat down and tuned the TV to a news program, and settled to wait for my step son. Eventually, the boy returned. Naked, he looked even more vulnerable, one hand covering himself, the other carrying a three foot, perfectly weighted rattan cane. I held out my hand for the cane, and reluctantly, Damon handed it to me. I made him turn and stand with his nose against the wall next to the TV so that I could finish watching the bulletin. After the bulletin, I turned my attention to the naked boy. Damon was well built for his age. He had strong rounded shoulders, a tapered back, spreading out into a very shapely, although rather chubby, white bottom. All this held up by two strong, muscled legs.
Eventually, I called him over to me.
"This is your first, but I'm sure it won't be your last, hiding from me, Damon. I want you to learn and remember that procedure for all you thrashings. Starting with you having no clothes on for punishment. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir," a very contrite little boy amswered.
"Good," I tapped the seat of the chair upon which I had been sitting with the tip of the cane, "bend over and put you nose on the chair, my boy,"
Damon obeyed immediately, and I fussed over him, making him fold his arms and place them above his head, then straighten his knees and widen his feet. Soon, I had before me a naked eleven year old boy, bottom well up, legs apart, reading to be thrashed. A humiliating and submissive position for a boy to be in - perfect for punishment.
I whipped the cane through the air, and snapped it onto another chair a few times for effect. Then I gently placed a hand on Damon's naked bottom, and rubbed while lecturing the boy on the importance of school work. Even bent right over, his little bottom was soft and chubby. When I changed the subject of my lecture to the punishment, I substituted my hand for the cane itself, rubbing it over his cheeks, flicking it gently for effect to emphasise points and generally watching as the goose bumps appeared due to the coolness and potential for pain of the beating implement.
"Because it is your first time," I began, "you will only get six. I know that sounds a lot, but this is not school, and I can give you far, far more than the headmaster does. You will tell me before each stroke when you are ready for it - so you dictate the speed of your hiding. If you really need to rub your bottom, ask, and I'll let you, but it'll cost you one extra stroke. If you just jump up without asking, I give you three extra. Understand?"
"Yes sir," came the muffled reply from the cushion.
"Here comes the first then. Remember, you tell me when to give you the next one,"
With that, I stepped back, swung the cane around, then swivelled on my heel, using the power of my shoulder, elbow and wrist combined I whipped the end of the cane mercilessly right across the middle of my step son's bare little bottom. The boy squealed, and his whole body jerked, but he kept his head down and his hands still. My admiration of the naked little boy grew immediately. That was a hard lash, and he'd taken it well. He would take his hiding properly.
I waited while Damon composed himself, body bent, deep red stripe right across his white little bottom.
"I'm ready sir,"
I whipped the boy again, this time slightly lower, and Damon's reaction was the same. Now there were two vivid red weals across his backside. They'd be blue and purple bruises tomorrow.
There was a longer wait, then a plaintive,
"Ready, sir!"
I caned Damon again, lower still - focusing my attention on the lower, more sensitive part of his bottom, and of course where he would feel his hiding every time he sat down for days.
The boy announced that he was ready sooner than I had anticipated, and I lashed him hard again, this time accelerating the cane upwards and deep into the under curve of his bare bottom. Damon screamed, and shuffled.
"Please may I rub my bottom?"
"Yes, my boy, but remember it's an extra stroke,"
"I know," Damon replied, already rising and grasping his burning cheeks. I let him rub them for a while, then,
"Alright, Damon, bend over and let's get it over with,"
I was once again faced with the eleven year old's bare bottom, this time with four deep red welts across it. But I was not moved. This was a relatively mild hiding from me, as Damon would find out next time. I caned him low again, using the same technique that I had earlier. There was a long pause this time. But the boy kept his bare tail up, and legs spread. He requested the next lash, and he got it, now right in the crease of his legs and bottom.
There must have been nearly a minute before the sobbing boy could pluck up the courage to ask for his final lash. I gave it to him hard again, exactly where I had whipped the last stroke, then ordered the crying boy up.
I allowed Damon to rub his sore bottom for a while - he had forgotten about his modesty about being naked, he leapt around the room trying to get the sting out of his blazing tail. Then, after a hug, he returned the cane to my cupboard, got dressed again and came back down to watch TV with me. Like most children his age, Damon had accepted his punishment, found it fair, taken it and now accepted that it was over and he was forgiven. Simple. The only sign that he'd had the most painful hiding of his entire eleven years to date were his slightly red eyes, and of course his carefull action of sitting down next to me on the coach.