Canyon was not looking particularly happy. He was about to recieve his firist spanking with the "stick". This piece of heart of redwood was 18x1x3/4 inches. It was dark, almost black, from the time it had spent behind the stove in the kitchen. This was the stick my father, mother, and a couple of babysitters blistered my bare bottom with when I was young. It was the stick I used on one of my sons and a good number of foster kids. I knew its sting and what having it applied to a boy's tender rear end could do.
I'm a strange kind of spanker. I say that having recieved spankings as a child and having heard of and read about spanking many other boys have recieved. I must admit to being a bit of a let down, if I judge by the standards of many spankers, because I cannot bring myself to cause a child serious pain when I spank them for punishment.
I know some will say that my spankings are not punishment because my boys do not scream and dance with a burning rear end. The boys I've spanked have never found sitting difficult, even minutes after having the stick applied to their bare posterior. Yet the boys I spanked, all of whom are in their late twenties and early thirties have turned out to be fine men. They report to me that spanking them was punishment and caused them to modify their behavior and love me all the more because I took the time to spank them and care.
Canyon had been caught stealing. I'd gone to the police station and picked the little nine year old up. He hung his head and his dark brown wavy hair fell down his forehead. His large brown eyes were very sad and he could not look me in the eyes. He sat dejectedly and could only mumble I'm sorry in a low voice when I asked him why he'd been stealing.
Caynon's mother was a drug user and she'd beaten him badly enough that it came to the attention of my oldest son (15 at the time}, who'd brough Caynon home with him. Caynon's nose was blooded and one eye was shut. The long and short of it was that I paid his mother off and she turned legal custody of then eight year old Canyon to me. I'd had little trouble with him, he idolized Scott, my oldest and tried to please him and me. This stealing was not like Canyon.
Once at home I sent him to his room and told him to think about his punishment. All my boys picked their punishment, with my agreement. I found they were normally tougher on themselves than I was, but we always talked it out until both boy and I was satisfied that punishment was fair and served to reinforce better behavior.
"Well kiddo? What do you have to say for yourself?" I asked as I walked into his bedroom.
The youngster was sitting with his head down on the edge of his bed. He looked up sorrowfully. "I'm sorry." was all he said.
"I know that. But you've broken a house rule, you've gotten in trouble with the police and I've had to bail you out. You know when your brothers mess up they get punished. I know your mom didn't do anything but beat on you and I will not do that. It is up to you to help decide what punishment will best fit your crime."
"I don't know?" he replied with some distress.
"Well, there is the camping trip next week-end. What if you don't go and stay home with a sitter all week-end? Or, you can do with out your bike for two weeks, clean the dog's mess every day for two weeks and go to bed at 8pm? Or house arrest for two weeks, with dog dirt pick up? I could take your pants down and give you a spanking? You could be room bound for a week? Anything else like those you can think of?"
His face had been a study. The idea of no camping was definately not on his list, nor was losing his beloved bike. His face has shown interest at house arrest and surprisingly the spanking.
"What do I have to do on house arrest?" he asked.
"Hope right after school, clean the back yard of dog doo, then do your home work, set the table for dinner, wash dishes after dinner, get ready for bed and no TV, radio or other entertainment. No going to the moives, playing with friends or horse play with your brothers."
His eyes had grown larger with each new condition. "It's not fair for my punisment to take so long. I only took two Hot Wheels. Please, only a day house arrest?" he pleaded.
"Why did you take them, you get enough money from chores to buy what you want?"
He looked down, "Tory dared me."
I shook my head. "Look, the spanking is over in a few minutes, if you don't want the punishment hanging on you for a long time. Do you think I would hurt you like others have? You and I will decide on how many spanks you will get. You'll go get the stick from the kitchen, bring it here. I'll undo your jeans and pull down them and your underwear. Then you'll lay across my knees and I'll give you a good spanking, the number we decide. Then you can go, and no more taking dares."
He thought it over, finally remembered seeing Peter, Eddie, TJ, Donald and Richard get spankings. It struck him they never screamed and did not seem to be hurt to badly. It could see he was debating if it was because they were tough or not.
"How many spanks?" He asked, his mind slowly deciding.
"Well, you're 9, you took two hot wheels, so how about eleven spanks with the stick?"
He did not answer, he stood for a few second and then stepped around me and out the door. He soon came back with the spanking instrument in his hands. He stared at its dark, slick, shining wood.
I held on my hand and sat on his bed. He handed it to me and moved in front of me as I put the stick beside me on the bed. He watched as I undid the snap on his jeans and then took down the zipper, parting the front of them to reveal his white cotton, blue-dot waistbanded Penney's boy's briefs. Down the jeans fell to his knees, to be quickly followed by his briefs. Skinny dipping and having me bathe him did not prevent him from putting his hands infront of his inch and a half long uncut penis.
"Over my knees. Bottom up." I commanded as I picked up the stick and smacked it forcefully against my palm. The crack of it causing him to jump and have some doubts about his choice, but with pants puddled around his knees and his bottom hanging out in the wind he decided valor was the better part of action at this point.
Canyon moved to my right side and draped himself over my knees. I ajusted him so that his full firm young butt was turned up for the stick to stripe correctly. He flinched as I rested the cool wood across his ample 9 year old rear end.
"Ready?"
He nodded doubtfull and tightened his volleyball size butt as the stick lifted off. I brought it down across both cheeks with a slight flip of my wrist, which caused it to sting on the surface, but not to cause the deep burning my dad had inflicted on me many a time. Canyon bounced a bit and the second fall of the stick landed just under the first spank, which was showing a little pink stripe.
Whack, whack, whack, whack, whack, whack, I brought the stick down across the boy's bare behind with short light strokes, just enoough to sting, but not enough to even leave dark red marks. After nine spanks Canyon's naked little rear was showing pink stripes across both cheeks. I then brought the stick down a bit hard for the last two, just enough to get him to grunt and squirm a bit. I put the stick down and stood him up infront of me. He got "the lecture", which some of the boys said they would have rather had ten more spanks. I pulled up his briefs and jeans, zipped and snapped him and with a swat on the warm little rear sent him on his way. He turned, wrapped his arms around my neck, hugged me and started crying.
"I'm sorry, really I...I...I,"
"I know guy. You've been punished, that's it, all done. I love you little, just think about what you do, okay?"
"Okay." He said seriously as he stepped back and headed out back to be with his brothers.