The twelve year old boy stood before the magistrate in the Children's Court, knees trembling. His guilt had been obvious, and it hadn't taken long to be proven. Foolishly, he had denied stealing from the store at first, but the cameras hadn't lied – if only he had known that security had been beefed up at the regular target of the little neighborhood thieves. His arrogant attitude before the court hadn't helped his case either. He was a bright boy, and he knew he had slipped up badly.
"Do you have anything to say before sentences, Noah?" the wizened magistrate asked.
"No sir," the attractive child answered, his voice strong and confident. He was at the age when adolescence had not yet set in – but was close. His dark blonde hair was neatly trimmed, and set off his deeply tanned face and features well. His brown eyes were downcast, and wet with tears. As was the generally accepted rule, he was neatly clad in the shorts and shirt of his primary school for his court appearance.
"As this is your first appearance before this court, my boy," the magistrate began, "I shall not be incarcerating you in the reform school. But, an example has to be made, and you're going to be it,"
Noah had expected something like this. Whenever he or his friends had helped themselves to magazines or sweets from the old man's store, they had known that eventually one of them would be caught, and have to suffer for the rest.
The magistrate continued, "You shall therefore be whipped. The punishment shall be carried out in my chambers, across you naked buttocks. Present will be myself and the bailiff, who shall do the thrashing. Perhaps a good hiding will help your attitude to authority as well."
Noah had had many hidings in his twelve years, several on his bare bottom, and this didn't sound to bad. But all the same, the lad was deeply ashamed of himself. To be seen as a thief – he should have known better. The words 'whipped' and 'thrashing' made the little boy a bit concerned though. That sounded bad. And the bailiff – he turned to look at the big, uniformed officer, noticing the bulging muscled under the man's sleeves. The man smirked at Noah, a cruel look in his eyes, and the boy squeezed his bottom cheeks together instinctively. Maybe this would be pretty painful.
On the magistrates command, Noah was marched out the back door of the court room, the bailiff holding his upper arm firmly. All the way down to the magistrate's chamber, Noah couldn't help feeling puny next to the huge man who would be thrashing his backside, and, apparently, would be enjoying doing it!
The magistrate's chambers were bigger that Noah had expected. But he didn't have much time to look around.
"Open that cupboard, boy, and take out the whipping horse," the bailiff commanded, indicating a tall cupboard behind the door. Noah obeyed, and removed a specially made trestle structure. He noticed that there were straps hanging from all four legs, and that the flat top was well padded. Putting it in the middle of the room, the boy realized that the padded top was just above his waist. Noah was no fool, and knew that he would be bending over the horse, but he would really have to stretch and get up onto his toes to get there.
The bailiff was watching the boy, arms crossed. He couldn't help noticing that Noah was a particularly good-looking lad. He obviously was a sportsman, and his young pre-teen body was strong and appeared well proportioned beneath his school uniform. The man enjoyed this part of his job immensely, and was certain that the magistrate that he was attached to enjoyed it too. Noah was one of many little boys that had been thrashed in those chambers – instead of more conventional punishments. Now for one of his favourite parts,
"Right, boy. Undress."
Noah was startled.
"Undress sir? You mean strip off all my clothing?"
"That's right, boy. Everything off. Hidings in here are given totally naked."
Now, distinctively unhappy, Noah started to remove his school uniform. The bailiff watched, enjoying the spectacle of a twelve year old boy, as attractive as Noah, giving him an involuntary strip show. When the lad got to his dark blue underpants, he looked at the bailiff appealingly, but was met only with a stony glare. Slowly, the boy slipped his under pants down to his ankles, stepped out of them and put them with the rest of his clothing. Naked now, Noah had none of his previous confidence. He bashfully covered himself up with his hands, standing before the bailiff with his head down.
The bailiff indicated to the whipping horse with an abrupt gesture,
"Go and bend over,"
Little Noah reluctantly walked to the structure, and, stretching his body right over, bent over the horse, his head down and his bottom up. The bailiff followed the boy, and firmly tied his hands out in front of him, then pulled the lad's legs wide apart and secured them to the corners of the horse. This left the twelve year old in a spread-eagled, but sharply bent over, position, his tender, pale bottom accentuated by his bronzed legs and back, high up and the perfect target for the coming thrashing. The large man licked his lips appreciatively, and ran his hand gently down the child's soft, silky bum cheeks. Noah tried to squeeze his buttocks together at the bailiff's touch, but was almost immobile in his vulnerable position.
The bailiff chuckled at Noah's fruitless attempt to squeeze his cheeks together, "Not much chance of that, boy, your bum is all mine!"
He chuckled once more, and walked around to the front of the trestle, where the helpless boy could see him. With much ceremony, he unlocked another of the cupboards in the room, and, to Noah's horror, he extracted the whip. Noah had genuinely been expecting a caning, although hoping for the lesser pain of a leather strap. The whip that the bailiff withdrew from the cupboard made his blood run cold, and involuntary tears prick the corner of his eyes. It was a sjambok. The wide grip was decorated with a multitude of coloured beads, in the African tradition, which would aid the bailiff's grip. The rest of the whip tapered down to an almost transparent point – the length altogether a little over a meter.
"Oh no sir!" Noah was dismayed, his voice pleading and breaking with tears, "please don't whip my bottom with a sjambok – use a cane!"
Once again, the bailiff chuckled. He loved it when the little criminal he was about to punish pleaded even before the first lash of the whip. He carefully removed his uniform jacket, then rolled his sleeves carefully up his heavily muscled arms, really making a show for the naked, frightened little boy. Then he walked around the boy, lightly tracing the sjambok across the lad's chubby little backside, enjoying how the helpless twelve year old squirmed against his bonds and the gooseflesh stood up on his rounded buttocks at the sensation of the thin whip being drawn across them.
At that moment, the magistrate swooped into the room, closing the door behind him, and taking off his impressive legal gown. He was actually a small, wizened looking man, but loved implementing his power over little juvenile criminals like Noah. Handing out the sentence, and watching the boy's face as he heard his fate, came second only to what he was going to preside over here – the severe hiding of a naked twelve year old boy.
He sat at his desk, opening a large ledger type book before him and examining it with interest. Taking a gold pen, the man wrote the boy's name in a column, followed by his age, twelve, and his crime. The book was a long list of lads aged between eight and thirteen who had suffered naked over the very horse that Noah was bent over. Then he stood and walked behind the trembling boy. With one hard hand he grasped the boy's buttocks, noting the healthy resilience of the muscular child's rear end, then he lifted his hand and slapped it firmly down on Noah's unblemished backside.
"Nice," he turned to the whip-wielding bailiff, "this will take a good hiding!"
The bailiff nodded his agreement, and the magistrate walked over to the side of the boy, where he could watch the whip fall on the lad's rear end, while still being able to see Noah's expression as his punishment progressed.
"Take your guard then," he nodded to the bailiff, who stepped back over to Noah, gently draping the sjambok once again across his exposed target. With one fluid motion, he lifted the whip up way above his shoulder and lashed it down across the center of the boy's tail.
Noah had not been ready for his first lash. It was only the split second of high pitched sound as the whip cut through the air that had alerted him, followed by the loud crack as the sjambok made its first contact with his behind that he became painfully aware that his hiding had started. And painful it was. Noah had had his bare bottom caned and belted many times, but this was different. The line of agony seemed to eat right into the center of his little bottom, growing in throbbing leaps with his heart beat. And this was only one lash!
"Good," commented the magistrate, as he examined the crimson welt that was already starting to rise from the surface of the boy's bottom, "give him a good whipping now, bailiff, twelve more strokes."
Twelve more! Noah couldn't believe his ears! He had managed, with a good deal of effort, not to make a sound after that first agonizing lash, but this was too much. He couldn't stop the tears that burnt his eyes as they flooded out and down his cheeks. The little naked boy felt so exposed, legs spread and bottom up, for punishment of a severity that he had never thought he would have to endure. But there was nothing he could do. This was to be the consequences of his actions, and he had to take his beating.
The bailiff steadied himself, widening his feet and getting his grip on the sjambok. The upraised and spread little buttocks before him had one lovely welt standing out in deep red across their pale surface, and he was ready to make that bottom his personal canvas, the whip his brush. Slowly, accurately and using all of his strength, he started to thrash the helpless child's backside in earnest.
The first four he placed above the initial stroke that he had administered (he always enjoyed the magistrate's insistence that he give an opening stroke that didn't count as part of the hiding – it gave the little boys a taste of what they were in for). The bailiff knew, however, that the real sensitive place on a boy's bottom were the lower areas – the place where the lad's weight would be when he sat down. This man had made an art form of this aspect of his job – he truly enjoyed thrashing little boys' bare bottoms. Noah's body jerked with each stroke of the whip, and the bailiff grinned at the twelve year old's muffled exclamations of pain as the child tried not to shout out as the sjambok snapped across his bared bum. Younger boys usually screamed from the first lash, but Noah was trying to be so brave. The bailiff knew it wouldn't last, and he was right.
Noah couldn't believe the agony, especially when his punisher started to concentrate the whip on the lower half of his poor, burning bottom. Never had the boy had such a painful hiding before. Tears poured from his tightly closed eyes, and, finally, on the sixth stroke, his will broke and he cried out.
On the eighth agonizing lash, he started to beg (a favourite moment for the bailiff and the magistrate),
"Please sir," howled the child, trying to pull his spread out legs together to give some protection to his exposed, flaming bottom, "I'm sorry – please make him stop!"
The magistrate clucked his tongue, and gave Noah the traditional answer, always given to naughty boys getting sound hidings, "This is for your own good, my boy, you'll take your punishment,"
Now the bailiff had begun to run out of un-whipped areas on Noah's chubby little bottom, so he started making the lashes cross previous welts. This was too much for the little guy, who howled in agony. It felt to him as if his bottom had been covered in molten lava, the pain seemed to be eating down his legs. His little _c_o_c_k_ and balls were burning from the pounding and chaffing they were receiving as his body bucked against the whipping horse at each stroke. The whole center half of his pre-teen body was throbbing, starting from his blazing backside, as the bailiff laid the last four lashes on mercilessly.
At last it was over, and the only sounds in the room were the heavy breathing of the bailiff and the pitiful sobbing of the well whipped naked little boy. The straps were untied, and Noah was helped up. Gingerly, he placed his hands on his throbbing bottom, his previous concern about his nudity before these two men forgotten. Gone was the proud, slightly arrogant twelve year old, dressed smartly in his school uniform, who had started the morning in the court room, proclaiming his innocence. In his place was a naked, very sore, very humbled little boy, standing before the magistrate, head down, hands behind him carefully rubbing his severely thrashed young bottom.
"Right, Noah," the magistrate started, "the whipping is over. Have you learnt your lesson?"
"Yes sir," sobbed the lad, his voice breaking with tears.
"Now for the rest of your punishment – the example to other boys who thieve,"
Noah had not expected this, but he was in no position to protest. Besides, he didn't want to go over that whipping horse again. The little boy spent the rest of the day in the foyer of the Juvenile Court, nose pressed to the wall, watched over by the security guards. Still naked, his welted bottom was on display to every other child walking through. And above his head a sign had been posted, warning of the consequences of petty theft.