It was just after seven pm when my doorbell rang. Glancing through the window, I noticed that Blaine's bicycle was propped up outside. The boy must have left something when he was with me earlier. He often came over to get help with his homework. The boy had recently turned twelve, and I was the only male figure in his life. His father had disappeared shortly after he was born, leaving his mum all alone with him and his younger brother. He had the reputation for being something of a hell raiser, but, since he had been coming over to visit me, his schoolwork had improved noticeably, and I never had any hassles with him. I think we had a mutual respect.
I opened the door, and ushered the child in. He was a bit small for his age, but very fit and strong. I knew that he loved running, and was his school champion. His muscular legs below his shorts proved it. His deep blue eyes shone under his neatly trimmed brown hair, but, for once, his impish smile was missing.
"Hi Blaine – leave something behind?"
The boy licked his lips nervously, unable to meet my eyes,
"No. Ah, Rob, I need to talk to you," he was struggling a bit, "but you have to promise to keep it between us. Please."
I led the boy into the sitting room, sat in my favourite armchair and expected Blaine to plop into another chair, as he usually did. Instead, the boy stood before me, hands behind his back, head down. There was something badly wrong here.
"What's going on?"
"I've been doing some pretty bad stuff. I figured that if anyone can sort me out before I get stupid and get caught, it'd be you. You're my friend; I hope you can help me. Can you?"
I didn't really know what to say to the child. He looked small and helpless standing in front of me, and I was full of concern for the pretty little lad. I had never seen him so sombre.
"Well, I'll do what I can, my boy. What have you done?"
"I've been stealing," he looked briefly at me, his eyes filled with tears, "a lot. Going into houses and stuff. Please help, me Rob!"
I was taken aback. There had been a spate of petty thefts in the neighbourhood over the last six months. But I would never have suspected Blaine.
"Well, that's not a very clever thing to do, son. Who've you stolen from?"
"Heaps of people," he hung his head, a tear dripping down his nose, "even you."
"Me? I'm not missing anything."
"Check your wallet. I raided it when I was here earlier."
Sure enough, when I opened my wallet, a fair amount of cash was missing. Blaine dug in his pocket and handed it back. He sobbed as he listed all the things he had stolen from the neighbours, and me, and I couldn't resist putting an arm around the boy's shoulders. Eventually, I held him away from me and stared into his eyes.
"What do you propose we do about this?"
Blaine dropped his head again, but his answer was firm. He had thought this through, and from the tone of his voice, I could see that he was determined,
"Give me the hiding of my life."
"Good idea," this was obviously the best way to make the boy feel better, and I was proud that he had chosen such an unfashionable, and unpleasant deterrent for himself. He must have paid a great deal of attention to my stories of thrashing the bottoms of young boys when I was a teacher, and had determined that I could help him mend his ways with painful punishment. I was battling not to squirm with excitement. Blaine was a good looking boy, and for ages I had dreamt about getting the opportunity to whip his round little backside, so enticingly hidden by his shorts. Here he was, actually asking for it, and for good reason!
"It will hurt a lot, my boy. You sure you want me to do this? I won't mess around – a thief's hidings will be something pretty memorable."
"Yes, I'm sure. I need it. Before the police catch on to me."
"Very well. Wait here while I go upstairs and fetch a nice belt for your bottom."
"Rob? Don't fetch a belt. I've got something better," with that, he trotted to the door, opened it, and ducked out. Moments later he was back. Once again, I had a delightful surprise. The preteen was gingerly holding onto a traditional junior cane! Thin, four feet long, complete with a curved handle. Perfect!
"Where on earth did you get that?"
"It's something else that I stole. From my headmaster's office. He doesn't use it anymore. I don't think he even misses it."
Too true. And that was part of the reason that I would be having the pleasure of whipping this little boy. The school certainly didn't keep its pupils in check anymore. I would be putting that cane to good use. I stood up and took the proffered implement, flexing it appreciatively in front of the now somewhat nervous young lad.
"Blaine," I decided to make the best of this, "you're asking me to apply some very painful therapy to your bottom. And it's not going to end tonight. Are you willing to submit to severe punishment, drawn out over several weeks?"
"Yes sir." Blaine had become very serious. I could see that he was ready to submit, if it would help him. His trust in me and my methods was absolute.
"Very well," this would be fun; "you will be caned every second Sunday night, starting tonight, at this time, for four separate hidings. Each hiding will be more severe than the one before. It's going to be every second week so that your bottom can recover. Still want me to sort you out?"
Blaine didn't even think about it. He simply nodded his assent. I led him into the centre of the room, and had him stand, hands on head, while I lectured him on the wrongs of stealing, not to mention lingering on the irony of the very cane that he was about to be thrashed with was part of the spoils of his crimes. He watched me fearfully as I flexed the cane, whacking it into a cushion every now and again to emphasise a point, deliberately prolonging the build up for the naughty little urchin. Eventually, I decided to get on with it. Standing behind the small boy, I commanded,
"Bend over and grab your ankles, keeping your knees straight, your head down and your bottom up."
The boy obeyed perfectly, giving me a well presented little backside, the two small rounded cheeks standing out under his shorts. He didn't need to be told to keep his feet apart, at the same distance apart as his shoulders. Perfect for punishment. His blue shorts were thin, summer shorts – Blaine had made no effort to give his behind much protection from his punishment. He had, after all, initiated it, and wanted to feel the full force of his hiding. Bending as he was, so submissive and small, the child really did look helpless, while at the same time determined to take his comeuppance. Even when I tapped the cane gently on each little buttock, the twelve-year-old stood absolutely still. It had been a long time since I had caned a boy, but I had lost none of the skill. With a fluid, powerful motion, I whipped the stick across my young target, getting a gasp of pain from Blaine, and an instinctive jerking of his body. After a suitable pause, I lashed the lad's little bottom again, this time getting a sob for my efforts. But still the child kept his sore rear end up for my attention. Four more times, I caned the preteen, enjoying the gasps and sobs as the stick bit deep into his sensitive lower bottom. Then, leaving him crying quietly in his bent over position, I placed the cane up on the top shelf of my bookcase, and strode back to the bending little miscreant,
"Did that hurt?" I asked, rubbing his tightly bent bottom.
"Oh yes, sir!" Blaine sobbed, "But you're right. I deserve much worse. I'll be back in two weeks."
"I hope so," I said straightening, "you may stand up."
Blaine stood, and his own hands found his blazing backside. His face was wet with his tears, but there was determination in his eyes. As he left the house, still ruefully rubbing his aching bum, I knew that he would be back for the second instalment of his punishment.
The two weeks went by quickly. Blaine visited me, as often as normal, and, by some unspoken agreement, we never mentioned the punishment, or the cane on top of the bookshelf. It was only at the appointed time that I ushered a very sombre, somewhat nervous little boy into my sitting room once again. He now knew how much the cane hurt his bottom, and was expecting, rightfully, that the next hiding would be somewhat more painful. This time, when the child was standing in the centre of the room, ready to bend over again, I issued my next order,
"Take off your shorts and hand them to me, please,"
Blaine was a little taken aback, but had been expecting something like this. He slipped his shorts down to his ankles and off, handing the light cotton garment over to me. I placed the shorts on a side table, and then collected the cane, swishing it through the air like last time, to build up the right atmosphere for the nervous boy.
"Bend over,"
This time I didn't need to elaborate. Blaine assumed the correct position, as he had last time. I lifted the boy's shirt up to his shoulders, exposing his golden brown back, and his neat little underpants clad bottom. The underpants themselves were red and blue-stripped briefs – they looked fairly new, but would provide precious little protection to the preteen's bottom, stretched as they were across his chubby rounded cheeks. Again, I didn't waste too much time in beginning the hiding, lashing the cane firmly across my red and blue young target. Blaine gasped. It was much more painful being caned over his briefs than with the protection of his shorts too, and the little boy certainly felt it. As it had before, I took my time, making sure that I thrashed the child hard and accurately. I could here him crying after the third lash as the cane bit into the meat of his scantily clad little bottom. None could doubt that the little boy was being soundly punished for his crimes as I soundly whipped his young tail.
"Keep still," I warned the squirming, sobbing boy after his fourth vigorous stroke. While not moving his feet from their position, or letting go of his ankles, he had twisted his body slightly to get his burning bottom out of the flight path of the cane. I tapped the tip of the stick against each rounded little cheek as I waited for the child to settle himself back into position. I was in no hurry, immensely enjoying myself. Slowly, Blaine straightened his body, raising his rear end up to me, and lowering his head. But I made him wait a little longer, bottom up, before I finished off his thrashing with two wickedly vicious strokes low down, just above his legs. Blaine wailed, and I was glad that my house was well removed from the neighbours. As I had on the previous occasion, I left the lad bending over tightly while I returned the cane to its shelf, then I gently rubbed his small buttocks. I could actually feel the heat rising up from the beaten flesh through the thin underpants.
"That's all for this evening, you may get up,"
Blaine stood, face once again flushed with the pain of his hiding. He grasped his bottom with both hands, frantically trying to rub the sting out of it while dancing from one foot to the next. Watching his antics made me rather pleased with myself. Blaine was a tough kid, but I had managed to reduce him to just another well caned twelve-year-old boy. Eventually, he was able to release his bottom long enough to put his shorts back on, but resumed rubbing it firmly, as I addressed him,
"Well, Blaine, again you took your hiding well. I'll see you for your next dose in a fortnight."
"I'll be here, but it's is really painful!" the tears were almost all gone, but the boy still held onto his bum, "Rob, thanks."
He left, barely able to sit down on his bicycle saddle, and I looked forward to using that cane on his perfectly proportioned little bottom in just a couple of weeks' time.
There was no way that I could have made Blaine show up for his third hiding. Most would have thought that he had been punished enough. But the nervous twelve year old arrived, on time, to have his young bottom whipped by me yet again. I noticed how the boy's knees were trembling as he took up his customary position, standing attentively in the centre of the room. This time I retrieved the cane before giving him any further instructions, then,
"Off with the shorts, please,"
Down and off they came, and I put them on the side table once more. Then, flexing the cane in my most menacing way,
"Now your underpants."
Blaine made no effort to argue. I suspect that he had been expecting this. I had promised a more severe hiding each time, and after underpants only, bare bottom was really the logical next step. Slowly, reluctantly, the child drew his briefs down to his ankles, getting them a bit tangled as he stepped out of them. This time they were orange, and the boy carefully untangled them before handing them gingerly over to me. I felt that they were still warm from his body as I dropped them on top of his shorts. I swished the cane through the air, whacking a cushion hard as the frightened boy watched. He knew that soon his bare behind would be receiving the same treatment.
"Bend over," I commanded finally, and for the third time, the twelve year old assumed the traditional punishment position. Once again, I leant down and lifted his shirt up right to his shoulder. But no red and blue underpants to protect his bottom this time. His tan ended abruptly, his startlingly white young cheeks standing out against the rest of his body. I was pleased to see that, when looking carefully, I could just see the faint blue lines from his previous hiding in this room. Good. I was doing a very satisfactory job indeed. I couldn't resist giving each chubby little buttock a firm slap,
"Mind you keep still, and take your punishment as well as you did last time, young man."
"Yes sir," Blaine had taken to calling me sir during these sessions, only reverting to Rob during the week, and when hidings were over. I was pleased that he was treating these punishment sessions so formally.
I traced the tip of the cane over each rounded cheek in turn, and Blaine shuffled lightly. He knew how painful the cane had been on just his underpants, and he must have really feared the sting of the whip with no protection at all. I waited for him to settle, and then lashed the naked hindquarters of the lad mercilessly. I had been practising during the week on a cushion, and had perfected my technique. Blaine squealed, and for the first time since we had started our little sessions, he let go of his ankles and half stood. Quickly, he resumed his position, but it was too late.
"The penalty for getting out of position when getting a hiding is one extra stroke. So that one doesn't count,"
Blaine didn't argue. He just sniffed, raising his bare little bottom again. I had to push his shirt back up, and really took my time in preparing to resume the thrashing. But I didn't make the trembling child wait too much longer. With just as much vigour and accuracy, I caned the little lad again, the stick cracking satisfactorily across his small bare cheeks. Blaine sobbed, but this time keep still. He was a bright boy, and didn't want to prolong his whipping any more than he had to. Again and again I caned the half naked little figure, enjoy his cries and writhing as he battled to control himself, suppressing the natural urge to leap up and soothe his fiery preteen bottom. He took this thrashing in much the same way as he had taken his first two hidings – bravely. Although this time, the lad's bottom had no protection from shorts or underpants, and so his wails were louder, and his squirming more pronounced. But he always pushed his throbbing young tail up to receive more punishment. It was certainly hurting. A lot. Finally, I administered number six to the sobbing boy's soundly tanned backside. As had become my ritual, I took my time, leaving the sobbing child bending in position, little bottom still up, hands grasping ankles, while a put the cane away. Then I gently rubbed his tight little cheeks. Enjoying the feel of the individual welts that were rising, and the direct heat off his naked flesh.
"Get up and get dressed, Blaine, you took that well, my boy."
Blaine gratefully rose, and grabbed his own cheeks, one with each hand. He did a little more of an energetic spank dance than he had done previously, but didn't put his clothes on yet. I was a little surprised at the preteen's seeming unconcern at being half naked in front of me.
"Wow, Rob," he looked up at me, hands still holding tightly onto his bare bottom, "you're really teaching me my lesson! I'll bet the last hiding will be a scorcher!"
I was impressed with the matter-of-fact was that the boy was taking his punishment. No sulks, no regrets. He sobbed and wailed as he was caned, but got over it, taking his punishment without argument, accepting that it was well earned. I was proud of this small twelve-year-old boy, now carefully putting on his shorts and underpants, in between giving his punished bottom rubs. He hadn't tried to convince me to let him off what he knew would be an even worse thrashing than the bare bottomed flogging that I had just given him.
At last, the night of the fourth thrashing arrived, as did Blaine, face a picture of nervousness. He knew that this hiding would be by far the most severe. This time I didn't take the cane down at all, letting the frightened boy stand in the middle of the room, waiting for his orders.
"Undress, Blaine. Everything off."
"Completely naked?" the twelve-year-old was justifiably concerned, "No clothes on at all?"
"That's right. Now get on with it."
Slowly, the child stripped, and before too long, he stood back in the centre of the room, stark naked, hands on his head, as I had ordered when he had tried to cover himself up. No chance of that. Walking around the slim lad, I admired his naked young body as I lectured him. He really was something special. Perfect muscle structure, not an ounce of fat on his healthy tanned body. Just a bit of chubbiness on the startling white bottom, like any healthy lad his age should have. Although he was not particularly uncomfortable naked in my presence, he was getting increasingly nervous, wondering just how severe his hiding would be,
"This is going to feel as if the last three hidings were mere soft spankings, Blaine," I finally addressed the trembling child, "I'm going to thrash your bottom very, very soundly indeed."
The twelve year old said nothing, but the tears were already starting to brim in his deep blue eyes, I crossed over to the bookshelf, and, instead of taking down the cane, as the boy had expected me to, I revealed the short, thick leather strap that I had purchased a couple of days previously,
"I'm also going to be supplementing the cane with a good strapping. Naturally, the cane is far more painful than the leather, but it will tenderise your bottom nicely for your caning, won't it?"
Blaine just gulped, and nodded, trying to retain some control, not crying before the punishment had even begun.
"Bend over,"
Once again, the small preteen bent over and grabbed a hold of his ankles, knees straight, but trembling visibly. He was becoming quiet accustomed to this submissive position of schoolboy punishment. But this time he looked even more vulnerable and small, his stark naked, slim body totally exposed. As I had previously, I noted with satisfaction the seven faint blue lines still barely visible on his tightly bent bum – evidence from the hiding I had given him a fortnight ago. To his credit, when Blaine felt the leather gently tapping against his bare backside, he kept absolutely still, although there was a little sniff from the lad. I had spent some time practising on the cushions when I had bought the strap, so I lashed the boy very hard, and with complete confidence in my accuracy. The leather sounded completely different from the cane as it wrapped around the rounded cheeks of the boy's small bottom. Slowly, methodically, I soundly thrashed Blaine, giving him a full dozen solid strokes; each delivered with blistering accuracy and force. The lad sobbed and battled to keep in place as I vigorously tanned his little naked hindquarters. When I was done, I dropped the strap onto the coffee table, and gently rubbed his rosy bottom.
"Get up, no rubbing," I ordered, "go and stand with your nose against the wall, hands on your head, and think about the hiding still to come,"
Blaine, weeping, followed instruction. But, looking at the naked preteen, hands on his head, red bottom on display, I thought that I hardly needed to remind him to think about what was still to come. I bet it was all he could think of. After having him wait for a good ten minutes, I brought him back into the middle of the room, but instead of having him touch his toes, I led him to a deep leather armchair. Following my orders, the little boy knelt on the chair, facing the backrest, then, widening his feet, he bent at the waist, pushing his face into the cushion, and raised his tender backside up as high as he could. This is a wonderfully humiliating position for a naked boy to be in, knowing that his bottom is up high, totally exposed and ready to be whipped. This time I took down the cane. It was time to really thrash Blaine's impudent young bottom. The child whimpered as he felt the stick being lined up on his already well strapped cheeks, but didn't move. I caned the bending boy with my best technique, and he wailed as the cane bit into his sore buttocks. But as I delivered each stroke with deliberation and pace, the lad managed to hold his position with as little squirming as could be expected from a child getting such a severe thrashing. I gave him six, waiting about twenty seconds between each so that he could appreciate the pain, and fear the next blistering stroke. Then I put the cane down on the table, next to the strap, and gently rubbed his upraised and very hot, sore little rump.
"Not going to steal anymore, are you my boy?"
"No sir!" the child wailed, "I'm learning my lesson, sir!"
I crossed back to the table, picked up the strap, and returned to the crying preteen. Gently, I tapped the leather against his sore bottom,
"Well, we still have a way to go. Might as well beat this properly into you."
With that, I lashed the red cheeks before me, and the boy bounced with the agony of the leather wrapping hard and fast across his tenderised backside. This time, I alternated between his bare cheeks, backhand strokes and forehand strokes, keeping the lashes just above his legs, and getting the end of the leather as deep into his tender crack as I could. He howled as the leather did its excruciating work, toes curling with the agony of it. I gave him a solid four strokes on each cheek, then put the strap back down. Again, but saying nothing for a long time, I rubbed his heated bottom, waiting for the little boy to calm down,
"I'm giving you six more with the cane. Six of the very best. Take them like a good boy, and we'll finish your hiding with that."
"Thank you sir," the preteen sobbed.
I caned him very hard. Stepping into each stroke, like a tennis player may step into a shot, I caned the boy's naked little bum expertly, following through each lash, letting the cane's energy fully dissipate into the bare, already tenderised flesh of his lower bottom. I took my time, and Blaine suffered noisily through his whipping, managing for the most part to keep his position after rising up off his knees with each tremendous follow through. Each time, he lifted his bottom up again for my painful attention. Finally, the hiding was over, and it was with some regret that I replaced the strap and cane on the bookshelf. But I did hold out hope that Blaine may need them again. And he had told me that his eight-year-old brother was starting to be a problem. I hoped to have an excuse to beat another little bottom soon.