"If you were my own son, I would give you a _d_a_m_n_ good hiding!" I scowled at my nephew, "A dozen hard lashes with my cane, and on your bare bottom!"
The twelve year old dropped his head, staring miserably at the carpet. I had caught him red handed, stealing cash out of my wallet. We had suspected that something was going on since the child had arrived to spend the summer with us, but hadn't been able to catch him. Until now. My wife had gone out to see some friends for the evening, and I'd walk into the sitting room to find the attractive preteen riffling through my wallet. He was a tall, slender boy for his age. His Irish heritage was apparent in his dark, shiny black hair, slightly spiked in his modern hairstyle, and his deep blue eyes. I was very fond of the boy. He was a good kid, despite the soft approach to discipline that his parents had. And he loved coming to stay with us.
"Go to your bedroom. This is the end of your holiday here, my boy. You're on the next flight home."
Matt didn't argue. He knew that he had let me down terribly. Sobbing quietly, he turned and left the room, and I watched the little, summer pyjama clad lad shuffle off. It would be a pity to make him go home, back to a boring summer, but he had to learn a lesson. Corporal punishment was not an option. My sister and her husband were very against it, and I respected that. After all, Matt was their son, not mine. More's the pity. He would have benefited from a well laid on thrashing.
It was more than an hour later that Matt suddenly appeared back in the sitting room,
"I thought I sent you off to bed,"
"I know, but," the child looked at me briefly, before dropping his eyes, "please don't send me home. Please. Punish me yourself. Give me that hiding with the cane – I can take it! Please?"
"Your mum and dad are very against corporal punishment, Matt," I explained to the downcast child, "and besides, you don't know what you're asking. Twelve on the bare bottom with the cane is very sore. Especially if you've never had a hiding before."
"I don't care! Mum and dad will never know – if you let me stay, the marks will be gone by the time I get home. Please, you can cane me and cane me, as hard as you like! Please just do it, and then let me stay!"
"Well," I was certainly tempted, "if I start to punish you with the cane, you'll have to take the whole thrashing. No reprieve."
"Yes, I'll take it all! If it means I can stay."
"Very well, then. You certainly deserve a good hiding."
"Thanks!" the boy was almost buoyant, despite the coming whipping. He darted from the room, and, moments later, returned, my cane in his hand. I was surprised,
"Where did you get my cane from?"
"Um," Matt didn't really know how to handle that one, "I, er, took it out of your study."
"You've been digging in the cupboards in my study? Without permission? That sort of thing is what's gotten you into trouble in the first place!"
"I'm sorry. You better add a few extra to my hiding for that."
"_d_a_m_n_ right!" I took the cane from the boy, swishing it through the air, then flexing it to make a real show for the now decidedly nervous lad.
"Bend over and touch your toes!"
"Are you going to let me keep my pyjama shorts on? Thanks, Uncle Mike!"
"Oh, they'll be off shortly, this is just a few stingers for helping yourself to the cane. Now bend over, remember to keep your legs straight, and as wide apart as your shoulders."
Matt was a natural. He bent over; his slender body poised in that traditional position – head down, and bottom well up. The shape of his slim rounded cheeks clearly outlined under his thin blue pyjama shorts. I tapped the stick against my young target, and Matt shuffled slightly,
"Mind you keep still, Matt. Any movement will earn you an extra stroke. You're getting three, and then we'll start on the real hiding."
The boy froze in position, and I continued lining the cane up on his thinly protected backside. Using only moderate strength (although still pretty hard), I whipped Matt's bottom, the stick snapping sharply against his rear end. The preteen gasped with the pain, but instead of leaping up, as I thought he might, he reached further back and grasped his ankles. Clearly he was determined to see this through. For my part, I wanted to build the pain up for him, so that he would know what to expect when his shorts came off and the serious, bare bottom whipping got started. I caned his little bottom again, and again the child gasped, but I could see his grip on his ankles tighten, although his knees buckled slightly.
"Straighten your legs."
Matt quickly followed the order, and I whipped his backside for the third time. With relief, Matt sprang up, rubbing his backside, and turned to me, his eyes brimming with tears,
"Wow, that hurts. Bare bottom is...."
I didn't let him finish, "I didn't give you permission to get up! That's worth another. Turn around and bend over!"
"Oh, please Uncle Mike! I didn't know that I had to stay bending!"
"Bend!"
Slowly, Matt turned and bent over, assuming his submissive, naughty schoolboy position.
"And for arguing when being ordered to bend over, these can come down."
I gripped the waist band of the boy's shorts, and slowly lowered the garment down his bottom, letting my fingers rub against his soft warm cheeks as I drew the shorts over his rounded little cheeks, to rest on his hands which were once again tightly holding onto his ankles. Matt didn't get to spend much time in the sun when he was at home, so his bare bottom was only slightly whiter than his slender long legs. The lad looked so vulnerable standing like that. His pyjama had ridden a few inches up his back when he had bent, leaving the preteen naked from his lower back to his ankles, bare behind poised for another taste of the cane. The three earlier lashes stood out as bright scarlet lines cutting across his tender lower rump. As I dragged the stick over the now naked cheeks, Matt didn't dare move a muscle. When I caned him, with the same moderately powerful action as I had employed earlier, the child cried out, but kept absolutely still. It must have been a lot more painful to feel the whip on his bare bottom, even although the pyjama shorts were very thin.
"Now you may get up and rub your bottom,"
Matt quickly rose, grasping his cheeks with both hands. I let him rub for a while, then,
"I'm going to give you your real thrashing in my study. Step out of your shorts, please."
Matt had let his shorts drop right down over his feet, and, still holding onto his bottom, he stepped out of them, looking at me fearfully. I picked the light garment up, and handed it to the lad, waving him to the door.
"Go and wait for me in the study. Leave your pyjamas in your bedroom on the way."
"Totally naked?"
"Yes, naked. Now off you go, young man."
Matt didn't argue this time. He knew that I was taking this very seriously and wanted to show me that he was prepared to be punished according to my ways, without question. The twenty minutes that I made him wait must have seemed like hours to the twelve-year-old. The little boy had an idea how much the cane would hurt his bottom, and he would have been dreading his dozen hard lashes. Eventually, I strode into the study, pointed to the wall and addressed the nervous, naked preteen,
"Into the corner, nose on the wall, hands on head."
Matt took his hands away from where they had been protecting his hairless crotch, and shuffled off to follow my directions. I studied the boy. He really was a good. No fat, just sinewy muscle, and promising to grow pretty tall too. Of course, his slim bottom did show the remains of his baby fat, especially low down. And it was across the centre of those little mounds that I had given the first four stripes of what promised to be an excruciating whipping. I hadn't hit the lad hard enough to really leave heavy lines. They would only bruise faintly. But the first four lashes had really just been to prepare the child for the real thrashing that was coming up. This really would bruise his pretty, tender little bottom.
"Are you ready, Matt?"
"Yes sir,"
"Come here then," I had placed a sturdy, wooden backed chair in the centre of the room,
"Kneel on the chair, facing the backrest," Matt climbed onto the seat of the chair, and rested the front of his legs on the backrest,
"Now bend over the back of it," he obeyed, but really only bending his body slightly, not pushing his backside up nearly enough, "right down, grip the legs as far down as you can reach,"
Matt reached right down. That was better. Now the boy was tightly bent over, his bottom the highest point of his body. His position made his buttocks separate slightly, giving me more pale white flesh to thrash, and making it impossible to clench his burning cheeks during his severe beating. I realised that I had left the cane in the living room, so off I went to fetch it. When I returned, I was met with the rear view of a naked boy properly bent for a thrashing – his bottom pointed towards me as I entered the door, cane in hand. Just the right position for a naughty twelve-year-old thief. I was actually looking forward to disciplining my nephew. I traced the cane gently across his rear, but Matt had already learnt not to move, but the goose bumps were standing up all over his body, not just his bum. Because of his tightly bent position, the lower third of his backside was in the prime position for my cane. That was how I had planned it. A thrashing applied to the lower bottom, as any schoolboy knows, is the optimal way of administering true disciplinary pain. I used the full strength of my body to administer the first blistering stroke, far harder than I had caned the lad in the sitting room. Matt screamed as the line of fire bit into his bare bottom,
"Ah! Please! Not so hard!"
"This is exactly what you deserve, young man. You'll take eleven more, just the same. And if you move, you'll get extra."
"No please," he sobbed, not daring to move however, his bottom still up, "I can't take it this hard!"
I ignored the please of the boy, lining the cane up again, and then thrashing the bare little cheeks before me, ensuring a hefty follow through, the crack of the cane followed immediately by another squeal from the lad. I did feel sorry for him. He didn't know how to take a good hiding – how could he? His own parents had never given him even a mild one, so the child was really getting a hard introduction to corporal punishment.
"Oh, Uncle Mike!" the boy wailed, but surprised me with his next request, "I'm not going to be able to take this without moving! Please tie me down so that I don't earn extra. Please!"
I grunted my agreement. That was a good idea. I didn't really want to beat the boy any more severely than I had to already. I threw the cane on my desk, and then riffled through the drawers until I found what I wanted. Some packing tape. Perfect. Going back to my bending, sobbing nephew, I firmly taped his wrists to the legs of the chair, making impossible for him to raise his body. Then I wrapped a few layers of tape around the chair back and his legs, just above his bent knees, firmly taping his legs to the chair. Now he was totally immobile. Replacing the tape in the desk, I retrieved the cane and stood behind the boy. I couldn't resist reaching down and gently rubbing his soft little bottom, noting the heat rising from the stripes that I had already lashed there. Dragging the cane across my target, I took aim, and then vigorously caned the helpless little boy again, getting a shriek from the preteen as the stick burnt its agonising path across his naked hindquarters. Nine to go. I was really enjoying this – more than I could say for Matt.
I lashed him again, after a long pause, of course. I was going to draw this out – lining up the cane before each stroke, making the crying boy really appreciate the pain of his punishment, and fear each stroke as I prepared to administer it. He had been right about not being able to take it. With a full seven to go, he started to beg,
"Oh please stop! It's too sore!"
I ignored him, and continued with the drawn out, vigorously applied hiding. With five to go, the twelve-year-old tried to change his tactics,
"Please Uncle Mike! Let me rub my bottom! Give me the rest later! Please!"
My response to that was simple. I grasped his burning little cheeks with my hand. Gently, but firmly, I rubbed the well-presented buttocks of the preteen, enjoying the feel of his soundly beaten little bottom. Matt calmed down as I massaged some of the immediate sting from his bare bum. He wasn't the slightest bit concerned about me touching him so intimately, grateful for the respite,
"Thank you, sir," he sobbed as I eased his pain.
"Right. Now you bottom's had a rub, we can finish up."
"Oh please let me off, sir!"
"No way. You deserve every last lash. And you'll take it."
Matt had no more to say. He knew that his case was settled, and his bottom would b thrashed until I had determined that his punishment was done. And thrash it I did. Smoothly, with long pauses to line the cane up, and, of course, very, very hard. The naked little boy wailed and sobbed as I whipped his bare bum, howling with pain, while I said nothing, just grimly doing my duty – and loving it. It was with regret that I replaced the cane in the cupboard after the twelfth stroke. Twelve lashes on the bare bottom for a naughty twelve-year-old. How appropriate. As gently as I could, I unpeeled the tape holding the boy in position, and, to my surprise, the boy climbed off his chair, turned and put his arms around my waist and buried his face in my shirt. I hugged the naked preteen back, reaching down and rubbing his bottom for him, until he broke away, taking his cheeks in his own hands. He looked up and me and grinned wryly,
"Thank you for punishing me, Uncle Mike. I wish my parents believed in the same methods that you do,"
Then, to my even more complete surprise, the boy's tear stained face broke into a real smile,
"Perhaps I aught to steal from you more often!"....