I lectured James on his bad behaviour for a while, then looked the bot straight in the eye.
"Now, son, what did I say would happen next time I had trouble with you?"
"You said you'd give me a hiding," the blond little eleven year old mumbled.
"Right. Go to your room, undress and wait for me," I ordered, and watched as the little fellow's face fell. It would be his first real hiding from me, and I wanted him to really feel it.
He slowly shuffled upstairs, and I waited about twenty minutes before climbing the stairs and heading for his bedroom. As I walked in, James got up off his bed, and stood facing me, wearing nothing but his light blue underpants.
I placed his pillow in the middle of the bed, then turned back to the boy,
"Undies off, please James."
The child slowly slipped his undies off and down his legs. He picked them off his feet and handed them to me. I put them on the bedside table with his shorts and shirt.
"Bend over the pillow, my boy."
James didn't hesitate. He knew better. But I saw the tears in his eyes as he draped his naked body over the bed, using the pillow to push up his little bottom.
"Put your hands under the pillow, then make sure that you keep still," I ordered.
James pushed his hands under the pillow, elevating his hips, and pushing his creamy-white chubby bare bottom up even further, then asked,
"How many lashes am I getting, dad?"
"I'm going to thrash your backside until I think you have been punished enough," I answered, "widen your legs please."
James obediently widened his legs, then turned his head so that he could watch me. The little gut looked so exposed in that position, lying naked across his bed, bottom pushed up, awaiting what he knew would be severe punishment.
I made a great show of unbuckling my leather belt, then slowly slipping it through the loops of my jeans. I wrapped the buckle in my hand, to stop it from accidently hitting the boy, then doubled the heavy leather over. James dark blue eyes were fixed on the whip that would soon be smashing across his bare young bottom.
"Turn your head and look the other way, my boy," I instructed.
James turned his head so that he could no longer see what was going on behind him. I gently laid the belt across his bottom, about two thirds of the way down, just on the chubby part, where the flesh is the most sensitive. As the leather was laid across his tail, James tried to contract his soft little bottom, but his wide apart legs made that almost impossible. Goose bumps stood up on his rear, in fearful anticipation of what was to come.
I got a firm grip on the belt, lifted it up above my head, bringing it down fast and hard across my son's bare bottom. The leather struck the boy's bum with a resounding "CRACK!", and James yelped with pain, his whole body jerking with the shock of it. I took a long pause, then repeated the process, swinging the belt down hard across the boy's bare bottom, "CRACK!" then again "CRACK!"..."CRACK!"
After those four lashes, my son's bare little bottom was becoming very red indeed - all the more noticeable against the upper third of his tail, which I had not struck. It remained its normal, delicate white. After pausing to look at my handiwork, I tried to gauge my son's reaction to his beating. I knew he was in pain, but he was managing to hold back the tears. Obviously, he needed a lot more - I wanted him crying and sobbing before I gave him his final six.
"CRACK!"..."CRACK!"..."CRACK!" I laid on the strokes, and only then did I begin to hear sobbing from my son. He couldn't hold back the tears of pain and shame any longer, and was squirming from the agony.
I lifted the belt again. "CRACK!" I smashed it down across the trembling flesh, "CRACK!" again the belt slammed across James' bare little bottom.
"Is this sore, my boy?" I enquired.
"Yes daddy," the little tearful voice came.
"Are you ready to learn your lesson?"
"Yes daddy! My bottom's sore - please stop now!"
"Six more, and then we're finished,"
"Please dad! No more! It's sooo sore!!"
I paid no attention, just bringing the belt smashing across his red bottom. James Howled, and I took a pause. I was going to draw this out.
"CRACK!" again, I delivered a mighty lash, and the boy jumped in pain. I was impressed that even though he was in so much pain, he never once tried to get up. Four lashes to go.
"CRACK!" "CRACK!" I gave him two in quick succession, so that he wouldn't be ready for them. James was really crying now, and I noticed how the deep red of his lower bare bottom was already turning purple. These bruises would last for a while, and I knew an eleven year old boy who would be sitting very carefully for the next few days.
"CRACK!" I made the second last stroke a good one.
"Oww!!!" my son howled - the loudest he'd got yet. It must have been sore.
I waited a while, then swung the belt with all my strength right across the curve of the boy's bottom, a blistering stroke, especially across all the other lashes.
The boy was wiggling in pain, and I waited for him to lie still.
"You may get up, James."
James leapt up, his tear stained face almost as red as his well thrashed bottom.
"Thank you dad," he sobbed. Thanking for a hiding must have been something he had learnt in school.
"Come with me," I ordered, and the naked, crying little boy followed me to my study, still clutching his burning bottom. I opened a cupboard, and took out a cane that had been given to me by a schoolmaster friend of mine.
"Have you ever had one of these used on your bottom before, James?" I asked, flexing the traditional implement of school boy punishment.
"No daddy. The head has only used the paddle on me. But some of my friends have had the cane."
I walked over to the naked boy, and looked down at him.
"Then I better show you what it's like, because you'll get it next time I have to give you a hiding. Bend over."
James looked at me in horror. I looked straight back, and he could see I was serious.
Slowly, he released his sore bottom, and bent over. Clearly, he had been paddled often at school because he bent over exactly as I would have expected - legs straight and slightly apart, fingers pressed to toes, and eyes lifted to look in front of him.
I lined the cane up on his rounded, deep red little bare bottom cheeks. I lifted the cane behind me, then whipped it back low, accelerating upwards, and smashing the stick hard about a quarter way up the bent over boy's already deeply bruised naked bottom.
He yelped loudly with this new level of pain, and began standing instinctively. But when his hands reached his knees, his sense cut back in, and he quickly bent right back down again.
I left him bending, and put the cane back in my cupboard, then studied my son's bent over bottom. The single lash mark stood out clearly, even against the rest of his soundly thrashed tail.
After a few more seconds, I let him stand and go off to bed.