It was the seventh month of Erics probation. My nephew was twelve and a half now, and my attentions were starting to show signs of having the desired effect on the preteen. My sister, a single mother, had come to me for help when Eric had been expelled from the second primary school in as many years always for his dishonesty and tendency to fight at the least provocation. I had arranged to get him into a good school, that would take the disruptive grade six, on one condition that I take full responsibility for any punishment that was needed. And the boy would spend many nights sleeping on his front because of a sore, bruised bottom.
And thats how our arrangement came about. Eric had to report to my study at home every month with a detailed behavior report partly filled in by his mother, partly by his teacher. I would then soundly thrash the lad for anything less than satisfactory.
To start off with, Eric had been stubbornly unresponsive to his new regime, and I had had to administer two epic thrashings to the little boys naked bottom with my junior cane. It was only his pride and stubborn nature that had given him the strength to keep his position as I had whipped my cane relentlessly across his tender white backside although he had wailed with the pain of the flexible stick biting into his soft cheeks. On every occasion, the child had learnt that I only cane very hard indeed, stopping just short of breaking his vulnerable skin, and had become painfully familiar with the strength of my arm.
But by the third month, the lads report had been noticeably better, and I had not used the cane. Instead, I had whipped the childs bare bottom soundly with a thick leather strap. It was clear that Eric was learning that his actions had direct and very painful consequences. For the last three hidings, I had allowed Eric, as part of his preparation for punishment, to select the implement to be used for his own comeuppance. There was, of course, the stern warning not to choose the strap if the boy knew that a caning was in order.
Needless to say, Eric had chosen the strap on each occasion. And his choice had been justified. His hidings had in fact become less and less severe. The most recent had in fact only been four moderate strokes with the leather for some minor offences in the book. The boy had lain still over the chair and taken this hiding stoically, almost with a sense of pride, keeping his bare bottom raised and still for his punishment. He knew that his behavior was improving dramatically, and was happy that his punishments had been so drastically reduced.
It was with this in mind that I entered my study for the seventh time to go through the punishment book. The boy had turned the large leather armchair around so that he could bend over the back of it, and I could have plenty of room in which to swing the implement of choice across his young bare buttocks. Of course, Eric was already in position. The lad had undressed and was bent totally naked over the chair. He had been told that even if his punishment book showed perfect behaviour, he was to assume this humiliating position I would decide if his bottom was ever to be spared. He was too short to bend over while still keeping his feet firmly on the ground. So he was in fact lying over the dark leather back of the chair. His pale, bare bottom in startling contrast to the rest of his sun-bronzed body, which in turn contrasted to the deep brown color of the leather chair. His toes managed to just touch the carpet, his legs spread, and he had stretched his hands out to grasp the end of the seat of the chair. His head was pushed right down as far as he could get it, so I had an interesting view of the submissive boy his bottom the absolute center of any attention. Erics bottom was fairly typical of a boy his age. Still chubby, and soft to the touch, as a little boys bottom should be. But its rounded shape was starting to take on the typical sturdiness of a young teenager. Of course, Eric was still completely hairless, but that would change within the year. Meanwhile, his rounded young globes made a very satisfactory target for vigorous thrashing. The boy had spread his legs wide to increase the target area for the coming punishment.
The book was on the coffee table next to the chair, and, to my surprise, so was my junior school cane! Eric had, for the first time, made the decision to put out the cane for his hiding, rather that the strap. I knew how much he hated being whipped by that stick, so he must have really been ashamed of the contents of his behavior report.
I approached the bending figure of my nephew, and firmly placed a hand on his young bottom, enjoying the warm resilience of the lads flesh. His chubby cheeks were still small enough for me to cover most of his bum with one wide spread hand.
So, its the cane, today, is it?
Yes sir, Eric mumbled from the depths of the chair, I deserve a good thrashing this month.
I picked up the book and paged through it. Although not nearly as bad as when I had started the boys behavior modification, the book reflected a dramatic increase in minor problems being experienced at home and at school. Nothing on its own would warrant a caning, so I was still a little taken aback.
Well, Eric, I decided to make the boy explain himself, why do you think the cane is needed this afternoon?
My old habits are coming back, sir, he responded honestly, and I think I need a hard hiding to get me back into line before I really mess up.
I see, I nodded my head, although of course the boy couldnt see that, so a long, hard thrashing with the cane is what you need, is it?
Yes, sir, Eric replied softly.
I picked up the cane, and flexed it.
I tell you what, Eric, I proposed, tracing the tip of the stick across his chubby little cheeks noting the goose bumps that rose on the naked flesh as the stick passed over them, Ill cane you good and hard, and you tell me when you think youve had enough of this medicine, all right?
Yes, sir, I could tell the boy was a little surprised by the tone of his response.
I took up my position behind the boy, wound up my arm and whipped the cane smartly across Erics bare bottom, half way down his white buttocks. The child yelped with the sudden agony of the stick connecting with his bare flesh, his body jerking with the pain. But he didnt try to move out of position, keeping his bottom up and ready for the next stroke, which I administered just as hard. The preteen was taking his punishment bravely, and kept his position as I whipped his naked backside for the third, fourth, fifth and sixth time. I paused, noting the characteristic welts left on a boys bottom by a junior cane. The centre of each stripe was actually white, with crimson on either side. As I watched, the white bit was slowly turning purple as the bruising set in the whole line of each of the six stripes were starting to turn into painful looking welts on the boys tender backside.
Well, Eric, I asked softly, noting that the boy was sobbing quietly, enough yet?
There was a long pause before I received my answer,
No, sir, the lad sobbed, I think I need about three more.
I couldnt fault the boy on his honesty. A very changed lad from the one I had started with seven months ago. He was so desperate to keep out of really serious trouble that he was prepared to actually ask for additional excruciating stripes from my cane! And he got them. Again, I lashed the stick down fiercely across his now battered young cheeks, each time the lads cries and whimpers, as well as his jerky reactions to the agony across his little bare behind, became more pronounced. But he kept his head pushed down, his hands in front of him, his legs well apart and his bottom up willing to take his hiding bravely.
After his three, I paused again.
And now? I asked the crying boy, Had enough?
Oh yes, sir, he sobbed although he kept his exposed position up and over the chair, I think Ive learnt my lesson.
Are you sure? Sure that your bottoms sore enough?
Yes, sir, the boy was clearly desperate to get up and rub his blazing bottom. I let him, and his tear stained face reflected his relief as he clutched at his throbbing cheeks.
Thats enough rubbing, I told the boy, and as was my custom, I pointed to the corner. Eric always had corner time after a hiding. It gave him time to calm down and reflect upon the punishment that he had just received. Releasing his bottom reluctantly, the twelve year old crossed to the corner of the room, and assumed the position that he knew was expected of him. Nose touching wall, hands in front of him and legs an even thirty centimeters apart, the naked preteen prepared to await his release. I admired the child. He was growing into a strong, sturdy young man. When he started to develop properly, he would, without doubt, draw the attention of all the girls. His firm, rounded bottom sported nine raised weals from my cane, already starting to bruise. I had caned him good and hard, and he had certainly felt it. But what the quietly sniffing boy did not know was that I was not yet finished. I spoke softly, knowing that the boy would be totally focused on my words,
When a man gives a boy a hiding, I began, it is the man that dictates the severity of the punishment, isnt it?
Yes sir, Eric sniffed unsure where this was leading.
Is your bottom very sore, Eric?
Oh yes, sir, the boy was certain.
Do you think it is too sore to take more lashes?
Definitely! Its throbbing and burning!
But when I first gave you hidings, they were more severe than this.
Yes sir. But they were really terrible thrashings. You whipped my bottom so severely that I could hardly sit down the next day! My first hiding from you was twenty lashes, my second was twenty four! Thats why my behaviour has improved so much.
Thats right. And when you cried, and begged me to stop, promising perfect behaviour, did I stop caning you?
No, sir, the preteen was starting to get decidedly nervous, shifting his feet slightly, still facing the wall, you said that I would only start to benefit from my hiding when my bottom was so sore that I thought that I couldnt take any more.
So now, I continued, I ought to give you a few more good lashes if youre to benefit from this caning.
You dont! I promise, I dont need any more!
Ill be the judge of what you need. Bend over.
Reluctantly, but without any hesitation, Eric walked back to the armchair and bent his naked body over it, dropping his head and raising his whipped bottom submissively for me. I placed the cane on the seat of the chair, inches from the boys nose, knowing that he would have no choice but to stare at it. Then I gently rubbed his bottom, noting the heat that was still present from the first part of the thrashing. Although I was impressed that the boy had voluntarily taken a truly sound caning, I also knew him well. He may protest, but I suspect that he knew I was right the caning that I would give him now would be the true punishment. The nine stroke hiding that he had just received was only to prepare his bottom for the serious thrashing. After rubbing his soft, welted little cheeks for a couple of minutes, I retrieved the cane, and stroked my tender, sore target with it.
Saying no more to the naked, bending boy, I lifted the stick and whipped it smartly across his chubby backside, ensuring that my follow through allowed all the energy of the stroke to sink into his sensitive flesh. Eric wailed the cane landing across an already sore bottom is indeed sore. Even although I made sure that I never let the cane whip over an existing stripe (I didnt want to draw blood), the whole area of a soundly caned young bare bum is always tender, so each lash must have felt as if I was cutting the twelve year olds rear end to pieces. At a leisurely pace, I slowly caned the boy not speaking to him, just enjoying the wails and howls as my cane bit deep into his exposed hindquarters. This was what giving a preteen boy a hiding was really about. Whipping his bare bottom with a junior cane, stroke after stroke, long after he feels that he has reached his threshold of agony.
Eric had asked for and received nine strokes in total, and initially he had believed that that had been enough. But, as I had already explained to the little boy, when a lad is punished, it is not he who must decide when the lesson has been thoroughly enough beaten into him. I slowly administered another nine sound strokes with my cane while the boy writhed and suffered under the lash. It took nearly fifteen minutes. Im never one to rush a good hiding, and if the truth be known, I thoroughly enjoyed thrashing my nephews bare bottom.
Alright, thats it, Eric, I announced after making the boy wait for more than minute after the ninth lash, expecting the tenth, you may get up now.
For the first time since we had started this discipline regime, Eric leapt up, hands clasping bottom, and buried his face in my shirt, Thank you sir! he sobbed, You were right. I deserved much more than I asked for. You always know whats good for me.
I said nothing, just smiled to myself. Erics was a very different boy from the one he had been a few months ago and living proof of the efficacy of regular, good hidings for little boys.