Sam hadn't been surprised to see his name up on the punishment board. He had accumulated three detentions in just two weeks, and he knew that his housemaster would be dealing with him shortly. The 11 year old boy was well aware that his slender bare bottom would soon be soundly tanned. He waited for the lights out bell to ring, then, knowing the procedure, he took off his pyjamas and went down to sirs study.
The housemaster had not forgotten about Sam, but he chose to make the naughty grade six boy wait for him. When he finally did get to his study, he was not surprised to find Sam ready for him. Boys in his house knew that once they had been summoned for an evening thrashing, there would be no negotiation. The site that greeted the man as he entered the room, closing the door firmly behind him, was one that he had seen many times before during his lengthy career as a housemaster. But Sam was a good looking little boy, slender swimmer's body, strawberry blonde hair, slightly sun browned skin. The naked child, knowing what to do, was already in position. He was in the centre of the room, legs about half a metre apart, knees straight, hands grasping ankles, head down and bottom up. The boys in the House knew that this was how they had to be presented for punishment in the evening. The housemaster made it clear that he did not wish to waste time telling them to bend over, and they wisely made sure that they were ready for their hidings. Every little pre-teen boy knew that when sir decided to thrash them in the evening, their fate was already sealed.
So, Samuel," the man rested his fingers on the small of the bending boys back, just where the sun tanned skin changed to almost glowing white from the lads Speedo tan, "three detentions already! You certainly need a painful reminder on your bottom about how boys in this house are expected to behave!"
"I am very sorry sir," the nervous, naked child apologised, knowing that nothing he could say would save his up raised bare bottom from a well deserved hiding, "I should be firmly punished."
"Don't you worry, young man," Sir moved his hand to the boys well presented little bum, gently tapping each rounded cheek, then squeezing the child's tender buttocks, "I have every intention of soundly warming up this backside of yours."
Without haste the man crossed to his desk and recovered his strap from a drawer. Unlike the headmaster's strap, this one did not have tails, rather it was one short but wide and thick strip of black leather, a wooden handle nailed to the end for comfortable grip when administering a beating. The housemaster had used his strap to thrash countless little bare bottoms over the years, but after a hiding the boy, always tearful, backside throbbing, would have to carefully oil the leather. This helped the punished lad learned humility and also kept the strap smooth and ready for its next encounter with a soft bare bottom. Caressing the strap lovingly through his fingers, sir crossed back to Sam.
The boy had been strapped by sir on at least five occasions since joining the school at the age of eight, and knew that the leather would certainly hurt his exposed backside. Up until his 11th birthday, the immediate threat of a hiding from the housemaster would have been all that would have been on his mind. His widowed mother would have turned him over her knee for a long bare bottom spanking when she received his report (official hidings were always put on boy's reports). But when he had turned 11, she had decided that he was too big for her to spank, and she had warned the pre-teen that his future hidings would be handled by the chief groom on her estate. So far, Sam had managed to keep out of trouble, and he could only hope that his mother's threat would not be carried out. The groom was a huge man, and Sam had heard stories about how severely he thrashed his own boys. But back to the impending hiding in the housemasters study. Sam braced himself as he felt the leather tapping on his naked rear end.
The housemaster was not a cruel man, but he was a great believer in making sure that when a boy got a hiding from him, it hurt! Having said that, he could never bring himself to really thrash a boy hard. Even although, deep down, he actually enjoyed the power that he held in his study over his naked little victims. He also had a soft spot in his heart for Sam, the boy was generally a quiet, sensible little chap, a hard worker in the classroom and seldom in trouble. Some boys landed up bending over naked in his study every second week, but not Sam. In fact, the man realised that he had not strapped the lad since before the child's 11th birthday. He sighed to himself, he would not go any easier on this boy - three detentions in such a short period was disturbing, and he decided to whip this nonsense out of Sam before it got any worse. With a technique perfected over many years of punishing little boys' bottoms, sir strapped Sam. The ancient, well cured leather landed across the young, tender naked bottom of the submissive child, with its characteristic crack. Sam gasped and redoubled his efforts to hang on to his ankles as the burn of the leather sunk into his hind quarters. He knew that movement or any attempt to protect himself or pleas for mercy would not be tolerated. Besides, he liked his housemaster and wanted to impress the man by taking his well deserved punishment.
Again the strap snapped across the 11th year olds poor little bottom. After only two lashes, Sir was pleased to note that Sams formally white cheeks were already turning nice and red. Good. He was making an impression on the boy. And, of course, Sam would be able to show off his injuries to the rest of the grade six boys in the showers in the morning. A soundly strapped bottom is always a useful deterrent for other potentially naughty little boys. He whipped Sam's up raised backside again, getting into his rhythm.
I am going to give you four strokes for each detention, Samuel. That means you will receive how many all together?"
12 sir," gasped the tightly bent pre-teen, "a dozen."
Thats right, young man. Which means that you have how many left?"
I have had three, sir. That means I am still to get another nine, sir."
"Thats right, Samuel. Nine more good, hard lashes with my trusty strap on that young bottom of yours. I hope it teaches you a lesson."
Yes sir," then, instinctively, "thank you sir."
There was silence behind him for a long moment, then the strap wrapped itself around Sam's bare cheeks again, the fire of the leather causing the young boy to yelp - a lesson being well taught indeed. The man was in no hurry, taking his time with this beating, enjoying himself giving the attractive lad a good, solid hiding, noting how the boy struggled to take his punishment bravely. After the strokes had all been inflicted, the housemaster returned to his desk and put the strap away. Then he stood behind the still bending 11 year old, admiring the child's soundly beaten bottom. Gently he rubbed and squeezed each throbbing, toasty little bum cheek, until Sam's sobbing had almost completely died away. When he did allow the grade six boy to stand, the pre-teen grasped his sore bottom with both hands, face red and wet with his tears. After he had given his aching behind a good massage, he held out his right hand (naturally, his left hand still rubbed his glowing backside) and, as was the tradition, firmly shook the house master's hand, Thank you very much for my hiding sir. It was just what I needed and deserved."
You took your punishment well and I'm proud of you. Let's not have a repeat performance young man!"
Do you have to put this hiding down on my report Sir? My mother finds out about it she will have me really well thrashed by the groom."
The housemaster was tempted to reassure the boy. But he knew his duty, and he found something strangely exciting about knowing that the pretty youngster would have that slim bottom of his soundly beaten, and there was nothing that the boy could do about it, You know the rules Samuel, if your mother feels that you deserve further punishment, then you must take what's coming to you. Now collect the wax and the cloth and polish up my strap nicely.
Sam knew where the wax and cloth were from his previous hidings from Sir, and, under the man's watchful eye the naked boy carefully worked on the leather, until its owner was satisfied. Then he was dismissed and went off to bed, bottom stinging, worried about what would happen when he returned home for the exeat.
So it was with mixed feelings that the 11 year-old returned home for the weekend two weeks later. It was great to be back on his mother's estate, where he could ride his horses and generally relax for a few days. But first he had to hand his report over, and take the consequences for his punishment at the hands of the housemaster. As expected, his mother was not pleased, and, as the pre-teen had feared, her comment was, "I warned you Sam, now that you have turned 11, you need to be thrashed by a man."
She quickly penned a letter on her notepaper addressed to the groom, and sent a very downcast boy to the stables. When Sam arrived, he had to wait for the large man to finish brushing down one of the stallions before he could hand over the letter from his mother. The groom read the letter carefully, slowly, then looked down at the pretty little boy before him. Although he was always charming to Sam, for years he has secretly fantasised about getting the opportunity to bring this rich brat down to size. Not that Sam was an unpleasant child - quite the opposite. The boy was always well mannered and helpful. It was just that the groom hated the idea that this little boy would inherit all that money for doing just about nothing. The man was in his late fifties, and had brought up four boys of his own, so he knew how to punish a youngster properly. The thought of taking his whip to the almost delicate pre-teen excited him.
Very well, young sir, take yourself into the tack room, and wait for me. And Samuel, I believe that the only way a boy should be thrashed is totally naked. So make sure that you take off in every last stitch of your clothing before I get there."
Sam quickly left the stables, crossed to the courtyard and entered the tack room. It was a large, airy room, kept neat and tidy at all times, bits-and-pieces of tack hanging from the walls, with a saw horse in the middle where the groom repaired saddles. Heeding the groom's advice, the little boy quickly undressed, neatly stacking his clothing out of the way. Then, unsure what to do, he crossed to the wall facing the door, and stood with his nose against it - as he had on several occasions when waiting for the headmaster's cane at school. He felt terribly exposed, the cool air in the room making goose bumps stand up all over his naked body, as he fearfully awaited his hiding. Instinctively, the pre-teen knew that this would be a painful experience - possibly one of the worst thrashings that he would never receive.
The groom entered the room about half an hour later. He closed the door behind him, bolting it firmly, then admired the view of the naked child, relishing in the thought that the little lad would be completely at his mercy. Working slowly, and making as much noise as he could in order to make Sam even more nervous, he shifted the wooden horse until it was almost against one of the walls- this would give him lots of room to swing his whip. Then, wordlessly, he grasped the 11 year old by his arm and led him to the horse. Bend over.
The command to bend over was one that Sam was familiar with from school. And it was obvious that the groom wished him to bend over the horse, so he bent. The horse was slightly too high for him to bend over comfortably, so the little boy ended up on his toes, stretching down on the other side of the horse to grasp the rail that was there - his head right down, his body tightly bent, and his bottom right up. Still saying nothing, the groom quickly and firmly tied Sam's hands to the railing, then pulled the boys ankles wide apart, about a metre, and tied them to the legs of the horse. This left the pre-teen in a completely helpless and vulnerable position, his naked young bottom open and exposed for his punishment. Then the groom crossed to the wall and unhooked the weapon that he would be using on the small white bare backside. It was the long, thin leather whip that had in the past been used to break in difficult horses. It was an implement that the man had used on several occasions on his own sons, tied down as Sam was, in this very room. He was an expert at using it on young bottoms, delivering an excruciating thrashing while doing minimum damage. He was looking forward to decorating the slim, but nicely rounded pale little bottom before him with scarlet stripes, and hearing the rich little kid wail as he gave him what he regarded as a "real" hiding. The man noted that the boy's bottom was unmarked - the leathering that he had had at school obviously wasn't nearly severe enough, the bruises had already disappeared, and it had only been a few weeks! He would show Sam what getting a sore bottom was really all about.
Sam had been able to turn his head, so he had seen the groom take down the whip. Although he had heard that the whip had at times been used on the groom's own boys, he had assumed that such a terrible implement of punishment would have only been used rarely, and for terrible offences. Not for something as, to a prep school boy like Sam anyway, relatively minor as a routine strapping from the housemaster! He had expected the groom to give him a solid belting with that thick working belt that the man always wore, or at the very worst a few strokes with the cane that he had heard from the man's sons that he owned. But the whip! This really would be a terrible hiding! Little did Sam know that normally the groom would only have belted him, but the man had succumbed to the urge to really thrash the pre-teen, partly because he was looking forward to it, and partly because the boy's mother had instructed him to give her son "a hiding that he would never forget".
Do you really have to thrash me with the whip, Sir?" begged the helpless, naked pre-teen, bare bottom feeling awfully exposed, sticking up like it was, Cant you just give me a good hiding with your belt?"
Master Samuel, today is the day that you learn what a real hiding is! Your mother has instructed me to thrash your backside, and that is what I intend to do. Now put your head down and get ready to feel the whip!"
Sam, from his many experiences of corporal punishment at Weeping Willows Prep School, knew that boys about to receive a beating never argued, they simply took their punishment as bravely as they could. He dropped his head, and, like the good little boy that he was didn't even try to clench his wide spread buttocks, submitting himself completely to his thrashing. The groom's words worried him - he thought that he had been on the receiving end of some pretty fierce hidings at school, especially those bare bottom canings from the headmaster, and if those weren't "real hidings", then this really would be a terrible punishment.
The groom flicked the whip on the floor gently, getting the feel for its length again. It had been several years since he had used it on one of his own sons. He had only used the whip on his boys a few times, but they had been Sam's age and older, so he knew that the slender naked boy on the horse was not too young to take a sound beating. Without warning, he flicked the whip back and then cracked it across Sam's rounded little bum cheeks, ensuring that the fierce weapon burnt a path of fire equally painfully across both spread buttocks, while not wrapping around to damage the boy's thighs. With barely a pause he cracked the whip across those tender little cheeks again, and then paused. Sam had been too shocked to make a sound after the first stroke, but had gasped as the second had landed almost immediately below. The groom waited for nearly half a minute before repeating the procedure - two firm lashes cracking across the pre-teens bare little bottom in quick succession. He had expected Sam to be screaming and performing but was surprised that the youngster just yelped in pain, kept his head down, and made no effort to beg for mercy.
The man had been right! Even the headmaster's cane was not this sore! Sam recognized the groom's expertise immediately, noting how the man had wasted no time with the top half of his naked bottom, lashing the whip into the lower, sensitive part of his fleshy behind from the start. Even through the excruciating agony of the four most painful lashes that he had ever felt on his bare bottom, Sams respect for the grooms whipping skills had grown immeasurably. Boys at Weeping Willows always judged the men responsible for them by how painful a hiding from them was - in the strange way of small boys, they had the most respect and affection for the men that thrashed their bottoms the most effectively. The groom had gone to the top of Sam's list immediately. Even higher than the headmaster! He grit his teeth, and waited for his hiding to continue. Another pause, then the whip cracked across his exposed hind quarters for the 5th and 6th lashes, but the child managed to keep his reaction to a minimum, hoping to impress the groom with his fortitude as much as the groom had impressed him with his ability to beat a boy's bottom.
For his own part, the groom was amazed. He had not expected Sam to take his thrashing so bravely, and even as he expertly lashed the pre-teen he noted how the little boy had kept his head down in his determination to take his punishment. Do I match up to your headmaster?"
Oh yes sir!" Sam's voice was tight with pain and the effort not to cry, "This is the most painful hiding that I have ever had! You are even better at giving hidings than my headmaster!"
Good! Now how many lashes with the strap did your housemaster give you?"
"12 sir."
What were you wearing?"
Nothing sir," Sam was a little surprised at the question. Obviously the groom did not know much about prep school life, "my housemaster is like you, he believes that naughty boys should be thrashed on the bare bottom - and after lights out hidings are always totally naked."
Once again the groom was surprised. So the punishment that rich little boys got at school was not as soft as he had thought. And the cane? Have you been caned on your bare bottom by your headmaster? What is the worst hiding that you have had at school?"
There was silence from the naked youngster for a few moments while he contemplated the strange question. He wished the groom would just get on with it and finished lashing his poor bare bottom. But he was the one tied down with his throbbing backside in the air, and the groom was the one standing behind him using the whip, so he naturally chose not to annoy a the man. Oh yes sir! Most hidings from the headmaster, especially with the cane, are on the bare bottom at my school. The worst I have had from the headmaster is six of the best with the strap followed by six of the best with the cane - all bare bottomed of course."
The groom was completely absorbed by these revelations, and suddenly realised that he had been neglecting his duty. He cracked the thin whip twice more across Sam's inviting little bottom, this time actually getting a sob from the child. The boys matter of fact way of discussing and accepting punishment was impressing him, and he decided to change his tactic. With his own sons, he had simply whipped their bottoms until they were wailing and he had decided that they had been punished enough. But it was clear that Sam was accustomed to a more formal approach to his beatings, and the man was developing a great deal of respect for the naked little eleven-year-old tightly bent before him. He decided he would punish the boy more formally, So if your house master gave you a dozen strokes with his strap, I think that's what I'll give you with my whip."
Thank you sir. You've already given me eight, so that means just four more." Sam was relieved. Although his bottom was on fire, he was pretty sure he could get through another four strokes fairly easily, and maintain some of his dignity. But the groom had other ideas. The fact that Sam had just assumed that his thrashing was almost over slightly annoyed the man, and he was enjoying himself far too much to finish the hiding just yet.
"I don't think so young man! That was my warm-up. Now I'm going to give you your 12 lashes with my whip - and if you think the previous ones were bad, your backside is about to move into a whole new world of pain!"
Sam did not argue, of course. He had been brought up to accept punishment, no matter how severe. So he just dropped his head, and tried to prepare himself to endure what was by far becoming the hiding of his life. As the whip wrapped around his naked little buttocks, he squealed through his teeth, and promised himself that he would never again give his mum cause to send him down to be thrashed by the groom. This time, the whip did not fall in sets of two lashes. The man took his time carefully beating the boys exposed little cheeks, and Sam truly felt each excruciating stripe.
It took another four sound strokes to get a yell out of the 11 year-old, giving the groom his first sign that the little lad was broken to his punishment. He had always believed that a true hiding only starts when the boy being thrashed starts to shout out in pain and beg for mercy. But he was only to have half of that from Sam. Although the naked pre-teen howled as the whip snapped across his bruised, scarlet welted bottom time and again, it didn't once enter the boy's mind to ask for a reprieve. He had accepted his sentence and knew that he had to endure every last lash of his thrashing. He knew that hidings were designed to hurt, so the absolutely breathtaking agony that seemed to sink right through his bottom and leak into the centre of his body and down his legs was, to the child, well deserved. If the adult punishing him believed that he needed to be thrashed this severely, he accepted that the man must be right and fair.
The 12 strokes ended at last, and, leaving the pitifully sobbing little boy as he was, the groom carefully hung the whip up on its hook, then admired his handiwork. Sam's bottom was dominated by scarlet welts, that were already turning to multi-coloured bruises. Even the parts of the boy's bottom that had not been directly whipped (just a few inches of upper bottom really) were looking red. Certainly a good hiding had been administered, and the man couldn't resist gently running a hand down the boy's sore cheeks. Obviously having a man's hand on his bottom was something that Sam was used to after a hiding, because he hardly seemed to notice. The groom left the room and returned a few minutes later with a bucket of cold water. Without warning, he emptied the bucket over the boys burning backside. His own sons would have gasped at the cool water on their hot bottoms after a beating, as did Sam. But to his amazement the boy actually thanked him! He untied the child's limbs, and helped the pre-teen to stand up. But before the boy a even touched his punished bottom, he put his hand out and took the groom's firmly, Thank you for giving me a good hiding sir. You are the best giver of hidings ever! I don't think I'm going to sit down for days! And I'm definitely going to try my best to be good, because I don't want too many hidings from you again!"
The groom was impressed. But judging from Sam's tone of voice, the boy was under no illusions. He knew his own weaknesses, and sounded to the groom as if he would be over the horse again soon. The man certainly hoped so!