"Shorts off!" snapped the man.
Without hesitation, Murray gripped the waistband of his pyjama shorts and slipped them off, handing them to his father. The 11 year-old boy had been summoned from his bedroom where he was already in bed. As he only ever slept in shorts, the child now stood naked before the angry man. After throwing his sons shorts into a corner, the angry man brandished a piece of paper in front of the boy. Being called by his father to his study after bedtime was always a sign that the boy was in serious trouble.
"Do you know what this is?"
The naked little boy shook his head, although the fact that he was standing here, all bare, and his dads anger was starting to give the boy an inclination as to the contents of the letter. So his dad had found out. Murray, knowing better than to cover himself up, stood at attention, but couldn't help clenching his bare bottom cheeks.
"It is an account," the man enlightened his son, "and a letter explaining that you and your friend are responsible for damaging school property. Not only that, your headmaster has explained exactly what you gouged into those desks. I will not accept this kind of behaviour from a son of mine!"
"I'm sorry daddy," Murray's eyes were brimming with tears. He had hoped that the sound hiding that he had received from the headmaster would be the end of it, but now that his dad knew, his bottom would be in for some more, serious, punishment, "please don't punish me more - I have already had a hiding from sir!"
"Yes, I know," the man's anger was still apparent, "he has written that you had been dealt with, but has given me no details. What exactly was your punishment?"
"Six of the best, on my bare bottom, with the cane!"
"Good. Well, you had two weeks to recover from that, so that backside of yours should be ready for me to thrash as well!"
Murray's dad did not have to tell his son that part of the reason for him being so angry was that Murray had kept this a secret for two weeks. He insisted that Murray always told him about school punishments - so that he could decide whether or not to give the boy another hiding at home. Had Murray told him about the vandalising of the desks, and the bare bottomed six of the best, he probably would have spanked the boy - but he would not have dealt with him nearly as severely as he was going to do now. The pre-teen knew that not telling his dad about a hiding at school was regarded, in their family, as the same as lying to his father. Completely unacceptable, and worthy of severe sanction. The man had made up his mind to sort out the 11 year olds increasingly bad behaviour once and for all – he would use this incident to literally thrash the nonsense out of the boy, giving him an absolute bottom roasting.
The man pointed to the wall, and that was all that Murray needed to know. With a little sob he turned around and went to the wall, still standing at attention, nose pressed to the plaster. He always had to stand like this and wait when his dad was really mad - it was so that the man could calm down and punish his son fairly, but to Murray it was torture having to wait to have his bottom whipped. The man sat down at his desk, leaned back in his chair, and admired his son. The naked boys skin was bronzed from his many hours in the sun, which made his startlingly white bottom stand out even more. There was not an ounce of fat on Murray's slender pre-teen body, even his bottom seemed muscular although the man knew from the many times that he had spanked his son that the childs backside was beautifully soft and smooth. Although two weeks had passed, the faint blue stripes from the cane could still be made out across the lower half of the child's curved buttocks. The headmaster had indeed given the boy a good hiding. Eventually, he stood up, placed a straight back wooden chair in the centre of the room and sat on it, "Come here, my boy,"
Reluctantly, Murray turned around and shuffled towards his dad. This was how hidings were started - and the 11 year-old could only hope that this one wouldn't be too bad. But in his heart, he sensed that this evening his father would whip his bottom harder and more fiercely than ever before.
"Bend over."
Murray had been assuming this position since he was five years old, and knew exactly what was expected of him. Gracefully, he draped his naked body over his father's knees, gripping the leg of the chair with one hand, and his dad's ankle with the other. He felt the man's arm grip his slender torso, and he dropped his head, bracing himself for the spanking to come.
The man rested a hand lightly on the pre-teens naked bottom, enjoying the soft warmth of the small cheeks. Then he carefully traced each of the faded cane stripes with his finger, once again admiring the headmaster's skill at thrashing the boys little bottom. That hiding must have hurt. But as a father, he had his duty to do. He raised his hand, and spanked it down on the little lads naked buttocks, getting a grunt from the boy. Slowly, methodically he spanked his son, alternating his hard smacks on each of the rounded little bottom cheeks. Although he covered the entirety of the childs rear-end, he made sure that he concentrated his spanks just above the boy's legs. Some boys of 11 consider themselves too old, and too tough, to go over there daddy's knee for hand spankings, but Murray had no such illusions. His dad was a big strong man, with hard calloused hands, and it was not long before the muscular little boy was squirming and weeping. But for Murray the worst part was knowing that the hand spanking was only the beginning. He was fully aware that what he had done was serious, far too serious to warrant just a spanking - he only got those for minor misdemeanours.
"Alright, that will do for now," the man announced, helping the pre-teen up, "back to the wall with you, no bottom rubbing - hands on head this time!"
Murray placed his hands on his head, and resumed his place against the wall, sniffling, bottom burning. Being sent to stand back at the wall was a bad sign, but not being allowed to rub his bottom and stand with his hands on his head was even worse! That must mean that his dad was really mad! The 11 year-old was quite a sight - previously white bottom now deep pink, hand prints clearly visible on the tender flesh. But tonight the boy was going to learn a lesson, even if it meant that he could not sit down for days afterwards! After leaving his son standing like that for about half-an-hour, Murray's daddy replaced the chair at he had been sitting on in another corner, and then called the boy over to where he was standing behind a big leather armchair.
As the little boy crossed the room, his dad started to unbuckle his leather belt, and Murray knew what that meant. Not a word passed between man and boy, the unbuckling of the belt was enough to remind the boy what to do. He had had a belt hiding on several occasions, each time ending up with a blazing backside. The pre-teen slowly draped himself over the back of the armchair, gripping the sides of the leather cushion with his hands, dropping his platinum blonde head, spreading his legs as wide as he could and raising his bottom for his thrashing. Behind him, his dad slowly doubled over the heavy, wide leather belt, eyeing his small target. The pinkness from the boys spanking was already starting to fade, and his bare bottom was in the perfect position for a sound leathering. Building up the tension, he gently rubbed the doubled over strap all over the 11 year-old backside, contemplating where to land a first lash.
Murray dared not clench his buttocks, his daddy always insisted that he take every single stroke with the belt with his bottom relaxed. His widespread legs meant that the leather would lick into the most intimate parts of his bottom, and the pain would be the excruciating. It was perhaps his experience of taking beltings from his dad that had kept the little boy down for his solid caning two weeks previously.
The belt was lifted, and then crashed down, lighting a wide strip of fire across the childs small bottom. Murray's body plunged with the sudden pain, and the pre-teen yelped. A short pause, then the belt land again slightly lower. His dad had started about halfway down his bottom, and was working his way down the 11 year-olds exposed cheeks, making sure that the lashes overlapped wherever possible, so that the boy could really feel the impact of his hiding.
After he had administered six hefty strokes with the strap, he walked round to the front of the chair, placed one hand on the boys head, and pressed the child down into an even tighter bending position. Murray was horrified. His dad had only done this once, and the grade six boy knew that his little bottom was really in for it now. His dad leaned slightly over the youngster's body, raised the belt and cracked it down right in the centre of the boy's buttocks. The wide leather snapped between the boys bottom cheeks, right in that incredibly sensitive area, and Murray screamed with the pain. But his dad was not moved by his sons agony. He started from the left cheek of the boy's bottom and started belting across the youngsters behind, giving the child three solid strokes on each cheek, then three more in the middle of his buttocks. The last two strokes wrapped right down, and had the boy's testicles not been hanging down due to the gravity and his position of the chair, they would have been hit too. As it was, the leather visited the sensitive skin just below Murrays scrotum. Then the man stood up, and slowly replaced his belt, looking at the bright red, soundly thrashed little bottom of his 11 year-old son. Murray sobbed and wailed, but didn't dare move.
"Get up," the man ordered, trying to still sound angry, even although he was sorry for the little boy that he had found it necessary to punished as severely," I'm nearly finished your hiding - give your bottom rub."
Murray could hardly believe his ears! He had had some pretty good hidings from his dad, but this was the worst. He had even been lashed between his bottom cheeks before, but never this severely! And his dad was not even finished yet! Slowly he rose from the armchair, and grasped his blazing bottom, gently trying to rub some of the sting out of it.
"I don't have a cane, Murray," the man reminded his son, "and I intend to rectify that this week. I shall telephone your headmaster and ask him way he gets his canes. Then I will have one for future use on your bottom. So for now I'm going to have to do with a switch."
"No daddy! Please! You've given me a really good hiding, I don't need any more!"
"Ill decide when you have had enough my boy. And I have decided that although your bottom is very sore, you need some stripes across it too," he reached into his pocket and handed the boy his pen knife, "come with me, I will show you how to cut a switch. My father used to make me cut them for my own bare bottom when I was your age, and so I'm going to pass the skill on to you!"
Man and boy left the house and walked into the garden. There was enough light from the full moon for them to see what they were doing, but it was still a comical sight to see the large man and the slender, small naked boy outside - Murray could not walk comfortably, he had to walk with his legs well apart. The belting between his buttocks made closing his legs too uncomfortable for the pre-teen. His dad selected a green, highly flexible, whippy stick about the length of Murray's arm, and the thickness of the boys index finger. He made the child cut it, then clean it with the knife - and then the two came back inside, the man leading, Murray following behind reluctantly, still holding on to the switch that would be used on his own raw feeling bottom shortly.
"Now when I send you out to cut to a switch for your hiding, I expect you to know exactly what to do, Murray," the man informed his son when they were back in the study and the door was closed, "and now you're going to find out just what it feels like on that bottom of yours."
Murray had to plead for clemency one more time. His little bottom was already so sore that he didn't know how he would manage to take a thrashing from that slender, thin and flexible stick that his father was swishing through the air in front of him, "Please, daddy! Please let the off! You don't need to give me any more smacks! You've already given me a very big hiding!"
Looking down at the tearful little boy, Murray's father was almost swayed. But he hardened his heart. If he let the boy get away with vandalism and then dishonesty without the most severe punishment, he would be giving the child the message that the consequences for his actions were not too bad. No, he had to really beat this lesson into the boy, even if it meant all but taking a layer of skin off his slender 11 year-old backside. He flexed the stick in his large hands and shook his head, "No, my boy. I told you that I was going to give you a switching, and that is exactly what I am going to do. Now bend over and touch your toes!"
Murray gave up on his argument. From the look on his face, he knew that his father was not to be challenged on this. He would get that switch on his bottom, whether he liked it or not. Best to just bend over and get it over with. Still unable to close his legs, Murray bent over, unconsciously assuming the position that naughty schoolboys had been assuming for generations to take their hidings. He kept his legs straight, bottom-up, head down and eyes tightly shut, especially as he felt the switch gently tapping his bruised bottom. The agony from the first stroke caused the boy to quickly reach back and grasp his ankles in his efforts to retain his position. It was a thin fire burning across his bottom cheeks, and his relief was almost tangible when his daddy only gave him four lashes. But it was to be those four stripes that marked his small rounded bottom for the longest.
And, two weeks later, Mr Jones, Murray's form tutor, smiled to himself as he supervised the boys showering after games and noted of the four lines across the pretty little pre-teens bottom. Especially as he thought of the note from the lads father on his desk – explaining that Murray now knew how to cut a switch, and giving the teacher permission to use such a whip on the eleven year olds bare bottom whenever his behaviour warranted it. It was such a pity that Murray was off to boarding school next term. The boy's father had decided that Murray ought to spend a couple of years, before going to senior school, in a really strict prep school. Mr Jones wished that he too was going to Weeping Willows Prep School for Boys – as a teacher, of course.