"As you can imagine, Marc," the boys father flexed his cane menacingly, "I am far from impressed with your report this term."
This was twelve year old Marcs first term in the seventh grade, and he could hardly deny that he had done very poorly with his school work. He had been wrapped up in his sport and enjoying being a senior boy, and prefect, and in his prep school – on several occasions, his housemaster has firmly slippered the preteens bottom for poor schoolwork, once even bare – but this had had little effect. Too late, he had remembered his fathers insistence on a high standard of academic achievement, but by then it was too late. So when he had entered his dads study and noted the straight backed chair already in place in the middle of the room, the boy had quickly stripped off his pyjamas and stood waiting, naked for his father to arrive to deal with him. Whenever the chair was out in the study, with the cane placed on the seat, Marc knew that he was in for a hiding. And when his dad thrashed him, he always insisted that the youngster was naked. And, since Marcs tenth birthday, hed always used the cane – long and hard – on the childs bare bottom. He stood behind the chair, waiting for the inevitable command.
"Sorry, daddy," he knew that an apology was expected, but wouldnt make any difference to his punishment, "I didnt work very hard."
"Thats for sure. Youre an intelligent boy, and this report is appalling!" the man stood behind his son, whipping the cane through the air to emphasise his words. He watched the preteen clench his chubby cheeks at the sound of the stick humming through the air. His whole body reflected his mood. Head down, hands clasped in front of him. Although the preteen was still very much prepubescent, he was at the age when he was very self conscious of his hairless genitals, covering them even in the presence of his father. Unlike his little brother, who was yet to become shy in this way, and often paraded around the house naked, just like Marc had done when he was younger. The boys dark blond hair came up to just below his dads chin, and his body was just starting to fill out nicely. Most of the puppy fat had gone, although the boy still needed to grow a bit. But his white young bottom had lost none of its chubbiness – the boys cheeks were pert and clearly separated, always a good target for a sound hiding. When he had entered the study, he had noted that his twelve year old son was still hairless below the waist.
An hour earlier, Marcs ten year old brother had had his first hiding with the cane. The man had forgotten how small a ten year olds bottom is, but he hadnt held back as he blasted the cane time and time again across the wailing little boys bare behind. The younger boy – really just a smaller version of Marcus – had left the study with a very welted and bruised young bottom. Now it was the turn of the twelve year old.
"Im very sorry, daddy," was all the lad could think of saying.
"And?" there was a fixed script for these sessions, and the man waited for the boy to say his part.
"I need a very sound hiding, daddy, to help me work better," Marc cringed at his own words, but knew the rules, "please use your cane to really thrash my bottom good and hard."
The boy had dropped his head and shuffled slightly as he said his words, clenching his chubby young bum cheeks once again. The slipperings that he received occasionally at school stung, but was nothing compared to the excruciating agony of his dads cane. He knew full well that there was now nothing that he could do to protect his bare bottom from the terrible agony that was coming.
"Oh, Im going to thrash your backside, alright, my boy. Ive been caning you since you were ten. Obviously, not severely enough. Im going to rectify that – Ive just given Rory his first hiding with the cane, and I made sure it was far more painful than your first caning. Now Im going to give you a hiding that will make up for all the times that I have been too lenient with you."
"Oh no, daddy!" Marc was horrified by his fathers words, "Your canings always hurt! A lot!"
"Clearly not enough! Tonight youre really going to feel what the cane is like."
"Oh, daddy!"
"And instead of giving you one good hiding for the report, Im going to punish you for each and every subject and comment here that I find unacceptable. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Bend over."
Sobbing already, the naked preteen slowly bent over the back of the chair, careful to keep his feet as wide apart as the legs of the sturdy piece of furniture. From experience, he knew what to do, reaching forward as far as he could, grasping the front of the seat, and pushing his head down. Marc raised his rounded little bottom up as well as he could for his dad – there was no point trying to avoid it. The twelve year old knew how he was to present himself for punishment, and there was nothing to be gained from further angering his father. Complete submission was expected and given, despite the boys feelings of exposure, exaggerated by the touch of the cane as his dad traced the tip over his tender, pale and soft cheeks – low, and rubbed the stick gently on the target area.
"Firstly," the man began, resting the stick on the very exposed feeling bottom of his oldest son, "your English. The marks not too bad, but the comment from your teacher shows that you are clearly not making sufficient effort. That will be three strokes."
Marc really liked his English teacher, and knew that the teacher liked him. His teacher was never satisfied with anybodys effort – it was just his way, but the little boy knew that there would be no arguing with his father. Three strokes may not sound too bad, but three on the bare bottom with the cane is always terribly painful. Especially when his daddy was the one wielding the stick – he always caned hard. Much harder than even the headmaster! Marc braced himself. The cane was lifted, and then the familiar, excruciating agony exploded across his naked bottom as the first stroke fell. The boy sobbed, gripping the seat and making himself keep his head down. A long pause, then the next stripe of agony.
The cane made a most satisfying crack across the chubby, round bottom of the twelve year old, and Marcs dad made sure that the stick bit deep into the white, tender little under bottom of his son. After he was sure that the boy was ready, he lashed the lads soft backside for the third time, making sure that the stick lingered, pressing into the yielding flesh for a second. A good follow through always enhanced the pain for the punished boy. He waited, flexing the cane while Marc suffered, the three stripes throbbing across his bottom.
"Stand up, rub your bottom."
Marc stood, gratefully rubbing his stinging cheeks. He would make the best of this opportunity to soothe his backside, and already he could feel the lines rising.
His dad had put the cane back on the chair, and was once again reading from the boys report, "Your maths mark is excellent, and Im proud of you for that. But that means that your marks in physics should be good too! Your science teacher says here that you have a natural ability in this subject, but he makes it clear that you couldnt be bothered to open a book to learn!"
Marcus had no reply to that – he hadnt bothered to do much studying for any of his end of term exams, hoping that his natural ability would pull him through. He had been wrong. And now his bottom was suffering for it,
"Bend over," reluctantly, slowly releasing his throbbing bottom, the naked boy bent, assuming the correct position. He had never before had to bend over again, with an already sore bottom up for further thrashing, but this was the new way that things were to be done. Marc didnt like it, but there was nothing he could do about it as he felt the stick being lined up once again on his exposed backside,
"Another three for the physics, and while youre down, and deal with the Geography and History too. Two for each of them. That makes how many, my boy?"
"Seven, daddy," whispered the preteen, closing his eyes and waiting for the impact of the cane on his upraised young bum. But his father was in no hurry, enjoying the sight of the submissive boy, tightly bent over the chair, pretty young bottom obediently raised for whipping. The three stripes stood out sharply across the lower half of the childs perfectly rounded cheeks. He tapped the cane lightly on the boys bum, then lifted it back and drove it across his target firmly, satisfied with the crack of the stick across tender boy flesh, following the stroke through as Marc reacted with a little gasp, his body plunging as the pain across his lower bottom registered. After a long pause, the man caned the bending preteen again, getting a similar reaction from the naked boy.
Marc, as always, struggled to maintain his self control as the stick licked its line of fire again across his tender backside. His dad never rushed hidings, and the boy had to wait and suffer through each stroke as it was carefully and skilfully administered to his burning tail. He had lost count of the number of times he had bent tightly over the chair, stark naked, bottom raised up for punishment. But each thrashing was just as excruciating as those before it. Marcs bottom had certainly not toughened up – he still suffered enormously through a sound caning, and todays hiding was turning out to one of the worst ever.
The seven lashes seemed, to the twelve year old boy, to last forever. But eventually the cane was replaced on the chair, right under Marcs nose, and he felt the big hand of his father gently grasp his buttocks and massage his aching cheeks. The preteens bottom was still small enough for his daddys large hand to completely engulf both cheeks, and the boy enjoyed the rubbing as much as the man enjoyed the feel of his sons soft, hot and ridged bum. All Marc could do was stare at the cane, sitting inches from his nose, and hope that his father had finished thrashing his backside.
"Stand up," Marc struggled up, hands automatically going to his bottom as his dad walked around to stand before him again, "no more rubbing. Hands on head."
This was an unusual instruction, but Marc obeyed immediately. He had no protection now, his father had deliberately decided to humiliate his boy in order for the child to learn, in an abstract manner, that he had nothing that he could hide from the man.
"Now, you general behaviour at school has also been pretty poor, I believe?"
Marc didnt dare argue with his father. He did not know that the report mentioned nothing of his bad behaviour, and his dad had gambled. But Marc knew that some his activities, and particularly his cheekiness to the teachers, had started to become an issue at school – and he was convinced that his dad had found out about it.
"Yes, sir," he sobbed quietly, knowing now that his hiding was not yet over, "I havent behaved very well. Im sorry."
The man retrieved the cane, and slowly walked around to stand back behind the boy, in the position that he stood to deliver thrashings. Marc didnt need to be told – slowly, he bent over for the third time, reluctantly lifting his bottom back up for the stick. The man firmly tapped the cane on the bruised little bum, deciding that his son rear end was already pretty battered – the ten welts already starting to bruise across the boys lower bottom,
"You have been honest about your behaviour, so you will just get four for now,"
Marc said nothing, just braced himself for punishment. The cane slashed down across his bottom again – carefully placed so that it did not land on any of the other stripes. That would have caused bleeding, and Marcs dad could never bring himself to actually draw blood when giving his boys a hiding. But, after ten lashes, Marcs buttocks was already very sore, the pain having being transferred and shared out all over the surface area of his hindquarters, especially the lower half of the boys bottom. The preteen wailed as his thrashing progressed – the most hed ever had before was eight on his bare bum, and now all pretences of being brave were over. His knuckles were white as he battled to stay down, and it took every inch of his willpower to keep his legs apart and his scalding rear end up. But his hiding continued, his daddy doing his fatherly duty grimly, skilfully tanning the twelve year olds lower cheeks.
Then, it was over. Marcs father stepped back, and regarded his work. Marcs formerly white bottom was now scarlet, especially the area from about half way down his buttock to just above his legs. The stripes were placed closely together, close enough to mean that the childs backside would be solidly bruised for days. Certainly a well administered hiding, and the man was satisfied.
"That will do, Marc," the little boy slowly pushed himself upright, then, remembering his fathers previous orders, he placed his hands on his head, instead of placing them behind him to rub his burning bum, "your hiding is over. You may rub your bottom."
Relieved, the boy reached behind him. It was hard to believe that he was twelve, and a prefect at his school, the way he writhed and battled to stop sobbing, soothing his aching cheeks with his hands.
"One of the most _d_a_m_n_ing parts of this report," the man addressed the bottom holding boy when he had stopped sobbing, and had more or less regained his composure. The naked preteens face was wet with tears, his distress obvious, while his relief at having gotten to the end of his thrashing clear, "is the fact that you were picked to be a prefect, and have set a very poor example to the rest of the boys, and made your headmaster doubt his choice."
"Im sorry, daddy. Ill apologise to sir when school goes back next term, and then Ill behave myself, I promise."
"Im sure that you will, young man. But the damage has been done. There are three weeks until school goes back, and that will give your bottom time to recover. Ive discussed this with your headmaster, and Ill be giving you a hiding when you get back, publicly."
"Oh, no daddy. Please!"
But the man would not be swayed, and eventually Marc picked up his pyjamas and headed off to bed. He would enjoy his holiday, but it would be tempered with the thought of the humiliation and pain of the caning that he would be receiving in front of others.
The three weeks of the holiday passed to quickly for Marc, and his brother Rory. But at least Rory didnt have to think about getting his bottom thrashed on the first day back.
The boys and their father met the headmaster on that first morning in the busy quadrangle that was surrounded by classrooms. The quad was busy, parents, boys and staff going about the normal rushed business of returning to school. Marc had been unsure of how and when his public thrashing would take place. He logically suspected that he would be caned by his father in assembly, when the rest of the boys had settled in and were seated to watch the show. He was shocked when he greeted the headmaster, and the mans comment was,
"Nice to have you back, Marc," he ruffled the attractive boys hair, "but lets get this unpleasant business over with. My canes on my desk. Go and fetch it please."
"Now sir?" Marc was horrified.
"Yes, my boy. Hurry up now."
Slowly, Marc trudged off to the office, and collected sirs cane. The stick was where the man had said it would be. Sirs cane was almost identical to his dads (Marc didnt know that the headmaster had actually given his dad his cane in the first place). Rory had taken to opportunity to spread the word amongst his friends that Marc was about to be thrashed in front of everyone, and suddenly the quad was unusually full of boys who just happened to be passing. Several smirked as Marc crossed back to his dad and the headmaster, gingerly carrying the cane.
His father took the proffered cane from his son, swishing it through the air approvingly, attracting the attention of many of those nearby. Then he turned to his deeply embarrassed, neatly turned out twelve year old son.
"Shorts and underpants down, then bend over."
"Oh dad please not bare – not in front of everyone!"
His dad said nothing, just glared at him, and slowly the preteen unclipped his shorts, let them drop. Then he drew his underpants to just below his rounded cheeks and bent, hands on his knees.
"Get your underpants right down to your ankles, young man!"
Crying already, Marc complied, drawing his undies right down to rest on his shorts, at his ankles, then he bent again, pushing his bottom up. But still his father was not satisfied,
"Grab onto your ankles, get your knees straight and widen your feet. You know darn well how to bend over for a hiding, so get on with it!"
Marc obeyed, and his upraised young bottom made a perfect target for thrashing. Most had stopped to watch the show, and many could see the faded bruises of the boys original hiding. It was clear that this young boy had been in a lot of trouble lately. His father took his time, as always, tapping his bottom gently with the tip of the cane, putting on a show for all those watching,
"You will receive six of the best. May this be a lesson to you, and hopefully you will get on with the rest of this year in the sensible manner in which a son of mine and a prefect at this school should."
Mac didnt have time to reply, as the cane cracked across his tightly bent bottom, his daddy putting all of his skill and technique into whipping his small, rounded target. Those on the quad who had not been aware of what was going on could not ignore the familiar sound of the cane cracking across boy flesh, the volume greatly increased by the echoing nature of the quad. Now everyone was watching Marc get his hiding – and several came into the quad to watch the show. Children and parents leaned out of windows to get a better view as Marc was soundly thrashed.
Although they enjoyed the show as Marcs dad slowly administered his sons very public bare bottom hiding, there was not one boy in the school that did not have some sympathy for the bending preteen. Marc took his thrashing bravely, gripping his ankles for all he was worth, keeping his yelping down as much as he could. But his father showed no mercy, and whipped his boys upraised young bottom with all of his skill, and most of his not inconsiderable strength. Both the fifth and sixth strokes landed right in that most sensitive part of his bottom – in that crease between legs and bottom, and Marc squealed, stamping his feet, but still hanging onto his ankles. The headmaster was impressed, doubting that even he, with all his experience could have done a more painful job on Marcs naked bottom.
When the hiding was finally over, Marc stood slowly, forgetting his nudity, rubbing his burning backside. He eventually dressed himself again, and only then noticed how he had become the centre of attention. His father was about to hand him the cane to return to the headmasters office, when the father of his best friend, Nathan intervened,
"Please may I borrow that for a moment," he took the cane from Marcs father, and turned to his rather nervous looking twelve year old, "it looks like a great idea. Nathan – drop your shorts and underpants!"
Marc looked around. Several fathers, firmly holding sons of all ages, from eight to thirteen, were standing in an informal line behind Nathan. A new tradition had begun!