Little Shaun as everyone in the street knew him was 9 years old in a weeks time. Everyone knew Shaun. He was a lively little chap but had an unerring capacity for naughtiness. If someones fence got damaged or flowers from a garden display disappeared Shaun was the first name on everyones lips. But everyone felt sorry for Shaun. He was an only child, his mother having left home when he was only 2. His father had never remarried. The neighbours also noticed that on occasions Shaun would be much quieter than normal. The immediate neighbours knew the reason for this. Many times they had heard, through the thin wall, the sound of Shauns father yelling at the little lad. The yelling would be followed soon after by a methodical whipping sound, accompanied by pleas for mercy, as Shauns dad disciplined his offspring.
This day had started like any other. It was the summer holidays and Shaun had gone out to play with friends. Shauns dad was at work. Shaun had to fend for himself when his dad was at work and was frequently invited in by neighbours for a soft drink or a little snack. They felt sorry for the lad. Shauns dad had ordered Shaun not to go into neighbours houses. He had been told by one of the neighbours once that Shaun had been "visiting" and he had told his son never to go into anyones house alone again. There were obviously good reasons for this as child abusers were a well publicised evil but the fact was Shaun enjoyed talking to his neighbours, particularly the older ones, because they were nice to him and gave him treats.
One such neighbour had seen Shaun coming home from play that day as she worked in her little front garden. She had called out and asked him if he wanted a drink and a biscuit. It was only about 3 o clock and Shaun knew his dad wasnt due in from work for at least 2 or 3 hours. The neighbours knew they had to keep Shauns visits secret so Shaun happily nodded and went into the house. He stayed chatting to the elderly lady who lived there for about 45 minutes and then said his goodbyes.
To his horror when he left the house he came face to face with his dad, cycling home early. Dad glared at Shaun.
"Home, Now" was all he said.
Shaun scampered alongside his still cycling dad and arrived home just as his father was propping the bike up at the rear of the house. As was customary Shaun removed his gym slippers on entering the house, all the time glancing at his dad who was towering over him.
"Up to the spanking room" his father had said.
The spanking room as it had been called since Shaun had had his first hand spanking at about 3 years old was in reality a spare bedroom. It was completely unfurnished apart from a wooden hard backed chair on which Shauns father used to sit while holding the small child over his knee for a spanking. There was a small storage alcove built into the wall which contained an old size 10 slipper, a leather belt and, worst of all in Shauns mind, a long thin bamboo cane with curved handle. The room was still referred to as the spanking room but when Shaun had turned 4 it could have become the slippering room, and at 6 the belting room. Since he had turned 8 the term caning room would have been more accurate.
Shaun rushed up the stairs two at a time. He was already sobbing. He stood in the corner facing the small window overlooking the gardens at the front of the houses. He could still see Mrs Clark, the lady whose house he was leaving when he met his father, chatting now to her next door neighbour. Shaun did not know it but Mrs Clark was telling her neighbour that she was sure that Shaun was going to be given a hiding by his dad. She had heard the exchange between father and son after Shaun had left.
After what seemed like ages but was in fact only about 5 minutes Shaun heard his father coming up the stairs. He turned to face the door and watched nervously as his father entered. Father went straight to the alcove and withdrew the cane.
"Ive told you before about going into neighbours houses, boy. Take off your shorts, bend over and touch your toes".
"Oh please dad. Mrs Clarks nice she wouldnt harm me" wailed Shaun.
"Orders are orders boy. Get on with it" instructed Shauns dad.
Shaun slowly removed his small white shorts. Then, without being told for he knew the procedure, lowered his tiny red briefs to his ankles. He then bent over touching his toes as instructed. He had been punished this way since his first hiding with the belt just after his 6th birthday. His father, without a word, moved behind his bending son and delivered the first stroke.
"OWW-One dad". Shaun was instructed to recite the stroke number, a procedure also introduced when he had turned 6. This ritual continued until the last stroke. "AAAAHH—Ei-Ei-Eight-D-D-Dad". Dad ordered his sobbing son to stand up, hands on head. He replaced the cane in the alcove and then turned to Shaun.
"One day youll learn not to disobey me boy." The man had growled. He then turned, left the room and went downstairs to the lounge. Shaun, still sobbing after his ordeal, gingerly pulled up his briefs, put back on his shorts and went to his bedroom where he threw himself face down on his bed and sobbed for around a further 15 minutes.