by Will Faber <will_faber@wyrm.supernews.com>

Casey Moran could easily have been a poster boy to advertiser any product or cause appealing to the ideals of healthy American childhood. At eleven he had a perfect peaches-and-cream complexion with just a few freckles but no other blemish. He had sky-blue eyes and a mop of golden blond hair with just a trace or red in it. With his perfect white teeth he had a truly dazzling smile. Unfortunately, since his parents' rancorous divorce two years ago, Casey had come to rely more on his power to charm others than on the work and effort to accomplish things for himself.

He had not been helped at all by having a total airhead for his fourth-grade teacher. Early on in the school year Casey had correctly surmised that this woman, Miss Rena Powell, would have been totally lost without the answers in the teaching manual. Soon he had learned the minimum amount of work acceptable for each assignment. Even without doing assignments, half the time he could melt her heart either by crying or flashing her one of his affectionate smiles. Consequently, his mother was shocked when her little boy's grades--almost straight A's in the fourth grade--fell the following year to D's and F's.

When her son received barely passing marks at the end of the year, Martha Moran resolved that Casey, who was bright and had no learning disabilities, had simply got out of hand without the regular discipline he used to get from his father. She knew that she was inconsistent and could not bring herself to punish her son adequately: He could beg, argue, or wheedle his way out of any non-corporal punishment, and though she might start to warm the seat of his pants, both his quick tears at the moment and his equally quick laughter immediately afterward left her convinced that. to straighten him out properly, Casey needed a man's hand. It was time for her brother, Casey's Uncle Chuck, to take charge.

Casey thought it was neat when his mom told him he would be spending the summer with Uncle Chuck. He had had a great time whenever they had visited Uncle Chuck at his place in the country. Uncle Chuck let Casey drive the motorboat, the four-wheeled motorbike and the tractor. Uncle Chuck took him fishing and hunting. A whole summer with Uncle Chuck? Super-neato!

And Uncle Chuck had been just as glad to see him this summer, just as warm and friendly with his hug and handshake to greet him as he had been in the summers before. So as soon as his mother had left, Casey was more than a bit surprised and disappointed when he asked Uncle Chuck what they were going to do that afternoon and was told pleasantly but firmly:

"We're going to work."

"Work? What kind of work?"

"Lots of things. We have to weed the vegetable garden, paint the boathouse, replace several sections of fence, clear a trail through the woods. There's more. We don't have to do it all in one day--and we couldn't anyway. It'll take a week or so. I'm counting on your help."

"But, Uncle Chuck, I want to have fun,"

"We'll have plenty of time for that once we get the work done."

"But I want to have fun today."

"It can be fun for two people to work together. You feel good when you get things done..."

Now Casey threw a tantrum. "I don't want to work today. It's boring!"

"Cut it out, Casey. Now!" his uncle demanded calmly but firmly. "The only thing that's boring is spoiled bratty behavior from an elevenyear-old! Now go get changed out of those white tennis shorts and into some jeans. We have a lot of work to do."

"You may, but I don't."

"Look, your teacher or your coach may sit around and argue with you, but I don't have time to and even if I did, I don't think it would be a good way to deal with a kid who has a problem recognizing authority. So I'm going to tell you just once: Go up, get changed NOW, and be ready to work in ten minutes. That's how it's going to be."

"No, it's not! I'm not gonna work today, and you can't make me!"

Casey turned to run, but not quickly enough. In an instant Uncle Chuck had caught him by the arm. Sitting down in a nearby chair, he very quickly had Casey turned over his left knee face down with his wrists pinned behind his back. As his uncle's right leg held both of Casey's legs immobile, the boy was horrified to feel the man's big right hand undoing the snaps and zipper on Casey's tennis shorts. Soon both Casey's beltless pants and his white cotton briefs were pulled down to a point exposing all of Casey's perfect smooth round little bubble butt and several inches of thigh.

"No!" the boy protested in his melodious unchanged voice, " You can't spank me! You can't--" --OWW!"

The rest of the stinging bottomslaps fell in rapid succession.

SMACK! -- "OWWW!"

SMACK! -- "OWWW!"

SMACK! -- "OWWW!"

SMACK! -- "OWWW!"

SMACK! -- "OWWW!"

SMACK! -- "OWWW!"

SMACK! -- "OWWW!"

SMACK! -- "OWWW!"

SMACK! -- "WAAHH!"

By the tenth smack Casey was crying real tears. In compassion Uncle Chuck released him. A mistake. Casey was furious. As soon as he was no longer held down, Casey did three things immediately upon getting to his feet. First he pulled up and fastened his pants (Duh!). Then he yelled: "You pervert! I'm callin' Mom! I'm callin the cops!" Third, as hard as he could, he kicked Uncle Chuck in the shin. A bigger mistake. Casey had on sneakers, and while the kick to the shin hurt, it was far from the immobilizing impact that a leathersoled shoe might have delivered.

This time his uncle was furious--but not so much as to be without self-control. When he caught the boy this time, Casey screamed. He stopped when he heard his uncle say in a calm, disappointed voice: "Casey, be quiet. First of all, I'm not going to harm you. Second, if I were, nobody could hear you."

"Oh," Casey said in surprise, then neither said anything for a minute. Then his uncle spoke:

"Let's get a few things straight right now. You couldn't--or maybe just wouldn't--control yourself at home and your Mom couldn't control you. That's why you're with me for the summer. Now I don't especially want to control you, but I will tell you this: I'm not going to let you get out of control around here, and don't think for a minute that you can ever control me.

"Second, if I were a pervert, you'd be _s_h_i_t_ out of luck, because there's nobody else within a two-mile radius. You can call your Mom or even the sheriff--they'd both say the same thing I'm about to: In this state it's not against the law to blister a kid's bare behind as long as it is done for discipline and doesn't cause bodily harm. They'd also agree with me that a kid who would speak and act as disrespectfully as you just did has obviously not been punished sufficiently."

At last it dawned on Casey that he has got himself into serious trouble with his uncle. What if Uncle Chuck sent him away?

"OK," the boy said hesitantly, "what do I do now?"

"A while ago I told you to get changed out of those white tennis shorts. So do it now. Only don't worry about putting any jeans on. Just get the shorts off."

Reluctantly but quickly enough, Casey complied. He felt rather foolish and vulnerable standing there in his pullover shirt, tight white briefs, cotton socks and tennis shoes but no pants.

"So, now what?" the boy asked.

"So now we're going out to my workshop for a little stronger medicine than you just had."

"Without my pants?"

"That's right. In these parts when a boy gets too big for his britches, he soon finds himself without them."

As they walked across the yard, Uncle Chuck could hardly help noticing what lovely smooth shapely legs the boy had, and how the soft round cheeks of his bottom rolled like puppies when he walked. If Casey had felt foolish and embarrassed inside, he felt doubly so as they walked across the yard and he felt the cool breeze of June on his bare legs and through the thin cotton fabric of his jockey underpants. Even this sensation, however, paled before the chagrin that he felt when they were in the outbuilding and his uncle directed, " All right, now get the underpants off."

"Off?"

"That's what I said."

"But why?" Casey pleaded.

"This is why," his uncle answered, showing the boy what he now held in his right hand: an old-fashioned razor strop of very old, very soft, flexible leather, exquisitely maintained and in near-perfect condition. "My boy, this has a date with your bottom. See that padded bench there?"

"Yessir."

"Well, I want you to lie down on it, face down."

When he had done so, Casey felt straps being buckled around his wrists and ankles.

"Uncle Chuck, why are you buckling those straps on my wrists and ankles? I'm not going to go anywhere."

"Oh, I know you're not. These straps will guarantee it."

Then Casey felt a totally unexpected and just as totally pleasant sensation. Uncle Chuck was rubbing Casey's bottom and upper thighs with a cool gel. Casey blushed as he felt his little hairless penis stiffen and rub against the soft padding under him.

"What are you rubbing that on me for?" he asked.

"That's to make sure the strap doesn't break your skin anywhere."

"Oh."

Then the punishment commenced. WWHAPP! the strap struck both Casey's bare bottomcheeks on the first blow. For the first two blows Casey made no sound because his lungs did not contain sufficient air to respond with the volume he needed to produce..

WHAPP!... WHAPP! WHAPP!

Now his lungs released the air they had mustered for a howl commensurate with the agony felt in his blazing little bottom:

"AAAAOOWWWWWAAAAOOWWWWWAAAAOOOOWAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

WHAPP! WHAPP! WHAPP!

"AAAAOOWWWWWAAAAOOWWWWWAAAAOOOOWAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

WHAPP! WHAPP! WHAPP!

"AAAAOOWWWWWAAAAOOWWWWWAAAAOOOOWAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

Finally it was over. Casey lay sobbing, limp and helpless on the bench after Uncle released his wrists and ankles from the restraining straps. Although the gel had served its purpose and nowhere was Casey's skin actually bleeding, his little bubble butt was tomato red from the strapping it had received, so much so that when Uncle applied a salve to Casey's bottom he almost expected to hear it sizzle upon contact with the reddened skin. It didn't, of course.

This time Casey spoke in a small, contrite voice, "Uncle Chuck?"

"Yes, Casey."

"I really am sorry."

"I know you are. I didn't like to make you hurt like that, but I had to teach you a lesson."

"I understand. Uh, could you please put some more lotion on my bottom? It still hurts, but it's getting better."

"Oh, I think I can do that."

A minute later... "Uncle chuck, are you going to send me back to Mom after this?"

"Now why would I do that? Now that we understand each other, I think we'll get along just fine."

Casey got up from the bench and threw his arms around his Uncle. Uncle Chuck hugged him back. Gradually the big man's hands worked their way down Casey's back till they left the knit cotton fabric of the pullover shirt and felt the smooth, still well-warmed hemispheres of Casey's bare bottom.

"You know what they say, kiddo: 'No pain--no gain!'"

"Well, Uncle Chuck, I guess I gained A LOT today!"