Rheece's Hiding


by Tristan <Yobo30@hotmail.com>

It was just before nine when I opened Rheeces bedroom door. Expecting to find the eleven year old finishing off his reading in bed, as he is expected to, I was taken aback to find the boy sitting at his computer, headphones on, totally absorbed by the game that he was playing. A practice strictly banned after eight in my house – my son was a very bright little boy, but I made sure that he spent time reading instead of wasting it in front of the computer screen.

He hadnt heard me come in, so the game carried on until I laid a hand on his shoulder. Rheece jumped, surprised to see me. I noted that he had put his alarm clock on the table – no doubt he was watching the time to make sure that he was in bed by nine – fifteen, the time at which I usually came to tuck him in. He took his head phones off, switched off the computer and stood, facing me, head down. He looked so vulnerable, standing there in his pale blue cotton summer pyjama shorts. Rheece never wore a shirt when he slept, even in cold weather, and his pale, undeveloped chest gave away his nervousness by his rapid breathing. The boys blue eyes had been brimming, and his knees shaking slightly, fine, blond hair sticking slightly to his forehead.

Well? I gave him a chance to explain himself.

Sorry daddy, was all he could muster.

Give me your slipper, I held my hand out, and obediently the child reached under his bed and retrieved one of his slippers. It was small – he was not a very big boy, but would do nicely. I slapped the hard, flexible sole into my hand, making Rheece shuffle his feet. He was a strong, sporty little lad, but he certainly didnt enjoy it when I warmed up his young bottom.

Bend over.

Knowing the procedure, he turned around and bent, easily grasping his ankles while keeping his knees straight. His feet were slightly further apart than the width of his shoulders, and his rounded, firm little bottom presented for punishment under the thin shorts. Rheece had plenty of experience in presenting himself for spanking. I tapped each small cheek gently with the slipper, then whacked them – hard, one firm slap on each cheek. The boy stood rock still, his only reaction being a grunt of pain for each smack.

The rules of this house are to be obeyed at all times, do you understand?

Yes daddy, from the bending boy.

Another four whacks – two on each cheek, getting the same reaction from the preteen. It stung, but he was a tough lad, and he took them without fuss. I allowed him to stand up, and he did, turning to face me, hands rubbing stinging bottom. Now that he had been punished for his misdemeanour, he could meet my eyes, and smiled at me, his eyes wet from the pain of the slipper.

Im sorry, dad. You caught me fair and square. It wont happen again.

I hope not, Rheece, but I didnt come in here to catch you out, the boy looked at me nervously, hands still clutching his bottom, theres something more serious that we need to discuss.

Something bad? the child was perceptive.

Im afraid so. I looked straight down into the eleven year olds deep blue eyes, Where were you on Monday and Tuesday?

Rheece dropped his eyes momentarily then lifted them again. He could be very convincing, but the dropping of the eyes always warned me when the boy was about to lie.

I was at school!

I sighed, Take off your shorts, please.

Knowing better than to try to argue with me, the boy slowly slid his shorts down his strong legs, and handed them to me – leaving the preteen completely naked. I folded them and put them on his desk, and retrieved the slipper that had so recently burnt that, now bare, bottom.

Bend over again.

Rheece turned around again, and bent, grabbing his ankles, presenting his naked young behind once again for me. His slender back arced over, clearly outlining his spine as he presented himself for a hiding. The boy had a very pale complexion, but his bottom actually appeared whiter than his back and legs. Naturally, lower down on his cheeks were pink – from the initial encounter with the slipper. I placed one hand on the small of his back and tapped the slipper once again on the bottom presented to me.

This is your last chance to tell the truth, Rheece, and not get worse punishment than youre due. Where were you on Monday and Tuesday?

I promise, I was at school.

With that, I straightened up, then wound the slipper across each little bum cheek twice. Getting a yelp from the boy with each sharp slap.

Where were you?

At school! the boy wailed.

I put the slipper back on the table, then slowly, making sure that the naked boy could hear every move, I unbuckled my belt, doubled it over in my hands and tapped the heavy leather on the pink upraised bottom. The boy shuffled slightly at the feel of the leather, and I couldnt help but notice the contrast between the dark leather and the pale skin of the preteen. Taking my time, I slowly lashed my dishonest son, leathering his little backside firmly and accurately. Six times, I brought the heavy leather cracking across my small target. Rheece sobbed and squirmed, but held stubbornly onto his ankles.

Ill keep belting you until I get the truth out of you, Rheece. I know that you were not at school – so stop lying and tell me where you were!

Rheece was a stubborn boy – maybe thats why the child was such a good athlete. He hated to give in, so I was disappointed, but not surprised with his answer,

I was at school, daddy! I really was! he sobbed – his bottom must have been blazing, but he stuck with his story.

What would you say if I told you that I bumped into your teacher in the supermarket this evening and she asked me if you had recovered fully from the flu that had kept you at home at the beginning of the week?

The bending little boy said nothing, just sniffed, thinking this through. Obviously, I had found out the truth, and he was trying to think of a way out of this. I tapped the belt on his stinging cheeks, and the feel of the leather on his already sore bottom galvanised the child.

Im sorry. I was bunking, he admitted, sniffing, please dont strap me any more!

Stand up.

Relieved, the preteen leapt up, grabbing his burning bottom, dancing from foot to foot in front of me, tears streaming down his face. I put my belt back on while the little chap regained some of his composure. After about five minutes, the crying had stopped, but the bottom rubbing continued. Rheece knew how seriously I took his school work, and we had discussed the issue of truancy before. He was under no illusion about how severely I would punish him. Head down, hand still gripping bum, he asked,

Shall I go and fetch your cane for my hiding?

Yes, you go get my cane. You should have told me the truth in the first place and taken your hiding. Now its going to be on an already sore bottom.

Rheece said nothing. Still rubbing his behind, and not bothering to put his shorts back on (theyd just have to come off again for his thrashing with the cane anyway), he shuffled off to the kitchen to fetch the cane. I didnt use the stick much on the boy – he only got caned over serious matters, but I always whipped his bare bottom with it very soundly. He dreaded canings.

It took longer than I had expected – Rheece hadnt wanted to hurry the onslaught of his thrashing, so he hadnt rushed. I said nothing as the child slowly re-entered his bedroom, this time remembering to close the door behind him. He liked his privacy when getting his backside tanned – even although his younger, nine year old brother had been caned a couple of times already. Without being told, he passed me the implement for his chastisement – a typical, crooked handle, flexible junior cane, and I could see that the tears had already started trickling down his cheeks. Knowing what was expected, the naked eleven year old climbed onto his bed, on his knees, bottom up and facing me, head pressed into the duvet. His knuckles were white as they gripped the bedclothes. Rheece knew that when I caned him, this was how I insisted that he bend over. It put his bare young bottom up at the perfect height and angle so that I could deliver each lash to his lower bottom exceptionally accurately and very hard – with no risk of hitting his back or sensitive legs.

Theres a set punishment for truancy, isnt there, Rheece?

Yes, daddy, the little boy mumbled, managing to keep dead still as I gently traced the cane across his already rather red bare bottom.

What is it? I tapped each small upraised cheek with the tip of the stick.

Six of the best, Rheece sighed.

More specific, my boy.

There was a little sob, Six of the best with the cane on my bare bottom for each day that I took off.

So then, how many is that?

Twelve of the best, sir. But please, daddy! I cant take them all at once!

Ill let you rub half way.

Thank you, dad.

Brace yourself now, then.

The boys body tensed, but his knees were spread too far apart to allow him to clench his bottom cheeks. His apprehension was evident in the way he gripped the duvet with his hands, and the tightening of the muscles in his back. Although I used the term six of the best to him, he was far too young for me to hit as hard as I was capable. But it would certainly be very painful – I would be putting effort into this hiding. I tapped the rounded, upraised cheeks once more, then lifted the cane back. Swivelling, swinging from the centre of my body, I snapped the cane across my exposed young target, the cane cracking as it wrapped around the boys tender little bottom. Rheeces whole body bounced with the agony of the lash, and the preteen wailed into his duvet. But he had been caned often enough to know what was expected, and although he squirmed slightly after the stroke for a few seconds, he made no effort to move his small tail out of the way of the cane, or attempt to put his hands behind him.

I waited until the boy was still again, gently tapping the cane on his bum. Then, confident that Rheece was ready, I lashed the eleven year olds bare bottom again, the cane snapping viciously across his naked hindquarters. Again, the boy writhed in pain, wailing. Thats the beauty of a sound thrashing with a cane – it really hurts. Even Rheece, who had been caned by me on several occasions, and considered himself to be quiet a tough boy, never got used to it. He found canings excruciating, which is what they are supposed to be.

Again, I caned the exposed little bottom of the preteen, lighting a third agonising line of fire across his tightly bent bare cheeks, following through to ensure that all the power that I had used on the lash was transmitted to my sons small behind. I never had reason to cane Rheece twice for the same misdemeanour. He was living proof that a sound hiding gets a lesson through to a young boy. I knew parents who punished their children far more frequently than I caned my sons, and they always claimed that their spankings often didnt have the desired effect. Hidings from me really hurt, so they were very effective.

The boy was still again, so I pulled back the cane and thrashed the little buttocks for the fourth time. Rheeces whole body plunged on the bed with the agony of it, and I caught the suppressed sound of a scream as the lad yelled into his duvet, knuckles white with the tension, toes curled in pain. I whipped the lash into the boys lower bottom for the fifth stroke, almost lifting the lad off his knees, making him howl in agony. I paused – waiting again for Rheece to calm down. Waiting between lashes had a dual purpose. It gave the boy time to recover and brace himself for the next lash, so that there would be no chance of him moving unexpectedly as the cane descended. Also, it gave him the opportunity to appreciate the fiery agony of each, individual stroke. I made the sixth stroke really count, my skill at applying the cane to a bare bottom reflected in the preteens reaction to line of fire across his backside. I paused again, waiting for the boy to be still, then,

Alright, stand up and give your bottom a rub.

Stiffly, Rheece got up, hands moving behind him even before he had placed a foot on the floor. He started the rubbing tentatively, tears streaming down his face, but was soon rubbing his whipped cheeks firmly with both hands. He had never had a dozen before in one evening, and I was concerned that he may not be able to cope.

We can do the other six tomorrow, my boy.

No daddy! the child looked up, Please can I get my hiding all over and done with tonight?

Fair enough. The boy didnt want to sweat over the thought of an imminent caning any longer than he had to.

Very well, I tossed the cane onto the bed, Ill be back in a few minutes.

I left the room, and the bottom rubbing preteen. I wanted to give him time to fully recover his composure, while also allowing the pain of his first half dozen lashes to subside again. It was nearly half an hour before I returned to my sons bedroom, closing the door behind me. Rheece had been lying on his tummy on his bed, trying to read – no doubt to get his mind off the cane that was still on the bed where I had left it. I got a flash of red welted white bottom as he rolled off the bed and stood, facing me.

Are you ready for the rest of your hiding?

Yes, sir, the boy nodded, then, without being told, climbed back onto the bed on his knees, bending tightly in the caning position. He raised his small, well beaten bottom, and I gently ran my hand over the welted flesh before picking up the cane and tapping it on my exposed target. Rheece shuffled slightly at the sensation of the stick touching what must have been a very sore young bottom. That was the effect of letting him have a short rest. The deep throbbing would have started, making him rear end feel very sensitive.

I didnt make him wait much long – lashing the stick once again across his bare little bum cheeks. Rheece wailed and writhed – the jerking of his body more pronounced than it had been earlier.

It brought back the memory of the preteens first caning. I had made him bend over in the same position that he was now, naked of course, for a sentence of four moderate lashes. To my surprise, he had screamed, but kept still after the first stroke. But after I had lifted the cane after the second lash, he had reached behind him and gripped his little eight year old buttocks with both hands – even although he had kept his face buried in the duvet. True to his stubborn nature, no threat from me had made him release those little cheeks. It was only after my announcement that I was happy to wait all night, then start the hiding again, that the little boy had eventually put his hands in front of him and allowed me to finish off his hiding. Then, I had caned the boy far more moderately than I now caned him – or his younger brother. I have learnt that boys bottom are far more resilient than I had thought.

I caned Rheece again, getting a very violent, jerking action from him, and another wail of pain. As always, I waited until he was completely still before whipping the cane across a pair of small, now very well beaten, eleven year old bottom cheeks. Realising that the boy was struggling more than he ever before to keep still during his hiding, I reached down and spent a few minutes rubbing the little bottom that I was soundly thrashing. When I was satisfied that he was ready, I released his bottom, and lashed Rheece with my cane again, determined to really make it hurt, despite the distress of the punished boy. He was going to get this lesson – no matter how sore his bottom was.

Just two more, Rheece, I reminded him as again I rubbed his throbbing, hot bottom.

Rheece just sniffed, and before long I again lifted my hand, tapped my cane on the upraised little cheeks, and then let fly, cutting the cane with all my skill into my target. Rheece lifted his head off his duvet for the first time this hiding, and actually howled. But I wasnt moved. For the third time, I rubbed his bottom, waiting for him to settle. Then I picked up the cane, rubbing it right in the crease between his bottom and his legs. The boy knew from painful experience that the last lash of any hiding from me was always the worst, and suspected, rightfully, that this would be no exception. The cane cracked and the boy screamed as I mercilessly lashed his small bottom for the last time that evening. Never before had my eleven year old son had such a severe hiding, but I didnt have much faith in his behaviour. He was a naturally naughty boy, and I was pretty certain that his pretty, tender little bare bottom would be raised up for the cane once again before long.


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