The Boy and The Strap


by Tristan <yobo30@hotmail.com>

The nine year old boy stood in front of his father, too ashamed to meet the man's eyes. Again, his father had had to call him into the study to discuss the boy's poor performance at school, and the teacher's comments about behaviour and bad attitude in the grade 4 classroom.

The lecture was over now, and the man sat in the straight backed chair in the centre of the room, facing the boy, who was making an indepth study of his bare feet.

"Do you remember the consequences of this kind of performance - after all, it's happened before?" inquired the man.

The little blond head bobbed in affirmation, and now the boy could feel the tears stinging his eyes, ready to overflow onto his cheeks. He nibbled nervously on his lips.

"The strap," he whispered.

"Very well," confirmed his father, "get yourself ready for a hiding, then fetch the strap."

Quickly, not wishing to anger his father further, the boy undid his shorts and let them drop to his ankles. He picked them up, carefully folded them and put them on the side table next to the man's chair. Then he gripped the elastic of his underpants and slipped them off. He was highly aware of the cool air wafting across his bare bottom as he placed his underpants on top of his shorts.

Now, wearing nothing but a shirt that was not really long enough to provide any modesty, the child walked across the room to a sideboard, opened it and removed a short strap. His father had made the instrument especially for use on him, and he had first felt its bite shortly after his seventh birthday. He knew that it would continue to be the main instrument of punishment for him until he was eleven or twelve, at which time his father would resort to the cane, which already hung threateningly behind the study door.

The strap itself was only about thirty centimetres long, but as thick as his father's thumb. It had no buckle, but the end was beginning to look slightly worn from the man's regular grip. The boy had been whipped maybe as many as eighteen times with the punishment strap, but he could never get used to the pain, and still lived in fear of the strap. On several occasions, the boy's friends, involved with him in his misdemeanors, had been over his father's knee and felt that strap on their bare bottoms, but on those occasions, he had always been beaten last, and hardest.

The boy carried the strap back to his father, and handed it gingerly to the man. Without being told, for he knew the procedure well by now, he lifted up his shirt to expose his bottom fully, and then carefully draped his body over the big man's knees. He gripped his father's leg with one hand, and the leg of the chair with the other. His nose was almost touching the ground, and he watched behind as his father widened his son's feet slightly then gripped them firmly in place with his own leg, making it almost impossible for the boy to move and squirm.

The man put the strap on the table on top of the boys clothing, then gently rubbed and squeezed the little bottom in front of him to get the blood the nerve endings to the surface, in order to enhance the pain of the coming thrashing. He enjoyed the softness of the flesh, and the underlying firmness of the lad's buttocks. Althuogh only nine, the boy was developing into a strong, muscular child, with very little body fat.

The man wrapped his arm around the boy's torso, then lifted the strap and laid it gently across the lad's white little rear. He felt the child stir in anticipation, and waited for him to settle, watching the goose bumps rise up on the naked flesh. In one fluid motion, he lifted the strap, them cracked it down on the bare bottom of his son. The boy gasped in pain, and his body jumped, but he was held down firmly. A deep red welt was clearly visible as the strap was lifted again, then smashed down. The boy cried out softly, and his body jerked again, but the man showed no mercy.

Slowly, methodically, and very hard, the man thrashed the naked bottom of his son. Soon, the boy was crying, and the man could see by looking forward that the child's ears were bright red, a sure sign that the tears were flowing freely. The boy rode the steadily intensifying waves of pain building up across his bottom and the strap did its work, and when he opened his tightly shut eyes for a moment, he could see the tears running down his nose and dripping into the carpet. He hung on to his father's ankle and the leg on the chair - to let go and try to jump up would make the punishment much, much worse.

The beating stopped.

"You may get up," the man announced, "you have a one minute rest."

The boys pushed himself off his father's lap and grasped his burning bottom with both hands. He didn't worry to try and dry his eyes - he knew that it would be a waste of precious bottom - rubbing time. He desperately tried to massage some of the pain away from his throbbing tail. His father watched the clock on the wall, then:

"Right. Times up. Bend over."

Giving his hot bottom one more squeeze, the boy again bent over his father's knees, assuming the same position, his tender rear up for some more whipping.

"The first session was for the poor grades," the man explained, "now you're being punished for your bad attitude at school."

The strap smashed across the boy's bright red bottom. Sometimes during his hidings, he hoped that his bottom would just get numb, and he wouldn't feel the rest of his strapping, but, if anything, the pain just got worse, as, of course, his father intended it to. Now his father was whipping his behind even harder, and he couldn't help howling with every stroke. He knew that his mother was downstairs listening with approval to the sound of the strap meeting his bare young bottom, and now his cries of pain. Later, she would spread soothing ointment on his blazing cheeks, but for now he must suffer through his punishment.

Finally, it was over. The boy was allowed to stand up. His father hugged him, and handed him his pants. But he left the room with his bottom still bare - it would be some time, probably mosy of the day, before he could even consider allowing the soft cotton of his underpants to rub against his hot bottom.


More stories byTristan