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Six For Six

by Tristan

Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 22 Feb 2018

Johnny – aged 13

Johnny sat on his bed and waited, every now and again glancing nervously at the cane sitting on the duvet beside him. There was, he knew, no excuse for his behaviour, but he had pleaded his case anyway. With the typical attitude of a young teen, the strawberry blond headed boy had expressed his opinion – getting a hiding at his age was unfair, especially now that he was a teen, and even starting to sprout some fine pubic hair – pretty much invisible to anyone but himself, though. But deep down the child knew that he was soon to get exactly what he deserved.

Any more arguments from you, young man, his father had warned the pouting 13 year old, and I’ll give you such a thrashing that you won’t be able to sit down for a week! You’re in enough trouble as it is, so you’d better bend over and take your hiding and be grateful that I’m not going to all but skin your bottom!

Woken up a few minutes earlier than normal, sent to have his morning shower. Then, towel wrapped around his slender, pale but beginning to develop torso, the boy had followed the usual routine of entering his dad’s school Study through the door that separated it from their private residence. There, the immature young teen had carefully selected the cane for use on his own bare bottom from the legendary umbrella stand bristling with implements of schoolboy chastisement before returning to his bedroom to await his hiding.

The collection in the umbrella stand was familiar to the boy. But then, it was familiar to most of the boys in his father’s school, especially those, like Johnny, in their most senior year – Year 8. The Headmaster used four types of canes, each identified by a narrow band of colour just below the crooked handle. Mostly, the type of cane used for a hiding was governed by the age of the boy being thrashed, but sometimes, if his father decided it appropriate, more severe canes would be used on younger boys. However it never worked the other way around.

A red band denoted the lightest cane, used only on the youngest boys in the school – boys in Year 3 and 4. These boys were 8 and 9 years old. A blue band identified the canes used on boys aged 10 and 11, and the feared purple band was the stick used on 12 and 13 year old boys. The lads themselves often joked that the colour of the band matched the colour of their bottoms a couple of hours after a hiding! There were several canes carrying each band in the umbrella stand, and Johnny had received many painful thrashings with all three types.

But there was one sample only of the fiercest cane, the one with the black band. The Head did not refer to this as the black banded cane, though. He had told Johnny that this punishment implement had been given to him by the Chief Warden at a local reformatory, and always referred to this particular stick therefore as the Reformatory Cane. A name that made it all the more scary. Johnny and his peers knew of only one confirmed incident in which this stick had been used.

Several years earlier, when Johnny was only 9, two 12 year old boys had been thrashed in assembly with this cane, witnessed by all the boys in the school. The pair had run a nasty, bullying extortion racket targeting younger pupils, and had each received a withering nine lashes.

Assembly that day had been held in the Sports’ Hall, and the two stark naked boys had held tightly onto the lower rung of the climbing frame while the Headmaster had administered whippings that had been remembered by all, not least the two bare bottomed bullies! And the message had been clear – the consequences for bullying were very painful indeed!

But rumour had it that another, 13 year old boy, had been thrashed with the terrible Reformatory Cane just last year. The story was that he took his mother’s car for a joy ride, and caused a minor accident. Apparently, an arrangement between his mother, the police and the Headmaster had agreed, and the boy had been given a terrible hiding. In his own bedroom, with the black banded cane – a dozen lashes on his bare bottom! Johnny imagined that the boy had been made to kneel on his bed as the Head’s own sons did when having their bottoms thrashed at home. But, despite lots of careful questioning, Johnny had never got his dad to confirm or deny the rumour, and the boy in question had also refused to comment.

The boy strained to hear the sound of his father’s footsteps clumping up the stairs and along the corridor to his bedroom. He hated it when his dad decreed that he would get a hiding in the morning before school. It meant that his bottom would be sore and sensitive all day, and the bruises would be admired in the change room after rugby. But his classmates all sympathised, and it actually helped his credibility as the Headmaster’s son. He was just as likely to be thrashed by his father in school as any of them, but he also had to present his bare bottom for caning in his own bedroom for home misdemeanours!

He had broken one of his father’s Golden Rules and told a deliberate lie. And that, as the nervous 13 year old knew from painful experience, meant six of the best. At least. And, needless to say, it was a cane with a purple band that was on the boy’s bed.

All too soon, the sound of his dad coming up the stairs carried to the boy, and, as the man, fully dressed and ready for work apart from his tie, entered the 13 year old’s bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him, Johnny stood. He picked up the cane and handed it nervously to his father.

Get rid of the towel and bend over, Johnny, the man commanded, putting the cane on the child’s desk and removing his cufflinks in preparation to rolling up his sleeves. A theatre the boy’s dad liked to perform to give the boy that he was about to thrash a clear message that he was going to do a thorough job.

Johnny knew that there was nothing more to be said. Totally unconcerned with his nudity in front of his father, the boy took the towel off his waist, carefully folded it over the back of his chair and then got onto his knees on his bed. With a little sigh, the handsome boy made sure that his knees were sufficiently well apart, placed his forehead onto a pillow and gripped the duvet with his fingers. This was a position that he was painfully familiar with, and knew that his father expected him to submissively present his bottom for his whipping perfectly.

There was silence behind him for a while, then the distinctive rattle of the cufflinks being placed on his table, followed by the sound of the cane being picked up. Moments later, Johnny felt the light, stinging taps on his exposed bottom that his father always gave him while getting his aim right,
For your dishonest behaviour, I’m going to give you six this morning. And they’ll be six of the very best.

Yes, Daddy, Johnny had expected this, and feared more. When getting hidings from his father, six was the most common number, although he had been on the receiving end of four as a minimum – and his biggest hidings had been twelve, with the blue banded cane, twice when he was 11. The second time his dad had double gated him, administering the last two lashes diagonally, forming a perfect diagonal cross across his flaming little bottom.

But should we have a repeat of this kind of behaviour, I will happily give you twelve, the man continued, and I’ll also gladly take the Reformatory Cane to your bare backside.

It’ll never happen again, I promise! Johnny was horrified by the threat. And he knew his father well enough to know that the man would carry out his promise. A terrible hiding, which Johnny was determined to avoid.

But he didn’t have long to contemplate the consequences of future dishonesty – he still had to take the consequences for the latest incident, gasping loudly and writhing with pain as the purple banded cane was wrapped vigorously and accurately around his tender mounds.

As an experienced recipient of relatively severe canings, Johnny was able to get himself under control quickly, presenting his bottom properly for his dad to continue with his hiding. But with one hard lash, the tears were already there. No matter how many hidings he got, Johnny’s bottom had never toughened up, and he found being thrashed, especially by his cane wielding father, excruciating. But the boy also did not for one moment doubt that he was getting exactly what he deserved, and possibly less!

The man caned his boy’s cute, rounded bottom again, driving the lesson of paternal displeasure into the child’s cheeks with his usual skill and vigour. He loved his sons deeply, but believed absolutely that thoroughly roasting their bare backsides was the best way to punish them when deserved. A belief that he carried through to the boys in his school too.

The Headmaster knew that this morning’s hiding, administered to his oldest son, in the boy’s bedroom, would be only the first of several thrashings that he would be delivering that day. At least one other boy would be getting six, with this cane that he was whipping Jonny with, for truancy, and that evening, one of the 11 year old boarders would also be getting six – with the slightly lighter cane though. Needless to say, there was a strong possibility that other bad behaviour would have to be painfully rectified over the course of the day as well. It was, after all, a large, boys’ only prep school where parents, Governors and staff all believed in punishing misbehaving boys with sore bottoms.

The sound of the cane snapping around the delicate flesh of a bare young bottom sounded again in the room, immediately followed by the tearful sob of a young lad suffering through his painful correction as father and son followed the age old ritual of a sound domestic hiding. The boy was caned for the fourth time, reacting with a sob and frantic wiggling, writhing motion as the heat from his hiding sunk into his naked rump. As always, he sincerely regretted the behaviour that had led to him being in this position, but it was too late now – he simply had to endure the fire that his dad was lighting around his upraised bottom.

The man paused, letting his boy absorb the agony of his punishment and prepare himself for the final two lashes. Four typical, painful welts marched down the lower half of the 13 year old’s chubby cheeks, denoting the man’s accuracy and skill. He waited a few more moments, then lined the stick up carefully, before administering the penultimate lash. Johnny sobbed and writhed some more, before settling down, ready to finish off his hiding.

This is the second time that you’ve had a hiding for lying to your mother in the last few months, Johnny, the man decided, on the spur of the moment, to make the last lash something special, so I’m going to gate you.

Oh Daddy, please don’t! Johnny sobbed, twitching and wiggling his sore, plump little bottom nervously at the sensation of the cane being lined up diagonally. He’d been gated several times before of course, and even double gated once when he’d earned that terrible hiding when he was 11. He was under no illusions – it would hurt enormously! Few of his classmates had been gated by his father, but those who had joined the young boy in his fear of this enhanced final for a particularly severe hiding.

Get your bottom up and hold still, was the only answer he got, and the boy obeyed immediately. It was not unheard of for his dad to increase a thrashing considerably if the boy being punished moved around too much.

The cane landed, perfectly gating the lad’s small, delicate cheeks, lighting a diagonal line of fire across the 13 year old’s bottom and reigniting the other five stripes on its way. Johnny sobbed and plunged, but, even although his hiding was now over, the boy retained his position.

When the boy had calmed down, his father gave him a few soothing words, squeezed his sore bottom reassuringly and then dropped the cane back on the table. As soon as the door to his bedroom shut again, Johnny clambered up, grabbed his flaming bottom and marched up and down his bedroom as he tried to rip the sting off his rump. Not his worst hiding, but still a salutary thrashing, one that he would feel every time he sat down for the rest of the day!

A few minutes later, the boy, still naked, emerged from his bedroom. He didn’t mind walking around the house with nothing on – Johnny was a boy with a good self-image. Carrying the cane, he headed for the door that led from the private residence to his dad’s study, anxious to get rid of the implement that had roasted his fiercely throbbing bottom so thoroughly.

Jack – aged 12

The corridor was quiet, most of the boys in lessons now that assembly was over. Jack stood, as he’d been ordered nearly half an hour earlier in Assembly, pressing his nose to the wall and awaiting his summons into the Headmaster’s Study. Twenty minutes earlier, the great man himself, resplendent in his academic gown, had swept out of the Assembly Hall, down the corridor and into his Study, ignoring the bare bottomed preteen waiting nervously for him. But still no summons into the Study had come.

Every sound made the boy flinch, his naked buttocks twitch. This was not his first time, of course. It was rare for a boy already past his 12th birthday at his school to be on his first visit to the Headmaster for a hiding. But the handsome young man was well aware that this would be the worst thrashing that he had earned. The very fact that his shoes, socks, trousers and underpants were neatly stacked on the chair opposite laid testament to that!

In! the sound of Sir’s voice was muffled by the thick door, but Jack had no problem hearing it. With one more glance at his clothes opposite, the nervous preteen opened the door, stepped through, and shut it behind him. His hands moved automatically to cover his immature private bits as he turned and approached the Headmaster’s desk, noting how the dark wooden surface was empty of anything except a vicious looking, traditional crook handled senior cane! The purple band around it standing out against the light brown colour of the fierce stick. A quick glance to his left and it was even more obvious that he was in deep trouble. The infamous Hiding Chair was out and in the centre of the large rug.

Corner, Jack, the Headmaster gestured vaguely to the corner of the room where many, many boys had stood over the years. Jack, from experience, knew exactly what to do, placing himself facing the wall, highly conscious of his bare bottom facing outward. Sir often had boys stand like that for ages. Made the whole experience of getting a formal hiding in The Study that much more memorable.

After about ten minutes, the boy was once again invited out of the corner, and ordered to stand on the rug, directly in front of the Sir’s desk, where the 12 year old’s focus was once more on the wicked, purple banded cane strategically placed there. His bottom twitched with anticipation. There was no bravado here. His thrashing would hurt, as it was meant to.

Anything to say? the man’s quiet voice drew the boy’s attention back to his Headmaster.

No Sir, Jack replied, I shouldn’t have done it, Sir.

I’m glad you acknowledge that, Jack, was the reply, but now you’re going to pay a very painful price for taking a day off school.

Yes, Sir, Jack knew he had no excuse – it had been a nice day, and the surf had been great. He had made a bad decision, and now his bare bottom would suffer for it, sorry, Sir.

Bend over, the man instructed, standing up and starting to remove his cufflinks. Like Johnny, Jack and most of the more regularly caned boys in school knew that this was the prelude to a serious thrashing. The Headmaster gestured towards the Hiding Chair, you know the procedure – you’ve done it often enough.

Jack did indeed know what to do. Since he was 9, he had touched his toes on numerous occasions for up to three stinging strokes with the red or blue banded cane, sometimes fully dressed but more often with trousers and undies left outside and, since his 12th birthday, the purple banded cane had come into play. Twice when he was 10 he’d bent over the back of the chair for four lashes, and once, aged 11, he’d had four on his bare bottom. He’d even had six of the best once, aged 10, over the chair, also bare of course. But this would be his first encounter with the purple banded cane, bending over the back of the chair, on his bare bottom, and the instinctively naughty boy knew that this would be his biggest thrashing yet.

While the Headmaster regularly caned boys in other areas of school – classroom, corridors, changing rooms and even in the dorm, getting a hiding in the Study, and especially bare bottomed and bending over the back of the Hiding Chair, was considered, by the boys at least, to be one of the most serious punishments.

Obediently Jack crossed to the chair and bent perfectly over the low back of it, gripping the front of the seat, dropping his head and terribly aware of how this pushed his rear end up. Now that he was taller, the position that Sir made boys assume for the more severe hidings meant that his bottom was even more pushed up than before.

The man expertly pushed the boy’s shirt up his back, fully exposing Jack’s plump, small bottom further, then traced the stick over his rounded, pale mounds before lining the cane up on his familiar target,

For truancy, as I’ve announced often enough in assembly, the man tapped the cane gently on Jack’s mounds, the price is six of the very best on the bare bottom. And you are fortunate that you only took one day off, because, as you know, each day taken off is worth six!

Sir, Jack acknowledged quietly. He was indeed lucky. There was no doubt in his mind that had he been foolish enough to take more time off school, his hiding would have been far worse.

But he didn’t have long to contemplate his good fortune as the cane swept down, wrapping it’s fire around his naked bottom, reminding the boy quickly of the hazards of displeasing his Headmaster. Jack gasped and plunged over the chair. It was agony! He knew the purple banded cane hurt much more than even the blue banded cane, and had expected it to be far worse on an unprotected backside – but, like every boy in his position, the handsome 12 year old was shocked by the appalling sting.

Again, after an endless wait and much tapping of his sore tail with the stick, the cane was applied to the boy’s mounds, driving an identical reaction from the punished child. The Headmaster, administering his second hiding of the day, and the first at school, whipped the boy again, expertly teaching Jack his lesson. He liked the boy, and would almost certainly make him a prefect next year. But that would not save the preteen from his richly deserved thrashing.

The cane bit into the lower part of the boy’s sensitive rump for the fourth time, causing Jack to sob and step from foot to foot as he struggled to absorb the biggest hiding that he had ever had, although not, by a long way, the biggest hiding that he would ever have, bare bottomed and tightly bent over the chair. He would, in just over a year’s time, experience the unique and excruciating burn of the terrifying black handled cane as it was administered, a full dozen times, to his naked rear end – truly the hiding of the then 13 year old boy’s life!

Despite the incandescent fire wrapping heavily around his bare bottom, the boy didn’t even consider moving out of position, making sure that he gripped the front of the seat of the chair with white knuckles, kept his head down and his bottom obediently raised so that Sir could continue to whip it.

The fifth stroke had Jack performing even more energetically, dancing frantically as he struggled to stay bent over, sobbing loudly. He was not a boy who tried to pretend that his hidings weren’t hurting, especially the ones where it was just the Headmaster and him in the room. His relationship with the man was good, and there was no need for the boy to put on an act. Jack knew that Sir was giving him exactly what he deserved, so tears were fine.

The pause was, as always, endless. The Headmaster did not rush hidings, especially the ones for older boys. So Jack waited fearfully, the cane tickling the sensitive area just above his slightly spread legs. He knew where this one was going to go, and was not looking forward to it! However, eventually the man whipped the boy’s bottom for the sixth time, then stepped back, enjoying the frantic writhing of the charming child as he tried to wiggle and stamp the fire off his rear end.

Alright, Jack, the Headmaster allowed after letting the 12 year old suffer for a few more moments, that will do. You may get up.

Jack shot up, hands flying to his bottom, doing an energetic spank dance. No matter their age – from his 8 year old son to the hardy Year 7 boy before him, and even his oldest son, 13 year old Johnny – a frantic clutching of the bottom was always the immediate aftermath of a hiding, and a sign of a job well done.

Thank you for giving me a hiding, Sir, Jack held out his hand.

The man shook the damp hand of the boy, noting the child’s flushed and tear stained face then allowed him to leave, get dressed and head off to the first lessons of the day.

Jack, the Head called out to the 12 year old as he headed out, holding the door open with one hand while still holding his sore bottom with the other.

Yes Sir?

Take another day off young man, the head spoke quietly, and I’ll gate you, and possibly introduce your bottom to my reformatory cane – understand?

Yes, Sir, the boy assured his Headmaster, still tearfully soothing himself, I won’t ever skip school again, Sir.

The Headmaster returned the cane to the umbrella stand next to the door and then returned to his desk. Only a few minutes later, however, the internal phone rang. He spoke briefly, finished the coffee that his secretary had considerately brought in and then crossed back to the umbrella stand. Carefully, thoughtfully, he selected a lighter, red banded cane, whipped it experimentally through the air and then left the room. Another bare little bottom was in need of his counselling.

Henry – aged 9

It seems, the Headmaster announced, stroking his cane lightly across the small bare bottom so perfectly presented to him, that the slipper from your teacher has no effect on you.

Henry said nothing, of course. He would never have dared argue, and besides, he knew that he thoroughly deserved what was coming. He bent obediently over the desk, knowing that his naked tail was the centre of the attention for the rest of his Year 4 classmates. The sensation of the cane caressing his bottom was almost ticklish, but the child knew, from the reports of older boys, that the pain that he would soon be experiencing would be almost unbearable!

He had known that he was in huge trouble the moment his teacher had entered the classroom after assembly – an exciting assembly, because that big boy, Jack, had been ordered to stand up in front of everyone and made to go directly to the Headmaster’s Study for a hiding for skipping a day of school! While he squeezed past the others, Sir had even reminded Jack to take off his shoes, socks, trousers and underpants while he was waiting outside the Study! All the smaller boys had pitied the older child, noting how he was already nearly in tears. Embarrassed and clearly very concerned about how sore his bottom would soon be.

As soon as the young teacher had greeted the two dozen 9 year olds, he had called Henry to the front, berated him about his ongoing behaviour and pointed out that the naughty preteen’s dishonesty was the last straw. Then, with great relish, the teacher had ordered the small, dark haired boy to remove his shoes, socks, shorts and underpants and stand in the corner, facing the wall.

Stay there and don’t make a sound, the man had commanded, and then, to the barely suppressed delight of the rest of the boys, the Headmaster will be up to teach you a lesson sometime this morning!

This was not an unusual occurrence at their school, but it was rare for a boy as young as Henry to wait, bare bottomed in the corner of the classroom, for the Headmaster to come up and give him a hiding in front of his classmates. It had happened a few weeks ago to a couple of Year 6 boys – and their 11 year old classmates had regaled everyone with the story for days, explaining gleefully and in detail how each of the boys had suffered through four terrible strokes administered with all the Headmaster’s legendary vigour. The Year 4 boys were delighted at the opportunity to witness one of Sir’s infamous bare bottom hidings at close quarters, but also sympathetic. Henry was a popular boy, much loved by his peers not only for his sporting prowess, but also his sense of humour, ready smile and generous spirit.

He had not done his homework – again. Normally, as Henry knew, a slippering offence. And he was no stranger at grimly touching his toes for three strokes with that mean old slipper, firmly wielded by his teacher. Initially on his shorts for first offence, which was pretty painful, then over undies for second offence, and finally bare bottom, which was pure agony! He may have gotten away with another, more severe, bare bottom slippering of six burning whacks. But the small boy had compounded his crimes this time by lying – a terrible sin in the eyes of those in authority at his school. So the Headmaster had been informed, and now the child would be the first in his class to receive a caning. And public canings were always bare bottom!

When the feared Headmaster had arrived, ominously carrying a scary looking junior cane, thankfully with a red band under the handle, he had appeared to be completely ignoring Henry, lecturing the class on the importance of doing homework – and honesty. However, before long the bare bottomed boy had been directed to move one of the front row desks right up to the board, and turn it around so that the back of the desk was facing the class. Not an easy task for a small 9 year old. The desks were old and heavy.

Finally, the child had been ordered to bend over the desk, head sloping down, legs slightly apart, small bare bottom raised, and the lecture had continued – but this time with Sir gently stroking and tapping his naked, startling white, rounded little tail with that terrible cane while addressing the boys in his class!

It is a shame, Sir finally spoke directly to the small boy that he was about to thrash, still gently touching his cane to the child’s soft but muscular, rounded little bottom, that I have to make your first caning such a severe one. But hopefully you will learn from your hiding – and so will the rest of your class. I will not tolerate lying in my school!

Sorry, Sir! Henry squeaked – becoming more and more fearful at the man’s words. He wondered how many he was going to get. The two 11 year old boys had gotten four each for fighting – and the stripes across their tender young tails had looked very red and sore. Henry suspected that he would be getting that too – although he hoped he would get less. After all, he was only 9!

Make sure that you keep down, and don’t clench your bottom, the man ordered, tapping the cane firmly enough to sting mildly on the child’s cute cheeks, enjoying how the pale little bottom twitched at the sensation. It would be doing a lot more than twitching in a few moments, you’re getting six.

There was a soft, collective gasp from the rest of the boys, and Henry could not help his bottom cheeks flexing and clenching at the thought of the almost unthinkable thrashing to come. Six! It was going to be a terrible hiding. Closing his eyes, the preteen braced himself for a very painful few minutes.

I said don’t clench, the voice from behind him reminded the little boy. Using every inch of will power, Henry obeyed, even managing to keep his very tender feeling cheeks relaxed when the cane was lifted, despite knowing that his first lash was on its way.

Henry was shocked by the sting as the cane was whipped around his little bottom, bouncing over the desk. A supressed squeal – Henry was still aware of his audience, but the sudden burn had been unexpected, far more painful than even the hardest lashes that his daddy administered when belting his naughty bare tail! The quiet gasp of the some of his classmates was not even noticed by the small boy as his bottom lit up.

But the shocked little boy had quickly been brought back to his senses by the light touch of the stick on his naked little rump again, and only just managed to remember not to clench his rounded cheeks. The cane struck, the boy yelped, struggling to maintain his position over the desk, bottom helplessly presented.

The man was, of course, well aware that this was the first time that he had caned the cute, plump young bottom obediently presented to him. His years of experience meant that he knew exactly what he was doing, timing the thrashing carefully so that the boy would find his first, albeit rather severe, cane hiding excruciating while having enough time to be prepared for each hot stripe.

Sir carefully lined his cane up again, directly under the second red and sore looking cane stripe that he had already painted around the 9 year old’s marble coloured, small rounded bottom, then thrashed the boy for the third time, enjoying the wet yelp and squirm. He was well aware of the rest of the little preteens behind him watching the show – this lesson was for them too.

The fourth stroke, after a suitable delay, was administered just as fiercely as all the preceding lashes to Henry’s flaming little bottom. By now the small boy was in copious tears. Never before had his juvenile tail been so sore – the slipper, and even his dad’s belt could not match up to the fiery stripes that the Headmaster was painting across his unprotected backside. He had already made up his mind to be the most honest little boy in the world from now on! And so had the rest of his class. None of them wanted to be presenting his own bare bottom for such a fierce thrashing!

The two small mounds of boy flesh twitched involuntarily as the cane was touched once more to them, and Henry clung onto the desk with all his might. He had not been specifically warned, but sensed correctly that the penalty for moving out of position without permission would be an even more severe hiding than the one he was currently enduring. The Headmaster whipped the child’s little bottom for the penultimate time, pleased with his efforts, and also pleased that the boy was being brave, doing his best to take his first, excruciating caning as well as he could.

One more, the man reminded the boy, who hardly needed any such reminder as he had been suffering through each stroke and counting carefully, but make sure that you do not move until I tell you to, understand?

Yes, Sir! whimpered the little boy, and then sobbed out loudly again as the cane snapped into his sensitive flesh just above his well spread legs. But he managed to stay in position, clinging onto the desk, wiggling his flaming tail for a few moments and then settling down.

After a few endless moments, the man allowed the little boy to rise, and both adults in the room, as well as the rest of the boys, enjoyed the frantic bottom clutching that the 9 year old did as he desperately tried to pull the fire off his scalded cheeks, stepping from foot to foot and looking up at the man who had just thrashed him in awe, face flushed and wet with tears.

But Sir didn’t give him long. He had the small, half naked boy return the desk over which he had bent back to where it should be, and then to the horror of the child,

Right, Henry, back into the corner facing the wall, he instructed the bare bottomed little boy, and put your hands by your sides. You will stay there and think about why you have a sore bottom and so that your class can look at your stripes. Your teacher will decide when you can get dressed again and go back to your seat.

The Headmaster turned to the teacher,

Had this boy not lied about his homework, he asked, what would his punishment have been?

Six with my slipper, the man replied, on his bare bottom. It is the fourth time this term,

Good, the Headmaster nodded wisely, then, to the horror of the sniffling, sore bottomed boy in the corner who had tightly clenched his hot, throbbing cheeks at the man’s words, his hiding from me was for lying. Before he puts his shorts and underpants back on, give him his hiding for homework. He still deserves his bare bottom six with the slipper from you for that.

With that, the Headmaster swished his cane once more, for the benefit of all the little boys in the room, and walked out.

Luke – aged 10

With the typical abandon of a 10 year old boy changing after swimming, Luke slipped his damp, skimpy trunks off his full, chubby little bottom and down his sturdy, pale legs. All around him, his classmates were doing the same, excited chattering coming from most of the boys in the changing room. After all, swimming was one of the most fun lessons of the week, today being no exception!

Luke, now completely starkers, started putting his uniform together, looking for his underpants at the same moment as a hush fell over the change room. The Headmaster had walked in! Like the rest of the boys, Luke turned to watch the large man – noting immediately that he was carrying a cane! A ripple of silent, nervous excitement ran through the room of naked and half naked little boys, lots of small bare bottoms twitching involuntarily. Someone was about to get a hiding, and from the mighty Headmaster himself! And hopefully they would all get to watch!

Carry on getting ready for lessons, the man commanded, and quickly the boys, Luke included, continued getting dressed or sorting out their clothing. The cute, sturdy blond boy finally located his underpants.

Luke, the boy spun back around to face the Headmaster, who was pointing his cane directly at him, come here boy.

Sir? Luke quickly started to step into his undies, very concerned that he had been singled out, and only half aware of the curious glances that he was getting from his classmates, who had all noted the blue band around the stick just below its handle.

No, Sir gestured to the child’s underpants, then swished the cane theatrically, don’t bother to put those on. You won’t be needing them! You’re going to have a bare bottom for your hiding.

That was it – the confirmation. But what had he done to deserve this? A bare bottom caning! And his first time! Nervously, stark naked, the sturdy blond preteen went to stand in front of his Headmaster, the sudden seriousness of the situation making him defensively put his hands protectively in front of himself, a gesture seldom seen in the change room full of naked and half naked little boys.

Two teachers, the man began as soon as the naked child stood before him, head down, shoulders hunched, witnessed you swearing at your mother this morning when she dropped you off at school. Is that true?

Yes, Sir, the blond 10 year old was horrified that his behaviour towards his mother had been noted. He was a good boy at school, but a nightmare to his single mum, but she said I couldn’t...

I don’t care what she said you couldn’t do, the Headmaster interrupted Luke, and then spoke so that all the other little boys in the change room could hear, you will always respect your mothers. They are the most important people in your lives.

Sorry, Sir, Luke knew when to stop arguing with Sir, realising that his only hope of getting out of this with minimal damage to his bottom was to be completely contrite.

Bend over, the man commanded and quickly the preteen did as he was told, but not quickly enough, right down feet apart, touch your toes. Get your bottom up – you, and all your friends – can see how seriously I take disrespect towards mothers. And if you’re in any doubt after I’m finished here, you can ask my Johnny. He got a thrashing a couple of months ago at home for just this kind of behaviour.

Moments later, the pale skinned, blond boy was perfectly positioned, humbly presenting a plump, rounded little bottom for his first ever hiding with a cane, while the rest of the boys processed not only the show that they were about to witness, but also the fact that the strawberry headed, ever popular Johnny was given hidings at home with the cane! Imagine that! Having the Headmaster as your dad, and being under the threat of the cane at home too!

I haven’t caned you before, have I? the Headmaster asked, tapping the tip of the cane lightly alternatively on the twin crests of the boy’s small cheeks.

No, Sir, Luke was already almost in tears. Of all the boys in Year 5, he had probably been spanked the least. He was bright, well behaved and hard working at school, but his mother had little control or discipline over him at home. The touch of Sir’s cane on his bare bottom was very scary.

Stand up, the man commanded, and the 10 year old shot up, relieved that Sir had changed his mind, not understanding, like those more regularly punished, that the Headmaster had decided that with his inexperience, it would not be reasonable to have the boy take the severe thrashing that he was due in the toe touching position.

Oh, thank you, Sir! he exclaimed, not for a moment noting that the man was completely ignoring him. Luke was the only boy in the room who hadn’t noted their Headmaster’s expression was definitely not the expression of a man who had decided to cancel a hiding!

The Headmaster waved his cane at the boys changing at the bench on the far end of the narrow room,

You lot, he addressed the four of them, move to another bench.

Now Luke was concerned. He had worked out that Sir had certainly not given him a reprieve, and, as the boys quickly moved to obey their Headmaster, the man took the naked boy gently but firmly by the back of the neck and marched him over to the bench. The moment it had been vacated,

Bend over and put your head on the bench, Luke obeyed quickly, pressing his forehead to the wooden surface of the low bench, a move that elevated his bottom alarmingly, and now hold onto the slats on each side of your head.

Luke worked his fingers into the slats of the bench as he’d been told, horrified by how vulnerable his bare bottom was now that his head was right down and his tail raised – perfect for thrashing, made only worse by the command to widen his feet slightly while the man softly swatted his chubby rump with his hard, big hand. The naked 10 year old shuffled the cool, tickly sensation of Sir touching the cane to first one, then the other of his buttocks, just below the crest, and then rapped it firmly on the humbly presented mounds.

The rest of the boys had stopped what they were doing. Most were in a state of semi dress, with the quicker ones already in full uniform and the slowest, like Luke, still completely naked. But every 10 year old in the room was now completely focused on the show that was about to take place. Many had at some point had a bare bottom hiding from their Headmaster, but fewer had watched a naked thrashing like they were about to see – especially as they all knew they would be witnessing their classmate’s first ever caning!

Sir rested the cane on the plump little mounds of the disrespectful preteen. The boy’s bottom was even paler than his fair skin, but that would soon change. The Headmaster planned on giving this particular Year 5 boy a notable set of stripes across his rounded young bottom,

You’re getting six, Luke, he announced, to the wide eyed amazement of the other boys, causing the tightly bending naked preteen to shuffle nervously, and count yourself lucky that you’re not getting a lot more. And should I hear that you’ve used that kind of language again to anyone, but especially your mother, I will give you double that, and maybe even in an Assembly!

Not an entirely idle threat, but not likely to happen. Sir’s words were more to remind the bending boy that the agony that was about to be painted around his chubby little bottom could get a lot worse, and also for the benefit of the rest of the boys in the room. Accounts of the hiding that they would be witnessing would quickly spread through the school, and so would the threat.

For the first time in his life, the naked 10 year old experienced the extraordinary sting of a cane curling around his plump young bottom as the Headmaster whipped his perfectly presented tail. He gasped with awe, plunging in place as the distinctive, sharp sound of a cane biting into the soft flesh of a preteen bottom echoed around the high ceilings of the room. But, perhaps due to the presence of the witnesses, Luke was able to keep his tight grip on the bench, and, after only a second, pressed his forehead back onto the wood, sobbing with the hot sting and also with the thought of five more such excruciating stripes to endure. Having his bare bottom caned was far worse than the boy had ever imagined it would be!

The man enjoyed the antics of the boy as he struggled to come to terms with the sting flooding around his chubby rump. The boy’s knees flexed and bent, he squirmed and wiggled, the muscles straining in his strong young legs. When Luke was eventually still, Sir touched the cane to his juvenile target again, just below where the first cane welt was blossoming, and then thrashed the child again, driving the fire of his disapproval deep into the preteen’s soft little bottom.

Again, Luke struggled with the sudden, hot line of fire that Sir had painted around his bottom, hardly noticing the repeat of the sharp echo of the cane snapping around his bare cheeks in the cavernous changing room. Even the presence of all those other 10 year olds was becoming increasingly less important to the punished preteen. He’d always been careful to work hard and behave at school, saving his unpleasantness for his mum. Never had the child even considered how his attitude towards his mother would lead to his current predicament, stark naked and tightly bent over, presenting an already flaming bare bottom for further, public thrashing from the highly respected Headmaster!

The man touched the stick to the squirming, crying little boy’s plump, sore rump again, and Luke froze. He was a smart boy, and had no intention of further angering the man. The cane was whipped smartly into the preteen’s delicate under bottom for the third time, licking another line of excruciating fire into the normally well behaved boy’s tender curves. The Headmaster knew that Luke was a boy who was less likely to deserve a caning in school, so was pleased with an opportunity to really whip the boy’s bare bottom. As the 10 year old got older, the agony of this hiding would not be forgotten, and there was a good chance that he would always make sure that he did nothing to deserve a repeat!

Luke entertained everyone in the room with a frantic squirm and dance as the fourth lash was applied to his submissively presented, small plump bottom. The more experience recipients of corporal punishment flinched in sympathy with the naked 10 year old. Without daring to let go of the bench, or lift his head, the boy marched in place rapidly, desperately trying to shake the fire off his flaming tail. He bent his knees, and froze, ready for the next lash.

Knees straight, bottom up, Sir tapped him with sharp, stinging swats with the cane as the child quickly reassumed the punishment position.

Boys who had felt the legendary burn of the cane on their own bare bottoms sympathised, but still enjoyed the show. They knew how hard it was to continue to present a naked pair of boyish cheeks for more agony. Luke was not the most popular boy in the class, but he was still well liked. But even this did not in any way limit the enjoyment of the show that man and boy were putting on.

Wondering at the delay in boys coming through, ready to be sent off to lessons, the swimming teacher had popped her head around the door, only to be faced with the scene at the end of the long room – a rear view of a plump, rounded little bottom perfectly raised up and decorated by four painful looking cane welts, and the Headmaster lining the cane up on the bare bottom of the fair skinned, naked Year 5 boy’s rump for another stroke.

Silently, she entered the room, getting rueful grins from the other boys who noted her presence. At their age, not even the still naked boys, several unconsciously sporting rigid little erections, minded a middle aged female in their midst. The swimming teacher was pleased – she was one of the teachers who had spoken to the Headmaster about overhearing Luke’s tantrum outside school, and was delighted that the normally charming boy was getting his painful comeuppance. The man had assured the staff that he would be giving the boy a salutary hiding, but she hadn’t expected it to be then and there!

The fifth lash whipped around Luke’s sore bottom, and the boy sobbed loudly, danced and writhed – but still managed to retain his position.

One more, the Headmaster announced when the boy was finally still, tapping his cane meaningfully just above the 10 year old’s strong, sturdy and well spread legs, and don’t move until I give you permission to get up – unless you want an even bigger hiding than the one you’re already getting.

Luke couldn’t form the words to assure his Headmaster that he understood and would obey. He started to gurgle something that sounded positive, but that turned into another loud, tearful squawk as the cane snapped into his fiery bottom for the final time.

I hope that all of you can see that I will not tolerate rudeness, even to your parents, the Headmaster waited for Luke to stop writhing and dancing before he addressed the rest of the Year 5 boys, who were all transfixed by the sight of the still tightly bending boy’s well whipped bottom, and you can see the consequences.

The boys certainly could see! Not only had they witnessed a sound thrashing, but could see the six parallel stripes marching down the lower part of Luke’s formerly white bottom!

Now get dressed, the man ordered the rest of the boys, then spotted the swimming coach, Mrs Jones, let Luke stay where he is for a few minutes so that he can think about his behaviour while his bottom throbs, and then, when you think he has been given enough time, let him get up and get dressed too. I shall be emailing his mother to let her know that he’s had his backside tanned for his behaviour towards her, and offer to thrash his bare bottom again any time she gets disrespect from him.

Luke shuffled nervously, bottom throbbing, still crying softly. He knew the promise would resonate with his mum – and she would definitely take Sir up on the offer. Only a few days ago she had threatened to do just that – ask the Headmaster to give her rude 10 year old a damn good bare bottom hiding with the cane. The man’s email would certainly be acted upon! Luke’s bare bottom, unless he changed his ways at home, would become very familiar with a school cane!

With that, cane swishing menacingly and causing the tide of little boys in various states of dress to give him plenty of room – those still with their own little bottoms bare quickest to move out of the way – he swept out of the room.

Rory – aged 8

The little blond, spiky headed boy stood in the corner of the living room, wearing nothing but his bright green t-shirt. Luckily, it was long enough to cover most of his privates, and more than half of his small round bottom, but still, the young preteen was very worried. He had been waiting for ages – as soon as he had returned from rugby and changed into his usual shorts and t-shirt actually, and his mum had read the note from his teacher. The command,

Get your shorts and underpants off and wait in the corner for your father,

was not an unfamiliar one to the small boy. He had assumed it enough times before, and watched Johnny in the same position, although Johnny now was more often sent to wait, bare bottomed of course, in his bedroom.

Johnny, his big brother, had been caned this morning before they set off to school, and Rory was worried that dad would give him his hiding before school too. That was horrible, having to go to school with a sore bottom, face still blotchy and flushed from crying. That had happened to him twice this year already, four stinging strokes, bare bottomed and kneeling on his bed, with the horrible cane! As soon as he had started prep school, dad had started using the red banded cane on him, making him the most caned boy in Year 3. Although most of his classmates didn’t know that, as he hadn’t actually been caned for any naughtiness at school yet, only paternal hidings.

The small boy’s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his big brother in the living room,

Dad says you have to go to his Study, Rory, the older boy told the little preteen, not without some sympathy, his own bottom still tender from his six stroke thrashing that morning, he’s finishing off some paperwork so he says he’ll give you your hiding in there.

Rory headed instead for his bedroom,

Where are you going, Rory? Johnny asked, although he had already guessed the answer.

To get my shorts and undies, Rory had replied, innocently. Unlike the 13 year old, the 8 year old had never had a domestic hiding in their father’s Study at school before, so didn’t yet know the procedure.

No, Johnny explained kindly, when Dad gives one of us a hiding in his Study, we have to go in bare bottom. So that’s what you have to do now.

Okay, Johnny, the little boy whimpered, nervous. He admired his 13 year old brother enormously, and didn’t want to show the older child how concerned he was. Hidings from Daddy were excruciating, but he knew he deserved it, and also knew that Johnny’s hidings were a lot worse than his!

Go on, the bigger boy ushered his little brother towards the inter-leading door, you’ll be fine. And you know you’re only going to get what you deserve. At least you’re getting it now, not tomorrow before school!

Reluctantly, Rory knocked softly and then let himself into his dad’s study, shutting the door behind him. He crossed over to stand in front of the desk, as usual taking in the large room. The umbrella stand with the canes, the hiding chair tucked away against the wall, and the big old Chesterfield with its matching armchairs where the Headmaster sometimes held meetings with parents.

Corner, Rory, the man didn’t even look up, but his youngest son knew exactly what to do. Quickly, he hustled off to the corner of the room, faced the wall and stood waiting. He seemed to have done a lot of that over the last hour – facing a wall, bare bottom displayed to a room. While this was his first time in the corner of the Study, he was familiar with the routine!

The man sat back and admired the view. Rory’s rounded, startlingly white little bottom peeked out most fetchingly from his slightly too long bright green t-shirt. A rounded, plump pair of cheeks. The boy’s father couldn’t help comparing the small 8 year old bottom to the fuller, bigger 12 year old bottom that had been displayed in that corner earlier in the day when Jack had waited nervously for his hiding for truancy.

As he stood up and came around from the front of his desk, the man smiled to himself at the nervous flex and twitch of his young son’s plump little bottom as the boy heard movement behind him,

Come here, Rory, the Headmaster spoke and the 8 year old came and stood before his dad, head down, hands protectively, unconsciously, holding onto an as yet un-thrashed bottom.

What did I tell you would happen next time your teacher had to write about your bad behaviour in your prep diary?

A hiding, the little preteen whispered, making a study of his bare toes.


Six of the best with the cane on my bare bottom, the small boy whimpered, please Daddy, I’m sorry!

I always keep my promises, Rory, was the only answer he got, now go and fetch a cane for your bottom. You know which kind.

With a little sob, the small boy crossed over to the umbrella stand that had become painfully familiar to him over the past year. He carefully selected a cane with a red band around it, and withdrew the fierce looking stick. He knew the canes with other colour bands were reputed to be much more painful than the one about to be used on him – Johnny and other boys had assured him of this fact. But he could hardly imagine how another stick could hurt his small bare bottom even more than the one that he was about to be thrashed with.

Taking the politely offered cane from his son, the Headmaster gently led the child to the large Chesterfield. The smallest boys in the school were too short to bend over the back of the infamous hiding chair, so he had them over the arm of the sofa when more severe hidings were called for, or often if he was going to thrash a little lad for the first time with a cane. Over the course of the next few months, many of Rory’s classmates would be without the protection of shorts and underpants in the position he was about to adopt – and a small number had already endured the painful experience, writhing and sobbing as their tender, tiny naked tails were expertly whipped!

Bend over the arm of the chair, Rory, the order came, and the little boy, instinctively understanding what he had to do to present his bottom for whipping, bent over perfectly, widening his feet slightly dropping his face into the deep leather of the seat and waiting for his punishment to begin.

Although Rory’s green t-shirt was now well clear of his pale, plump little bottom, the man still pushed it right up under the boy’s arms, experience teaching him that the psychological effect of being more bare was valuable. Then he carefully touched the stick to each miniature mound of boy flesh, smiling at the nervous twitching of the immature bottom, before lining the cane up just below the crest of the young buttocks. An 8 year old bottom is a small target, and in order to get in all six planned strokes in the lower, most sensitive part of his son’s tail, the man would have to cane accurately.

You’re getting six, a needless reminder – no doubt Rory would not have forgotten how many he was to get. This was, after all, to be his biggest ever hiding so far, make sure that you stay down until I tell you to get up.

Rory said nothing, just bracing himself for the hot sting that he knew was coming. Unlike Henry earlier, Rory already knew that a clenched bottom was not allowed, so focused on the almost impossible task of presenting a soft and accepting bottom for thrashing.

Rory was not, by a long way, the first 8 year old boy to present his bare bottom over the arm of the Chesterfield for the Headmaster’s lightest cane. And, while six strokes was a lot for such a young boy, there were others his age in the past who had been given that and more. So the man was adept at tanning small bottoms. With not much more than a firm flick of the wrist, using more the length of the cane than strength, Rory’s dad snapped the stick around his little boy’s exposed bottom.

Rory yelped loudly and immediately burst into tears. He knew that hidings from his daddy with the cane were really sore, but, like every little boy getting a caning, he had forgotten just how sore. The line of fire crossing his bottom was excruciating. But he didn’t dare move out of position – simply wiggling and squirming, then freezing at the sensation of the stick gently resting on his sore tail again.

The Headmaster expertly struck again, wrapping another line of disciplinary pain around his youngest son’s cute little bottom, proud that the boy was able to take his hiding with not much more than a sob and a frantic squirm. Anybody watching would have noted the difference in technique that the man used for the 8 year old’s bottom when compared to when he had thrashed his 13 year old – or even the 12 year old boy earlier. The older boys’ bottoms had been truly roasted, not only with a far fiercer cane, but also a much more vigorous technique from the expert punisher of preteen boys’ backsides. However, the whipping was just as effective, Rory bouncing and sobbing as his third fiery stripe was administered.

A typical long pause, and then the fourth. Rory sobbed and squirmed, his bottom feeling like it was being skinned. Then the cane touched his flaming little mounds again, both man and boy well aware that they were moving into unchartered territory – Rory had never had more than four before! But the little boy was made of stern stuff. He sobbed and squirmed, unconsciously trying to shake the fire off his rump as his daddy whipped him again. But he clutched the leather seat of the chair with white knuckles, pressed his face into the cushion and relaxed his cheeks. His hiding was nearly over.

The man waited until the boy was absolutely ready, and the flexing and clenching of the small, battered cheeks of the child had stopped. Rory’s formerly white bottom was now decorated by five red weals starting just below the crest and marching down his tender curves. The cane was carefully lined up just above the little boy’s legs, and then flicked down, snapping into the most sensitive part of the preteen’s bottom. Another wet squeal and frantic squirm. But then it was over.

Alright Rory, the Headmaster allowed the child to rise eventually, up you get. Your hiding is over.

Rory almost levitated from the chair, hands flying to his flaming bottom as he did an energetic marching dance, looking up at his dad with awe. The man gave the boy a fatherly hug and kissed the top of his damp head,

Off you go, my boy, he gently guided his boy to the door from which he had entered the Study, and make sure that your teachers don’t have reason to complain about your behaviour again. You are the Head’s son, but that does not mean you can act up. Unless you want another sore bottom, that is!

Rory promised to be good and, still clutching his bottom, disappeared through the door. No doubt to find Johnny and show his big brother his stripes. The Headmaster replaced the cane in the umbrella stand and then returned to his desk. He had some work to complete, and then he would head up to the dorms to administer some slipperings – and one more solid thrashing with one of his canes.

James – aged 11

The dormitory was quiet, two bunkbeds, on either side of the large, comfortable room occupied by three boys. The main light was off now, but each bed had a soft, integrated reading light, which bathed the three Year Six boys in soft light as they obeyed the obligatory half hour of reading before final lights out.

Only the top bunk of one of the beds was empty, although the light was on. Its usual occupant, 11 year old James, was in the position that they all had, at some point during the year, been in. Out of bed, nose pressed to the wall, at the back of the room. Matron had told him that he was to wait for the Headmaster to come up and give him a hiding – but he had expected it anyway. So while the others read, safely tucked up in bed, James waited for a sore bottom.

He wondered how bad it would be. Sir did not mess around with hidings, and 11 year old boys always got the cane if it was to be a dormitory session. They graduated to the stick when they turned 10 – the 8 and 9 year old boys got the slipper. Somehow, the red banded cane just didn’t seem to feature in dormitory hidings from the Headmaster. Luckily, he wasn’t 12 yet, so it would be the blue banded cane, not the lethal senior, purple or even black version that the oldest two years got. But each boy in the room, James included, knew, from painful experience, that the blue banded cane was agony, and the chances of going to bed without shedding copious tears was negligible. Bed time hidings were always serious, excruciating thrashings!

While the room was not cold, James felt a little shiver run through his body as he heard the distant sound of the slipper landing on some poor smaller boy’s bottom downstairs – indicating that Sir had started his rounds. The cute, slender 11 year old absently flicked his slightly too long shaggy blond hair off his forehead, and reached behind him to give his bottom a quick, defensive squeeze. How smooth and cool his tail felt – the boy wondered if it would be more than six raised stripes crossing it soon. His lightweight, summer pyjama shorts were, of course, neatly folded up on his bed. All dormitory hidings were on the bare bottom, and it was the rule that a naughty boy waited for his punishment in that half naked state.

The slippering downstairs ended, after six loud whacks, and there was silence for a while. Then, making the bare bottomed boy jump slightly, the sound of the slipper landed again – on this corridor! Must have been the dorm at the end, the only one on this level with boys under 10 on it. Some naughty 9 year old was having his bottom toasted.

James was, during the school day, a model pupil. Well behaved, hardworking and a relatively quiet little lad. It was in the less structured environment of the boarding house when his behaviour got silly. A system of merits and demerits was used, and, sadly, the cute 11 year old had managed to amass a total number of negative points that meant a mandatory evening visit from the Headmaster, for the standard bare bottom hiding of at least six strokes. This would only be James’s second caning, the last one being at the end of last year, just after he had turned 10. Agony!

The sixth whack with the slipper landed, and then there was silence once again, before the quiet footsteps of the Headmaster could be heard coming down the corridor. The rest of the boys in the room tried to supress their excitement, pretending to be absorbed by their books, while James shuffled slightly. His time was near.

James, the man’s deep voice sounded from the door, turn around.

James turned, noting the slipper in one hand and the blue banded cane in the man’s other hand. Absently, he realised that there was no other cane this time, so it was likely that he, as an 11 year old, was to be the last one thrashed that evening. Unless someone else in Year 6 had earned a whipping of course. But no one had said anything, so the boy was sure he would be the final one.

Anything to say? the man asked, still standing at the door, the 11 year old, hands defensively in front of himself already shuffling towards him.

No, Sir, James knew there was no defence. He had misbehaved regularly, and now would be getting what he deserved, sorry Sir.

Out you come then, the Headmaster stepped aside and the half-naked, slender little boy slipped past him and into the long corridor.

As soon as man and boy were out of the room, the Headmaster gently took the preteen by the shoulder and turned him so that he was facing down the length of the corridor,

Bend over, James, the familiar command, and James quickly obeyed, widening is feet to shoulder width apart and assuming the correct position. He didn’t need to be told to touch his toes – he had witnessed enough hidings to know what to do, and, of course, he had bent over just over a year ago himself for a thrashing in the corridor from Sir.

Gently folding the boy’s pyjama top up as high as it would go, the man revealed one of the less familiar young bottoms in his school. He knew he had caned James before of course, he had checked his records. The 11 year old’s perfectly bending position pushed his young bottom up nicely – two small, rounded little cheeks. Not a big, chubby tail, but nicely shaped, soft and delicate looking but perfectly in proportion with the child’s sporty, slim body. A faint tan line highlighted his preteen target nicely.

For a moment, the man thought back to his day. This would be the sixth time that he had given a little boy six with one of his canes. Half a dozen young, preadolescent bottoms taking withering thrashings. All richly deserved.

You know what your punishment is, don’t you James? the man asked, wondering if the intelligent boy would try to persuade him to go easy.

Yes, Sir, James, however, accepted that he would be getting exactly what he deserved, small bottom twitching at the cool sensation of the cane tapping gently on it, six of the best Sir. Or more if I deserve it.

Sir smiled, resting his cane on the small, immature target, getting ready to give the tightly bending youngster the thrashing that he was due,

I think six will do this evening. If you behave yourself and take it bravely of course.

Yes, Sir, the Headmaster had not expected a reply, but he got one anyhow, I will Sir. Thank you Sir.

James was a generally compliant little boy, who sometimes got things wrong. He hated getting his bottom tanned, but always took his punishments in good spirit, accepting that the authorities knew what they were doing. For a child who liked to be on the right side of his teachers, getting a hiding was a way of wiping the slate clean, so he bent over and was almost complicit in his own thrashings, be they slipper or cane.

The Headmaster whipped his cane expertly and accurately around the boy’s tender curves, lighting the first line of fire across James’s sensitive cheeks. The boy gasped and jerked, but managed to resist the impulse to shoot up and sooth his suddenly sore bottom. One startling cane stripe quickly blossomed perfectly across the preteen’s alabaster little cheeks.

Giving the boy enough time to brace himself, keep his fingers pressed to his toes and fearfully await the next stroke, the Headmaster rested the cane on his slender target, before thrashing the tightly bent little boy again, getting almost exactly the same reaction from the charming 11 year old.

The third stroke echoed through the house as Sir whipped James’s bottom for the third time, followed immediately by a tearful yelp from the boy as his small bare bottom lit up with the typical fire of his punishment. For a moment, James bent his knees and wiggled, shaking his flaming bottom from side to side briefly.

Due to his generally good behaviour in school, James had never experienced the red banded cane. This was only his second caning – and so far it was agony! But he had endured six the last time he got a hiding with the cane, and it was the same kind of cane that he was being thrashed with this time, so the preteen knew that he could take his punishment.

As he lined the cane up for the fourth time on the boy’s tight, small naked tail, the man contemplated how unusual James was. He had never experienced anything less than six, and always on his bare bottom – so the intelligent, quiet little boy had, unlike most boys, never had a moderate or even mild hiding with the cane. Both his experiences had been real bottom roastings!

The fifth stroke snapped into the child’s lower curves, causing the boy to sob out loud and stamp briefly, marching in place as he struggled to keep his fingers pressed to his toes and his sore 11 year old bottom obediently raised.

One to go, Sir reminded the boy, tapping his cane lightly just above James’s slim legs, ready to paint the final line of fire around the prete