Steven and Troy Part 4: Report Card Troubles

There was a knock on my partially closed office door. I glanced at my watch and saw it was exactly on time for whom I was expecting. "Come in," I called.

The door pushed open and the nervous boy walked in. He was always cute, but even more so when he was nervous. In his hand was what I assumed to be the source of his nerves—his six week report card.

Steven was really smart, but didn't seem to apply himself much. He also seemed to have a bit of an attitude trouble that some of his teachers didn't care for. Troy, on the other hand, was an excellent student and seemed to be a pleasure to have in class. I'd planned on making a deal with Steven to encourage him to correct his behavior and bring up his grades, but had to make one with Troy also, to keep brotherly jealousy from erupting.

"Hello, Mr. Betz. Where’s your brother?"

The boy smiled at me shyly, feeling a little embarrassed, perhaps, by my using his last name. I’m not sure whether his teachers had ever done that when he was in trouble; but it was an old habit with me.

"He had to talk to a teacher and he’ll be here in a few minutes."

It was actually quicker for Steven and Troy to come to the store than try to get home. Since the first time I’d spanked Steven and he’d gone to work for me, they’d made it a point to come here after school most days and get a ride home. If I didn’t happen to be around, they could still take the bus. And since his trip over my knees, Steve had been much better about making sure he kept a little bus money tucked away.

"Well, I guess you’d prefer that we deal with your report card now? Or would you like to go to the corner until he gets here, so I can handle you both at once?"

He gulped but didn’t seem to think about it too long. I’m pretty sure he was too anxious to wait any longer than he must.

"Now," he said, in a rather shaky tone.

"All right. Let’s see your report card, then."

As he came over to hand it to me, I asked, "Do you remember the system I told you?"

He nodded.

"Did you already add up what you have coming?"

"Yes, sir. Twelve swats with the school paddle…."

I raised an eyebrow at that and he blushed a little, but handed me the report card. Opening it, I checked the grades for the fifth six weeks and he was right —it added up to twelve. Then I glanced at the conduct and comments section.

"What about what I told you about your conduct remarks?"

"You’re going to give me a hand spanking, bare."

"Do you have anything to say for yourself before we get started?"

He tried to speak, but couldn’t, so just shook his head.

I reached into the paddle drawer and drew out the instrument I’d left on top. He looked at it. "What’s that?"

"This is a school paddle. The one I used to have up here was meant to be used on high school-sized boys wearing jeans. This is the one I used on smaller students. Since you’re not going to be wearing jeans, I felt it would be best. After all, we don’t want to bruise you up. Now, how about you get those clothes off."

"Everything?" The idea seemed to make him more nervous, though I was letting him undress himself this time.

"I think so. We don’t want your shirt getting in the way when you bend over for the paddle."

He was blushing hard as he undid the button of the yellow and brown camp shirt he was wearing over his jeans. The shirt was big on him and slowly fell open to reveal his pale, scrawny frame as he unbuttoned it. When it was loose, he slid it off his arms and let it fall to the table behind him. Then he stood there a moment as he toed his shoes off, kicking them under the coffee table. His hands went to his belt and paused for a minute; he looked at me like he’d not been in this position before. Of course, since I’d undressed him before, I guess he hadn’t. Still, I didn’t think there was any use in pretending that I wasn’t watching, and after a brief pause, he undid the belt. His jeans were saggy enough that he was able to shove them down without undoing the fly which he did, taking them and his boxers to the floor with one shove. He stepped out of them and asked, in a somewhat sarcastic voice, "My socks, too?"

"Well, the floor’s clean, but I think you can leave them on. Of course, if you want to be smart, I can always teach you about bastinado."

His eyes went wide, half with curiosity, I think, and half with alarm. He obviously had no idea what the word meant; but in this context, felt he probably didn’t want to.

"Spanking chair," I said plainly. Knowing what was coming, he pulled the chair away from the wall but didn’t turn it, so it stayed facing the couch. I stood from my desk and walked over to it.

"Did you lock the door when you came in?"

His jump was all the answer I needed, so I crossed over and flicked the lock, while he stood, nervously fidgeting. He watched as I crossed back to him and sat in the spanking chair. He still just stood, like he didn’t know what was coming, so I finally prodded him.

"Over my lap."

He jumped again at my voice, as nervous as a long-tailed cat, but then he grinned sheepishly and lowered himself across my legs.

We both knew why we were there, so I didn’t see any need to lecture. Instead, I spent a minute gently rubbing his cheeks, enjoying their softness and relative coolness before I set them on fire. He didn’t seem to mind the delay though it didn’t last long.

Suddenly my hand rose, then rapidly smacked down hard—much harder than I’d spanked him before, leaving a distinct red hand print on the center of his left cheek and drawing a somewhat indignant yelp. It made a very nice picture and I enjoyed it for a moment before placing another one on his right cheek.

I left him squirming and complaining for a short moment while I admired the symmetry, then got down to the real work. After the first two blows, the rest of the spanking was a fairly regular hand spanking like I’d given him before. I was keeping the swats random, moving them about his bottom and legs with little pattern or rhythm, and would add an occasional extra firm one or a flurry of light, but rapid ones, in with the more regularly paced ones.

I saw his hands jerk with the desire to protect his rear when I landed an especially firm one, and his legs were kicking at a fairly slow but regular pace, and he was doing his normal mild, but constant squirming, so you couldn’t say he was staying still. He was quiet at first, but I pushed this one longer than I had before, and he slowly began to yelp, then sob. I quit as his bottom was passing into true red and his occasional sobs were becoming constant, but before he began to really cry.

I pulled my right hand away from his bottom, enjoying the stinging warmth in it, and used my left hand to gently rub his very warm cheeks for a moment before I addressed him.

"Are you ready for the paddle now?"

There was a few seconds pause before he answered, "Can we wait a minute?"

"Sure, we can wait a little bit," I replied, as I continued to rub that delightful bottom. He didn’t make a move to get up, but after a minute I repeated the question. I could feel his chest rise against my leg as he sighed, then pushed himself up.

"I guess so," he finally responded. He carefully climbed to his feet, then, at my direction, turned towards my desk.

"Stand about here," I instructed, indicating the proper spot with my toe. When he was toeing his mark, I had him spread his feet so they were slightly more than shoulder width, then lean forward at the waist to place his hands on my desk in the traditional schoolboy position. I reached past him to pick up the paddle. Judging by the way his eyes followed it, I think it must have looked much larger to him now than when he was clothed and unspanked.

I don’t give school-style paddlings often, but I remember how to do it. The paddle I was using wasn’t especially big against even his small rear; it’s a little larger than the novelty paddles with which I spank my tweens—maybe 18" long, including three for the handle, about 4" wide, and 3/8ths of an inch thick. However, unlike those paddles, this was handmade out of ash. The original paddle I’d made for this purpose had to be thinned down—I wanted something that wouldn’t break in use, not something that would break the boy.

I lined the paddle up, pulled back and gave a medium stroke, lined up right across the upper part of both cheeks. His voice was still damp from his spanking as he yelped for the first swat. His little rear tensed up and his head came up. I heard a hiss of indrawn breath, then a gaspy, "One." I’d not told him to count, but it was a nice touch. Or maybe he just wanted to make sure I didn’t get carried away.

The second stroke landed just below the first, but he took it a little better, since he knew what to expect. I was giving plenty of time between each stroke to let it sink in before doing the next one. "Three," he groaned as this one fell right across the smile, catching both sit spots.

I then concentrated the next swats on one cheek, maximizing the impact and drawing increasingly loud, sobby yelps from him as each one became an angry red. By nine, he was sobbing loud and hard, but still managing to count. I smiled to myself because he was taking it well, but the worst was still to come.

I lined the tenth stroke up on the very lowest part of his left cheek and drew back. What he hadn’t realized was that I’d not been using a full swing so far. I was using almost nothing but forearm and a lot of wrist. This time, I put some shoulder in it, and he screamed as the paddle cracked against his left sit spot, and was suddenly having a full-on cry before the echo died off the walls.

"Don’t you want that one to count?"

"T-t-t-ten," he finally managed to force out through his tears. Feeling the paddle lining up on the same place, but his right cheek, didn’t do anything for his composure, and he howled his pain as the paddle cracked down on the other cheek.

I think he counted eleven, but I really couldn’t understand it because he was blubbering too hard.

"This is the last one, but you stay in position until I tell you that you can rise, or we’ll add something else."

I still couldn’t tell if he said anything, but he nodded his head to let me know he’d heard. I took my time with this one, letting his crying die down a bit; but after nearly a minute, I brought the paddle crashing down right on the smile and he nearly collapsed, but stayed down and basically in position. I wondered what he’d think when I told him that even those last three swats hadn’t been nearly as hard as I could have given. Glancing down at his rear, I’d guess it was only a half-step away from bruising, so I guess it’s lucky that I hadn’t gone any harder. Still, he was going to be feeling this when he sat down for a while.

Red made that tush even more beautiful and I took a moment to admire it, rubbing my hands across it and enjoying the burn. He was still crying and wriggling as I massaged his cheeks, but I only gave it a minute before I told him he could stand.

He slowly pushed himself away from the desk, then turned to face me. Then he leaned forward and I wrapped my arms around him for a minute and let him cry against my shoulder. We stood like that for a minute or so, then he stepped back. He didn’t seem bothered at all for me to see his little erection this time, as he stood in front of me, but I tried not to pay too much attention to it.

"Well, Troy, I think that’s the first time I’ve given a spanking for a perfect report card. Was it what you wanted?"

He was carefully rubbing his rear end as he replied, "That paddle hurts! I didn’t think I was going to be able to take those last ones. It was great!"

Sigh, where was a kid like this when I was 16?

Troy had stood, rubbing his rear for a minute, rubbing hard enough to make his little dick bob up and down and starting to look towards the bathroom when my doorknob rattled and was followed by a knock. Troy jumped, then started to pick up his clothes, as I walked towards the door.

"It’s probably just your brother," I assured him.

He still had his clothes picked up and was ready to hide in the bathroom; but when I peered through the peek hole, it was who we’d been awaiting. I opened the door and Steve looked at me, then past me and his eyes went wide. For some reason, Troy was suddenly shy and held his boxers in front of him. I waved Steven in, but you could tell that he wasn’t exactly happy to be coming.

Happy or not, the first thing he did was to wrap his arms around me. When we’re standing, Steven always hugs the same way; his left arm went up, over my shoulder, while his right arm was under my arm, hugging my waist, and his face always nuzzled in against my neck and left shoulder. He seemed to like the days when I’d not shaved best, because he’d always rub his cheek against mine, like he wanted to know it was a real man hugging him, instead of a woman or a little boy.

It’d only been about three weeks since Steven had come to work for me, but the hug had already been a ritual for us. Anytime he was coming or going, if we had any privacy, that was how he hugged me. If we were down in the store or someplace that a bunch of people might be watching, it was briefer, but you could still feel the intensity. It had seemed obvious to me from the start that this kid was starved for affection, and nothing had changed my mind so far— except on one detail. I’d seen him with his mom and aunt by now, I’d seen him spending casual time with his brother, and none of them were ignoring him. His problem was that he was desperate for a father-figure. Now that he had one, it seemed like I could see the casual, I-don’t-care teenage front disappearing behind a boy who was starting to feel comfortable and secure in himself.

"Is that your report card?"

I felt him nod with obvious reluctance, against my neck; then he stepped back and handed it to me.

"Oh, by the way, hello, Steven. How are you today?"

"Ummm….Okay, I guess," he answered as he handed me the card.

"Have you looked at this yet?"

"Yes, sir," he nodded. It wasn’t hard to guess that his was not as good as Troy’s had been.

"Do you remember our deal, when I let you come to work here?"

I waited for him to nod.

"Is that why you’re only okay today?"

He nodded vigorously this time.

"So, what do you have coming?"

"Ten bucks and three swats with the paddle."

"Okay, so that’s two A’s and what?"

"One B and three C’s."

"That’s not too bad, Steven. It’s not good, because I know you’re too smart to be getting Cs, but it’s not bad, either. If you don’t get those Cs up, though, I might decide that you’re spending too much time playing video games. Got me?"

He nodded. From the corner of my eye, I could see that Troy was watching the byplay closely.

"Do you remember what I told you about conduct marks?"

He nodded, but I just waited, so he finally answered me, "If I get any bad conduct marks, I gotta get a spanking."

I waited for a second and when he didn’t go on, I prompted him. "What if you get more than one?"

"Then I get spanked with the paddle." He stopped, but saw me staring and went on. "If I get three, you spank me with the brush, and if I get more than that, I get spanked with the paddle, but then get hit with the belt once for each."

"So, when you said you only get three swats with the paddle, did that mean you didn’t have any bad conduct marks this six weeks?"

His head dropped as he answered, "No, I got one."

"Okay, get your clothes off then and let’s get this over with."

Steven started to pull his shirt over his head, but before he could get it up his belly, Troy was already talking. "Can I stay and watch this time?"

I turned to his brother. "You said he could last time, but it’s up to you." I leaned forward so that Troy couldn’t hear me. "If you don’t want him to, but don’t want him mad at you, just close your eyes a second and I’ll tell him no."

Steven looked at me for a minute, considering, but then surprised me. "He can stay."

Troy tried not to gleam as he stepped over to the couch and took a seat. He was still holding his boxers over his lap, but it was obvious that his hand was moving up and down in his lap. He had a perfect view as I sat down and motioned Steven across my lap. He only hesitated a minute before he draped himself into position.

As soon as he was over my lap, I went to work. Except for the first two swats, I treated Steven exactly the same as I had Troy. I had to smile, since the same spanking I was giving Steven as punishment had been what I used to reward his brother.

When I paddle someone, it’s almost always to the same basic pattern. When I give a hand spanking, it’s totally random. I couldn’t do it the same way, because the idea was that there was no pattern. Hard, soft, fast, slow, bottom, legs—I just tried to keep the boy from knowing what was coming. With older boys, hand spankings probably wouldn’t be enough to push them over the edge like it would be with the younger ones and like a paddling could do, but it was enough to make them think about what they’d been doing wrong and why they were over my lap. Of course, for older boys, just being over daddy’s lap would be enough to get their attention and invoke their embarrassment. This was only Steven’s second time here, and I still wasn’t sure how he was reacting to it— aggrieved teenager or naughty little boy. I was thinking it was somewhere between the two, like a 12-year old being reminded he’s not grown up yet.

This was the first time I’d hand spanked Steven, and I was enjoying it. I’d rubbed his cheeks for him, after the first time I spanked him, but this was different. Steven’s bottom was a little fuller than his brother’s, and it was obvious that he wasn’t quite as active as Troy; but it was still a sweet little rear. Even if he wasn’t as active as his brother, he still did a lot of walking and his cheeks were firm, under just a bit of extra flesh, which gave a small, but pleasing jiggle when he was smacked. In the entire time I’ve known Steven, he’s had very few zits and no real trouble with acne. His tush had perfect skin - no hair, no zits, not even a freckle to mar it— only the red prints I was leaving.

Steven was stiller than his brother had been as I began to spank him. He’d not had or seen me give a hand spanking before, and I think he hadn’t been as worried about it as he would have been the paddle. From what Troy had told me, Steven’s memories and expectations of hand spankings had come from many years before, when his aunt and mom punished them that way. But as his rear became redder and redder, I think he began to realize that I could do a little better job than his mom had done to him when he was 8.

I had a firm grip around Steven’s waist, so he really couldn’t move around too much. As I placed a series of slow, extra firm swats around his bottom, I glanced up at Troy. His boxers had fallen out of his lap, but I doubt he was in any shape to notice. His mouth was gaping slightly open and his eyes were wide and nearly senseless— glazed with lust. His skinny little chest was moving up and down with great exaggeration, as if he’d just finished running a mile. He was small enough that he was using the fingers and thumb method, instead of his entire fist, but that just made it cuter. His legs were spread, giving me a perfect view of his little balls bouncing up and down. He was so far gone in the spectacle of his brother’s spanking that I don’t think he realized what a spectacle he was making himself, and I’m not sure it would have occurred to him. I was almost tempted to pause Steven’s spanking just to watch, but that would have broken everyone’s rhythm, so I turned my attention back to business.

When Steven had gone over my lap, he’d seemed almost disgruntled, like he couldn’t believe I was going to waste his time by making him go through this. As the rise and fall of my hand just kept going, he began to squirm, then to yelp. Glancing at his shoulders, I could see that his hands were working against the ground as each swat connected with his ever more tender cheeks. His legs had started working against the carpet, but then began to really kick. Finally he started talking to me. The sobs in his voice proved he now understood how serious a hand spanking could be. I ignored his promises for a few seconds longer as I evened out the entire area to a pleasant, warm, almost-homey red— deep, but not too dark.

This was only the second spanking I’d ever given Steven, so I don’t think he realized how easy he’d gotten off, since evening the color meant he’d not received the final attention to his sit spots that characterized my spanking method. I’m sure he didn’t know me well enough to realize that that omission was probably not good news for him.

As soon as I was happy, both with his color and his sobbing pleas for clemency, I released my grip on his waist, reached around him to place my hand on his narrow, hairless chest, and helped him climb to his feet. As soon as he was on them, he started a fire dance, but before his hands could reach behind him, I snapped, "Steven Wilbur!"

He froze, his hands still by his side, his eyes full of disgust; then, after a moment’s shock, he turned to face his brother. Troy had prudently returned his boxers to his lap and his hands were by his side. The look Steve was shooting at him was one I’d assume was normally reserved for traitors and heretics and promised retribution. Troy, who seemed fairly blasé about his brother’s implied threat, just shrugged, "Hey. He asked. I told him mine, too."

"Henry’s not as bad as Wilbur," he mumbled barely loud enough for me to hear.

"We’re not finished yet, Steven, so no rubbing."

He’d kept his hand away from his backside; but as soon as he’d recovered from that moment of shock from me using his obviously despised middle name, he’d begun to shift from foot to foot, flexing his knees, and trying to relieve some of the throbbing ache. He kept it up as I spoke to him.

"From what you two have both said, I’m going to guess that you already know how to get in position for the paddle."

Steven blushed a bit (as Troy smiled), but he stepped over to the desk and bent over with almost no coaching from me. The only real adjustment I had to make was to have him step a little closer to the desk. As soon as he was in place, I reached past him to pick up the paddle. Steven flinched when he saw it, but then some tension went out of him as he recognized the relatively light weight of it. Since he did seem to have some experience in this position, I’m sure he recognized that I wasn’t planning to really harm him with this, so much as stimulate him.

With Steven bending against the front of my desk, the couch was at about his 4:30, so he couldn’t really see Troy. I, however, had a near perfect view and saw that his hand had slid back beneath the boxers, which were already precariously perched on the side of his leg, and his hand worked vigorously up and down.

I lined the paddle up, patted it gently just above my target area, then carefully drew back and let if fly. The swing was more ping-pong than racquetball— elbow and wrist, not shoulder, but it popped perfectly right across both sit spots. Steven’s head came up as he howled in shock and pain. Without changing my footing, I reached forward and rubbed his back for a moment, until he eased down into position. Then I began to line up for the next swat.

"Hey! He didn’t count," Troy informed me, just in case I’d not noticed.

"He doesn’t have to. I didn’t tell you to, either."

Troy looked at me for a minute, then blushed in chagrin. There was silence for a minute, then Steven, in a voice that was wet and shaky, broke it by counting ‘One."

I carefully lined up, rubbing the paddle in small circles, teasing the boy a minute before I drew back for the second shot. I didn’t want to torture him, but I did want to let each swat have a chance to peak before I applied the next.

When the second swat cracked against his rear in almost the same spot, Steven broke. He didn’t get up, but he fell forward against the desk and began to sob into his crossed arms. I put the paddle down, took him by the hips, and gently guided him back into position. He didn’t help me, but he didn’t resist either. As I reached to pick the paddle back up, I heard Steven feebly say ‘Two’.

This time I lined up well above the spank spots, where it would still sting, but not be nearly as bad. As I pulled back for the final swat, I glanced at Troy in time to see him grab for his boxers as his whole body went rigid. There was no question what was happening, and I guess I must have timed the climax of Steven’s spanking just perfectly. I swiftly cracked the paddle against the full swell of his bottom, where there was no overlap of his sit spots. And if the final swat was a little softer than the ones before it, I doubt either of them was in any shape to notice.

"Three," Steven yelped loudly, and in obvious relief that it was over. Even as he said it, he was jumping to an energetic fire dance. Almost as soon as he started rubbing, he stopped and looked at me, asking with his look if it was permitted. I reached out to pat him on the shoulder and nodded for him to go ahead.

The boy shocked me though. Rather than rubbing his bottom, I found myself wrapped in his arms with his head buried against my shoulder for a moment as he got himself under control. After a couple of moments, he let go and I let him step back from me. Apparently totally unconcerned with his nudity, even as the pain faded, he finally gave himself a good rub.

I’d been watching Troy, who was in a post-climax collapse. He was slowly gathering himself, but was still sitting there, naked and panting softly. Steven was carefully rubbing his rear. I was getting a huge overdose on naked, (physically) early teen boys.

"Why don’t you two get dressed?" I suggested. After a moment’s thought, something else occurred to me. "Troy, I think Barry left some clothes up here when he changed for a soccer game. His briefs might fit you, if that’s okay."

"Yeah, thanks," Troy slurred, managing to push himself up.

Steven was pulling his boxers on and stopped for a moment with one foot in the air, looking confused, then asked "Why doesn’t he just wear his…? Oh, dude! Couldn’t you wait?" Troy had the grace to look embarrassed for a minute, before his brother continued. "You owe me, bro."

"Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you back tonight."

Suddenly the two boys realized I was standing there and both of them went beet red. I didn’t know exactly what they were talking about, but the blushes gave me a good idea.

I dug in my cabinet for a moment and found where I’d stuck Barry’s extra clothes (we’d left them planning to come back, but the game ran late and we hadn’t come back. The next Monday morning, I’d just stuck the clothes away.) I tossed the briefs to Troy and he pushed himself up and pulled them on. They were a little snug on him, which was really pretty much perfect. He turned around to pick up his clothes and when he bent forward, his little bottom was still a deep rose and the cheeks were almost poking out of the tight, white cotton. As I turned back towards Steven, who was standing there with his jeans in his hands, I realized that I wasn’t the only one who was watching.

Steven blushed again as he saw me watching, but let his jeans drop and walked over to me. I opened my arms and he hugged me again, less frantically this time. "The spanking wasn’t fair, you know?"

"Because I spanked you too hard?"

"No, because the comment was from Mrs. Carter. She hates me. She’s a real b…" He pulled back for a minute and looked at me, before continuing. "I mean witch."

"Yeah, I know."

Now he jerked away from me. "How do you know?" he asked, looking at me accusingly.

"Because Mikell had trouble with her, and JD had trouble with her, and Tommy had trouble with her…."

"Geez. Then why’d you spank me for it?" Now he was upset as he hadn’t been before, even when he was crying.

"Because right now, school is like your job. Your teacher’s your boss. It’s not her job to get along with you, it’s your job to get along with her. You fail at work, you get fired. You fail in school…."

"And I get spanked. Yeah, I know."

"Mad at me?"

"Yes," he replied belligerently, but belied the statement by wrapping his arms around my waist and leaning his head against my chest. "I’ll do better next time."

I patted him on the back, then started rubbing. "I’ll make you a deal. If you can keep the rest of your conduct clean and not get any other bad comments from her, I’ll let you skip the spanking next time."

I could feel him softly laughing against my chest for a minute, then I reached behind him and swatted his backside—lightly—and he broke away from me, shooting me an accusing look.

"Get dressed and I’ll buy you guys dinner before I take you home."

"Speaking of buying…." Troy said, as he stopped fastening his jeans.

"Okay, you little mercenary. I know." I dug out my wallet and grabbed a twenty for Troy and a ten for Steven.

"Hey, how come he gets paid, too."

"You both get paid for good grades. You don’t like getting spanked, so if you make bad grades, you get spanked. He doesn’t like not getting spanked, so if he gets bad grades, he doesn't get spanked. Make sense?"

He grumbled his agreement and they finished dressing. We did stop for dinner on the way home, but for some reason, they weren’t real interested in any places that didn’t have cushioned seats.

"Hey, Jack," Troy asked as we were walking out the door. "What’s bastinado?"

I dropped my arm around his shoulder and two pair of eyes went wide as I started my explanation.