Tommy and the Sixth Sense

It was early August of 1999, only a week before school started. I had the boys all ready to start back: haircuts, doctor visits, and new clothes, everything prepared for the first day. Pokemon was as hot as the Texas summer, the kids were having a great time, and I was making good money helping them enjoy it. I felt fully justified taking time off when my mom called and wanted to go see The Sixth Sense.

It was almost time for me to leave to meet Mom for lunch before the movie when the phone rang. I was almost out the door when Dave yelled that the phone was for me. When I gestured for him to take a message, he shook his head and held the phone out to me. Regretting that I’d never had a chance to spank him when he was a kid, I crossed over and took the phone from him.

Five minutes later, I’d called my mom to delay our date and was headed to Wal-Mart.



When I arrived at the store, I went to the front desk to announce myself. They made a quick call and gave me instructions to the manager’s office in the back.

In the back of the store, I knocked on the door to the manager’s office even though it was standing open. At least, it was open enough that I could see Tommy and Brandon, his best friend, seated in front of the manager’s desk. Both boys were busy studying the ground around their feet and the man sitting at the other side of the desk was doing some kind of paperwork, so I paused a second to examine them.

The two boys always looked good together. Tommy was still big for his age and not quite lean, but definitely not chubby, either. His hair was darkening with age, but at ten, it was still somewhere between a dark blond and a light brown. I couldn’t really see his full cheeks, small mouth, or pug nose, but I’d seen him in this position often enough—nervously awaiting the end of a lecture, knowing that a spanking had to be coming—that I could imagine exactly what he looked like right now.

My view of Brandon was a little better. He was smaller than Tommy, and he was lean, though still sporty and firm. Brandon was darker complected than Tommy, looking like he had more than a hint of Italian or Spanish in his family tree, and his nearly black hair and dark brown eyes didn’t give lie to that. He had a lean, straight nose, with generous lips. The only thing that kept him from being really handsome was a slightly weak chin. Still, he was very cute and smart and funny and charming and a more trouble than a basket of Chihuahua puppies. I mostly liked the boy, but it sometimes seemed that, instead of being born, his parents had combined genes from Dennis the Menace and Eddie Haskell to clone him.

The two boys didn’t look happy when I saw them. When I tapped on the door and they looked up, they suddenly looked downright sick.

"Dad," "Jack," the two boys said at almost the same time, neither sounding really excited to see me.

"Hush, you two. I don’t want to hear anything from you right now."

"Hi," the young man sitting behind the desk said. "I guess you’re Jack Wells?"

"Yes."

"Thanks for coming. I’m Brent Hedley."

"Please to meet you, Mr. Hedley. I’m sorry we had to meet like this."

When I said that, Mr. Hedley glanced at the two boys. "Are you going to take both of them?"

"No, I was able to reach Brandon’s mother on her beeper. She’s on her way, but she’ll be about twenty minutes behind me."

The young man just nodded. Brent was a good-looking young man—early twenties, his face was smooth, but not especially boyish. He wasn’t very muscular and had the trim, lean figure I admire. His light brown hair was barely to his ears, and he had light colored eyes, but I couldn’t tell more, behind the lightly tinted lenses of his gold-framed glasses.

"While we’re waiting, however, have you searched these two?"

"No, sir. They were putting their… selections in a store bag."

I thought about it for a second, then asked him to step outside with me. We were only gone a minute, and when we came back in, both boys were still in their chairs but squirming hard. Brent shut the door behind us, while I had the boys stand and assumed one of the chairs.

"All right, gentlemen, while we’re waiting for Mrs. Sheridan, we’re going to make sure you boys haven’t taken anything else."

Both of them rushed to assure me that they’d not. "We’d never do that," Brandon assured me.

"The trouble with that idea," I informed Brandon in return, "is that you never should have been up here stealing things. If you’d do something like that, which I know you know better than to do, how am I supposed to believe anything you say?"

Neither boy had an answer to that. Not that I’d expected one.

"Stand up and hand me your clothes, one piece at a time."

"Here?" "In front of him?" I’m not sure which boy said what, but neither of them were happy with the idea. They weren’t nearly as unhappy as they were going to get.

"Why not? You weren’t embarrassed to steal from him, so why start being shy now?"

"We didn’t steal from him," Brandon protested.

"You stole from the store that he’s responsible for. Just like if you took something from Magicats, you’d be stealing from me and my employees." I turned to look at the young assistant manager. "Do you get bonuses, Brent?"

The man just nodded.

"You see. He gets a bonus based on this store’s profit, so when you steal something, that’s something the store has to pay for but can’t sell, so you might as well be taking money right out of his pocket. Now, are you going to mind me, or are you really looking for ways to get yourself into more trouble?"

Ten-year-old boys aren’t really known for their modesty, but they’re not very young boys who don’t understand that, in American society, clothing isn’t optional. Both of them were uncomfortable as they started to undress but knew me well enough to know that not minding wasn’t any kind of option right now. I think Tommy understood that not undressing himself only meant that I’d do it for him. Brandon started to unbutton his camp shirt, while Tommy pulled his polo shirt over his head.

As soon as one of the boys had a piece of clothing ready, I took it from him and ran my hands through it, making sure nothing could be hidden there. Shirts came off, then shoes. Tommy was wearing loafers, so they came off quickly, and he shot a pleading glance at me before beginning to unfasten his fly. With that open, he looked up again at me, then Mr. Hedley, then a quiet sob escaped his lips as he shoved his blue jean shorts down his legs.

As Tommy handed me the jeans, Brandon’s hands went to the fly of his own camouflage cargo shorts, and he just stopped. I took Tommy’s shorts from him and started to check the pockets, but watched Brandon. After a few seconds, I snapped at him, saying nothing more than his name. He jumped, and his whole body winced with the agony of it, but he began to open the fly.

I’d taken each piece of clothing and folded it neatly after checking it, leaving it in two stacks on the floor beside me. Both boys were standing in only their white cotton briefs—Tommy without even socks—when I placed Brandon’s shorts with the other clothes. Then I looked back at them.

"What are you guys waiting for?"

"What d’ya mean, Dad?" Tommy responded, after he and Brandon shot a blank look at me, then each other.

"I mean that I told you to get your clothes off. Keep going."

"Our underwear?" Brandon gasped in horror.

"Yes. Now get moving."

Tommy moaned as he slid his fingers into the sides of his undies and slid them down, but Brandon decided to take a stand. "No!" he assured me, it wasn’t going to happen.

I scooted forward in my chair just a bit, then reached for him. He tried to jerk away but didn’t react quite fast enough. I grabbed his arm, turned him a bit, and placed a hard swat on the back of each leg, well below the scant protection of his shorts. "Yes," I explained to him. "Now."

His eyes were wide and maybe just a bit watery, but he obviously understood that he had no winning position in this game, and started to slip the shorts off.

As soon as I was sure he was doing that, I looked to Tommy, who was now totally naked and holding his briefs out to me. Even though I was mad at him and disappointed with him, I have to admit that I also felt sorry for him. The poor kid was just standing there naked, and you could tell it was uncomfortable for him. Nudity had never been a big problem for Tommy, and he’d often run around the house naked after Cathy and I had divorced. He’d been shy around Mikell for a little bit but that hadn’t lasted long. Still, here he was, knowing he was deep in trouble, in a strange place, in front of, not just his dad and best friend, but also a strange man. Yet he seemed less nervous than… Not stoic, but perhaps fatalistic. He simply seemed resigned.

That was a lot different from Brandon. As soon as I took Tommy’s briefs from him, I gave them a snap, folded them, and placed them on top of the rest of his clothes. He just stood there the entire time, studying the carpet. When I did the same with Brandon, it seemed like the boy was suffering an epileptic fit that was confined only to his arms. I have no idea how many times I’d seen Brandon naked over the years, even walking in on him and Tommy exploring each other’s young bodies, yet he was still incredibly shy. His hands fluttered back and forth, first covering his peter, then behind him, then folding them over his chest, which was close to what I’d require him to do if I’d been baring him for a spanking. Maybe it was just because I hadn’t announced this was for a spanking, so he didn’t know what to do; but given the way he kept glancing over his shoulder at Mr. Hedley, I think it was pure, embarrassed nervousness.

"All right. Neither of you had anything else, and I’m glad you were honest about that, but I want you to understand that it’s going to take a lot more than that to restore my trust in you two." I paused a moment, thinking of one thing I had to do to be fair. "If you did what Brent said, then there is absolutely no excuse, but I suppose I should give you a chance to tell me exactly what happened."

There really wasn’t an excuse, or even much of a reason. With much hesitation and trepidation, the two of them interrupting each other at times, then carrying on for the other when one became too distraught to continue, they managed to fill me in.

It turned out that they really hadn’t meant to steal anything. They were just out, playing around, got hot, and wanted to come in, cool off, and get a drink of water. While still cooling off, they started to look at the video games, but some kid was already playing the demo, so they looked at CDs. Between the two of them, they found a couple of rap and some comedy albums that they knew there was no way I was ever going to buy for them, and for which Brandon’s mom would probably have struck him dead simply for asking. Wanting them, and knowing there was no way they were going to get them, they decided to try a five-fingered discount.

They went to the electronics section desk, grabbed a sack when they thought no one was looking, then started to load it down. The sales clerk for that section checked to see why they’d wanted the bag, then called the manager. Considering the age of the children involved, Mr. Hedley had no real intention of calling the police, so he didn’t bother waiting for the kids to try to leave. And thus, I was called in and was getting to spend my afternoon strip searching a couple of boys (who I saw naked on a regular basis anyway, so it wasn‘t even fun), rather than watching The Sixth Sense with my mom. At least I was pretty sure they’d never stolen anything before. I doubt anyone with any experience would have tried that method.

If I had to be staring at the two of them, at least they were acting cute this time. Beyond just their coloration, the two still weren’t physically very similar. Brandon was about average for his age, maybe 4’7" or so and 65 pounds; but Tommy, despite being several months younger, was at least three inches taller and probably fifteen pounds heavier. Which isn’t to say that Tommy was fat or that Brandon was skin and bones. Brandon was lean, and Tommy was more sturdily built, but neither boy was at an extreme. Both boys were actually a little soft, though I knew Tommy would firm up again once he started football that fall, but the softness was maybe an extra pound spread out on them, not even enough to make them chubby, just enough to provide a bit of pleasant padding. Brandon was also totally pre-pubescent, with his little ball sac still tight up against his legs, while Tommy was already showing enough of a little sag to his sac that you could easily tell he had two separate balls, even though they were still tiny.

The two of them were so cute because they were so embarrassed to be standing naked like that. They knew they were in deep trouble but still weren’t sure how bad. Their different reactions to the same situation actually made for really interesting watching. Still, watching wasn’t all I had in mind.

"Well, I’m glad you were willing to admit the truth, anyway; but that doesn’t make things much better. You both know it’s wrong to steal, don’t you?"

I waited for two little heads to nod, then glanced down at my watch.

"Well, it looks like we still have about ten minutes before your mom gets here, Brandon, and you’re both undressed; so why don’t I go ahead and warm up those bottoms? You first, Brandon. Come here."

While Brandon was not quite as big as Tommy, he was definitely a much bigger baby about being spanked. Brandon had a lot of things going for him, but there was something about him that was like chewing on tin foil, and the way he fought about spankings was just one of the things he did that got badly on my nerves.

"You’re gonna spank us? Here?!" "Here and now, mister, so get over here before I decide to take my belt off."

That threat was enough to get him moving, however reluctantly. I knew better than to wait on him, though. As soon as he’d taken a step forward, I reached out and grabbed his upper arm, using it to pull him to my side. After Stevie, Corey, and four little brothers, I thought I knew all the tricks to try to escape or delay a spanking, but I have to admit Brandon had taught me a few new ones. He wasn’t begging or crying. I think he was concentrating too hard on staying away from my lap to think about it. I’m not sure what he was thinking about, since if he did escape my grip, he was naked in the back of a Wal-Mart, and I just couldn’t see him streaking through the store to escape. Nothing more than delaying that first smack seemed to be on his mind.

It didn’t really matter though. He’d shown me all his tricks before, and I simply pulled him close to me, then wrapped my arm around his waist, yanked him off the floor, and let him drop over my left leg. Before he could collect himself enough to try to get up, my right leg was already pinning him down, and I had my left arm across his back.

I’d tried to explain to the boy that this position actually made spankings more painful because the bottom was drawn tighter and the sit spots were more exposed, but he didn’t care or maybe just didn’t believe me.

"All right, Brandon, give me your hands."

His only response was to start pushing harder against the ground in front of him.

"Brandon," I said, the warning clear enough in my voice that Tommy winced, "give me your hands now."

"NO!" he replied in what I couldn’t consider a cooperative tone

It really wasn’t a problem since I definitely knew how to deal with that. His skinny little legs already had a couple of pink handprints from where he’d not removed his briefs when I told them. After darkening those prints, I gave him a little encouragement.

"I’m not going to start spanking your bottom until you give me your hands. If you don’t give me your hands right now, I will start spanking your legs until you do."

Slowly, reluctantly, his hands crept behind him. They still tried to jerk away when I reached for them, but one more smack on each leg got him to hold them still, though I could already hear his quiet sobs. I pinned his wrists together in my left hand, pushing up and in just a bit, to keep him in place, then began the real warming session.

While Brandon was a lean ten-year-old with almost no hips, his bottom was still round and soft, full to the back and both sides, and only barely dimpled, though he was tensing as much as he could. Sometimes I liked to hook my right leg around just his left one, letting his right leg kick free, which kept his bottom looser. This time, I planned to make things short and sweet.

Knowing I wouldn’t get him to relax, I gave his bottom just a quick rub to enjoy the velvety smoothness of his skin, glancing up at Brent as I did so. When in the hall, I’d okayed everything with him. He had no problem with it then and looked like he was trying to be casual now; yet, though he was leaning back against the doorjamb, something about his posture made it seem that he was giving us intense concentration. Maybe it was just his wide eyes or the way his mouth hung open just a bit. Whatever it was, I had the firm idea that naked little boys weren’t something he saw much, and he was showing a childlike interest in their upcoming spankings. Then I lowered my gaze and quit rubbing.

Back and forth, up and down, round and round, I used every trick I knew to give a spanking. This wasn’t one of my normal affairs where I’d try to impart plenty of sting and only a slow-building burn. There was fast and dirty, and Brandon was howling from almost the first swat. That pale band of flesh that never saw the sun still had a hint of his olive complexion but quickly turned a brick red under the rapid, repeated assault of my hand. I made sure not to neglect a single spot and made sure his ride home was going to be a lot of fun.

Brandon was crying loud and hard before I was through with him. He was definitely bawling, but I think it was as much shock at the blitzkrieg I’d launched on his rear in defiance of my normal style as anything else. He struggled hard and fought to get away; but jack-knifed over my leg and secured the way he was, all he could really do was squirm a bit, and that just caused more overlap, helping my goal more than his.

When I finally quit, I unlocked his legs from mine, released his wrists, and put my hands below him to help him to his feet. Brandon was never the most energetic of fire dancers. Instead of jumping all around, he preferred to bounce in one place. He wouldn’t even rub his rear; instead he waved his hands around like he was trying to fan the sting away.

Almost as soon as his friend was on his feet, Tommy took one step towards me, then stopped. I shifted my view away from Brandon to him, then gave one slow, very distinct nod. Tommy’s knees buckled and his shoulders sagged, almost like he was going to faint, and a low, and very piteous groan escaped him, but he took the next few steps to my side.

Unlike Brandon, Tommy was good about actually taking his spankings. Not that he was stoical, but he tried and did as well as most little boys could, so I put him over my lap more normally. Even though Tommy had only been living with me just over two years, and it hadn’t even been three years since I first spanked him, over my knees was a position in which he found himself pretty often, and we had no trouble getting him adjusted properly.

I gave Tommy’s full, round, dimple-less bottom a thorough rub. His bottom wasn’t huge and not quite a ‘bubble-butt’; yet it was still very nice, though it actually managed to be a little firmer than Brandon’s leaner rear. While rubbing, I glanced back up at Mr. Hedley. He seemed to have split his attention between Brandon’s slowly calming dance and my preparations with Tommy. Glancing down, I was disappointed to see no obvious bulge. He might have been enjoying the show, but I think it was the enjoyment of someone who was finally getting to see some obnoxious kids getting what he’d felt like way too many of them deserved but never got (and being a store owner myself, I could deeply empathize with him).

The spanking I gave Tommy differed from what Brandon had received only in the lack of histrionics. Tommy still cried loud and hard, but he managed to shriek and howl a lot less. Still, as his peaches and cream bottom turned strawberry, he kicked and squirmed, begged and pleaded, and finally went over the edge as my hand smacked down again and again on his sit spots.

As soon as I let him on his feet, Tommy showed Brandon how a spank dance should be done. Leaping from foot to foot, bobbing up and down, and rubbing energetically. Of course, Brandon had become so engrossed in Tommy’s spanking, that he’d nearly forgotten about his own sore bottom, and finally started to gently rub it. Like normal, in the times when the two of them were spanked together, as the heat settled into Brandon’s rear and he got to watch Tommy’s bottom set aflame, Brandon’s little peter had come to life and was now a solid little bar, thin and not quite two inches, sticking out and looking around. Between the dying fire in his bottom and watching Tommy’s performance, I don’t think Brandon even realized it. At least, not until there was a tap on the door.

As Tommy’s dance died down, he came to me, his eyes begging for forgiveness and a hug. I took him into my arms to comfort him, but even as I did, I whispered to him, "We’re not done yet, Thomas Brian. Remember, this was just a warm-up."

He groaned again, as much from his bottom as his heart, but he knew I wouldn’t relent and simply luxuriated in the warmth and comfort of the hug, temporary though the comfort might be. After a moment, Brandon joined us, and I could feel his little boner poking my side.

Mr. Hedley answered the tap to his door, then opened it, and Mrs. Sheridan walked in. Tommy hadn’t been naked in front of a woman since moving in with me, and Brandon was only bare in front of his mother for spankings these days (and certainly not with a hard-on). Both boys were suddenly embarrassed, or worse than embarrassed, and started trying to hide their boyhoods with their hands.

Mrs. Sheridan just tsked, but I told the boys, "You two settle down. Turn around so Valerie can see what I’ve done so far."

At that age, I think showing their backsides wasn’t a huge improvement over showing their fronts, but they were at least more accustomed to it, and turned without argument.

"Hands on your heads."

They were more reluctant to comply with that, but they both did. It didn’t really make any difference. Mrs. Sheridan was able to get a good view of their rears either way. Mostly, I just wanted to see if Brandon still had a stiffy. He did and, as the heat seemed to be settling and he realized how his friend had reacted, Tommy had seemed on his way to getting one of his own, though it never got more than half hard, and had already started to fade with his current embarrassment.

"Did you tell them this was just a warm-up?" Valerie asked me.

"Yeah. I let them know this was just to kill time until you got here."

Both of the boys were trembling from trepidation and anticipation as we so blatantly and cold-bloodedly discussed their upcoming doom.

"And," Valerie continued, turning to Brent, "you’re really not going to call the police?"

"No, Ma’am," Brent assured her. "Just keep them out of the store, please."

We both thanked him and promised we’d do just that. Then Valerie turned back to the boys. "Turn around," she snapped.

They both did, Tommy’s face going scarlet as he revealed himself, but keeping his hands where he’d been told, while Brandon’s hands dropped to cover his slowly deflating boyhood. I stepped over to Tommy and turned him again, taking a little pity on him and helping him back into his briefs, while Mrs. Sheridan began to vocally tear a strip off of Brandon. It wasn’t long, and most of it was generic lecture, but she did catch mine and Tommy’s attention once, when she told him "I ought to march you out of here right like that, so everyone can see what happens to little thieves."

With that pronouncement, I glanced at Brandon and saw he was just about ready to squirm out of his skin. I have to admit I would have liked to see that, but she finally paused long enough to tell him to dress.

By the time Brandon was allowed to move towards his clothes, Tommy was already fastening his shorts. He and I left while Brandon was still dressing, pausing only while I thanked Brent, and Tommy gave him a heart-felt (or maybe bottom felt) apology. Even as we were leaving, I heard Valerie tell Brandon that she’d not yet decided if he was going to get her hairbrush when they got home, if he’d have to wait for his dad and the belt, or if he maybe deserved both this time. I’m not sure Tommy heard that, but if he did, I doubt it would have done any good for his peace of mind.



The drive home was quiet. It shouldn’t have been very long, but I was driving a little slowly and carefully because I was very upset (not the safest way to drive). It also seemed like we managed to catch every light between the store and our house right as they changed. Still, the silence in the car was nearly as thick as the tension. I was thinking hard about every word I said. I was extremely upset with Tommy’s actions and didn’t want to say anything that would make him think I hated him. In a lot of ways, Tommy was very well-balanced. Despite the fact that he’d never known his real father, that the man who’d married his mother and given Tommy his name never had anything to do with him, and that the step-father he had known, his half-brother’s father, had wanted nothing to do with him after the divorce, Tommy had still been willing to give me a chance, and I think we really did do pretty well as a family most of the time.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Tommy try to say something several times, but he never seemed able to force it out. ‘I’m sorry? Are you mad at me? Do you hate me?’ I don’t know what he was thinking, but I finally realized there was only one thing I really needed to say. "I’m very disappointed that you’d do something like this, but I hope you know I still love you."

I think the boy tried to answer, but burst into tears. Probably of pure relief.



Tommy’s tears had died before we got home, but the quiet was less intense afterwards. I think his worst fears were behind him, and I, having reassured him, was less worried about what was coming.

As we were about a block from home, Tommy finally found the nerve to ask one of his questions. "You’re going to spank me some more when we get home?"

"I told you that was just a warm-up, Tommy. What you did was very serious, and I don’t think a hand spanking was enough."

I could nearly hear his little Adam’s apple bob up and down as he tried to clear his throat so he could ask that last, worst question. "Are you going to use the belt?"

Tommy was terrified of the belt. If he’d had known what a sjambok or birch was, I’m sure he would have chosen one of them over the belt. Not long after he’d come to live with me, he was staying with my mother. I forget what he’d done, but she fetched a belt and waved it in his direction, telling him he’d better settle down. Though Tommy cried and carried on as much as any little boy during his spankings, he was always very brave about taking them. In this case, however, he nearly screamed and ran off. Mom found him hiding in the closet of the spare room, and he began begging not to be whipped when she did find him. It only came out slowly after that, that the belt was Tommy’s mother’s instrument of choice for his punishment and, if she never crossed the line to straight abuse, there’s no question in my mind that she did use it abusively.

"No, I’m not going to use the belt on you, Tom. I’ll never use the belt on you. That doesn’t mean this is going to be fun or easy; do you understand?"

"Yes sir," he replied quietly. "I guess I deserve it. I was really bad, wasn’t I?"

"You’re not bad, Tommy, but you did make a really bad choice, and I’m going to make sure you think hard before you ever do something like that again. C’mon now, let’s go on in."

We’d pulled up to the house while we talked, and I led him inside, feeling the tension in his body as it wanted to flee. I gave him a chance to use the bathroom, then had him meet me in the living room.

When he came back in, I looked up at him for a minute. He looked back nervously.

"Go ahead and take your clothes off, Tommy."

"Do you want me to go to my room?"

"No."

"Do you want me to go to your office?"

"No, I want you to take off your clothes, just like I told you."

Tommy must have realized that it wasn’t a great idea to antagonize the person who’s about to punish your bottom, because he started to disrobe. Besides, at least this was home and there were no strangers around this time.

I waited quietly until Tommy was naked, then gave him what I was sure would be the most upsetting command.

"Go get your brothers and tell them that I want to see everyone in here, please."

The boy’s eyes went wide, but he’d already decided he’d better quit arguing with me, and he reluctantly headed upstairs to do as I’d told him. As he started to climb the stairs, I noticed that his cute little bottom was still rather rosy.

Our living room at the old house was smaller, but there was still plenty of room for Tommy, his brothers, and their guests. Besides Steve, Mikell, Chris, my little brother Aaron, and Corey, Mikell’s friend Matt, and Corey’s friend Doug, were also there. Only the youngest two brothers (Caleb and Barry) weren’t around.

Though we were fairly casual about nudity around our house, and even though Tommy had never been especially shy, there’s just something about being, not only the only one nude, but the center of attention, that just makes one embarrassed. At least, it certainly seemed to worked that way for Tommy. My next announcement didn’t do anything to make him any less embarrassed.

"In case you didn’t already guess, we’re all here, and Tommy’s here like this, because he’s in very big trouble. Tommy was caught stealing at Wal-Mart. This wasn’t an accident and it wasn’t a mistake. It was a very bad decision and it was wrong. Stealing is against the law, and I won’t tolerate it. There is no excuse for it. Even if you’re starving to death, there are other ways to get food. When you steal, what you’re doing is taking something that belongs to someone else and saying you’re more important than they are. For all you know, that might be all that person had to eat and you took it. Shoplifting isn’t any better. It’s stealing from a company, and people who work for that company have to make a living. If everyone started stealing from Magicats, how do you think I’d take care of you guys?"

"That’s why Tommy’s here," I continued. "You guys are here because I want you to see exactly what happens when one of you breaks the law. You all know better. I can understand testing the limits, but the law’s the law, and you have to learn to obey it, unless you want to get big fines or even wind up in jail. That doesn’t just mean stealing, either. If I find out that any of you are doing things you’re too young to do, like looking at porn, smoking, or drinking, if you skip school, vandalize anything, sign my name, which is forging, or play with fire, which could be considered arson, you will be right where Tommy is right now. Does everyone understand that?"

I let my gaze slowly move around the room and, one by one, each boy nodded. Even Matt and Doug seemed to take me very seriously.

"All right. Steve, would you take your brother outside and teach him to pick a switch, please."

Tommy’s jaw dropped open and his eyes went wide. I could see him trembling as Steve put his arm around Tommy’s shoulder and led him into the back yard. I casually stepped towards the back door, so I could keep an eye on the two of them, but addressed the other boys again.

"I also want you guys to understand that you’re not here for your entertainment. This isn’t meant to be fun for you. It’s not meant to give you a laugh or so that you can tease Tommy about it later. What he’s done is very wrong, and helping you boys see that is part of his punishment. Believe me, if any of you tease him about this, and I find out about it, we’ll see how much you enjoy a public spanking."

All of the boys took this threat even more seriously than they had the first, so I turned away from the nervous silence. Steve and Tommy were standing at the tree, and Tommy reached up, selected a branch, and looked at his oldest brother. Steve nodded, so Tommy broke the branch loose, then ran his hand up and down it a couple of times, smoothing the leaves away. Steve took it from him, gave it a swish through the air, said something, then handed it back, and the two of them headed back towards us.

When they came back inside, Steve went back to the couch, while Tommy slowly walked over to me and handed me the switch. I took it from him and examined it quickly: about two-and-one-half feet long, it started as thick as a pencil and tapered down slightly. I gave it a swish through the air to be sure it was supple enough. It was, and I was sure it would do an excellent job on a naughty, ten-year-old bottom.

I took Tommy by the back of the neck and led him to my armchair. I turned it so that the chair was side on to the rest of the room, then had Tommy bend over the arm so that his bottom faced the other boys. I took him by the hips and lifted him a bit further so his toes didn’t touch the floor. "Grab the other arm, Tom," I whispered to him, and waited for him to do it. Then I pressed lightly down in the small of his back, to hold him in place.

I took a slight step back, then lined up, tapping the switch a couple of times against his bottom, just above the halfway point, where I intended the first stroke to land. Then I gave a couple of light practice swings. Suddenly the swish of the switch cut through the room, followed by a loud crack as it snapped into his bottom. I followed through before lifting the switch, and for one second, there was nothing but a white line across his two slightly rosy cheeks. Then a screech split the quiet, and Tommy was wrestling against my hand. I pushed down just a bit more to be sure he didn’t get up.

I waited while the blood flowed back, turning the white stripe red, then landed the next just below it. There was no delay for the screech this time. The switching slowly continued like that. Tommy was squirming against my hand and kicking his little feet, but to no avail. I’d wait for the welt to go red, then line up and deliver the next swat. The only break in the routine was when I had to pause to collect his wrists in my left hand and pin them to his back.

After ten strokes, the boy was bawling as loud and hard as I’d ever heard him. He was past the point of pleading and begging, almost totally incoherent. The ten stripes marched down his bottom, not quite evenly, marking spaces about every half-inch, from just below the top of his crack, down to his upper legs. Still holding him in place, I waited while he recovered himself. When the bawling died away and his crying was quiet enough I was sure he could hear me, I finally spoke to him.

"Tommy, you knew stealing was wrong, but you did it anyway. Do you see what happens now when you break the law?"

"Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry!"

"I’m sure you are, but not as sorry as you would have been if they’d called the police. Even for a boy your age, that could have been bad, but not half as bad as if you do it when you’re older. So I’m going to make sure you never think about stealing anything else, unless you think of this first."

He was crying hard, but still managed to force out, "No, Daddy. No more. Please no…."

He didn’t get to finish his last plea before the switch cut down again, but this time it wasn’t a slow, measured stroke. I landed ten more stripes as fast as I could. They weren’t nearly as hard, but they all landed right at the bend of his leg and all the already sore, crying boy could do was wail.



There reaches a certain point when you’re hurting, that you’re in a universe all your own, and until that pain fades away, nothing else really exists. I think Tommy had reached that point for once where there was only him, his bottom, and that switch that he must have thought was cutting into the poor, soft thing. The entire switching didn’t take three minutes, but it must have seemed like eternity to the poor little guy. Finally his crying slowed and softened, so I reached down. He jerked when I first touched him until he realized that touching was all I was doing. Then he let me pull him up. His legs didn’t want to work very well, and he was a bit wobbly, but I was able to turn him enough to pull him into my arms.

Tommy clung to me. Any anger or resentment he might have felt was sublimated in the need to be comforted and loved. He didn’t even notice that the other boys had all left while he was distracted by the blazing hell I’d lit on his rear end. Finally, still sniffling and snorting, he started to pull away, and I let him, but only enough so I could shift around and pick him up. Then I carried him to his bathroom, where I helped him get cleaned up, before putting him softly, face down, on his bed, where I sat beside him, rubbing his back until he fell asleep.

Tommy didn’t leave his room the rest of the day, as much from embarrassment as soreness. I even took him dinner there, before leaving to meet my mom for our long-delayed movie. When I got home that night, I gave his bottom a good rub with some Bactine to help him feel a little better.

Tommy did come down to breakfast the next morning. He was still moving a bit stiffly, but mostly seemed embarrassed. He started to loosen up a bit when Steve blushingly admitted exactly why he knew how to pick switches.



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