“Well Claude and Mireille, I’m so grateful that you will take care of Jacques while we are abroad”, maman laughed, “I must say we had a moment of panic when the docter told your father that he had to spend the whole winter in Spain. If we had to take Jacques with us during those 4 months he would have been 1 year behind in junior high.”
Earlier that day my wife Mireille had received an urgent phonecall of my Maman, asking to come and see her that evening. When Mireille told me about it I immediatly suspected it had something to do with dad. Since november he was having a lot of problems with his bronchea, in our region west of Paris the autumn had not been so humid since years.
Taking responsability for my younger brother Jacques did not attract me very much. At 12, going to 13 years we was just a little brat, acting most of the time like when he was only ten or eleven years old. In the first two months he already had been suspended from school twice.
Maman realised there was a problem: “I must stress that Jacques needs a close supervision. I want you to check his schooldiary every week, as his headmaster will give his opinion about his comportment. When the school is not completly satisfied I want you to punish the boy with a good oldfashion over the knee spanking on his bare hiney.”
“Really, maman”, I said, “aren’t you a little too severe with him? Isn’t he too big now for a bare bottom spanking? There are a lot of other means to punish a boy of his age.”
“Putting him over your knee isn’t new to you, is it not? You will remember that you used to help me rearing your brother when I had burned my hands, two years ago now. You must have bared his bums at least twenty times in that period.”
“Yeah, but then was a 10 years old kiddy and to be honest with you, I did not like it at all to inflict pain in that nice little butt of him and I always restrained my force whilst spanking him.”
Maman explained her point of view: “I’m not going to have this child ruined by the permissive society where no personal responsibility is demanded– I will raise your brother to be respectful, thoughtful, and obedient to authority– even if I have to skin his behind to do it! And during the time you take responsability over him, I expect you to respect my way of education, Claude. By the way, I have bought him this martinet, please do use it.”
[NOTE for readers who dont know this CP-instrument: It is a kind of whip, made of several strands of supple leather, somewhat like a cat-o-nine-tails, but less painful, officialy used till end of the fifties by French schoolteachers, and even today by a lot of parents.]
I did not like to argue any further and promished her that I would stick to her rules.
Later that evening, Mireille got back to the subject: “Why are you so strongly against corporal punishment, Claude? As long as I lived with my parents my dad used to punish me with a good whacking whenever I broke his rules and it has not done me any harm, I think. By the way, when I was 16 I also was asked to spank my younger sisters from time to time, and I must say I rather liked to see their behinds take a nice crimson colour.”
‘Well my…’ I thought, I’m maried to my dear wife for nearly two years now, and I still discover unexpected aspects in her.
“You see, my dear, I really like my young brother a lot and I want him to be happy while staying with us.”
“Oh, but he will be happy, provide he behaves. And – you know I speak from experience – even when he will be punished by his big brother he will feel that you love him. Children of his age instinctively know that bad behaviour needs to be compensated by a thorough reprimand.”
“Thanks heaven”, Jacques sighted, “with maman and papa abroad I will have a nice Xmas holiday.”
“Mind you, young man”, Mireille replied, “schoolholidays are a reward, but only for children who worked well.”
He grimased but did not dare to reply.
I looked at him with sympathy. Jacques was a teenager, going on 13, with honey blond hair, a pert upturned nose, and sparkling fun-filled blue eyes. He was neither fat nor thin, but had just a perfect amount of boy flesh, but interestingly his buttocks protruded more than one would expect, and they had such perfect form under the tight shorts he was wearing. Although I had no conscious desire to spank children I could not often resist the opportunity, if it arose, to give his impudent bottom a playful swat, upon which it would jiggle within the tight trousers. Jacques would just give his mischievous smile in response.
The next four weeks passed without any incident. Jacques seemed to work well at school, no notes appeared in his diary. Except for a few practical jokes Jacques seemed to behave extremely well.
At the parents meeting to hear the proclamation of the boys’ schoolresults for the first trimester I was taken apart by the headmaster.
“Jacques results are rather disapointing, he could do much, much better. In this connection I must say I’m a little disapointed you did not react to my notes in Jacques’ diary.”
“Notes? I never have seen any note from you.”
“Well, you know that French employers want to see the schooldiaries sometimes before hiring a new employee. It gives them a good idea about their personal dedication. As I feel that your brother has a lot of good in him I did not want to jeopardize his future as from now. Hence I wrote my notes on Post-it leaflets.”
“I see, I’m very greatful you did it that way, but I must stress that the notes all have disappeared before I could see them. I think there will be at least one boy of Junior High who will have to sleep on his stomach this night.”
“I’m glad to hear that, you know, 20 years ago I would have dealt myself with such behaviour with a good caning on his bare butt, but by today’s new rules CP in school is not permitted anymore. But at your home….”
I really was pissed off with my naughty brother and during the drive home I did not say a word.
As soon as we got home Jacques throw his books in a corner of the room and switched the TV on.
“What do you think you are doing”, I barked at him, “come here at once, I have a bone to pick with you.”
I placed a hand under his chin, and lifted his eyes up to look at me. “Your headmaster told me ,about the notes he wrote me. So you tried to betray my trust by trying to cheat me. You are shameful.” I was livid. How could he do this to me? He’d pay the consequences, now, for sure.
“Now you have earned yourself a good spanking.”
I told Jacques to completely remove his shoes, pants, and underwear.
“Please”, “Please Claude. Don’t Spank me!” Jacques pleaded.
I just said “Get those clothes off now boy, or you punishment will be doubled!”
Reluctantly, knowing he was “licked” in one sense and about to be licked in another, Jacques, removed his Sneakers, and undid his belt. He placed the shoes under the table. When his T-shirt was removed he folded it neatly and laid it over the back of a chair.
“Now the Pants!”, I commanded, and he unfastened his pants, which opened with a ‘popping’ sound (they were stretched tightly across his prominent buttocks). He eased them down, and completely off, then folded them and placed them also over the chair. At that moment Mireille ,entered the room. When she saw what was happening she gave me an approving nod and sat down next to me.Jacques was standing, shivering in his underwear, hesitating looking at us.
“Come on, we dont have the whole day, mister. Now remove your underpants!”, I intoned.
Blushing with embarrassment, he refused: “No, Claude, I cannot let you punish me on my bare bottom, I’m a big boy now, you know and I dont like the idea of you both seeing me naked.”
Again I ordered: “You will do as I told you, strip, or else…”
He stood as frozen before me and did not move a muscle.
“Okay, then I have to take it off myself.”
And before he realised what I said I grabbed him and reached for his underpants.
The issue of him getting stark naked was more about total submission than about _s_e_x_ual desire.
He was wearing bright, teal blue, cotton Calvin Klein’s. It gave a cute contrast to his sunbrowned back. I toke hold of the elastic waistband and started sliding his underpants down ,ever so slowly, knowing that the moment of baring his butt was an extra strong humilation.
All that time he was looking at me in consternation, as if he could not believe what was
happening.
I actually had to stretch the elastic band to get the back part over his jouncy buttocks, and then the front elastic to prevent the underwear from being caught up on his growing, prepubescent _p_e_n_i_s_ and _t_e_s_t_icles.
Finaly he stood naked before us, his body totally exposed now, except his private parts, which he quickly had covered with both hands. Funny, he did not hold his hands over his crotch, but had gripped his weenie with his right hand and his little marbles with the other. This left a clear view on the small patch of curling fair _p_u_b_i_c_ hair, confirming that his puberty had started recently. He was sobbing.
“It’s not terribly pleasant, at your age still to be punished like a preeteen, is it?”
He shook his head.
“I want you to show us you are really a little boy, put your hands on your head!”
Once again I allowed my gaze to fall, my eyes running over Jacques’ perfectly flat tummy and then down (and I knew that the redness in my brother’s face was due to my unashamed staring) to the exquisite fair, loose curled hair on his pubis. His boyish _p_e_n_i_s_ was limp, and hung down on the pillow of his ball-sack. His _s_c_r_o_t_u_m_ was shrivelled , like a plump walnut, its skin contracted round the ripening _t_e_s_t_icles, showing the oval shape of his little nuts.
His body was nicely bronzed, except some three inches of his tummy, which had been covered by his swimming trunks.
“Come on, maman told me you still are used to spankings. You know what position to take.”
Reluctantly he approached me and begged once more: “Oh, Claude, I’m so ashamed! I already have learned my lesson. I will do my utmost at school next time.”
“I’m sure you will, and just to help you not to forget your promise I will *post* a note on your buns.”
I carefully guided the trembling boy, who was having goosebumps on his exposed buttocks, over my lap.
Jacques’ legs still touched the floor and I told him to bend over further till his hands touched the floor.
He crawled forward, his pure, fair buttocks rearing up into the air, presenting a perfect target to me.
While he moved I felt his little pecker frictioning over my right upperleg, and then take position between my thighs.
I ordered him to raise his head high, which in turn hollowed his back, and raised his rear end even higher.
Finaly he laid over my lap into what I considered the most satisfactory position, offering his pretty rounded cheeks for whatever I wanted to do.
At this stage I must be honest and say that, when I look back, I enjoyed having a young naked boy spread over my knees waiting for the discipline I felt he deserved.
I put my hands on his bottom. His buttocks were so smooth as I massaged them, feeling the firmness of his young flesh.
Raising my hand high, I delivered a rousing, stinging slap to Jacques’s left buttock which resounded through the room…
“Ouch!” cried Jacques.
I left my hand over the perfectly molded hillock for a moment for the full spank to ‘sink in.’ As soon as I removed my hand from the impertinent buttock, it snapped back into shape, with four finger marks and the side of a thumb mark nicely decorating it.
And with that, I lifted my hand above my head again, and slapped it down across his right buttock with an almighty crack.
“Aaaaaaargh.” He cried out, panting as the pain built up.
I waited about 15 seconds. I might not have done this before, but the experience of my own childhood had at least given me some idea of how to maximise the effectiveness of a bare-ass spanking, and rushing it wasn’t on the agenda. I wanted him to have time for the pain of each stroke to really reach its peak.
I saw the imprint of my hand on his buttock, very pale first, but then – like when I was developing pictures – the image flushed to pink.
I noticed I had spread my fingers just before the impact: I clearly could distinct each digit.
“Spank! Spank! Spank! Spank!”
His white bottom cheeks bounced and turned slowly red as the onslaught intensified. He was uttering little gasps and moans now and wriggling frantically as the pain increased. I continued to spank his inviting bottom in the same inexorable rhythm.
“Enough, Oh Claude, please stop, I will be good!”, he sobbed but not even bothering to acknowledge his sobs, I continued the onslaught on the proffered rump. The only sounds that broke the silence were the steady “SMACK….. SMACK….. SMACK…..” as my hand contacted his bare flesh.
My hand nearly exactly covered each buttock, and so each spank compressed one bottom cheek perfectly, leaving the other to remain upright and springy. While the colour on his ass checks quickly spread into a solid field of crimson red and then a darker red his hips bucked and swashed back and forth.
I brought the eleventh spank down directly on top of the previous stroke, whereupon he jumped up, screeching, clutching his backside with both hands. “Doesn’t count, Jacques.”
“PLEASE Claude PLEASE Claude PLEASE Claude!!!” Jacques howled, dancing as if he were walking on hot pavement, his little penis flopping. He hopped around till the pain soothed, then bent over again.
The next stroke I aimed lower, right along the crease between his buttocks and thighs. Again, he jumped up. He turned to me: “How can you do this to me, Claude?”.
“I could ask the same of you, young man. Now get down. We’re still on eleven strokes.”
He bent forward, slowly, gingerly. He took another five, each separated by a fifteen second gap, and this time managed to stay down between each slap, almost as if we were finding a rhythm, him and me, spanker and spankee. I loved the tenderness of his young flesh, making his butt wiggling under my slaps.
Then on the twentysecond – actually the twentyforth he’d taken, he was up again, dancing around with his hands on his butt. He seemed to have forgotten all modesty and gave us a free view on his dangling instruments while he hopped around the room. His weenie was halfstiff and flopped from left to right.
I was about to call him to order when Mireille wispered at me: ” I like his little show. Let him decide when he is ready for the next part.”
It took him at least three minutes before he stepped towards my chair and bended over my knee, offering his brightred buttocks for the remainder of his punishment.
I continued to deliver evenly timed strokes, cracking down on his soft, yielding flesh like a metronome, the red spots accenting the pain I inflicted his behind.
” Twentythree….. Twentyfour…. Twentyfive…. Twentysix…. aargh!”, clutching his buttocks in agony.
I guess it was a bit cruel of me to put the next stroke directly on top of the previous one – , “Twentyseven…” – but again it brought him shooting upright. This was getting silly – we were going to be here all night at this rate.
As far as I knew his bum had not met yet this implement. At least I had never seen it being used by our maman.
As soon as he re-entered he asked: “May I unwrap the parcel now?”
“Sure, why not, we are going to inaugurate it this very moment.”
As soon as Jacques saw the leather strands he guessed what it was used for, an he stated crying: “Non Claude, non… not with that!”
“I want you to stretch yourself over the table,” I ordered. Gingerly he crawled on the table and laid down. I did not like him lying so flat and went to the bedroom and fetched 2 pillows.
“Bottom high in the air.”
When he lifted his hips aprox 30 cm (12 inch) above the table I shove the two pillows under his tummy, leaving his _s_e_x_ dangling free.
My beautiful target was now in the right angle for the second part of his punishment. Knowing how painful the slashes of the martinet would bite in the young tender flesh of a well-curved bottom, I decided to restrain him. I took a silk cord from the cupboard and attached his wrists to the tablelegs. An other piece of cord was fixed around the small of his back, just above the rump, and both ends tied to the other tablelegs.
THWACK! I started to spank him with the martinet at the spot where the back changes its name into bottom.
“Oooooooowwwwww!” , he cried out as the seven strands swept over his tender butt. The biting strands crossed both cheeks. Claude thrust his hips towards the cushions, ramming his now jutting penis against the underside.
I left a long interval before giving him the next crack, so that the pain could diffuse deep in his young flesh. After some 30 seconds I lifted my hand again and:
WHACK! “Nooooooohhh!”
I began swiping the martinet from side to side, short, hard strokes, watching the colors change. His skin rippled and played under the strokes of the leather whips.
Sometimes I aimed across the bottom of his butt – right where it joined the top of his thighs. That spot was more sensitive and every time I hit him there he yelled loud.
Ten, twinty, thirty times my martinet made his rear cheeks jiggle.
Jacques’ buttocks were laced with red stripes now. His legs, the only part of his body free to move, kicked involuntarily from the pain. He was starting to sob, his self-control overloaded.
As the boy writhed in his suffering, his legs splayed open every now and then to afford us another view into the inverted V between his trembling thighs, showing his dangling private parts.
CRACKK! “Yooooooeeeeooo!”
The fact was that Jacques responded well to stern chastisement. The pain of the beating was not the issue, the issue was the consequent improvement in behaviour. ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child’, the prophet once oracled and I fully agreed to that.
I lifted the martinet once again and cut a long arc through the still air which swished in anticipation of the subsequent crack of leather against bare skin – and the accompanying boyish yelp.
Although I started feeling sorry for my young brother, I made myself keep spanking, though my arm began to ache with the effort. The red deepened across his ass, across his thighs. I spanked and waited for him saying that he was sorry and would promish not to cheat anymore.
I looked down and surveyed the results of my efforts. Jacques’ body shook from his silent sobs. His buttocks were bright red, almost glowing in the dim light of the room. From the junction where the buttocks ascended precipitously from the smooth thighs, to the “Y” where the protuberant buttocks melded into the boys back, every centimeter received its dose of punishment. Just at the moment I thaught I had to stop, in order to avoid real bruises, he kicked his long legs. As the buttocks yawned open, I aimed the martinet between the glowing cheeks, so that the soft center, and his puckering pink rosebutt would receive their full measure of discipline.
My message went home: “Ooooooh Claude, that really hurts too much, it feels like my whole bottom is on fire!” With that he clenched his trembling buttocks together, avoiding a new smack at that most sensitive spot.
I found the beating easier as it progressed. I shouldn’t be surprised at my anxiety at inflicting pain on my own little brother, but neither should I shrink from it when necessary.
CRACK! Apart from the previous hand-spanking I had delivered to him, this was his first punishment since he lived in my house. It must set the right tone.
CRACK! If I failed to guide my brother from his wayward path to the “straight and narrow”, maman would look back on my failure to discipline him properly as the cause.
CRACK! And so might Jacques.
CRACK! I had met a number of young boys of Jacques’ age who were subject to similar regimes and found them all polite and attentive to their parents and their lessons.
CRACK! He might be in pain now, but this punishment would serve, in the long run, only to strengthen him. I lifted my arm for one final blow.
THWACK! “Arrhhhhhhh! Oh Claude! That hurts terribly!”
At the end Jacques’ beautiful boybottom looked like twin ripe tomatoes. Finally, sore red buttocks aglow, I decided it was over. I unfastened his wrists and body and helped him to climb off the table, still naked but hardly noticing the fact. As soon as he stood on the floor he started a post-punishment dance, trying to relief the burning pain in his blazing globes. Because of that frantic pain dance, his _p_e_n_i_s_ and _b_a_l_l_s_a_c_k_ shamelessly flapped up and down in front of me. He clapped both hands over his nether cheeks, doing his ritual dance of the spanked as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hand rubbing madly at the wild tingling red behind.
After he calmed some, Jacques was turned round to face my wife who had watched over his thrashing.
I ordered my little brother – up to this very moment I still considered him an innocent young boy – to stand at attention next to her chair. To my astonishment I discovered that wasn’t the only thing at attention. Jacques’ slender young _p_e_n_i_s_ stood completely erect, proudly displaying its full four inches. How cute I thought.
“Not bad for a boy of thirteen, what will that be when he is 18?”, Mireille whispered into my ear. The little blond’s excitement was further evidenced by the fact that his erect member was drooling, a clear drop of pre-cum dangling from the flared tip. I smiled, knowing now that the boy was excited by the spanking as much as he hated the pain involved. That was good news, promising a lot of fun for the future, but this was a serious exercise. While he stood stock-still before us, our eyes were flashing all over his exciting beautiful body, but mostly looking on his naked, juvenile and newly-woken joystick.
I made him stand facing the wall, positioned with his buttocks, now red and sore, on display. It was humiliating. I knew from own experience how a teenager hated it. As part of his punishment he had to stand there for 30 minutes. I made sure he wouldn’t forget his lesson anytime soon.
When the 30 minutes were over I had him sitting on my lap and gave him a brief post-punishment talk about obedience and good behaviour before putting him, still naked, to bed, kissing his tear-stained face and wishing him a good night.
Slowly, I reached out my hands to take hold of my brother’s pyjama bottoms and, noticing but studiously ignoring his horrified expression, I pulled them, ever so slowly, down. My heart was pumping furiously and my eyes were open wide. Any second now the boy could start protesting and then the show would be over. But Jacques seemed to accept the power our maman had delegated to me and did not utter a word.
