Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Deputy Jeavons Catches a Shoplifter

Deputy Jeavons catches a shoplifter
by John Lambert

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: 10 Sep 2007

It was a scorching day; it felt as if the sky was being lowered stealthily to stifle the earth. The sort of hot and lazy day when the blood ran slow and the saliva ran dry. I stopped my Police Car outside a small grocer store; I needed a soda.
I got out of the car, stretched, and then slowly crossed the sidewalk. I was under the green and white awning that provided shade for the bench where folks gathered to gossip and where I would shortly be drinking my soda. As I approached the shop door, it flew open and several youths zoomed out and scattered in all directions. I grabbed one round the waist. The other three youngsters burst onto the street and raced away.
'You little rascals.' Mr. Devlin shouted, he owned the store, and had appeared at the open door. His fist was shaking and he wore a very angry expression.
'Not so fast, Son,' I told the youth who was trying to wriggle and squirm out of my grip. I manoeuvred him through the door.
'You caught one at least, Deputy Jeavons.' An exasperated Mr. Devlin said, 'and the worst one.' He added when he noticed which of the delinquents I had captured.
I was a thick-bodied man, the muscles in my shoulders and arms swollen and as hard as iron, I had strong hands and muscular tautness. It was too powerful a combination even for the most desperate boy.
'Be still,' I shouted at the youth. He stopped writhing about since we were now deep into the small shop and Mr. Devlin had taken the opportunity to lock the door.
'This one is Crawford, he and them others steal from here.' Mr. Devlin announced with anger blooming in his voice as he pointed a finger at the youth. Crawford was about thirteen, he had dark ebony skin and large dusky eyes. His eyes jittered and he became very shifty.
'No I ain't.' The boy stated defiantly, but not in a very convincing voice. He obviously had a subversive edge to his behaviour.
'I got to search you, Crawford.' The youth developed a sullen pout.
I began patting his chest, which was rising and falling as if he had run a long distance very quickly. I found a small bag of potato chips tucked inside his shirt. I extracted it slowly. I could hear the wet sound in his throat when he swallowed.
'See,' Mr. Devlin bellowed triumphantly, his suspicions justified. Written in large letters across Crawford's face was the word 'disaster'. I patted his trouser pockets, found a Hershey bar and a pack of cigarettes with not many left inside, a box of matches and a carefully ironed handkerchief.
The Hershey bar produced another 'See' from shopkeeper, but also an indignant declaration that he would never sell the youngster cigarettes. Mr.Devlin, I am sure, would have gnashed his teeth, but he wore dentures.
I enjoyed running my hands across the youth's hot little body.
'Turn round.' I ordered, anxious to view and feel those important parts of a bad boy that need most attention.
'I ain't got nothing else.' He folded his arms across is chest in a stubborn gesture.
I swung him round.

'Got anything under these pants?' I asked slapping a hard hand against his rubbery and resilient right buttock. 'Anything else you stole?' I slapped the left buttock, and enjoyed the firmness of the muscle beneath the denim fabric.
My action made him querulous and nervous. 'I tole you I ain't got nothing.'
I felt his back pockets, running my hands over the smooth contours of his pert bottom. He stood straighter. I found some coins, more than enough to pay for the items he stole. Therefore, Crawford was not a hungry boy without money, just a shoplifter.
'Let's see if you got anything in your shorts.' I unbuttoned his fly and tugged his pants down.
'That ain't right.' A squeal of bewildered indignation broke into his voice.
'Crawford, you can start calling me 'Sir' anytime you think you might want to keep some skin on your ass.' I slapped hard against his firm behind.
The room became so quiet I thought that all the air had been sucked out of it. My pulse was jumping in my neck. Crawford had the kind of tough, yet bouncy bottom that I ached to spank.
'Anything under these shorts?' I was close to the boy, so close he would feel my breath and heat on his skin. Crawford smelled sweet and clean. He had probably been swimming in the disused gravel pit, which was both private property and dangerous. I knew boys trespassed there on scalding afternoons like this one. Crawford gave a snarl of rage as I hauled his baggy boxer shorts down to his knees.
'Sir, that ain't right, Sir,' He gasped indignantly.
'Stealing ain't right, Crawford, and that is what you done.' I looked at the small, dark globes of muscle. Where my hand had struck, the buttocks were mottled, grayish, and showed clear hand prints.
The boy had turned round, sweat beaded on is upper lip, and his eyes were very wide.
'Another thing, Crawford, you old enough to smoke?' A frown crossed his face.
'Yes, Sir, I am.' He stood straighter, once again, perhaps to appear taller, but his answer lacked any semblance of trustworthiness. He smiled an unconvincing smile.
'You sure, Crawford?' I enquired,
Mr. Devlin, muttered, 'He sure ain't.'
'Only thing Crawford, a boy old enough to smoke is boy enough to ride down to the Police Station and have his ass paddled long and hard.' Crawford opened his eyes so wide I thought they might fall out. He started to quiver and tremble. I continued, 'but you look young enough to learn your lesson from a good spanking.' I smiled, I had trapped Crawford, and he was furiously sulky about it. A slightly bemused look filled his face. He knew that his next response was important to the short-term health of his bottom.
He considered his options carefully, staring at the ceiling for inspiration. I decided to help him.
'Course, I don't want to drive to the Station, all those other Officers, paperwork, taking you down into the gaol, stripping your clothes off, strapping you over the whipping horse, and then thrashing a heavy paddle across your behind.' Crawford's frown deepened as I described each step of the procedure. 'Ain't any point in going to all that trouble without whuppin' a boy's tail until it is really super sore.' I chuckled, 'I just want to take you outside, sit myself on that bench, have me a cold soda, and spanking some discipline into your ass.'
Apart from a murmur of approval the greying black man who owned the grocery, silence filled the shop. Crawford cogitated, considering the full tangle of his circumstances.
'I'll take the spanking, Sir.' He stated in a hoarse voice, his Adam's apple rising and falling deeply in his throat with each word.
He began to raise his shorts, 'No Crawford, your getting a bare ass spanking.'
'Bare ass spanking?' The boy squealed in a disbelieving and puzzled voice,
'Mr. Devlin, is there an echo in this room?' The old man snorted happily.
I took hold of the boy's ear, twisted it, and guided him towards the door. Mr. Devlin unlocked the door and I dragged the reluctant boy towards the bench. Crawford shuffled shorts and pants round his ankles out to the sidewalk.
He whined with bitter resentment, 'Not bare ass, Sir.' I could feel the blood tingle in the back of my neck.
Nothing even moderately exciting happens in the town without it attracting an audience. News of the 'incident' had travelled fast, and a gaggle of bystanders loitered about in the street. I noticed that any young people lingered at the back in case I thought they might be part of the problem. I knew that somewhere, probably well hidden, the furtive eyes of Crawford's stealing companions would be observing developments. Each boy would be studying apprehensively in the full knowledge that, but for a superior body swerve or a faster running stride, they would be standing next to the Deputy in 'big trouble'.
I pulled Crawford across my lap. He wriggled a little, but he had obviously decided to adopt a 'stoic and heroic' bearing for the event rather than the 'outraged and brutally treated boy' routine. I pushed his shirt away, there was a flutter, and an excited murmur as Crawford's round, brown ass became visible to the watchers. I felt my head swim and my heart soar as I slammed the first slap on Crawford's delightful rump. Nothing matches the exhilaration of placing the initial spank, of many, on a bad boy's bottom. He 'ouched', and I gave him a second blow on the other buttock. He wriggled a little to make himself more comfortable.
'This is what happens to folks who steal from Mr. Devlin.' I announced in my most authoritative voice. The loafers had now edged closer to absorb the fullest possible detail of the unusual event.
'That's going to be hot work.' Mr.Devlin stated in a calm voice and placed an opened bottle of cold soda further along the bench. 'It's on the house.' He assured me.
I continued my 'hot' work. I slapped hard blows alternately on the brown orbs. The firm bottom was resilient and the hard application of my hand created a wonderful noise in the quiet, still street. I enjoyed it, biting softly down on my bottom lip as I lifted my chastising hand and crashed down repeatedly on Crawford's quaking bottom. The skin beneath my pummelling hand became mottled and turned grey as I increased the volume of blows. Crawford defied his urge to 'cry-out' for a long period, but I could hear him panting and gasping as my hand pounded his tight little tail.
'I'm taking a breather here, Crawford,' I took a long swig at my soda, 'you be thinking about how bad you've been.'
He groaned a keen sounding, 'Yes, Sir.' I ran my stinging palm over his delicate, velvet globes. I had warmed both of them to perfection. I drank some more.
'Have you been thinking Crawford? I asked, putting down my nearly empty bottle down and lifting my other hand from its exploration of the landscape of Crawford's sorry and simmering buttocks.
'I've been terrible,' Crawford announced in a faltering voice full of regret.
' 'Terrible' boys need a lot of spanking Crawford.' I beat his right buttock. Crawford groaned at another wrong answer. I continued with controlled strokes that made him whimper with pain and introduced fast repeated slaps on the same buttock that drove him to a frenzy of bawled 'ouches'. Crawford was now beyond 'sorry', he had dropped down into shame. He yelped and wriggled every time my hand landed on his ass. I could have continued to spank grey bruise bumps across Crawford's small chocolate seat, but it was very hot work.
'Up you get.' I said, in a kind, contented voice.
Crawford stood and tried to do several things simultaneously, raise his shorts, rub his sore butt, and explain how sorry he was. The spectators meandered off, their faces were covered with the smug derision that only the 'unspanked' can muster for the recently 'spanked'. Crawford apologised to Mr.Devlin, who graciously accepted the boy's statement of remorse. The shopkeeper, however, was shrewd enough to ask whether Crawford wanted to pay for the previously 'stolen' items, and he did. The thoroughly spanked boy rubbed his rump during the conversation. Crawford would have endured worse punishment, but none, I suspect, as memorable.
Mr. Devlin came out of the shop with the boy after they had completed their transaction.
'Crawford,' I said in a quiet voice. The boy looked at me very respectfully.
'Yes, Sir?' He asked timidly. Nothing encourages respect from a person more rapidly and completely than spanking his bare ass. A hard paddling might increase a boy's esteem for that particular paddle, a switching could have the receiver wishing he had cut a less effective rod, but spanking just takes the muscles, talent and determination of the spanker; it is much more personal and wins respect in an instant.
'I'm going to ask Mr.Devlin for the names of those other boys,' Crawford looked as if he had just swallowed a large and jagged rock, not taken a bite from his Hershey bar.
'I know them,' Devlin announced on cue.
'I'm going to write their names down in this pocket book, I ain't going after them today, but if they come to my attention,' I paused while Crawford frowned even more deeply than earlier, 'we gonna play catch up,' Crawford eventually swallowed, 'and they're going to be even sorrier than you are.' Crawford, perhaps not trusted his voice, nodded vigorously to demonstrate his understanding.
'You are sorry aren't you?' I asked
'Yes, Sir, very sorry.' He blurted anxiously and accompanied his statement with more nodding so that I could not doubt the sincerity of his sentiment.
Crawford scuttled off, still rubbing his ass, to deliver my message. Mr.Devlin brought me out another soda; I thought about the situation with these boys, it bristled with possibilities.
'Did I tell you that that first one was 'on the house'?' I nodded; this one clearly was not, I smiled, nothing could spoil my afternoon.


  1. Eric, hi,

    These John Lambert stories are all sensational and the pictures provided to accompany them quite amazing. Thanks ; the combination is quite unbeatable (oops, unintended pun) -- I don't know how you find such incredibly appropriate ones but you continue to surpass yourself. Does you both great credit; wonderful and much appreciated.

    Cheers. John [jlm2006]

  2. I thouroughly enjoy your Blog and look forward to your postings. However, because of the nature of your forum, please forsake using pics of under-age subjects. There are many that view your site and would easily suggest that you are promoting child pornography when you exhibit pics of children. Even though I know that you are not, it would be better to play it safe. Spanking is a part of growing up, but for a site such as this, it is considered a fetish that is administered with sexual overtones purely for adult entertainment. As an adult Black male that enjoys the fetish itself, along with your postings, I am asking you to please monitor very closely the pics that you use for all of our sakes. Peace out!