Texting While Driving

Damn....I know I didn't have a choice, I was gonna have to tell my dad about the ticket I got today! I was texting when I ran a stop sign and it just so happens that a cop was at the intersection and saw what happened! It was only a hundred dollar fine but this is one of my dads pet peeves! I've only had my licence for about two months and I know dads gonna punish me some how I just hope it's not the way he used too! It's been almost two years since he took his belt to my ass and I hoped that it was the last time!
Well.....when I got home I found my dad up in his bedroom and handed him the ticket. I figured if I just came out and told him the truth instead of hiding it from him (which I thought about alot) it would earn me a few brownie points and maybe save my ass.....WRONG!

I could tell right away that he was upset with me but he wasn't saying anything...that made me a little nervous! Finally he looked at me and said these exact words....I want your phone, I want your licence, I want your pants and underwear off and I want your belt....now!

I guess I was in shock not quite believing what I just heard him say.....I was standing there looking at him when he asked me what I was waiting for? I snapped out of my fog and reached into my pocket and handed him my phone and then I got my wallet out and gave him my licence.......my ticket to freedom is what it really was! He took them both and put them in his pockets and turned back to me with that what are you waiting for look!

D...dad...please, I know your mad but I'm to old for this....I'm not a little kid anymore!

Boy if you don't get those pants off I'll give you a whuppin every day for the next month! I knew he wasn't kidding around so I quickly took off my shoes and pants and hesitated a little before I took down my briefs.

Son if you want your mom and sister to hear this you better get them off so we can get this over with before they get home!

This was gonna be painful and embarrassing enough without them hearing this so I pulled my briefs down and off exposing myself to my dad for the first time in about a year and a half. I don't know why but I instinctively covered my privates not realizing that I should of been protecting my ass instead! I laid myself across the bed like so many times before but this was different...I thought that I would never be in this position again but here I was!

Thwack.....ahhhh.....Whap...Ahhhhh! Dad wasn't waisting any time...he was full force right from the start! Thwack.....Whap! I could feel the tears well up and I was trying my best to stay still but dad was giving my skinny yellow but the beating of a lifetime! After about ten minute of dad whuppin my ass and him yelling I was just about at my breaking point of running out the of the room....he stopped. I was openly crying and telling him I was sorry about getting the ticket and texting. After a few minutes he helped me up and told me that he was sorry he had to do that but he thought I needed to realize how dangerous it was to text while driving. He told me to pick up my clothes and go to my room. I did and he gave me a slap on my sore ass as I left the room. I must have cried for an hour on and off after my whuppin basically from the pain but even more from the embarrassment of the whole thing. He later told me that I could have my phone back in two weeks after my grounding was over but I wasn't getting my licence back for two months. I nearly broke down again when he told me that but I guess I deserved it.

Who Got The Worst Whuppin?

The police had to break up the team party last night that got way out of hand and took each boy home to where most of the dads were waiting with belt in hand! The next day in the locker room before practice the whole team gathers around and compares the damage to they're butts! So naturally each boy was trying to show off to see who got the worst whuppin!

Yo man, your ass hardly has a mark on it........look what my dad did to my ass last night!

Spanking T-Shirts Pt.1

I stumbled upon these the other day and I knew I had to post them! I would love to see a brutha walking down the street with something like this on...LOL!

I think officers should wear this under there uniforms!

These next couple are for the Daddy's out there!

Below are for the bad boys out there!

Now I'm not crazy for this last one....I don't need a crew looking to spank my ass! LoL

Chris Browns Community Service

Chris Brown has started his community service and it looks like he is enjoying himself in some of the pictures. I'm sure it's embarrassing and humiliating to have to pick up trash all day but I don't think he will learn his lesson. I still say a good ass whuppin would of gotten the point across much better or maybe a series of them! He could of moved on with his life by now but I guess that wasn't a option for him!

Bobby....UK Discipline

Now that is one British Police Officer that I wouldn't mind getting arrested by! After he had me in handcuffs I would ask if there was any other way to get out of going to jail? He tells me that there is only one way and it would involve my butt and his hand! Then he proceed to blister my behind until I was begging him to stop! Be careful over there in the UK Barry!

Belasco "Spankin" Art

I love this first one of a strict disciplinarian ready to administer a good butt blistering with a serious drilled paddle! I can almost feel my butt burning!

There are sooooo many scenarios that could happen with this situation! The young offender asks the officer if there is anything he can do to get out of going to jail? The big strong officer tells him that a good 20 licks from his big thick police belt on his bare ass will keep him from going to jail and teach him a good lesson! Man I would love to see that video! Maybe Belasco will give us a full length comic strip of just that situation! Mmmmmm...

This one just scares me!!!

Deputy Jeavons Deputy Jeavons Has A Busy Morning

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: 21 Jun 2008

I stepped into the Police Station on a freshly scrubbed late spring Sunday morning. It was an excellent calm, still day, but I knew that, as the heat built, tempers would fray, and Officers would be busy. The Sheriff was waiting for me to arrive, it was good that I was early, 'Ah Jeavons,' He spat a copious stream of tobacco juice into the paper cup he carried with him around the station, 'got a fella for you downstairs,' His voice sounded stern and he waved a piece of paper at me. I took the document: it was a 'Preliminary Incident Report.''Probably, not worth processing,' said the big man, a daddy of all salad dodgers, he shrugged, 'but that boy has a trailer load of bad attitude, I'm asking you to paddle the devilishness outta his hide.' The Sheriff was the kind of man who would probably eat me if I disobeyed, but I had no mind to disobey. I felt my pulse gather pace, indeed, it started to sprint. 'Jeavons bring me a humble boy and he walks free.' My boss spat into his cup again. I went down the stairs to the custody area with an extra bounce in my step. I opened the hatch and peered into the prisoner's cell. It had an ordinary steel door, no bars. It was reasonably clean and well lit. The bunk had a mattress, a pillow, and a blanket. Tyrell, for that was the name on the report, was a sturdy and well-made boy, but his surly attitude vibrated like a force field. His hot and insolent eyes glared up as he heard the hatch open. I unlocked the door. 'When am I getting outta here?' He demanded truculently. His face showed a stubborn, angry scowl and he 'bad-eyed' me. I turned abruptly authoritarian. 'You get outta here, when I've paddled the sassiness from your behind.' A hunted look arrived in his eyes and he bit his bottom lip. The 'inner boy' realised his situation – helpless, in trouble and standing before authority. His butt protection instincts took control. The intensity of my stare forced him to look at the floor. Tyrell's jaw dropped in shock, aghast at my 'proposal'. He found it difficult to meet my eyes. I ran my tongue over my parched lips.
'No.' He said quietly, regaining his composure quickly. He had his head up, a little haughty. The boy was as fresh as the other side of a pillow. 'Here me talkin' I said gruffly, 'we don't settle this now, you do State time while the case comes up, that's State time in prison, they got rats you could put a saddle on in that place. They've also got 250 pound brothers who'll put so much manhood up that crack of yours you'll be able to chew your own tonsils. I enjoyed the look of horror on his face. He listened with his mouth wide open, when I finished, he started to shiver and tremble. 'Trust me.' I said earnestly, placing a fatherly hand on his shoulder. Tyrell considered my last appeal with a huge and intense wrinkling of his forehead. He heaved, a sigh, 'I guess it's a paddling.' He released the words signally, and with reluctance. My heart soared. I thought to myself; 'it's definitely a paddling, and probably the best you'll ever get.'
I took Tyrell to the 'Punishment Room'. He barely looked at the leather-topped bench across which I would thrash him. 'Take a shower.' I ordered. Tyrell stripped quickly. His body was 'heavy-manual-work' trim. I watched as he progressively revealed his dark brown flesh. The youth possessed a thrilling combination of parabolic contours and undulations that numbed the mind and made my lions burn. Tyrell stood facing me, so I did not see too much of his butt, he refused to met my eyes as he soaped himself all over. I found him a towel from a cupboard.
'Come on, I got other work to do today.' I grumbled, handing him the towel. He displayed no further evidence of petulance, but took the towel and started to dry his broad shoulders. Then his strong thighs, he was an elegant boy, glossy and well muscled, but in his highly vulnerable state, his eyes remained downcast. I noticed that with his intimate towelling his heavy and thick penis slowly came to life. Perhaps something deep inside this youth found his circumstances stimulating. It might have been my uniform, light blue shirt tight across my barrel chest, my dark blue trousers tucked into my highly polished knee length boots. Possibility he secretly revelled in his vulnerability, alone in a locked room with a very powerful man about to tenderize his bare ass. The intoxicating bouquet of freshly showered boy filled the room. Tyrell's teeth chattered as he dried himself. I smiled a malicious smile. I observed his slowly swelling dick and reassured myself that I had paddled the sap out of plenty of buoyant organs in the past.
'Come on, get across this bench.' He came forward with dubious eyes, but rested his body obediently over the apparatus as I instructed. I fastened the straps around his ankles and pulled the leather restraints very tightly before buckling him in place. I finally looked at his ass; it was so shiny I could almost see my reflection in it. I swallowed hard and smiled broadly; my erection was rampant. 'Put your hands here,' our bench had no means of securing a miscreant's wrists. I pointed to a cross rail. His fists gripped it so tightly that his knuckles showed white. I ambled across to the 'equipment' cupboard, while my heart roared and accelerated. I picked out the paddle I needed, my 'man smacker' twelve inches long, six inches wide and half an inch thick. The maker had drilled holes through the heavy wood so that air resistance would not slow its velocity as the paddle raced to bludgeon the target buttocks. I slapped the paddle on the palm of my hand. 'What do you think of my paddle?' I asked Tyrell placing it in front of his wide eyes.
His face suddenly went three shades paler. Any colored boy growing up in the fifties would be able to evaluate the hurting potential of a paddle, belt, or switch with great accuracy. 'That's going to polish my ass real good.' He announced gravely in a voice that was hoarse with passion before he closed his eyes tightly and swallowed loudly. 'Tyrell,' I said, slapping the paddle more fiercely against my palm, 'if you decide that you might want any skin left on your ass when we are done here, you can start called me 'Sir' whenever you want. Tyrell took a moment or two, 'I wasn't disrespecting, Sir.' He screeched, 'No, Sir, I just forgot.' I placed the paddle on the crown of his trembling bent rump, his cheeks tightened involuntarily. 'I didn't mean nuffin' nothing bad, Sir. Hush, Tyrell, I've got to concentrate on whuppin' this bad ass I got here, and I ain't got time for talking. I experienced that supreme moment of satisfaction in law enforcement: a miscreant, trussed and helpless with his quivering bare ass facing my paddle. Tyrell's position, bent deeply over the bench, stretched the contours of his firm bottom very tightly. I meant that the nerve ends were close to the surface of his skin and ready for instant activation when my paddle landed. My brightest smile appeared on my face. Just that very morning I had read a newspaper article by my favourite baseball player Minnie Minoso on how to 'hit'. It occurred to me that his hints for successfully hitting a baseball would easily transfer to the important pursuit that is 'whuppin a bad boy's ass'. I tried to recall my hero's hints. I took a light grip on the paddle's handle. Loose muscles are fast muscles, Minnie's writing emphasised. I gripped the handle at the base of my fingers. I placed my feet apart, slightly more than my shoulders width. I bent my knees slightly and shuffled my weight onto the balls of my feet. I raised the paddle over my right shoulder. The bottom before me quaked. I took a small step forward, and put my weight on my back foot and then rotated my hips towards my target. I then launched my hands and the paddle at the bottom that waited in dreaded anticipation. I kept my feet firmly in the floor and swung my shoulders. Centrifugal force powered the paddle against the miscreant's rump. The wooden instrument struck Tyrell's bad ass with mighty speed and generated a loud 'crack'. I followed through as Minnie's instructions advised and created an extension in my swing. A broad swathe of grey showed on Tyrell's ebony bottom. He groaned and shuffled. The swing felt so good I repeated it twice, cracking the heavy paddle over the centre of Tyrell's ass to great effect. The young man panted and moaned. He wriggled his fit, sore ass to try to avoid the paddle.
'I'm sorry, Sir.' He blurted, I whacked him a fourth, lighter blow, to keep the fires burning across both cheeks. Tyrell grumbled and groaned. His high and tight tail looked very sore and was becoming a rosy colour. I delivered another couple of 'Minnie' style specials without a pause. Tyrell released a bloodcurdling howl. His hands came off the rail and gave his burning ass so much tender attention that my dick actually started to hurt as it fought for space inside my shorts. 'How old are you, Tyrell?' The young man kneaded his rubbery mounds without embarrassment. He turned his grimacing face. It was beaded with sweat, and full of anguish.
'I'm twenty, Sir.' He answered in a croaking, panting voice. I considered this for while studying the churning of Tyrell's hands and the massaging of his splendid buttocks, 'Well, if you don't get better at taking whuppins, you better be much less sassy. 'Yes, Sir.' He answered politely. He sniffed, I patted the paddle gently on his head, and he understood that I wanted him across the bench again. I whacked him four more 'light' ones, even the easier strokes built substantially on the monstrous pain of the initial blows. I abandoned the 'Minnie' approach until a more worthy and 'hard-assed' target presented itself. Tyrell groaned in agony. I untied the straps from around his ankles and left him to compose himself. The 'sap', I noticed had gone from his penis. His ass had a ruddy glow and it looked hot and very sore. In other circumstances, I might have enjoyed massaging soothing cream gently and firmly into his stinging flesh, but I was already late for duty. Tyrell dressed slowly, his eyes bright with moisture and he sniffed a lot. I led him back upstairs to the Sheriff. 'You whupped the sass out of that boy, Deputy Jeavons?' The Sheriff demanded truculently as we approached. 'Yes, Sir.' I responded immediately.
The cowered and whimpering youth turned his anxious eyes towards his main tormentor. Anguish filled the young man's face and the Sheriff saw it straight away, a broad villainous grim expanded across his face, several of his chins nodded. I can see you have, well done.' He spat in his cup again and turned on his heel. Tyrell walked, he was stiff, unsteady, and his hands rested on the seat of his pants, but he walked. I sat in my cruiser and watched him wander off. I had a lot of my 'sap' to drain.

Deputy Jeavons Catches A Peach Stealer

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: 24 Feb 2008


A fitful sun cast long afternoon shadows over the suburban street, the heat of the day had dissipated, and the smells and sounds for preparations of evening meals were everywhere. I strolled along a road with neat houses on either side to deliver a reminder about an unpaid jaywalking fine. I glanced down an alleyway, and saw the youth. He looked around in all directions, except, crucially, the one that would have revealed my presence. Then, like a guilty schoolboy instrumental in something nefarious, he clambered nimbly over the fence into a garden. For a small town we seemed to have a surfeit of boys and youths bursting with sin. I caught a glimpse of ripe, full buttocks as he disappeared into the garden. The youth's tight blue jeans clung to his shapely rump as if in desperation.
I strode through the gate of the house where the culprit was trespassing and found the owner, an old man, reading sleepily on his front porch. He looked up at me, pop-eyed with disbelief. He did not look the type of citizen to receive regular visits from uniformed Police Officers.
'Sir,' I said, 'I don't want to alarm you, but I believe you have an intruder in your back garden.' I informed him as quietly as possible. He had a virile and imperious face and he was raging, he clenched his fists fiercely, and his growling voice seemed to shake with suppressed wrath.
'After my peaches, I'll wager.' He announced staring at me over his pince-nez. His face grimaced in an angry and determined expression like that of an Old Testament prophet. He rose creakily on stiff legs to dispense divine wrath.
'You leave this to me, Sir, I'll catch him.'
I crept stealthily down the side of the house, the old man followed in my wake.
The boy, as the householder had prophesied, was high in the branches of a peach tree. I managed to get quite close to him, near enough to observe that he possessed a muscular and curvaceous tail that I deemed ideal for a hard and prolonged switching. As I got close to the tree and the boy, he tossed a peach over the back, wood panel, fence of the garden. Clearly, the peach stealer had an accomplice. The collaborator was alert.
'Po-lice, run Tyson.' An agitated young voice called out. Loud and rapid footfalls made it obvious that the a better's loyalties did not extend to being caught.
Tyson, tried to run. He jumped down from the tree and scampered towards the fence. It was just enough of an exercise to set my heart racing and provide me with the excitement of the hunt without causing any anxiety about the eventual outcome.
I grabbed the youth by his collar. He wriggled and squirmed.
'Let me go.' He struggled some more. I always enjoyed touches of rebelliousness when displayed by boys in trouble.
'Be still.' I shouted with a blend of menace and brusque professionalism. He stopped, and stared me sulkily in the eye. I gave him my 'sass-me-and-see-what-happens' look that inevitably started boys trembling.
The house owner came tottering up the garden. His eyes were alight with triumph, his voice hardened and rose to an indignant shrill.
'Ah, this boy, Sir.' The old gentleman said shaking his head despairingly and pointing an angry finger, 'needs a fine good whuppin'.'
The expression of disbelief and alarm on 'this boy's' face transformed itself into a hunted look and he started quaking. A chevron of concern cut deep into his brow.
'It ain't as simple as that, Sir.' I stated in a professional manner, 'he had an accomplice, a partner in crime.' I brooded malevolently at 'Tyson'. 'I need to take him to the station.' The youth started to lick his sweat-beaded lips, and his eyes flicked in directions.
The idea of a visit to the station distressed him even more than a 'fine good whuppin', his face became disfigured by a frown. I was time for Tyson to feel uneasy and grasp his situation. It took little liveliness of his imagination to realise he was in deep trouble.
'Who was your friend?' I asked.
The owner of the peach tree became impatient, 'Don't be doing with that, you axe me, he needs a switch across his ass, and he needs it right now.' The house-owner's face pinched like a set of pliers.
'Who was your friend?' I repeated making a further attempt to coax an answer from him with minimal success.
His defiant response 'I neva seen him before' was, I regret to say, curt to the point of provocation.
I thought briefly, I studied the downcast boy and then said.
'Ok, Tyson cut yourself a switch.' I growled my words in a careful monotone and then lapsed into silence. The boy's mind was in turmoil. He even opened his mouth in order to hear better.
'A switch?' He said, and then added 'you figure on whuppin my ass?' His voice was suddenly quieter, weaker in timbre, speechlessness descended on Tyson as his voice stuck in my throat. The old man's face contorted with pleasure.
'Make it a good one, Tyson.' I said crisply and then add, 'and if you don't start calling me 'Sir' soon, I'll finish with your switch and whop you cross-eyed with one I pick.' The house-owner chuckled merrily. Tyson gulped, colour drained from his face and he stared at me with an expression of surprise and abject entreaty.
'Hurry, Tyson.' I urged, taking off my jacket to demonstrate my seriousness. 'Folks are gathering.'
'Yes, Sir.' His choked voice quivered with indignation, but he cleared his throat to continue. 'I'se be quick, Sir.' The edge of defiance in his voice did not return. He appeared, at last, afflicted by a modicum of guilt.
The householder supervised selection of the switch. He directed Tyson towards an apple tree. It was the worst possible choice for a boy who would soon be feeling a stout switch cut from that type of tree over his rump. The owner of the house skipped with surprising vitality and zest to a shed and emerged with a pair of pruning shears. As ever, in our town, word of an exciting incident got round fast. A group bustled about, beyond the fence, eager and watching anxiously, waiting to see what happened next.
'He's cutting a switch.' A voice gasped feverishly.
The old man and the boy debated the merits of lengths of woody twigs. Eventually, I heard the 'snip' of the shears.
I will say this for Tyson. He was obviously a well cared for and politely raised boy. He cut an excellent switch.
'It this OK, Sir?' Tyson asked timidly offering me the stick.
'He's given the switch to Mr. Jeavons.' A voice hissed in exhilaration.
Watchers peered through gaps in the fence, they were bright-eyed, and with tongues moistening lips, but they retreated quickly as I spun round.
I slashed the switch a couple of times and my actions further confirmed the excellence of Tyson's choice.
'Ok, Tyson,' I said, 'it's good,' The three-foot length of switch made an ominous hissing sound as I wagged it up and down. 'Pants and shorts down, lets get this done.' The 'pants and shorts down' met with the Householder's adoring agreement. His smile was wide; 'coast to coast' on his wrinkled and lined face.
'Bare ass?' Tyson muttered lamely in bewilderment. One cheek started twitching; he grimaced and started biting his lip.
'Bare ass always adds immense interest to the occasion.' I confirmed nodding my head and swishing the stick.
'He's getting it bare ass.' A scandalised voice in the crowd whispered. Tyson obeyed huffily, but soon stood with his pants and shorts around his ankles. No doubt, he was thankful for the long shirt that hid his most precious treasures.
He even bent over, but his position was not to my satisfaction.
'Turn round this way.' Tyson, very flustered, shuffled about. I announced in a loud voice. 'I want everybody watching to see what happens to the tails of boys who steal in this town.' The youth's rump faced the gawping observers, who grew in number as word spread like wildfire about the 'happening'.
Overexcited chattering greeted the first sighting of Tyson's splendid rear-end as with the stick I swept his shirt away from his excellent buttocks. It was the perfect bottom for anybody with a wagging switch to hand, but then I find all bottoms appealing in that circumstance. Tyson's seat was the colour of coffee with a splash of cream, tender looking and it shook in its vulnerability. I thrashed a hard blow across it. Tyson released a terrified squeak as the stout switch thrashed across his bottom. The loiterers gasped, 'woo-hoo' somebody bellowed. Tyson kept reasonable still, just a small shuffle. I whacked him again. He groaned morosely. The owner of the house came to watch proceedings from the rear. His position obscured the view of others and they immediately urged him to move. The old fellow looked sated with pleasure as he examined the darkening marks across the silk-like skin of the bad boy. I thrashed another blow, and Tyson released some anguished mumbling and briefly rubbed his rump. He settled again, offered his sore rump for my further attention. I thrashed him again. His bottom was coming nicely to the boil now. Tyson yelped, jumped up, and rubbed his ass with huge enthusiasm. Several people guffawed loudly at the sight of the youth kneading his ass so avidly and hopping about while he did it. He gave me a baleful look.
'One more.' I said encouragingly.
A groan came from those assembled, and indeed the old man moaned something about 'light punishment'. I quietened everybody, by threatening, 'While I've got this switch I might come back there and look for some others to use it on.'
Tyson's bottom quivered as I tapped the switch against it, I then lashed a hard blow. He hollered, skipped and, according to somebody in the crowd was in danger of 'rubbing his ass right away'. He pulled his shorts and pants up very quickly, but he carried on rubbing and comforting his splendid, round and sore bottom.
He stood before me, his face shiny with heat, eyes moist and promised 'not to do it again.'
'That should happen to all people who break the law.' The old man offered loudly as an opinion to the dispersing crowd.
The youngster walked to the front of the house and out to the street with both hands still churning his hot buttocks and grumbling quietly to himself.
I accepted some coffee from the householder, who felt that the switching had been 'easy' for a youth like Tyson. Having finished my coffee I remembered my errand, and pulled the 'Reminder Notice' from my pocket.
'Do you know where 742 Savannah Avenue is?' I asked.
The pop-eyed expression of disbelief returned. He blanched and hesitated while his coffee mug shook in his hand.
'Are you Mr. Crompton? Mr. Ambrose Crompton?' I asked enunciating every syllable precisely. I knew he was and he nodded his head with small, nervous jerks.
'Well, Mr. Crompton, you better be paying this fine,' I handed him the letter, 'I know your views on what should happen to people who break the law and how 'easy' some punishment can be.' He froze and gawped in amazement.
He clattered his coffee mug to the table.
'I'll be checking, if this fine ain't paid in two days, I'll come round again, and I wont be a talkin', I'll leave this switch right here on the porch.' He seemed to shrink into his clothes, to wither under my gaze. 'Much obliged for the coffee, Sir.'

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.

Deputy Jeavons whups two bad boys
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: 08 Sep 2007


My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might explode, I knew the youth was close. I could feel my chest labouring for my next breath. I listened, and I could hear the panting of an exhausted youngster. He was hiding very near by.
I pushed back the branches of a bougainvillea plant. The youngster had curled himself up in a tight little ball. I noted that he had a pretty round ass, then laughed mockingly and savagely.
'Up you get, you need your ass shined.' I announced in a voice dripping with coldness.
I had been in the Negro part of town to issue a subpoena, as the only black Policeman in the Parish it was a familiar job. My wandering took me down a back alley. I noticed two boys kneeling behind the rickety fence of a house where a 'traditional built' old lady was hanging out washing. I observed the grim trend of mischief in their sternly composed faces, but before I had time to call out, they fired their catapults. One shot, obviously a mud pellet, splattered an extravagant dirty stain across the pristine white sheet that the women had just placed on the washing line. The second shot, a stone, slammed into her rump as she bent to her washing basket to retrieve the next laundered item to hang up. As I raced past the end of her garden to apprehend the fleeing boys, I heard her shrieking like a chicken pursued by a fox and rubbing her wobbling behind. She was cussing the boys.
My captive stood up reluctantly. I gave him a 'no-nonsense' stare. He carried a sullen expression on his face. Fine, I thought, 'a tough guy', I had dealt with this type before.
'Where is your pal, and who is he?' I asked firmly. The boy avoided eye contact by staring stonily down the alleyway.
'I don't know,' his voice was dismissive, 'never met him before.' He added with shifty eyes. My tolerance waned; the boy was being dangerously obstinate for a boy I thought had every chance of presenting his bare ass to me for whupping in the very near future.
'You think you might get some idea who he was by the time we reach that lady's garden? Or do think you might need all the time it takes to ride in my car to the Police Station?'
A shadow-filled crease formed across his brow, his palms opened and closed at his side, his eyes went wide with fear, and his lips trembled.
'Maybe.' He shrugged, making a move back towards the 'scene of his crime'. A look of frightened despair had crept into his eyes.
'Son, you can start calling me 'Sir' if you decide you might want to sit down at anytime in the next week.' The steam went out of him; he was in a tight corner and he knew it.
'Yes, Sir.' He said meekly, the error of having defied me now showed in his features.
He was a boy of about fourteen, slender and rather tall. He wore denim jeans, a red checked shirt, and worn sneakers. All his clothes appeared faded, but they looked freshly laundered. The boy's catapult rested casually in his back pocket, but it did not spoil the shape of his rump. My prisoner's jeans swelled and stretched elegantly over a pair of fine, young masculine globes.
I watched as the disheartened young man shambled long on rubbery legs trying to look as if he was sauntering casually. A gang of loafers, ragged children, and hard working women had gathered at the garden of the old lady.
As soon as my prisoner came within sight of the onlookers, he received an outcry of scandalised upbraiding.
'Ashley Defoe, you little rascal.' bellowed the large lady. The women still rubbed her big behind gingerly and grimaced. A group of neighbours looked on the women sympathetically and consoled her.
'Where's that Jermaine Campbell? He as bad, worse, but you never caught him?'
'Ashley, would that be the boy you have never seen before?' I asked into my prisoner's ear gently, as I placed my heavy, square hand on his shoulder.
Ashley turned his head, his lips moved nervously. I smiled at him and he tried to smile back, but his heart was not in it.
'Mam, are you all right?' I asked noticing that she had taken down her mud-stained sheet.
'I got a sore ass.' She announced empathetically as she renewed her rubbing of the enormous rump beneath her bright flowery sundress. Several neighbours stopped looking consolingly at her and stared 'daggers drawn' at Ashley, who, I observed kept out of the range of any possible slap the women might consider administering to him.
'Well, I think we need at least one more sore ass around here.' Ashley took the opportunity to examine his sneakers. Ashley continued to receive hostile looks from the neighbours and the number of loiterers increased progressively.
'Mam, do you mind if we cut a switch from that apple tree.'
'No, Mr. Jeavons, I'll get the secateurs.' She soon returned with the perfect device for pruning trees. I handed the tool to Ashley, he stood for a while trying to swallow the lump in his throat.
'He gotta cut a switch' I heard an excited voice hissing amongst the crowd, a swift reaction of heightened attentive interest became apparent throughout the onlookers. Ashley's surprise was overdone; the world of corporal punishment would not have been an unheeded and unexplored region to the mischievous youth. Our community had no silly attitudes to corporal punishment. Bad boys, like Ashley, got their tails whipped, and whipped hard and often.
'Better cut a good one, if I ain't satisfied I'll cut two and wear them both out stripping skin off your bad behind.' Ashley was still so surprised he had yet to close his mouth.
Eventually, Ashley went to the tree. It was rich with branches and offshoots that would make an excellent switch for improving the youth's behaviour. The crowd continued to swell. I caught them stealing glances through the rickety fence, they studied both Ashley and I intently. Quiet murmured conversations brought late comers up-to-date with developments.
Ashley had selected two switches. Cutting the switch that is going to whip your bare ass when watched by a largely unsympathetic group of onlookers had to be the most humiliating procedure imaginable, but Ashley, zombie like, completed the process. Ashley dropped the pruning tool to the ground. He held one rod in each hand; he flicked each in turn to see which the best choice to offer me was. He wagged his head from side to side assessing the switches for pliability and effectiveness. Ashley chewed his lip like a pupil trying to solve an algebra problem. Finally, Ashley dropped the switch in his left hand, he looked up sharply, his eyes narrowed, and his lips became two thin, anxious horizontal lines. I felt my insides tighten.
'I think this one is best, Sir.' He said in a gloomy voice, giving it a final swish.
I accepted the switch, sliced it through the air, and said 'Thanks.' I did not pass an opinion, but the corners of my mouth re-arranged themselves in a smile.
'Trousers and shorts down and bend yourself over where I can get at your behind.'
I grinned into his face with a look in my eyes that made him swallow, not return my smile. Ashley's face looked hot and oily.
'Sir, bare ass?' he asked in a wobbly voice.
I then remembered the possible sensitivities of the onlookers. 'Ladies, this boy is going to get a bare ass whupping, if you mind the sight of this boy's naked behind, please leave.' They did not mind. The only movement I discerned was a broadening of smiles, and the nodding of heads in an 'about-time-too' manner.
Ashley gave every indication of minding dreadfully, he quaked.
'We could still go to the Station.' I whispered into the stubbornly immobile Ashley's ear. I knew that Ashley, like any local youth, would rather remove his own eyeballs with a rusty spoon, than visit the Police Station. Ashley, with an entire absence of enthusiasm began to unbutton his fly buttons.
He bent over; his two pretty, little orbs of coal black colored tight muscle offered themselves for a thorough thrashing. I felt my heart leap into my throat as I placed the switch over Ashley's bottom. I drew the stick back and thrashed it across his rump. Air rushed from Ashley's lungs in one long uncontrollable wheeze.
'Wow.' He sighed deeply.
A thick grey stripe simmered over Ashley's bottom. The boy had selected an excellent switch. I flogged it against his behind for a second time. Ashley made a sound like air slowly escaping from a balloon. The loafers, the crowd was now substantial, gawped in awed silence. Grey impact lines of brilliant intensity faded rapidly and I whacked Ashley's rump for a third time. He yelped a loud 'ouch', which provoked some tittering, but the boy did not move. I whacked his behind again, he 'yelped' once more.
'Two more, Ashley, you've behaved disgracefully.'
'I know, Sir.' He sniffed his remorseful reply and shuffled his feet.
'You better remember this.' I warned and then thrashed him again. He jumped up and squawked. Ashley's hands rushed to his rump and both palms grabbed a bundle of sore buttock. Mirthful chuckling from the crowd at the undignified spectacle added to his misery. He rubbed hard, but then realised that he was showing the spectators more than he wanted of his personal bits and pieces. He then bent again. I whacked him once more and he groaned the groan of a very well flogged youngster.
'Deputy Jeavons, would you like a coffee?'
'Yes, Mam, I sure would.' I replied.
Ashley stood up and replaced his shorts and trousers in a flash.
'Ashley I'm going to be here for ten minutes, you betta go find Jermaine.' His dark beetling eyebrows drew together in a frown. The relief at the completion of his hiding disappeared fast; he was shaking. I continued, 'If I need to find him, and I will, he'll be the sorriest boy in Christendom, and I'll think you haven't tried too hard, and then I'll find you again.' I allowed a pause while Ashley's eyes became very large, and then added, 'I'm not sure you've had enough whupping.'
'Yes, Sir.' Ashley called out over his shoulder. He made good speed out of the garden for a boy with a well-whipped rump.
Jermaine arrived before my coffee was cool enough to drink. A boy like Jermaine is neither easily overlooked nor quickly forgotten. He smiled all the time, was full of self- confidence, and never seemed to let misfortune get him down. He even smiled even when he announced.
'Mr. Jeavons, Sir, I come for my whuppin'' He grinned good-naturedly and shrugged off the lady's attempts to cuff him around the head. He had a combination of roguishness and grace that enchanted everyone, even the victim smiled as she landed the blow on his handsome head that made him 'ouch'.
Go cut yourself a switch, Jermaine.' I commanded.
'Yes, Sir' he stated ducking out the door, before adding, in a resentful voice when he reached the sanctuary of the garden, 'she ain't supposed to do that!'
I finished my coffee, and stepped outside. Ashley loitered about, no doubt keen that I 'sign-off' on his 'find Jermaine' mission. The smallest of grins tugged at the corners of Jermaine's mouth as he handed me his switch. It was another good selection. I felt my heart beating against my ribs as I slashed it through the air. Jermaine grimaced at the sibilant noise.
'Trousers and shorts down, and then bend over' I hissed, trying not to sound too excited.
'Yes, Sir, Mr. Jeavons.' He began to unbutton is fly.
He turned round and bent deeply. The crowd, obviously knowing that a second act to the drama would occur, was again present. Perhaps the audience was of even larger numbers than for Ashley. The public bad boy whupping drew many from the neighborhood, and some from outside it came to witness the hullabaloo.
I flicked Jermaine's shirt away from his ass. The sight dried out my stomach and caused my scalp to tighten against my skull. I could neither approve of anything boy so mischievous nor disapprove of anything as beautiful as his ass. I gave the firm, dark bottom a look loaded with admiration. I thrashed a first stroke across his glorious buttocks. He did not respond. I consider that I have a singular gift for beating youths. So, therefore was disappointed when my second stroke of stunning speed and vigour failed to generate any response. I simply tried harder and after my third stroke, Jermaine at last muttered an 'ouch'. It was very quiet, but it was a start. My fourth stroke intermingled with previous welts and the 'ouch' I earned was encouragingly louder.
After thoughtful consideration, Jermaine even added a 'Wow' and gulped wetly.
His bottom stayed still, humbly offered for more strokes as the wheals boiled across it. I struck again, using all the ferocity I could muster. Jermaine released an impassioned 'squeak' sound and did a little shuffle. I whacked his delinquent ass for the last time. He yelped, but stayed still, perhaps he thought he might get more, perhaps he knew he deserved more.
'Up you get.' I said wistfully and with some regret.
Jermaine rubbed his bottom, he grimaced, but even then, his face remained attractive.
'We'll be good from now on, Mr. Jeavons, no mistake, Sir.' Jermaine smiled broadly, the boy could have charmed a cobra into a knot.
'Anything bad happens in this neighborhood,' I announced threateningly, 'I'll be looking for your two bottoms. You understand.' The brightness in his face flickered away.
'I understand Mr. Jeavons, Sir.' He nodded his head sagely in confirmation.
I walked back to my car, content that I had contributed to the betterment of the district, but aware that I much, much more to do.