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.

Big Paddle....Damn!

Has anyone seen the ass that belongs to this paddle?

The Paddle

This paddle needs a smooth brown butt to be used on!

Watching a Whuppin...

Have you ever had the opportunity to watch someone getting spanked or there butt whupped? Sometimes if you have brothers or cousins you might get to witness a few...or even at a friends house. I'm not sure why we are drawn to seeing it but we are. You hear your brother and your dad yelling then you hear those famous word "Get your butt up to your room" you know whats coming next. The walls of this old house are thin and you will hear everything that going on in there but seeing it would be even better!

You hear your dad come up the steps and go into your brothers room.......you sneak down the hallway and squat down so you can peek in through the keyhole. I guess these old houses aren't so bad after all!

You see your brother face down on the bed just like you have been many times before. Dad was tearing his behind up and he was kicking and crying like a little kid!

You know from experience how much that belt hurts! Watching it gets you a little excited so you decide to get back to your room before you get busted! Now your back in your room laying on your bed listening to your brother crying and thinking up some ways to get him into trouble just like you did today so you can witness another butt whuppin!

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.

I Thought College Would Be Different...

But here I am butt naked with my ass up and head down in the locker room getting my butt whupped by the coach for being late to practice and dropping passes. He gave me a choice of getting kicked off the squad or taking the strap.....I just hope my Pop don't find out! Damn It's gonna be a long season!

When a Good Whuppin Won't Do?

That was the name of a blog post I stumbled across the other day. At first I said to myself a good whuppin will always do but then I saw these pics and changed my mind......Not that I thought he still could of used a good whuppin but having her son stand out in public like that holding that sigh up has to be almost as bad!! Now that's a serious mom there! When the dads out of the picture it's real easy for a young boy to stray off track...but this kid is lucky to have a strong mom like her. He'll thank her one day! He should be thankful she didn't whup his behind out there and then make him hold up the sign. Either way I don't think he will ever forget it!

Original post http://blog.qusan.com/2005/08/when-good-butt-whuppin-wont-do.html

Whuppin' The Tar Out of a Bad Boy!

Whuppin' the tar out of a bad boy
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: 06 Sep 2007



My tasks for the day were few, but first, and best, was paddling a youngster's ass. Shrewd Police Officer's in the southern states could do lots of paddling in the 1950's. I was shrewd and liked paddling asses a lot. Three Negro boys had been playing on the railway track; it was an old game, racing towards the approaching train and seeing who could keep their nerve for longest before jumping to the side. We called it 'chicken' when I was young.
The trouble was they must have got too close. The engine driver conducted an emergency stop, and the train screeched and squealed to an abrupt, juddering halt.
A passenger, a white lady, and the town's prim and mousey librarian, had been about to alight. The train's rapid halt threw her on her back; her skirt was flung around her waist and her legs high into the air. Miss Carter was not badly hurt, but everybody in the carriage became familiar with the full detail of her undergarments. Her drawers were 'shockingly small', daringly 'bright red' and had 'lacy bits', excited fellow passengers later revealed. Also on display, although only briefly, was an expanse of lily white inner thigh, visible above her nylon stockings. Passengers fortunate enough to have witnessed the spectacle relayed, and embellished, detailed descriptions of their observations. Frequent narration of the story provided much pleasure amongst males in the town. The shock news that the librarian should wear such an outrageous personal item traveled far and wide. What there was of the underwear looked freshly laundered at least – everybody agreed on that! The librarian's mother would have been proud. The incident provoked and stimulated great interest in reading in the town, many unlikely folks took up library membership.
In a small town like ours, this was a major incident. The law enforcement agencies needed to find the culprits. The authorities did what they always did when crimes appear to emanate from our community. They passed the matter to me since I was the only black Police officer in the Parish. I did as I always did – I spoke to the Minister. I pointed out that formal investigation of such the incident would reflect on everybody very badly. I argued that nobody could possibly want lots of police interviews, fuss, and a tiresome official procedure that could result in a heartless, remote Court sentencing the boys to Reform School. I said it was a town matter and it needed resolution here.
'A few minutes with their butts facing my paddle would teach the boys enough of a lesson.' I announced.
He agreed and the next day two boys, accompanied by remorseful parents, arrived at the Police station. Both boys, anxious and worried by the procedure, took a thorough paddling watched by their fathers. The pretty, shiny black rumps of the boys were sore when I had finished. Both the men promised their sons that they would be going home 'to a lot more'. All parents in those days thought that an offspring's behavior could only be improved by applying a paddle or switch to their children's' behinds. They also believed that the more frequent the strokes and the more vigorous the application the more immediate and permanent the improvement. The third youngster was due to arrive today; he had visited Mississippi for the wedding of a cousin yesterday and was due at nine this morning.
Unless I was much mistaken this would be him walking down the road now. He was in the company of an elderly woman, who was shaking a finger in his face and giving him a hard time. The youth was wearing a white shirt, black pants held up by suspenders, boots and an downcast expression that suggested he would rather be anyway else on earth rather than walking to this destination in the company of that woman. He was clearly wearing his 'best' from the wedding. She walked through the door first. He, eyes cast down, shuffled in next to her looking very sheepish.
'Good morning, Deputy Jeavons.' The old lady said politely and bobbed her head. 'This my grandson Walter, he come for his whuppin.' She explained. 'He did that thing with the train, his Daddy whupped him some, but weren't enough. I said it weren't enough. I done whupped Walter lots when he was little. I got a big metal spoon, tanned his behind with it often, but no, my boy, that's his Daddy, done tole me Walter too big for that now.' She was about to gush on.
'Grandma.' The boy said embarrassed, 'hush.' for a moment he smiled dazzlingly, shook his handsome head, and released a gust of golden boyish laughter.
'Sure, I did. We had no backchat then.' She cuffed his handsome head. 'Interrupting folks when they speakin, no britches not ever, never had a quarrel with his britches, just his bare seat. He tried not to holla, particularly when his sisters was watchin, but he'd stay with that spoon slamming his tail until he hollered long and loud – no matter how long it took, he always hollering time I finished with him.' She stopped, very briefly, to breathe. 'Course, they say he too big for that now, 'Ain't right for an old woman to do that'. She was about to continue further and I could sense that my morning would disappear unless I took the initiative.
'Come with me, Walter.' I placed my large hand on his shoulder. The boy flinched, but looked relieved to move forward in our process.
'He gives you any trouble, you be sure to let me know.' I steered a reluctant Walter towards a door that led down to the cells. I unlocked it; he stood in the dim blue light, at the top of a flight of stairs while I re-locked the door.
'Down.' He was anxious to please and descended the stairs rapidly, and then moved hesitantly along the corridor. It was short and forbidding, but only about twenty yards long. On the right were the open cells. Long steel bars from floor to ceiling, behind which a single drunk stared vacantly at the floor. I placed my hand on his head gripping lightly on tight, little curls and tugged him along gently.
'This way,' I steered him to the final cell on the left, it was the largest cell, and I unlocked it.
'In.' I said. He was immobile, as if somebody had nailed his feet to the floor. Eventually, he moved forward with reluctance. We were in a large room with a low ceiling, lit by an iron grating high on the wall.
Walter appeared to be a fine example of masculine youth. His suspenders pulled his trousers up tight between two meaty butt cheeks, which they divided, lifted, and separated into individual mounds of heavenly bouncy muscle. Walter had wide, square shoulders and a narrow, trim waist. I knew at once that he would look very good across the bench.
He stared at the bench, stout wooden legs anchored to the floor, leather straps round the legs at its base, the padded top, and the large, sinister wooden paddle waiting for its next engagement. Walter was its next engagement and Walter knew it. I locked the door. The click of the key sent a shiver down the boy. I turned the lights on.
'Let's have you naked.' He took a moment to respond.
'Necked?' He queried. A look of apprehension crossed his face.
I leaned over him so that my head was close to the boy's. 'You can trust me. I'm a Policeman.'
'I never been necked before for whuppin, necked?' He croaked; his voice little more than a dry rattle.
'I don't think I mumbled, Walter.' I stared at him harshly. 'Hurry up, and you can start calling me 'Sir' anytime you think you might want less of a paddling than you're going get if you don't.' I smiled.
Walter took his opportunity immediately, 'Yes, Sir.'
His eyes were melting brown and wide. He now looked sorry. He was sorry too, and he would be much sorrier by the time I had finished with him.
He bent quickly to take his boots off. He presented a pleasing sight; Walter possessed a tight and glorious pair of buttocks. My heart fluttered and my mouth went dry. He undressed rapidly under my constant and interested gaze. He carefully removed his shirt. He was indeed a 'well-made' boy. Broad shouldered and with good definition across his chest. He averted his eyes when his trousers came down, and then he folded them neatly and placed them on a pile with his shirt. He wore a big pair of baggy white shorts. He took these down without hesitation. That was unusual; most boys hesitate when obliged to show their major assets. Then he folded his shorts neatly and stood to attention with his arms by his side, examining his feet.
'Now,' I said 'Let's see what kind of steaks I've got to pepper here.' I stood behind him and crouched down. His rump was a delightful sight, high, firm, small globes that jutted proudly. They were smooth and the color of plain chocolate. Given Walter's recent dismal and mischievous deed, I thought it would be irresponsible for an adult with jurisdiction over this bottom to allow it to return to liberty without a very thorough 'whupping'. I chuckled to myself as I examined the delicious rump, I would never be so irresponsible! The faint marks of his 'Daddy's' efforts with a swish showed as faint parallel bruise lines across the apex of his bottom. I touched the velvet like skin at the most bruised point. His skin was dark, warm, and slick under my touch. He jolted. I went to the bench and picked up the paddle, testing its hard surface against open palm.
I gave Walter my most aloof of gazes and continued to slap the paddle on my open palm. He swallowed very hard, his face had turned to stone, and his eyes were wide and anxious. He displayed the frightened acquiescence I enjoy seeing in youths about to present their rears for a hard dose of the paddle.
'Messing about on the railway is real dim, Walter.' He shifted and looked uncomfortable, then nodded, and sighed deeply. I think that perhaps he had heard this sentiment expressed several times in recent days.
'Yes, Sir.' his voice sounded brittle, his eyes fixed on the floor.
'If you had an accident out there, who do you think would need to clear up the mess?' I let him think about that concept. 'Who do you think would need to tell your parents?'
'Would that be you, Sir?' I noticed something imploring in his voice. He was shivering and shuffling about.
'That's right, Walter.' I nodded in confirmation and then continued, 'that's why
I'm going to whup the tar out of your behind.' Walter shivered and shook a lot more. I intensified the firmness with which I tapped the paddle on my open palm, the noise grew more threatening, and my palm began to smart.
'I want you across this bench, feet against these legs and your hands gripping this here rail.' I pointed down to a support rail. 'Understand what I'm saying?' Walter managed a faint 'Yes, Sir.'
He also nodded confirmation, his eyes, turned as big as silver dollars, and fixed on the paddle. The paddle was twelve inches long, six inches wide, and half an inch thick. It was hard and heavy. An artisan had drilled holes in the paddle to reduce wind resistance and allow the instrument to travel in a fast arc toward its target. The boy knew it would hurt. He was right; our Sheriff had obtained the paddle from the county jail, where it served with distinction for many years. It had tamed the asses of many 'awkward' adult prisoners. This paddle was an object that had made hardened criminals afraid, and it certainly terrified the nervous, naked youth standing in front me.
'Come forward.' He did, with unsteady steps. He placed himself against the legs of the bench where the straps waited to secure him. He still stood while I buckled the fastenings. I then picked the paddle off the leather-padded top of the bench. His eyes looked at it apprehensively. Our 'Whipping Bench' had no straps for miscreant's wrists. Other ready available Officers would eagerly hold and secure prisoners still while a colleague paddled. Very few Officers, I noted, found such a duty an ordeal.
'Bend.' He did, reaching for the rail. 'Now you keep your hands round that grip, boy. Your hands have no business anywhere near your tail.' I touched the paddle against his rear-end. 'Don't make me get a fellow Officer.' I warned, and then continued, 'They would certainly want a swat or two at your behind for their trouble.' I paused and then added, 'perhaps, more even.'
'No, Sir, I holdin' on right here, Sir.' He said nervously, keen to please and taking every opportunity to do so. Across the bench, he looked excellent, the dark globes stretched tight. I touched the bruises.
'You're Daddy done this?' I asked fingering the beautiful, but damaged curves. 'Yes, sir, He whipped my...' he hesitated, choosing not to say 'ass'; 'bottom on Friday.' It looked a good whipping. Walter's father probably used a switch from an apple tree.
No more talk now, just silence settling into the room like cigarette smoke. Holding the paddle two handed, above my shoulders, I tested the swing to the meekly offered rump. Fine, prefect, I had done this before many times. I crashed the heavy paddle across Walter's pert little seat. A loud 'crack' rang throughout the room. Walter expelled the air from his lungs. Fifteen seconds ticked by on my watch, I swung again. Crack! He was in pain now, he stifled an 'ouch'. I waited again. Walter shuffled his feet a little in his bindings, but was unable to move his rump away from the next blow, Crack! The 'ouch' was audible this time. Fine sheen covered his narrow body, but the room was not hot. Walter's bottom was neat and narrow; the paddle covered the whole rump. Crack!
'Damn.' He hissed quietly and with feeling. He then wriggled. Walter was now living in a world full of hurt. The seconds went by, Crack! The fifth blow. Now he let go a holler, loud, clear, and pitiful. A broad grey stripe dimpled and mottled with overlapping patterns from the holes drilled in the paddle showed across Walter's bad bottom.
'I am taking a rest now, Walter, swatting is hard work.' I announced. 'I want you to be thinking, how bad you've been and how you gonna keep outta trouble from now on. You're older that those other two boys, you're sixteen already. I think you deserve more than them.' Walter released a small groan, but I continued, 'If you sound sincere about how sorry you are and can persuade me you'll keep out of trouble, you only get five more. If not you will be over that bench all morning, and I will keep swinging this paddle and slamming it on your butt like a stallion on a brooding mare. Understand?' I asked.
He came back without hesitation 'Yes, Sir, I'm very sorry, I'll be good, Sir.' He assured me. Walter's voice was high and cracked and contained every ounce of sincerity that a youth with a very sore bottom, who does not want it to get too much sorer, can muster. That was a lot of sincerity! He retained his position, bent deeply over the bench. His dark and bruised rump remained offered for further correction as he thought hard for some good answers.
Crack! The sixth, Walter had sensed it was coming, and he now flinched before every stroke. This was one sorry boy. The seventh stroke arrived, hard and heavy across his badly bruised rump.
'Man, my ass is on fire.' He groaned unhappily, forgetting his earlier injunction on the word 'ass'. As he waited for the eighth blow and he yelled very loudly.
'Please, Sir, I'll be good. I'm sure I'll be good from now on. Please!'
I thrashed the eighth stroke against his quivering buttock cheeks.
Crack! I lashed a merciless ninth swat. Walter shot up over the table and he was about to console his burning rear-end, which now had a rosy tint where the fine capillaries beneath the skin had been ruptured by the relentless pummeling from the paddle. Slowly, he settled back down for the last of his punishment. I always try to make the last one 'special'. I delivered a particularly fast swing generated by a full swivel of my hips to make Walter's final whack an exceptional one. The youth hollered loudly and collapsed further over the bench. Walter's bottom boasted a broad grey stripe across the apex where were the paddle had visited repeatedly. Lots of the 'tar' color had gone and I had peppered his steaks thoroughly.
I fetched him some water and made him stand, his ankles still shackled. He looked withered and shrunken. Walter drank greedily, sweat ran down his face, and his eyes were large, dark brown and moist. He persuaded me that he was very regretful about the incident. His face and voice both expressed great sorrow. He promised he would not be back because he had lots of yard work to do for his neighbours. He liked yard work, he announced to my surprise. I said he could do mine, and Walter agreed to visit and work every other Friday. He was good; but his first yard job was to cut a 'Walter whuppin' length of switch from my apple tree, just in case he was careless. I kept a close eye on him over the years, he never got into trouble again, but he was careless sometimes.

My Uncles

MyUncles

By Eric

I have two Uncles.....Uncle Calvin and Uncle Ray. They were my dads brothers. I got along aiight with them until recently. My dad had to go away for a few days and told me I had to go stay with them until he got back.....I argued with him and said I was 16 now I can handle myself for a few days...com'on dad...please? He stood there thinking for a few minuets and said.....ok Sean...but I’m gonna have your uncles check in on you and I gave them permission to take care of you if needed. I knew exactly what that meant but I tried to play it off. Aiight dad thanks. I was hyped ...yeah man I thought to myself.....got the place to myself! Be home by 10 and no visitor at all....understood? Yeah dad...no probs....If I get any bad reports on you you behind is mine! A almost laughed out loud when he said that because he had not spanked me in a long time but when I saw he wasn’t kidding I said I’ll be good dad. Ok Sean I’ll be leaving pretty early so I won’t see ya until I get back.....we hugged and he gave me a playful slap on the behind...night son....night dad! My uncle Ray called me the next morning to check on me....we chatted for a few minutes and he told me they would be over tonight. Aiight uncle Ray...see you then. My uncles were around quite abit ....they only lived a few blocks away. When my dad told me that they would take care of any problems he meant that they were allowed to whup my butt.....Damn I thought .....I gotta try to avoid that if I can. For some reason over the years my Uncles would just happen to be around when I was getting my butt tore up! They have witnessed me getting my bare ass spanked many time and even done it themselves once. I think they had some kind of obsession with my behind! They came over later that night and we had some pizza and watched a movie. They had a few beers ...I tried to talk them into to giving me some but they wouldn't. My uncles started getting pretty loud as they always do when they drink....I was getting mad and told them to be quiet because I couldn't hear the movie and then I finally just told them to shut up! Oh shit I thought to myself.....I got up to go to the bathroom and I heard uncle Ray say....did he just tell us to shut up? Cal looked back at him and said yeah man....what you gonna do about that? I think that boy needs some attitude adjusting......when he comes back I’m gonna whup that big behind of his! I was in the bathroom cussing at myself for what just happened. I’m gonna just go out there and go on up to bed like nothing happened. I came out of the bathroom and headed up the stairs hollering goodnight to my uncles on my way..... “Sean” I heard Uncle Ray call.......Damn I thought......I came back down the steps into the living room......My uncle was standing there with his belt out of his pants holding it. I just started apologizing right away...Yo uncle Ray I’m sorry and I won’t ... He stopped me and told me that I was gonna get a good whuppin for that and there was nothing I could do to stop it. He told me that my dad has been to lite on me lately and you need this. Sean get those pants and drawz down and don’t make me tell you twice....I knew arguing would just make it worse so I just did what they wanted. I pulled them down just below my ass and stood there waiting.....Up against the wall boy! I stood there waiting with my ass on display.....I told myself that I would just take it and not even make a sound. Well after about the tenth smack of the belt I started to really hurt! I think this made my uncle even more mad because he was really laying into my butt bad! Ahhhh...I finally yelled...whap , whap, Smack! I kept pressing myself into the wall trying to escape but that wasn’t working to well....Ahhhh....please I’m sorry...well So much for my plan! Then Uncle Ray stopped....tears were running down my face as I reached down for my pants. Whoa there Sean....it’s not over...Cal, your turn! He handed the belt to his brother....No way...cmon Uncle Ray...I’ve had enough....my ass is hurting bigtime...No.....!
Whap.......Ahhh....I reached back but he just pulled my arm out of the way and whupped me 20 more times before he was done. I was crying like a little baby rubbing my sore ass all the way to my room. I just wanted to forget the whole night. I got up the next morning....My ass was still sore and would be for a day or two....I went downstairs but no one was there....my uncles must have left last night. I was hoping to keep the events of last night to myself so my dad won’t give my ass another whuppin but I spoke to soon....later that day my dad called to say he would be home tomorrow....ok kewl dad. I spoke to your Uncles this morning (Oh Shit) Look dad it’s not that big a deal.....Sean..they said you were being disrespectful to them....but dad they were a little drunk and being loud so I told them to shut up. Sean when I get home were gonna have a long talk.....Dad they already did...so you don’t have to! No Sean You know how I’m gonna take care of this so be prepared. His dad hung up the phone and thought about having to give his boy a good whuppin when he got home.....and he also thought about the other two whuppins he was gonna give to his two younger brothers for drinking and getting drunk when they were supposed to be watching out for his son. Maybe I’ll whup them all together......just a thought.

Sexy Spankin