Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. My stepmother has a sort of half smile on her pale beautiful face. She is sitting on the sofa, one small, perfectly manicured hand holds a cigarette, the other is folded neatly in her lap. The room is quiet, although the old lady next door has the radio on and you can hear it faintly through the paper thin walls. "Do you know what happens to naughty boys?" she asks me as she stubs out her cigarette. I am nearly ten years old and of course I know all too well what happens to naughty boys but I have to pretend I have no idea. I shake my head, as if deeply puzzled. The question has caused my chest to tighten, my pulse to race and my skin to blush. It also deprives me of the power of speech, temporarily at least. She is gazing at me as if she is seeing me for the first time. Her hand strokes my blonde straight hair, her touch is so smooth it is like being touched by silk. Gently she takes me by the arm and brings me to stand a little closer. She smells strongly of the expensive soap she always uses and the cigarette she has just finished smoking. A hand now rests in the small of my back, and then it glides easily down to the swell of my cheeks. I am wearing a pair of blue cotton shorts that I have outgrown. She always tells me that I have a bottom just perfect for spanking. Then she smacks me though it is more a hard pat on the bottom than a proper smack. I am leaning against her thigh not quite over her lap but with my behind at a suitable angle for a good hard spanking. Again the flat of her hand hits me, a little harder this time. It makes a sharp smacking sound which for some reason causes me to smile. We are both of us laughing. I can see the lucky gap in her teeth. We are both caught for all eternity in this single moment of time. She hugs me, tenderly. I am in her thin bare arms listening to her silver bracelets rattle. I am now her willing prisoner, forever. I can smell the perfume on her dark, smooth hair, her red lips are so close to my ear it makes me shiver. "Get over my lap you bad, bad boy," she instructs. Suddenly she looks as if she is really cross. Although I know she is only playing with me. I want her to hit me really hard this time, to show me no mercy. I told her that the last time we played this game. I want a proper thrashing, a good old fashioned hiding I said. I wish she had a thick leather strap or a thin cane to beat me with. I am lying on her lap, my bottom uppermost. I know I am going to be properly punished and by the end I shall probably be in tears. I am according to my stepmother a pretty boy. Pretty boys are in her opinion like little girls and they cry much too easily. She is undoing the button on my shorts with her slender, agile fingers. My shorts now rest above my knees. She pulls at the elastic of my white underpants. She is a no nonsense young woman who knows just how to deal with naughty little boys like me. This poor boy really has got it coming. The underpants are tugged downwards leaving my bottom bare and inviting. "I will teach you to behave. Oh yes I will young man. A bare bottom spanking is what you need. And that is only the first part of your punishment." My ears prick up. It is as if an extra Christmas treat has just been announced. The first smack lands as I ask, "What is the next part of my punishment?" There is no answer to my question, unless you count the next stinging slap that makes me scream out in pain. It is a very loud scream. My head goes back and I scream with nothing held back. I can't believe how much that hurt. It is as if some angry spirit possesses her and she smacks me much harder than she has ever done before. I am soon crying like a baby, big fat tears trickle down my face. I am pleading for mercy. I struggle but she is much too strong. She enjoys inflicting pain and I know she is smiling although I cannot see her face. The sofa creaks as I writhe in agony on her lap. I am getting what I asked for. Perhaps a little more than I asked for. SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK "Please stop. Please!" I am begging her to stop. In future I want only gentle spankings. She grips me tightly as if she will squeeze all the badness out of me. I am caught in her arms like a moth caught in the flame. Sobbing now against her hard muscular shoulder. My face wet with tears. She lifts me as if I am a babe in arms. I am naked except for my shorts and pants still caught around my knees. I am locked into her heart. I know she loves me and she only punishes me because it is good for me. Good for my soul. Ten minutes later she has dried my tears. I have pulled up my underpants and shorts. I look up at my stepmother. She smiles. "I am your stepmother. You have to do as you are told. Or else!" she says. I nod leaning against her. I feel a fluttering tenderness in my heart for this woman. She is the mother I never really had. "Now go over to the drawer and you will find something you are badly in need of," I walk over to the drawer. I feel light headed, as if I am intoxicated with love for my stepmother. In the drawer is a thin brown cane. There is nothing else in the drawer, just the cane. I can see this will always be its home and it will be taken out whenever it is needed. I am bending over the arm of the brown leather sofa in the lounge. I am wearing only a pair of thin blue cotton shorts. So tightly stretched over my well rounded bottom as I wait for the hard caning I so richly deserve. Twelve of the best. Twelve of the very best for a very naughty boy. I have been promised a caning I will never forget. Something I will always remember. My stepmother twists the thin cane in her hand. She is smiling as she taps the cane against my bottom. Taking aim, I know this is for my own good and I am grateful that my stepmother loves me enough to cane me really hard. The cane bites. It seems to bounce off my bottom as if my buttocks are made of rubber. I scream. My head jerks back and I scream like a little girl. I clutch at my behind with both hands. "Move your hands now or I will take your shorts down and you will get the cane on your bare bottom," she warns me. My shoulders shake with sobs. Again the cane cracks across my behind. It is by far the most painful thing I have ever endured. Somehow I grip the arm of the sofa as if it is a life raft tossed on giant waves. The leather feels damp next to my skin. The cane swishes through the air and lands with mathematical precision in the exact centre of my bottom. It is like I am part of some mechanical process. First a swishing noise, followed by a small explosion, then a scream followed by sobbing. Then the process is repeated, the only difference is the noises become steadily louder until I am deafened by the sound of my own screaming. Eventually, when I have received all twelve strokes my stepmother returns the cane to its drawer. She sits down beside me as I sob my heart out. All that crying over a caning that wasn't hard at all. She cradles me in her arms and for the second time that day takes down my shorts. I look into the big round mirror. My bottom has several pink stripes on it and looks a little sore. One of the pink lines has turned red but it is less bruised than I thought. My stepmother shakes her head. "All that fuss. All that fuss," she says laughing, brushing her hands through my hair.