The Curious Case of Benjamin's Buttocks
Benjamin Button was, in general, a well-behaved boy. The odd scrape here and there had occasionally landed him in hot water, but as a rule, these events were few and far between. His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Button, were firm but fair in the uncommon event of a youthful misdemeanor. Only very rarely did the Button boy's behavior merit a slap on the wrist, smack on the rump, or a "time out". When occasion merited it, one or other of the Buttons would give a firm, sharp smack to the seat of young Benjy's trousers, accompanied by a verbal admonishment. Up to the age of 13, Benjamin's behavior never required any more drastic measures.
However, all of this changed when young Ben turned 14. He started "hanging with the wrong crowd", as his father liked to put it. He ignored the curfew that his adoring parents had lovingly imposed. He started shrugging off all forms of conversation that his doting parents initiated. In general, he was "just getting a bit too big for his britches", as Mrs. Button noted.
One evening, when Benjamin had broken curfew for the fourth time in a week, Mr. Button decided to put a stop to it. He decided to nip it in the bud while he still could, before the negative influence of his hooligan peers forever altered Benjamin's characteristic benevolence.
As the front door creaked open, twenty five minutes after young Benjy was due to be home, Mr. and Mrs. Button rose from their living room sofa and walked immediately to the entry way. Ben sheepishly poked his head into the head, looking to see if the coast was clear. A frightening vision meet his eyes: his mother with her arms crossed over her chest and his father, who was unbuckling his black leather belt and pulling it out of the belt loops of his trousers.
"Benjamin!" Mr. Button's tone indicated he meant business. "Get upstairs this minute. You're in for a thorough spanking."
Ben dejectedly made his way upstairs, dreading the impending encounter with his father's belt. He had never been spanked with a belt before, but he had heard plenty of horror stories from the boys at school about their experiences with paternal discipline.
Mr. Button followed Benjamin up the stairs, staring intently at his son's soon to be punished backside. It looked pert and round in the khaki trousers that the Buttons had purchased for their son. The trousers would offer little protection from the stinging swats of the belt.
Once they reached Benjy's room, Mr. Button closed the door behind them.
"Now, Benjamin, I've never whipped you with my belt before," Mr. Button started, "but your behavior this week has more than warranted it. Four times you've broken curfew and, what's more, you've been exceptionally rude to your Mother and me all week. I want you to know that this behavior will not be tolerated in the Button home."
"Yes, sir," Ben replied, cowering.
"Now bring the chair from your desk into the middle of the room and bend over the back of it," Mr. Button commanded.
Benjamin obeyed. The chair was placed in the middle of the room, and young Ben walked around behind it, bent over the back and placed his hands on the seat.
Unused to dishing out corporal punishment of this magnitude, Mr. Button swung the belt through the air a few times, to get a feeling for it (as his own father had done, he recalled). As he did so, he eyed his adolescent son's bent and proffered posterior.
What a mix of emotions then swam through young Benjamin's head! Fear of the impending licking, shame at disappointing his parents, anger at his friends for talking him into breaking the rules, and also an odd excitement to finally be grown-up enough to earn a real belt-whipping.
Crack! The first stinging lick ended his reverie. His father had swung a menacing blow that landed with a gun-shot crack right on his sit-upon. Ben inhaled sharply, in pain and surprise. After a brief pause, Mr. Button issued the second lick, this time aiming slightly lower, for the part of his son's bottom where thigh met buttock.
"Ow," Ben muttered beneath his breath.
"Good," thought Mr. Button, "this is having the desired affect. A few more should do the trick."
Whack! A third resounding swat landed on Benjy's upturned backside. Tears sprung into Benjy's eyes. This was more painful than he had imagined.
WHACK! Mr. Button had decided to make the last blow really count. He began putting his belt back around his waist as he lectured his son, " Now, Benjamin, I will not hesitate to give you more of the same if your behavior warrants it. If you break curfew again, we'll have a repeat performance…but next time, on a bare bottom. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," Ben intoned, biting back tears. He stood slowly and massaged his rear. "Dad, I'm sorry."
"Forgiven and forgotten," His father said, buckling his belt. "I didn't like that any more than you did, son."
Ben forced a smile as he began to move the chair back to its accustomed place near the desk.
"Now take a bath and get to bed. It's late, as you know." With that, Mr. Button returned downstairs to his wife. She had thoughtfully prepared him a strong drink to sooth his upset nerves. He had meant what he said about not enjoying delivering the whipping.
"Is he alright?" Mrs. Button inquired.
"He'll be fine. He won't be sitting comfortably for a day or so, but he'll be fine. He even apologized for his behavior of late." Mr. Button informed.
"Do you think we made the right choice? Was a spanking absolutely necessary?" Mrs. Button wondered.
"Yes, dear. I believe it was," Mr. Button declared decisively.
Meanwhile, upstairs, young Ben was getting undressed for his bath. He had heard many stories of his friends' reddened and welted post-spanking bottoms (and sometimes seen the evidence himself) and he was anxious to see his own red badge of honor. He turned his back to the full length mirror as he dropped his trousers just below his bottom. In spite of the pain emanating from his freshly whipped rump, his buttocks looked absolutely pristine and white. In fact, they looked as if they had never been spanked.
"How odd," Ben muttered. "I've just received four rather sharp whacks with a belt, and I don't even have a mark to show for it. The lads at school will never believe me if I tell them I've been whipped. They'll demand to see my buttocks, and they aren't the least bit red."
Ben shrugged off his clothes and jumped into the bath.
"How very odd indeed!" he thought.
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Mr. Button proved to be exactly right. The spanking he'd delivered that night had produced the desired effect. Benjamin's behavior showed a marked improvement in the weeks following his chastisement. In fact, Benjamin continued to be a good boy for the next few years. He observed his curfew and treated his folks with respect and courtesy at all times. He had not forgotten his father's warning about a spanking on his bare behind, an event he certainly wanted to avoid.
However, as the years went by, Ben memory of the painful belt-spanking faded with time. Upon turning 16, Ben passed his driving test and began to take his friends out for a spin in his father's car. On one such night, Ben's friends convinced him to drive them around town so they could moon unsuspecting passers-by. Ben was quite amused by the thought. He drove around town and every so often one of his friends would stick his bare posterior out of the window to shock a passing stranger.
After doing this for about and hour, the youths tired of their prank and Ben drove his friends home. Upon walking in the front door, Ben was greeted, for the second time in his life, with a foreboding sight. His mother stood, statuesque and stern, with her arms folded over her breast. His father loosened his belt.
"We had a call from the Sherriff, Benjamin," Mr. Button began. Ben's heart sank.
"He told us that my car had been spotted by a number of people around town," Mr. Button continued. "Do you know what he told me they all said?"
"Yes, sir," Ben started. "He probably told you that John and Peter were mooning people."
"He said that young men were hanging their bare buttocks out of my car window and laughing uproariously all the while. What do you have to say for yourself?"
By now the belt was off and Mr. Button was snapping it for emphasis.
"I'm sorry, sir. John and Peter thought it'd be funny."
"Well, it's not funny," Mrs. Button interjected. "It's rude and disrespectful. And furthermore, it's earned you a sound whipping."
"Young man, did you reveal your own bottom or was it just your friends?" Mr. Button demanded.
"It was just the boys, not me. I was driving." Ben explained.
"Well, you certainly shall be baring it for me tonight. Go upstairs now and prepare to have your bare bottom soundly thrashed. I expect to find you bent over the chair, with your pants and underwear down, when I come up. First, I need to make a few phone calls to Peter and John's fathers. Up!"
Ben ran upstairs, immediately regretted his candor. "Why was I foolish enough to name Peter and John? Now their in for a whipping too. It's all my fault."
Upon reaching his room, Ben's empathetic feelings dissolved as the reality of his predicament hit home. He was about to have his bare fanny whipped by his father. He, a 16 year old boy, was about to get his bare tail spanked. "How humiliating! I'm sure this'll be much more painful than the last time."
Ben paced the room. "Maybe he could convince his father to do it over his white underpants. That would save some of the humiliation and alleviate some of the pain. No," he thought, "father was adamant. He said I would certainly be baring my bottom for him. He warned me in the past what would happen in clear terms. A bare bottom spanking. There's no way out. I'll just have to grin and bear it."
Ben dragged the chair into the middle of the room, recalling the whipping of two years prior. He unbuckled his own belt, unbuttoned his trousers and in one fell swoop pushed his pants and undies well past his knees. He felt uncomfortably exposed as he knelt forward and placed his hands on the part of the chair were he was accustomed to placing his behind.
Not a moment passed before he heard his door handle turning. "I must look a sight," Ben thought, "my bottom bare and bent over a chair. Golly."
He heard his father take in a sharp inhalation of breath.
"Benjamin!! Who has done this to you?" Mr. Button demanded.
Ben craned his neck , looking past his own upturned behind and looked his father in the eye.
"Whatever do you mean, father? You asked me to be bent over and bare when you arrived."
"But, Benjamin, who has spanked you?" His father asked, his face as white as a sheet.
"Why, you are about to spank me yourself. That's why you've got that belt in your hand, Dad."
"But, Benjamin, your bottom is all red and laced with welts. Did you get into trouble at school?"
"No, Father. What do you mean?"
"Look at your backside and tell me you have not been thrashed!"
Ben moved in front of his full-length mirror and looked at his buttocks. It was true. They looked as if they had been thoroughly thrashed. They were a deep red, and clear welts laced their way across exposed inch of his rear.
"Have you already had a spanking today, son? What are you keeping from me?"
"No, sir. I haven't had a spanking in nearly two years."
"Then explain this," Mr. Button demanding pointing a finger at the bruised butt cheeks.
"I can't explain it. It's very odd indeed," Ben offered.
"Benjamin, you're lying to me. You've clearly been punished for some schoolboy prank and you are too ashamed to tell me of your recent folly. What did you do to earn this whipping?"
"Father, I swear, I haven't been spanked today. I don't know why my rear end looks like this. I have done nothing but sit on it all day. I promise."
"Benjamin, you know your mother and I cannot abide lying. I shall give you three whippings tonight. One for doing something to earn a licking at school, one for lying and one for your earlier bare bottom antics. Aha! Were you and your friends showing off your recently punished backsides as a badge of honor? Is that what prompted the display of your bare rears?"
"No, father. To my knowledge, Peter and John were not punished today. Their bottoms were as white as the winter snow. Believe me. Or better yet, ask their father's. I'm sure their fathers will have a good chance to view them tonight after those calls you've made."
"Hey, cut out the attitude, young man. I don't know what to believe, Benjamin. All I know is your getting a whipping tonight. I realise that you hindquarters may be sore at the moment due to a recent spanking, but that is no reason for me to ignore you flagrant disregard for decorum today."
"My rear isn't sore at all, father. I assure you. I can't explain why my rear looks that way, but it doesn't feel sore."
"Another bold-faced lie. I'm surprised you were even able to sit down in the car with a rump like that. Well, it's going to get a lot worse before it gets any better. Bend over that chair, Benjamin."
Ben reluctantly bent over. His father lifted the belt and let fly a terrific swing.
Ben sucked in air sharply between his teeth, shocked at how much a belt could sting when applied to a bear derriere. Again and again, his father struck true. He decided not rest until every inch of his son's behind had been kissed by his belt.
After about ten swats, Mr. Button noticed something funny. The underside of his son's bottom had gone white again. As if he had never had a red splotch there at all. Mr. Button shook his head in confusion. "I could've sworn there was a belt-mark there previously," he thought. "Nevermind."
He continued administering his son's correction, but an odd thing was happening. Each belt whack seemed to remove a welt from his son's backside. Miraculously, the belt would land on a pre-existing welt with each blow and erase it completely. Benjamin's buttocks were getting whiter and whiter with each blow.
"What in God's name is going on?" Mr. Button muttered.
Benjamin looked up, with tears glistening in his eyes.
"Look at your buns in the mirror, son."
"No thank you, I'm sure they're positively awful now. They're very sore, sir."
"Benjamin, I said look at your buns," A hint of wonder in his father's voice lead Ben to waddle painfuly to the mirror. Upon turning around he discovered that his buttocks looked much better than they did before. In fact there were only two or three welts on it this time, in spite of the countless whacks his father had administered.
"It's a wonder," Mr. Button exclaimed. "Your buttocks are getting better, not worse."
"Is my spanking over, sir? May I pull up my pants?"
"No you may not, you still got a few whacks to go…and that's just the first whipping I promised you. Assume the position."
Ben reluctantly bent back over the chair. His father applied three more solid whacks with the belt.
"It's extraordinary!" Mr. Button began. "Not a mark in sight. After that incredibly whipping, your bottom is as white as that of a newborn babe. Incredible!"
Ben looked in the mirror and saw that this was true. In spite of the throbbing pain in his rump, his bottom showed no visible signs of his beating. It all seemed backward. A red, welted bottom before a beating and a white unmarked one after. It was very odd indeed!
"You didn't lie," Mr. Button realized. "All the while you were telling the truth. Your buttocks are very curious, Benjamin."