THE SHOPLIFTER
By Christopher Bottoms
The two boys worked hard and fast to unlock the bicycle. Their
fervent efforts betrayed their apparent innocence. It was
impossible to ignore the well worn, poorly concealed plastic bag the
smaller boy had stuffed into the front of his shorts. He attempted
to conceal it with his tank top, but succeeded only in accentuating
the well rounded buns which filled his print shorts. His ruse
produced a modicum of success. A disturbed looking man with a tie,
apparently the store manager, emerged from the store, looked quickly
about, and re-entered the store, disgusted. With both boys bending
forward, there was nothing to see but two teenage moons--no faces;
no merchandise.
The second boy was about a year older than the first, maybe 15.
Like his friend, he was clad in print shorts and a tank top. Bent
over working on the lock, it was easy to see that his derriere was
delineated by a jockstrap worn in lieu of briefs or boxers. Both
boys had close cropped hair, with the ends lightened either by the
sun or weak peroxide. They seemed upset that the lock wasn't
opening.
The smaller boy leaped to his feet when a firm hand grasped his
shoulder. The bag fell to the asphalt as he stood up. As the bag
fell, the bicycle lock clicked open. His friend, unaware of what
was happening, triumphantly announced the opening of the lock.
Still preoccupied removing the chain, he suggested the obvious
course of action. "Let's haul ass." An unfamiliar voice boomed,
"Yes. Haul it into my office." As the older boy stood up, a
horrified look consumed his countenance. The store manager and a
younger clerk, perhaps 19, towered over the terrified duo.
Silently, the manager motioned to the bag. The clerk picked it up
as ordered. The manager grabbed each boy by the nape of the neck,
escorting them through the store. He stopped momentarily at a
windowless door, extracted a huge ring of keys from his left pocket,
and opened the door. The smaller boy was rubbing his sunburned neck
where the manager had grabbed him. His friend stood motionless,
trying unsuccessfully to suppress tears.
The door was held open, and the clerk, the two boys, and finally the
manager entered. It was a large room, littered with cardboard
boxes, old display racks, and hangers. In one corner was a
makeshift office with a large desk, a few old chairs, and a file
cabinet. The walls of the office corner were surrounded by college
memorobilia, apparently belonging to the manager. Photos of several
athletic teams, a college pennant, and the manager's degree of phys
ed adorned the wall behind the desk. A college calendar was on the
wall perpendicular to it, along with a fraternity paddle hanging
from a nail. The paddle bore three greek letters, and quite a few
signatures. It seemed in keeping with the decor of the office, and
was not noticed by the two young boys.
The clerk took the bag confiscated from the boys, and handed it to
the manager. The manager noted the presence of a competitors logo,
remarking "This bag didn't come from our store." He removed a pair
of black bicycle shorts adorned with a red stripe, and checked the
price tag. "But these shorts came from our store," he continued.
"I don't suppose you have a receipt?"
2
The older boy was shaking, and a tear streamed down his face. The
smaller boy remained stoic. He was in control, he boasted to
himself. He'd done this before. In fact, he got an apology from
the manager of one store! He spoke with arrogant confidence.
"Those shorts were a birthday present I brought to exchange, but you
didn't have my size." The manager glanced at the clerk. "Did he
have those shorts when he came in the store?" The clerk shook his
head, indicating a negative response. "I don't know what he thought
he saw or didn't see," said the smaller boy, "but I brought those
shorts into the store. Your clerk musn't have noticed the bag when
we came in."
"I see," said the manager. "When is your birthday, and what size
shorts do you wear?" The boy became flustered. "Uh, my birthday
was, uh, last week. Yeh. Last Tuesday." "Let's see," said the
manager. "Your birthday was the 10th?" "Yes, the 10th," replied
the boy, apparently relieved. "But the 10th was Thursday," said the
manager. "Which is it?" "Uh, Tuesday," muttered the boy, trying to
think fast. He knew he was being had. "And what size shorts do you
wear?" The boy was turning red. His friend was still sobbing.
Realizing this was his last chance to talk himself out of the
situation, he knew the size he gave better not be the size of the
black shorts. "I wear a boy's size 16," he said. The manager
glanced at the shorts, noting a size 14. "What size are the short's
you're wearing now?" asked the manager. "I said I wore a size 16,"
replied the boy, again with arrogance in his inflection. The
manager turned to the clerk, "Check!" he ordered.
The clerk sheepishly approached the smaller boy, who bolted for the
door. It was locked. "Hey! You perverts aren't going to get my
pants off!" "We're just going to check the size on thew waistband,"
said the manager. "Or would you rather the police check? They'll
strip search you. Is that what you prefer?" The smaller boy stood
still, helpless, as the clerk folded the elastic band just enough to
see the incriminating tag. "14," said the clerk.
The manager stood, placing both hands on his desk. The larger boy
couldn't take it any longer. "Tell him you took them!" he
bellowed. "It's no use. Let's get this over with. Tell him you
took them!" "Well," said the manager, "at least your friend has a
conscience. Normally, the first time, we call your parents and
leave you with a warning. The second time we call the police."
"Now look what you've done!" howled the older boy. "He's going to
call our parents. You know what that means. We're gonna get
whipped." The smaller boy knew this was true. Last year the boys
cut school, and when he got home his father was waiting, strap in
hand. He'll never forget that day. His dad never said a word other
than "march" as they headed for the basement, and "drop 'em" as he
approached the sawhorse. He took 50 licks with that belt, and the
welts lasted the better part of two weeks. Everyone in gym class
knew what happened, compounding his humiliation. His friend
suffered a similar fate with his mother and the paddle. His parents
were divorced, and his mother was a strict disciplinarian. She
didn't take him to the basement or use a strap, but she sure gave
him something to remember when she ordered him to drop his pants,
get across her lap, and laid into his tail with her "board of
education." He took a pillow to school the next day.
3
The voice of the manager broke the recollection. "I'm going to call
your parents and let you go," he said, pointing to the older boy.
"At least you didn't lie to me. You were a part of this and deserve
to be punished," he continued, "but your friend is a thief and a
liar. I'm going to call the police and have him arrested." Both
boys were terror stricken. "Well," bellowed the manager, "what's
your parent's phone number?" He was looking at the older boy.
"Please sir, don't have my friend arrested. He'll never do this
again." "I'm sure he won't," said the manager. "He'll be strip
searched, fingerprinted, and sent to Juvenile Hall until his father
comes for him. And I can tell you what would happen if a boy of
mine got arrested. He'd be grounded for a year, lose his bicycle,
and no TV. And he sure wouldn't be doing much sitting down,
either!"
The smaller boy was no longer sullen. "Please, sir," he told the
manager. "I'll pay for the shorts." "That's not the point," said
the manager. You stole, you lied. And you think now that you're
caught, you can buy your way out. You don't deserve a break. You
deserve a visit to Juvenile Hall and a damn good whipping."
At this point, the clerk spoke up. "Sir, I know this is none of my
business, but maybe we could handle this here." The manager shook
his head. "No. We'll let the big one go with a warning and a call
to his folks, but the small one, I suspect, has stolen before."
"But sir," continued the clerk, "a police record would just make
things worse. With a record, he won't be able to get a job, and
without a job, he'll steal more. What he needs is a good lesson,
not a trip to jail." "We can't let these things go," said the
manager. "Do you know how many millions of dollars are lost through
shoplifting? What do you propose we do?"
"Well," said the clerk, "remember last year when I was late to work
three days in a row?" "Sure do," replied the manager. "I called
you in to fire you." "That's right," said the clerk, "but you
didn't. You taught me a lesson, and I've never been late again.
And I'm your top salesman. I never forgot what you taught me, and
now I'm one of your best employees."
The manager shook his head, sat down, and massaged his jowls. "OK
boys. Listen up, because this is a one time offer. "How old are
you?" he asked the taller boy. "Fifteen, sir." "And you?" he asked
the smaller one. "Fourteen." "You have a choice," said the manager
to the older boy. "Since you told the truth and were just an
accessory, I will either call your parents, or you can take a
paddling right here. You'll get fifteen hard licks. But if you
take them without resisting, I won't call anyone and this incident
will be forgotton."
"Thank you, sir," replied the boy. "Well which will it be, boy.
You call it." The boy didn't have to think. His mom would ground
him, take away his bike, and give him at least 50 licks with her
paddle. "I'll let you handle it, sir." "Handle what, boy? I'm not
a mind reader, and I'm losing my patience." "I'll take the paddling
from you, sir," said the boy sheepishly.
4
The manager got up, and took the fraternity paddle from its peg.
It was the geniuine article, made of laminated hardwood, and a good
3/8 inch thick. The older boy was nervous, but no longer crying.
He could see light at the end of the tunnel. His mother will never
know. A couple quick stings and it will be all over. The manager
motioned toward his desk with the paddle. "Now you're to take this
paddling like man. No moving around. No resistance. No reaching
back with your hand. Understand?" The boy nodded silently and
slowly approached the desk. He waited with anticipation. "What are
you waiting for, boy? Is this your first spanking? Bend over that
desk! Get to it!" The boy had always been spanked over his
mother's lap. This was new to him, but he said nothing and assumed
the position as ordered.
His bottom was a tempting target. He was growing out of those print
shorts, and his jockstrap perfectly outlined the area of interest.
It was obvious to all that those thin shorts were his only
protection. The manager seemed enthusiastic about the task at hand,
and took a few aiming swings, reminiscent of Casey at the bat.
Then, when least expected, wood bit bottom with a report that
sounded like a pistol shot. SSMMMAAAAAACCKKK! The boy quivered as
the clerk reached to hold down his wrists and whispered, "Just hold
still and take it. In five minutes it will be all over. Hang in
there." The manager was oblivious to the conversation, and
delivered the second lick with the same fervor. SSMMMAAAACCCKKK!
The report resonated through the room. The next three were
delivered in rapid succession. WWWHHHAAAACK!!! WWWHHHAAAACK!
WWWHHHAAAACK!
The pain in the boy's bottom was mounting. This hurt more than 20
licks with mom's "board of education." But he remembered the
promise of the clerk that it would be over in five minutes. "I can
take anything for five minutes," he assurred himself silently. "Ten
more to go." SSSSMMMMAAACCKK! SSSSMMMAAAACCCKK! SSSMMMAAACCCCKK!
Three more in rapid succession. Instead of just a lancinating
sting, his ass was starting to burn, and he could feel tiny blisters
forming on his smooth, hairless skin. He wondered if they were
visible through his thin shorts.
There was a brief interruption in the bursts of pain. "Hmm,"
thought the boy. "Is he taking a break?" He mentally congratulated
himself making it past the halfway point. His ass never burned like
this before, but it would be over soon. "I don't want to have to do
this again," said the manager. "No, sir," said the boy. "I want
you to remember this when your friends try to get you to go along
with something you know is wrong." At that, he suddenly pulled down
the boy's shorts. The boy wasn't expecting this, and tried to get
up. The clerk squeezed his wrists and whispered, "Don't move.
Don't piss him off. He could still call the cops, and you'll have
taken a beating for nothing."
5
Strange sensations danced around the boy's bun cheeks. There was a
deep throbbing, a superficial burning, and the feeling of the tiny
blisters forming. These sensations were all mediated by the cool
breeze of the nearby air conditioning vent. The smaller boy was
horrified by the appearance of his friend's beaten ass, but realized
that it was far better than the strapping he got from his dad. The
smaller boy assumed the same punishment would befall him, and was
both frightened and relieved. Any licking was better than Juvenile
Hall!
Suddenly the silence was again broken by the sharp report of the
paddle. Undampened by the shorts, the sound increased in both pitch
and intensity. SSSSMMMMAAAACCCKK! SSSSMMMMAAAACCCCKKK!
SSSSMMMAACCCKKK! The pain was now shooting through his derriere
into his crotch. SSSSMMMMAAAAACCCKK! SSSMMMMAACCCKK!
SSSMMMAAACCCKK! The boy never knew anything could hurt this much.
But there was only one more to go. What was the manager waiting
for? Finally it came. The manager put his body into the final blow-
-he wanted it to count. WWWWWWWWWHHHHHHHHAAAAAAACCCCCKKKKK! The
boy jumped up, uncontrollably. The clerk had released his hands.
Noticing a slight erection, the boy quickly pulled up his shorts.
Not realizing the extent of the tenderness of his bottom, he gasped
and winced as the shorts were replaced. The redness could be seen
through the shorts, as well as the little round blister spots. The
boy was prancing back and forth, massaging his tush in a futile
effort to minimize the pain.
"Now get out of here," bellowed the manager. "And don't come back
to this store." "BBBut, what about..." he asked, motioning to his
friend. "You'd better stay away from him--he's trouble. Now get
out before I change my mind and call the cops!" The clerk unlocked
the door, let the spanked boy out, and re-locked the door. The
manager, sweating, wiped his brow with a kleenex, and laid the
paddle on his desk.
The smaller boy knew he was next, and silently got into position,
bent over the desk. He knew the position well. "This isn't so
bad," he thought. "Fifteen swats and it's over. And I'm used to
the strap. The paddle will be easy to take." "From your position,
you obviously think that I'm going to offer you the same deal," said
the manager. "Well, I'm not." "Please, sir," pleaded the boy in an
uncharacteristically submissive tone, "please don't call the cops."
"Tell you what, boy. If you take a paddling from me, I won't call
the cops, but I will call your parents." "BBBuuttt..." bellowed the
boy in protest, "he'll beat me, too." "You're a bright kid,"
replied the manager. It's 11 AM now, and I'll have your backside
finished by 11:30. By the time your dad gets home from work, it
should be just about ready for the second round. Take it or leave
it, kid. Your folks or the cops."
6
The boy resumed his position, silently accepting the deal. He knew
he'd be taking his meals standing up, and sleeping on his stomach.
But what about school? "How old are you, fourteen?" asked the
manager. "Yes, sir," replied the boy. "Good," he thought. "Maybe
I'll just get 14 licks. And my shorts are thicker. And I'm wearing
briefs." His stream of consciousness was diverted by the impact of
the paddle on his globes. TTTHHHHWWWWAAACCCK! EGAD! That hurt!
He thought the paddle would be a piece of cake. TTTHHHHWWWAAAACCCK!
The second lick took him by surprise. SSSMMMAAACCCKK!
SSSMMMAAACCCK! SSSMMMMAAAAACCCKKK! "Hmm," thought the boy. "He's
pretty methodical. First two, then sets of three. I wonder how
many boys he does this to, the old pervert." WWWWHHHAAACCCKKK!
WWWWHHHHHAAACCCKKK! "That's seven," he thought. The pause meant
his shorts would soon be coming down. The manager pulled them down
as predicted, revealing his pastel blue briefs. The manager then
yanked them down remarking, "white shorts, blue briefs, and a red
ass. How patriotic!" The boy was enraged and humiliated, but
didn't dare move.
SSSMMMMAAAACCCKKK! SSSMMMMMAAAACCCKKK! SSSMMMMAAAACCCKK! Whew!
The pain was becoming unbearable. WWWHHHAAACCK! WWWHHHAAACCCCK!
WWWWHHHAAAACCKK! A brief pause. Then the fourteenth firecracker.
WWWWWWHWHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAACCCCCCCKKKK! The boy grabbed his briefs,
and slowly raised them over his beet red cheeks. His bottom was
red, but there were no blisters or marks. The strap had toughened
his hide.
"What are you doing?" asked the manager. "Pulling up my pants,"
replied the boy. "That was fourteen." "You're right," said the
manager. "That was fourteen. But you're not through, boy. That
fourteen was for stealing those shorts. The next fourteen will be
for lying. And the last fourteen will be for getting your friend in
trouble. So get those shorts back down, get over that desk, and
stick your ass out, boy. We're gonna see some tears before I let
you out of here. And if you fight it, I'll call the cops and you'll
have taken the licking for nothing."
The boy was nervous, but exposed his crimson derriere as ordered.
Curiously, the paddle was still on the desk. Unknown to the boy,
the manager was removing his belt. "You've got a pretty tough
backside, kid. Most boys are marked or blistered by now. So the
next fourteen will be with the belt." "Shit!" thought the boy. But
it can't be worse than the 50 from his dad with the strap. "I can
take it," he thought.
7
CCCRRRAAACCCK! The strap smacked mercilessly against his red tail,
wielded by a strong, angry man. The manager's adrenalin was kicking
in. CCCRRRAAAACCCCKKK! CCCCRRRAAAACCCCKKK! CCCRRRRAAAACCCKKK!
CCCRRRAAACCCKKK! CCCCRRRRAAAACCCCKKK! Five in a row! His ass was
on fire...it felt like a bad sunburn. Light welts criscrossed the
red background. Thin white lines separated the welts from the red
substrate. SSNNNAAAPP! SSSNNNAAAPP! SSSNNNAAAPPP! SSSNNNAAAP!
SSSSNNNAAAAPPP! The manager had changed his technique, doubling the
belt and moving closer. The boy felt the pain shooting into his
groin and thighs. SSSNNNAAAPP! SSSNNNAAAAPPP! SSSNNNAAAAPPP!
Whew! The second set was over. 2/3 through. Downhill from here!
The manager put his belt back on, while the boy stood up for a brief
break. The manager turned to his clerk. "Someday you might be
manager of this store," he said. "You give him the last 14." The
clerk was shocked. "BBBuutt..." he stammered. "I know at least one
pants down licking you've taken. Just give what you've received."
"Do you want me to paddle him with this?" asked the clerk, pointing
to the paddle. "Nope," replied the manager. This one thinks he's
tough. Let's bring him down a peg or two. If he acts like a
spoiled child, he needs an old fashioned over-the knee spanking.
The clerk took his boss' lead. Now he was getting into it! The boy
was shattered. Suddenly, he wasn't so tough. He was about to be
spanked like a little boy, over the knee of a total stranger barely
older than he. The clerk sat down on a straight backed chair.
"Over my knee!" he ordered. The boy complied. The clerk jerked him
upright. "Drop 'em" he ordered. Oh no! But there was no choice.
He dropped his shorts and briefs, positioning himself over the
clerk's lap. His well whipped bum was still tomato red, and criss-
crossed with faint welts.
SLAP! SLAP! The first two swats excited new nerves. Bursts of
energy shot through that teenage bottom, right into his crotch. He
was getting hard. The clerk tried to reposition the boy, rubbing
his semi-erect organ across his pants. The clerk was getting hard,
too. SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! With each sharp slap, the boy recoiled,
rubbing his cock against the clerk's cock. His cock was rock hard.
SPANK! SPANK! The boy was getting dizzy, and felt as though he was
floating. He moaned with each spank. SSSPPPAAAANNKKK!
SSSPPPAAANNKK! The clerk spanked harder, as the boy started sliding
beck and forth across his lap. Both were in another world. The
clerk was overtaken by a newfound strength. The boy was weeping and
moaning. With all his might, the clerk delivered the last five
swats in rapid succession, his hand perfectly conforming to the
boy's curvacious cheeks. SSPPPAAANNKKK! SSSSPPPAAANNNNKKK!
SSSSPPPPAAAANNNKKK! SSSSPPPAAANNNKKK! SSSSPPPAAAANNNKKK! The boy
and the clerk both moaned as the fourteenth swat fell.
8
The boy carefully replaced his briefs and shorts, sobbing tears of
pain and ecstacy, trying to conceal the pool of come on the clerk's
lap. The clerk crossed his ankle over his thigh to keep the manager
from seeing the come.
Yes, the manager called the boy's father, even after all that. But
the boy's emotions were not equipped to deal anything other than
present time consciousness. He left the store in a dream state, and
upon leaving, his friend was waiting with their shared bicycle. The
older boy had regained his composure, and was perplexed by the
change in his friend. Gone was the arrogant wise guy. In his stead
was a sensitive free spirit. "Are you OK?" the boy asked his
friend. "Uh, yes." "Guess you really got it. You were in there
for almost a half hour." "Yes, we both had it coming," remarked the
smaller boy. His friend was taken aback by this atypical remark,
and let it pass.
"Did they call your parents?" asked the older boy. "Yes," replied
his friend. "Guess that means the strap tonight, huh?" "Guess it
does. But my dad won't be home for four hours. Wanna go down by
the beach and mess around for a while?" "Uh, OK" replied the older
boy, still perplexed by his friend's metamorphosis. How could he be
so calm, knowing he would get another licking that night?
So, they rode to the beach, standing up, until it was time to go
home. And when the older boy got home, his mother was waiting with
the "board of education." Apparently the other boy's father called
her and told all. And when the smaller boy got home, his father was
waiting with the strap. The boy was ready to take his medicine.