Chapter 5: Little Tommy

After Peter had realized that I also had to answer for my misdeeds, his behavior changed. He became more cheerful, more open and also more courageous towards me. When this courage turned to cockiness and I grabbed him, he manfully stood still and took what I allotted him. That wasn't always a spanking, sometimes it was enough if I pushed him on the carpet and tickled him, which he acknowledged with bright laughter and loud pleas for mercy.

All in all, there really wasn't much I had to criticize about the German shepherd pup, so we got along great and it only rarely got serious. This also had an effect on his school performance, because as soon as he stopped resisting the superiority of the adults and actually listened to his teachers, it became clear how easy it was for him to learn. His mid-year report was extremely gratifying, and on his 16th birthday he even promised me that he wanted to graduate from high school with great results and that he would work even harder to achieve it.

The only thing that worried me a little was the long afternoons he spent hanging around. As an entrepreneur, I wasn't completely free to choose my working hours, so I couldn't look after Peter as much as I would have liked. At noon, he always came home and ate. I had hired an elderly sheep lady especially for this, who cooked for him excellently and kept him company while he ate. But after that he would often go out and hang out with some friends. 

I tried to direct these activities by enrolling him in the soccer club, where he also liked to go. I also tried to get him to take martial arts or music lessons, but he didn't feel like it and I didn't persuade him. He probably just needed his freedom a few days a week. After all, he had known no rules at all for years. So, I let Peter bounce around and made a crucial mistake in the process: I didn't look at his friends.

He unerringly picked out the wrong ones. A rat and a weasel from the tenth grade, both almost eighteen and dumb as straw. Their names were Bernd and Georg, or simply "Duo Infernale". My unstable Peter joined them, although he suspected that they were not good for him. What they did together, I never found out and didn't want to know. But one thing literally landed on my desk one Friday afternoon, in the form of a phone call that my secretary put through to me. I didn't really had time.

"It's your foster pup, Mr. Feldhoff. He's very upset, I think something has happened!" she said and put the call through to me. I cursed inwardly, apologized to my accountant who was explaining my balance sheet, and picked up, "What is it, Peter?" "Uncle Werner, you have to come right away. Tommy is in the hole and I can't get the grate off!" he stammered hastily, so I could barely understand a word. I asked, but he just croaked, "You have to come, Uncle Werner! Right now! I have no more money; the conversation will end soon!"

"It's okay, little one! Calm down, I'll be right there. Where are you?", I finally asked and he explained, "The major construction site where the new mall is being built!" I broke off my meeting, sent my accountant away, who was unfamiliar with such fickleness from me and therefore assumed the worst, and sped off. At the construction site, I saw a telephone booth but no Peter. I parked the car and continued on foot. 

The construction site was deserted because it had been raining for days and the work was at rest. Finally, I found the German shepherd pup. He was squatting on the ground, apparently talking to someone I didn't see. "At last, Uncle Werner! Where have you been?" he shouted when he saw me coming. I stifled the remark that I had been running around this construction site for ten minutes and looked into the shaft in front of which my foster pup was kneeling. My breath caught in my throat. In the narrow hole covered with a heavy grating was a fox pup at the bottom. He was up to his belly in water, his fur and clothes all soaked and he was shivering like a leaf.

"Damn it, how did he get in there?", it escaped me shocked, whereupon Peter stammered next to me guiltily, "Yes, that was so, well, that was us, Bernd and Georg, and me too. We got him in there, but he can't get out and..." "And why didn't you call the police, or the fire department?", I inquired angrily, but as soon as I asked the question, I realized that Peter hadn't been able to call anyone official. Stuffing a classmate in a hole was just what was needed for him to go to juvenile prison. 

When he tried to explain it to me, I interrupted him, "It's okay. I got it. First, go to the car, it's by the phone booth. Get the tow rope and the blanket. Get going!" He sprinted off and I took care of the small pup in the shaft. I asked him his name and how he was doing. He was apparently healthy, but freezing terribly. Despite his predicament, he was surprisingly composed. Apparently, we would not need an ambulance. 

I turned my attention to the grate above the hole. There was already an iron pipe in it, Peter had apparently tried to prize the thing open. Clever, my little pup, but with his 50 kilos of live weight he had not been able to do anything. With me it was different. It didn't take me a minute to open the hole. Shortly after, Peter came running up with the rope. Tommy tied one end around his body, then we pulled him out. He was soaked and had a few bruises and scratches, but otherwise unharmed.

"Take off those wet clothes and wrap yourself in this blanket. You need to warm up. How long were you down there?", I asked, helping the shivering pup out of his clothes. "Over two hours," the little fox said. I thought I had misheard. Two hours? What had Peter been doing for so long? But he stuttered directly, even before I could ask him, "I couldn't do it right away - because of Bernd and Georg. They weren't allowed to notice! Otherwise, they would certainly have thrown me in there too..."

He met my gaze and kept his mouth shut. My face probably told him everything. I shooed the two to the car and asked Tommy where he lived. He told me, but said, "Can't I come to your place and dry my clothes first? If I come home like this, my mother will drop dead of fright. She's always so worried. I'd like to lie to her and say I fell with the bike."

I thought about it for a moment. Lying? Marginal. But well, what could it hurt if he didn't want to tell his mother about this ordeal? The little fox apparently had guts, and that should be encouraged. "All right, you can come with us. We'll put your clothes in the washer, you can wear something from Peter. This might be a little big for you, but beauty doesn't matter right now."

"Thank you, Mr. Feldhoff. For that, and also for coming so quickly," said the still trembling pup, which I acknowledged with a brief nod. At home, I put Tommy in the shower and sent Peter off to get some clothes for him. To my surprise, he brought his newest pants and the only designer shirt he owned. His face spoke of a guilty conscience. Nevertheless, I immediately chased him up again, "What about underwear and socks?" He scampered again and put the things down for Tommy.

Before I let Tommy get dressed, I doctored him up a bit. He didn't have any deep injuries, but the attempts to climb up the wet walls of the concrete shaft had left many abrasions. I joined him in the bathroom, where he was waiting for me. After I lifted the naked little fox onto the side table, I started by trimming the fur around the wounds. Then I cleaned and disinfected them, and put a band-aid on some of them. He held still, although the iodine spray certainly stung. While I took care of him, I sounded out the pup a bit.

Tommy told me that the Duo Infernale had been targeting him for months. They lived in his neighborhood, liked to push him around, and taunted him as a nerd and a smartass because he already went to high school. For a few weeks, they had Peter with them, as a sort of mascot. "You can't spank Peter for that, though," Tommy suddenly said determined and adding, "I'd still be in there if it weren't for him!"

I was astonished. "What makes you think I want to spank Peter?" I asked in amazement, to which the little fox explained, "You looked like that earlier. At the construction site. That's the way my father always looks when he wants to spank me." Well observed, I had to admit, but of course I rejected his request, "What I do with Peter, you must leave to me. But I will take into account the fact that he helped you."

Tommy huffed defiantly, "No, that won't do! It's enough that Bernd and Georg will beat the crap out of him on Monday. Why don't you take care of them, they're much worse!? And if you spank Peter, I'll tell the youth welfare office that he's not doing well here - then he has to go back to the orphanage. Is that what you want?" Stunned, I looked into the flashing eyes in the scratched red fox face. 

What kind of manipulative brat was this? The two thugs were right, Tommy was a smartass. Nevertheless, he impressed me in some way. Still, I answered his rhetorical question with a slap on his small maw. While he rubbed his sore cheek a bit, I wordlessly put the bandages back in the pharmacy cabinet. I concluded our conversation when I was done, "Get dressed, you cheeky runt, I'll drive you home."

Half an hour later, I delivered the pup to his already upset mother. Unmoved, Tommy told her something about the bicycle accident and I found myself helping him as well by promising to repair the bicycle tomorrow. It was standing in our garage and was of course completely intact, but Peter could actually clean it properly on the weekend. He was already waiting impatiently for me at home. He tore open the door, even before I had the key in the lock. 

I hung up my jacket and keys while Peter was on my heels, almost glued to me. No doubt he knew he deserved punishment and wanted to get it over with. Still, I pushed him to the side for now and went to make a phone call. I had to sign off with my secretary for the rest of the day and also give the all-clear - after all, my good Mrs. Rüter took a lively interest in my life with Peter and gave me many good tips. She had raised three children and was just expecting her first grandchild. After that, I called my foster pup to me. 

The German shepherd pup immediately came running and was eager not to do anything wrong. However, I first pulled him onto my lap and said, "Do you know, that your friend Tommy told me not to spank you?" "Tommy? He's not my friend at all. Why did he do that?" the pup asked me in amazement. "I think he'd like to be your friend, and he said that Bernd and Georg would take care of you on Monday anyway." His face said everything, while he even started to tremble a bit. That was exactly what he was afraid of like nothing else. He was probably already thinking about simply not going to school anymore to avoid the two of them.

"And what are you going to do now, Uncle Werner? Are you going to do what Tommy said?" the German shepherd pup asked. I had to smile. Sure, I'd let a thirteen-year-old fox pup boss me around, what else. Of course, Peter would get his punishment, how else could he draw a line under all that? Tommy had been right a little bit, though, and I already had thought about it.

So, I made a suggestion to my foster pup, "We can make a deal, Peter: You're about to get your punishment. However, that is not yet part of the deal, because that is completely out of question. I'll take care of your two so-called friends this weekend and make sure that they leave you alone in the future. In return, you'll clean Tommy's bike, drain the water from the pool, scrub the tiles, including the ones around the outside and in the shower, and put the water back in. Agreed?"

Peter replied, nodding, "Yes, Uncle Werner, that sounds fair. But are you sure it will work out with Bernd and Georg?" "Of course," I just returned. I didn't have an exact plan yet what I wanted to do with those two, but I would discuss that with Gisela's police colleagues, because they were going to help me. They had already enjoyed my ass so often, now they should be useful to me for once. "What am I supposed to do now? Do I have to go to the basement?", Peter asked me carefully. 

After the first night with me on my old pommel horse, Fury, Peter was afraid of the gym. He hadn't even gone in there voluntarily, but locking a classmate in a shaft was a serious offense and he should be a little scared. "Yes. Off to the fitness room and undress”, I answered without further ado. His thin body convulsed in fear, but he didn't object. He obediently went into the basement while I made another phone call.

I called my Gisela and described the situation to her. She had exactly the same idea as me, "Oh, we'll ask Gunnar or Eric what we can do. I'll give them a call and let them think about it. I'm sure you can get those two thugs to at least leave the pups alone in one night." That was exactly what I had wanted to hear. I thanked my old anaconda, invited her to my bed for the night, and said goodbye after a few minutes of sentimental chatting and flirting.

I went down to the basement where Peter was already waiting for me. He was sitting on Fury, had his bare butt right where his face last time was, and looked more than meek. Please don't think I'm sentimental, but I felt a little sorry for him. He probably had the choice between plague and cholera this afternoon: Either he went along with the disgraceful activities of his buddies - then there was scorching from me. Or he would have resisted, in which case they probably would have treated him the same as Tommy, if not worse. It was almost a vote of confidence that he had chosen me.

The poor little one. Actually, he was still almost a small puppy. Maybe tying him down was too much. I wondered if he could hold still even if it really hurt? "Would you like to be punished on the pommel horse, or do you just find it comfortable up there right now?" I asked. Nimbly, he hopped down. If there was an alternative to Fury, he'd much rather have it, that was clear. "Do you think you can hold still like a good pup if I don't tie you down and even if it really hurts?" Eager nodding, that was all that came from him. 

So, I pulled the sheet-covered, oversized massage bench from its corner, took the sheet away, and patted the black-leather reclining surface encouragingly, "Just bend over. Lie here with your belly." Peter looked at the massage bench curiously. He had probably noticed that my friend Ufuk had started begging at the mention of this device. Other than some extra metal eyelets and discreetly hidden pulleys, however, there was nothing suspicious about this lounger, so he curiously drilled a finger into one of the eyelets and inquired, "What else do you do with it?"

"You'll find that out once you've behaved so badly that spanking your little butt alone won't be enough." Peter briefly felt the leather pad and leaned forward in surrender. He gave a little sniveling whimper, however, as his front met the cool bench. His short chest fur didn't help much. After he got used to it, he gripped the side edges with his paws to hold on. Very neatly he stood there. He even lifted his tail without me having to tell him. I wouldn't have thought that possible six months ago.

I stroked Peter's little bottom a bit. There was still not much padding on it and the short white fur was as soft as always. What should I treat him with? I decided on a tool change at the halfway mark and announced the sentence, "You'll get twelve with a strap and another twelve with the cane, all on the butt." "Okay," was all he returned. "Good pup," I thought to myself, fetching a medium-wide, not particularly heavy strap from the tool cabinet and stroking it gently over his small white buttocks. 

Peter took a deep breath and pinched his cheeks together a bit. It looked really cute how he stood there like that. Suddenly I had peculiar qualms about spanking him. Strange. I had never had that before. I was probably getting old. Or maybe it was because of Peter's size. His refusal for months now to convert the many added calories and the expensive vitamin-containing pastes into more body weight or even centimeters were something of a running gag for us. Not one centimeter in seven months - that was quite remarkable.

I pulled myself together and let the strap slap across his white butt cheeks. He twitched and puffed a bit, but remained calm. Too calm - he should not be bored, after all. I let the blows slowly become harder until Peter yelped loudly at the fifth blow and buckled his knees a bit. Would he stand up properly again? He did and I gave him the sixth blow, which he acknowledged with a whine. After that he was allowed to rest a bit. I walked around the massage bench and stroked his tense shoulders. "Are you okay?", I asked and he took it stoically, "Of course."

I went back to the appetizing rear end of my foster pup and continued my work. Each blow Peter now acknowledged clearly audible and with a cute wiggle of his butt. Since he always stood up straight and stretched his ass bravely out towards me, I let him wiggle. It was supposed to hurt, that's what we were here for, but he didn't have to act like he could easily take it or even pretend it was great. Again, Peter got a break after six. I stroked him a little and praised him, "You're much braver than you were a few months ago." " You get a thicker skin," he claimed. As if I would work his butt every day with sandpaper.

Shaking my head, I went to the closet, picked out a cane and poked my foster pup’s pink right buttock a bit with it, "Ready?" "Yup." The hits with the cane hurt Peter considerably more than the strap before. He yelped and bounced, but struggled to keep his composure and his tail over his back. Nevertheless, he could no longer suppress the tears and had to really cry during the break. I gave him time, stroked his back and gave him a tissue. When he was done snorting, he dutifully lay back down and mumbled, "Okay, continue."

"Well then, here comes the rest," I announced. In fact, I gave Peter the last six strokes in an unusually rapid succession. Then he wouldn't notice that I wasn't hitting so hard anymore. At least that was my theory in retrospect. His loud howling proved me right, at least it had hurt properly. I pulled the little one off the massage bench and into my arms. The German shepherd pup sobbed a bit, but calmed down quite quickly and asked after a few minutes, "Are we done now, or do I have to do something else?" I smiled. No, I wasn't going to tease him anymore today.

"No, my little pup, we're done, but you can go ahead and pull the plug from the pool. Then it will be empty in the morning," I replied and he looked pleased, but not because we were done, but because he knew where to empty the pool. For that he had to get into the pool and that meant cold water for his aching hot bottom. I stroked my foster pup's back again extensively and suddenly he asked, "Are you coming with me?"

"But I'm not warm at all," I answered him with a grin, to which he countered directly, also grinning, "Don't be so lazy, Uncle Werner! Otherwise, I'll tell Aunt Gisela that you're getting old and that she'll have to start looking for a new boyfriend!" Without a word, I immediately put the naked pup over my shoulder, and while carrying him to the pool, I stroked his sore butt a bit and also gave him a light pat every now and then. As soon as we reached the pool, I mercilessly tossed the laughing German shepherd pup in. Me and getting old, he was crazy! Like a gazelle, I rushed into our changing room, slipped into my swim trunks, and only seconds later was floating elegantly through the water like a dolphin. 

Peter threw a wet foam rubber ball at my head and called me a walrus - the impudent brat! We wrestled, played ball and did all kinds of nonsense together. All the tension fell off Peter and we had a lot of fun. It wasn't until over an hour later that I held the pup by the legs straight down into the water so he could fumble the drain latch open and the pool slowly began to drain. As we both got out of the pool, I asked, "Do you have any homework to do?"

Peter nagged something, "I can do that tomorrow... " But I interrupted him directly and gave him another light slap on the wet butt, "Tomorrow you clean the bike and the tiles. So go on, get to work. After all, I have homework to do too – and that's your fault. Let me do some work in peace, you hear?" My German shepherd pup understood that it was about his "friends", so he wrapped his thin naked body in a sauna towel and ran to the stairs.

"Don't forget your clothes!" Quietly nagging, he made the little detour to the gym and picked up his clothes. Of course, I already found one sock in the doorway, the second on the stairs, and his underpants in the hallway. I sighed and picked them up, fatherly duties. After putting them away, I went to the study and made a few phone calls. Half an hour later I signed off on Peter. There was something to discuss, Gisela and the guys were waiting for me at the police gym.

"Don't do anything stupid, pup!" I ordered my foster pup more in jest than in earnest. He, however, nodded without laughing and asked, "Do you want me to cook us something?" Oh? Now this was something. Apparently today was the day of terror. But since a little domestic activity wasn't bad for the German shepherd pup, I pretended to be glad and praised him for the good idea. I was actually fretting. Why? Why had I purchased a gas stove a few years ago? I hope the house will still be standing when I come back.