(This is part of a group of 30+ true stories posted here, taking place throughout my life, childhood to present day. Like all others in this series, these spankings took place as written here. This story marks the eleventh of a series of teenage punishment spankings that took place as I was raising my family. All of these spankings took place as a result of an unusual event, requiring an immediate spanking. Plus, all of them involve a boy or girl, not part of our family. This story took place not that many years ago, since its central character, a boy named Mitch, is now graduating from college.)
I first met Mitch when was eight years old, when my youngest son Brian, invited him to his nine-year-old birthday party. He was the quietest, most well behaved boy, at that party of about a dozen 4th graders. Over the years he became part of our family, virtually living with us on the weekends. When he hit thirteen, his Mom & Dad divorced and he really looked upon me as a father. Not that he already hadn't passed those feelings along to his parents.
When he was eleven, he had an emergency appendectomy. While Brian and I visited him in the hospital, his mother gushed, "Oh look, it's Mitch's second Daddy." In our limited social relationship with Mitch's Mom & Dad, it was made very clear that I was to treat Mitch just like my children in matters of discipline, specifically to spank him. Over the years he had gotten some mild ones and one severe one, prior to this story. His parents even teased me about taking on his older sister. Not a chance.
At the time of this story, I was nearing the 6-month end of one of my consulting contracts. This agency was based in St. Louis, and when I took it over it was doing just over $13,000 in new annualized premium each week. At the time of this story, I had brought it up to where it was averaging just over $110,000 a week in premium. I had chosen to live in St. Louis, Monday through Thursday, renting an apartment close to the agency office. We had made our home at the lake, and many of the old friends of my children came to visit on the weekends, especially during the summer.
This story takes place when Mitch had just turned 15. He had grown to about 5' 7", a slender 115 lbs., jet black slightly curly hair, Ralph Macchio type deep brown eyes and a neat smile that he seemed to use more and more...the longer he was around me.
Since we had moved to the lake our visits had become limited to several times a month, when I visited the regional office of the insurance company that gave me the consulting contract. As usually happens with insurance company home office types, they totally forget that my standard contract is only for a six-month term, renewable at my option for another six months. That clause throws them, because they forget to bring in a manager to have me train. On this trip, I had just renewed on contract for that very reason...costing the insurance company a bundle. I picked Mitch up about 4 o'clock on Thursday and headed to St. Louis. By the time we hit the apartment is was almost 10PM and I was bushed from the drive and the long dinner, where Mitch brought me uptodate on his life's twists and turns.
Mitch and I sat up talking till about midnight and then he gets an urging to go see the Gateway Arch downtown. I try to talk him out of it, but I had to agree this was probably going to be the best opportunity for him to see it...despite the fact that at this time of night, it would be shut down. We hopped into the car and headed downtown.
[As some of you know from my previous stories, I had a very special M. O.S. in the Army. I own special handguns that fit my view of what a handgun should be for. Self defense. In my car and in my home I have two pistols, both the same make, a gun called a "Thunder Five". It is a limited production handgun that is very unusual. It can chamber either a .45 Long Colt or a .410 shotgun shell. It is illegal in California, because it is considered a miniature shotgun. Miniature it is not. It weighs 3 lbs., is 9" long, two tone black finish, with a 1" barrel and a chamber cylinder of just over 3". My home weapon has 5, .45 Long Colt Glaser Safety Bullets in them. I won't go into why that gun contains those bullets in this story. The gun I hide in my car, is loaded with 5, 3" .410 "0000" magnum shotgun shells. One pull of the trigger discharges the equivalent of 4, .38 caliber slugs at once. A perfect wheel gun for scum bag car jackers, but not for a shootout in open spaces.]
Mitch had no knowledge of the gun or my views on guns. As we drove downtown towards the Arch, he was fascinated with the new cellular phone I had just bought, being the new smaller type. It was soon going to come in very handy.
As we approached the Arch, almost all lights had been turned off, but the nightlights of the downtown still basked it in a neat scene. I pulled my Thunderbird down onto Laclede's Landing and about _s_h_i_t_. There were about 7 cars parked along the main drive in front of the Arch...all dealing. None of it registered with Mitch, he was so excited about the sight of the Arch. I pulled about 50 yards ahead of the local dealers and parked. Two things then happened at once.
First, Mitch started to jump out of the car. I grabbed his arm and in strongest words possible and hard squeeze on his arm told him not to leave the car. Just lean against it, because the second thing was my new car phone was ringing. Mitch got out and leaned against the rear quarter panel.
I took the call and started to converse with my top sales agent at 12:30 in the morning, in front of the Arch, with the local drug dealers 50 yards away, looking at a 15 year old white kid leaning against a shiny Thunderbird. How do we spell "target"?
After several minutes, I tried to cut the call short and then my heart skipped a beat. Mitch had gotten bored and started up the steep grassy slope towards the dimly lit Arch. In the rearview mirrors, I saw 3 bad guys heading towards him.
I was still dressed in my suit coat pants, white shirt with an undone tie. I pulled the Thunder Five out of it's hiding place and jumped out of the car, still talking to my agent. I warned him as I started walking towards Mitch and the approaching bad guys that my conversation was going to change and when it did, call "911". He then gave me another piece of bad news. The Federal Park Rangers were responsible for the Arch National Park, not the local police. I was _f_u_c_k_ed and Mitch had trouble heading his way. I slammed the car door and started heading for Mitch at a quick walk, talking on the phone with my left hand, the Thunder Five in my right.
The bad guys had the angle on Mitch, I couldn't get to him before they did...and they saw me coming. I hollered at Mitch and he stopped and turned around and saw he was in trouble and froze. I had hoped he would head back towards me and all would be well, but no...he froze and it was too late to yell "run".
In life we make choices and I started making mine. I pulled the gun flat against my chest, my white shirt outlining its black cannon qualities. I didn't break stride and I didn't stop the phone conversation. By now they were between Mitch and me. Two turned to face me, the third kept heading for Mitch. One of the ones facing me hollered "gun" and that stopped the third guy in his tracks, but it also produced three knives. I kept walking and talking, splitting their ranks and in two steps I spun and had Mitch at my back and the three bad guys wondering what the hell was outlined against my white shirt. I ended the phone conversation and passed the phone back to Mitch. I said nothing. Stare down time. They blinked first and started a down hill retreat and I started moving back to the car with Mitch glued to my butt.
We got to the car and both of us jumped in. I smelled urine and realized that Mitch had pissed in his pants. We weren't out of danger yet. At that time, there was one way in and one way out of the park. Blocking our exit, I had seven cars full of bad guys and girls, that just had three of their brothers shamed by a one white guy with a funny looking gun. My Thunderbird was a Turbo coupe 5-speed. I drove about 100 yards further down the road and did a fast U-turn at about 30, screeching tires and catching their attention. I was in second gear and dropped it into third. As I approached their cars, I put my left hand out of the car window with the Thunder Five pointed straight up and floored it. The turbo kicked in and we shot past them as my speedometer went past 100. We were out of danger, and Mitch was white as a ghost. I didn't stop for any stoplights as we hit westbound I-70.
The drive back to the apartment was silent, except for an occasional sniffle from Mitch. He had seen danger for the first time in his young life and he hadn't liked what he had seen. I was really pissed that he had ignored my explicit instructions and put us in harm's way. Mitch knew he was going to be spanked.
We got to the apartment and I ordered Mitch to take a shower and put on a clean pair of briefs and nothing else. He had tears in his eyes as he gave me his clothes. I emptied his pockets and put them in the washer. Then I got ready for bed, pulling down the covers half way, then sitting on the edge of my bed in my briefs. Mitch came out of the bathroom, looking 3 years younger in his tight white briefs.
"Mitch, go back into the bathroom and bring me the shower brush from the tub". He didn't hesitate and quickly came back out and gave me the thick plastic shower brush. It was deep red, with a head about 3" across, with a 12" inch handle.
I placed it down on the bed behind me and motioned Mitch across my lap. He flopped down quickly, stretching himself out, his stomach and hips across my lap, his legs pressed together and his head cradled in his arms, facing me.
I then gave him a long lecture on obeying adults in all situations, but in particular where there is any chance of anything going wrong. As I lectured him, I rubbed his back, cotton-covered buns and legs. His legs were almost hairless, and his slender buns were tightly encased in his JC Penny white cotton briefs, with its red & white waistband. I adjusted the leg openings of his briefs and passed sentence for his _f_u_c_k_ up.
"Mitch, you are going to get two spankings for your stunt tonight. A long one tonight and a short one first thing in the morning." He buried his head in the bed spread as I raised my hand.
"SPLAT" Right cheek flattened, slight leg kick.
"SPLAT" Left check flattened, another slight leg kick.
I gave him a total of two dozen swats, covering his buns and then stopped to lecture. He hadn't started bawling yet, but was close to it.
The second two dozen sent him over the edge and started his legs kicking and his butt squirming and clenching. Another lecture until the blubbering stopped.
Then a third two dozen, that ignited non stop crying and kicking. Plus, six swats found their way to his tender upper thighs. Now his cotton covered buns were warm to the touch. I picked up the shower brush.
Mitch sensed what was due next and he started begging to not use that. He had felt that one time before, on the Colorado trip and didn't like it at all. A Jokari paddle made him twist and squirm...the shower brush made him kick and buck.
"CRACK" He really bellowed. Thank goodness I lived in the first floor and my immediate neighbors worked nights.
The second swat of the brush brought body and legs off the lap in a convulsive reaction. He put his hand back and that was clamped down into the middle of his back.
Thirteen more times I spanked his butt. 15 total. I used wrist snap swats to achieve the results that were needed. No arms swings, just hard wrist snaps. He didn't know I wasn't spanking him hard. All he and his flaming buns knew was that the brush hurt like hell.
I stopped and put the brush down. For a moment I massaged his buns and then slowly peeled down his warm briefs and ledged them at his thigh and butt junction. His butt was almost bare, in all of its multicolored glory. I picked up the brush, much to his verbal dismay. Begging for "no more."
"CRACK" Dead center. Second wrist got pinned to the first, as his body and legs fought the sting of a bare butt shower brush spanking.
14 swats later it was over, and Mitch was sobbing, as his body lay limp across my bare thighs. I massaged his buns for about 10 minutes as his crying and quivering slowly stopped. This had been his worst spanking. When he finally stopped crying, I pulled his briefs back into place and guided him to a pillow on his side of the bed. I pulled up the covers over this slender body and kissed him on the forehead. I then went and started the washer, to get the piss out of his jeans and briefs. As I laid down in bed, he was already slightly snoring from an emotionally draining evening.
Mitch was and is an early morning riser. I woke at my usual time of 6AM, my biological alarm clock only failing, when the nectar of the Gods from the night before, creates the need for additional sleep. As I rolled over, he was awake and looking at me intently.
I stroked his thick short hair and he spoke after several minutes.
"Can we snuggle like when I was little?"
"Sure", come on over." I was sure he was going to try and talk me out of spanking number two. He turned his body and laid his head on my chest, his face close, his brown eyes very intense.
"I was really scared last night", as he put his arm under his head, forming a very comfortable crook in his elbow and arm as he laid on my chest.
"You should have been. They wanted to hurt you.", I said softly as I stroked his neck and head.
"No. You scared me...bad." His eyes were moist.
"You mean your spanking scared you?", I asked quietly.
"No, not that at all. I knew that was going to hurt bad, but that isn't what scared me." He paused for a few moments his eyes not meeting mine. Then he finally spoke.
"The look in your face and eyes when you were walking towards me caused me to piss in my pants. I was so scared of your look. I have never seen anyone that looked than mean." He raised his head slightly and looked deep into my eyes. I stroked his back and buns.
"You would have killed them wouldn't you?", he asked after a minute of silence.
I nodded "yes" and continued to stroke his head as he closed his eyes and remained silent for several minutes. Finally he spoke again, his eyes still closed.
"What would have happened if they had gotten a hold of me?"
"It would have been ugly, because that would have made my gun useless. It is difficult for you to understand, but the bullets I have in that gun would have hit you and them with each trigger pull, if they were standing next to you, holding on to you." He bit his lower lip when the words sunk in, as my left hand continued to stroke his back and buns, my right his hair.
"Well....then how did you know they wouldn't stab you as you walked through them?" He opened his eyes and they were moist with tears.
"Mitch, in life we take gambles based upon our experiences. I felt that as long as I didn't talk to them, they didn't know who I was talking to on the cell phone. This didn't allow them the opportunity to stop me with a verbal command. They also had never seen a gun like mine. They didn't know what it would do if I shot them with it. By not breaking stride as I walked through them, they had their eyes focused on my gun and my face. They were as scared as you. My back was exposed less than a second. That was my gamble. But I really didn't have another choice because of the situation you put us in." He shut his eyes tight and bit his lip hard.
"One last question before you spank me. Does the look on your face I saw last night mean you are a killer?"
"My God what a question.", I thought as I slowly kept stroking his body and hair.
"Yes Mitch I have killed. Almost all with a handgun or shotgun at close range. That was many years ago in lands far way. Does that make me a killer? Historically, yes. Today, no...not unless I am forced to protect my family, my loved ones or me from harm. Last night, I was within less than a second of being one...because you placed yourself and me in danger by directly disobeying me." My left hand swatted his rump for emphasis.
"Then you better spank me hard, because I never want to see that look in your eyes and face again." He got up and retrieved the shower brush off of the dresser and laid back down on the bed, this time his head on my shoulder. He started to cry softly as I stroked his hair and back with my right hand, hugging him tight with my left. Finally he stopped and nodded.
I pushed him over to the side of the bed and kicked the covers down to the foot of the bed. Then I propped my back against the pillows and head board, crossing my ankles, indian style. I pulled Mitch over and positioned him over towards the foot of the bed, and on top of my crossed ankles.
Soon his legs were spread very wide, one on each side of my body. His feet were raised up, toes touching the headboard, legs at almost a right angle. His stomach was resting on the bed in front of my crossed legs, he head resting on his crossed arms.
His buns were angled up at my face, covered by his briefs. I slowly pulled them down to check the damage from the night before. I rubbed them and Mitch flinched slightly as my fingers touched the splotch marks left over from the brush. I pulled his briefs up tight. Then I rolled the waistband under and adjusted his briefs after he roll. After three rolls, his briefs were barely covering the top of his ass crack. I tugged them up, uncovering about an 1" of tender, bare, lower butt cheek. I adjusted the leg openings and then picked up the brush.
I rubbed it slowly across his tightly stretched cotton covered buns. "Shall we get this over with?" He hesitated a second, and then stretched his arms out straight, grabbing hold of the bed sheets as he bit into the sheets.
"CRACK" Right cheek. A moan.
"CRACK" Left check. A louder moan.
The next eight swats alternated between one side to the other. I did it slowly, switching hands with each swat. When the brush was in my right hand, his left inside cheek and thigh, right where his briefs and bare separated, got it. When the brush was in my left hand, the right inside cheek got the same treatment. Very tender area of the body. He screamed into the bed at each swat.
I finished with four swats on the outside of each cheek, twice. I massaged his buns for a moment as his crying was reduced to quiet sobbing. Then I wedged his briefs into his ass crack, baring his buns.
I didn't give him 15 on the bare with the brush. As tender and sore as his buns were, my hand was more than up to the task of sending him over the edge.
For 10 minutes afterwards I slowly eased the pain in his buns as he cried his heart out, letting loose the emotions from last night...and the realization his actions revealed a side of me that he never wanted to know. He no longer was a little boy that idolized his best friend's father, father/mentor and little league coach. Last night he had been forced to grow up before long before he wanted.
When he finally stopped crying, I began to slowly rub his back and then his rib cage and arm pits. As I did, he began to squirm because it was beginning to tickle. Mitch is very ticklish. Within several minutes his laughter filled the room, as I made him, for a short time, react like the little boy I helped raise.
(This story is not in the sequence it eventually will be, when the rest of the stories are done. For today, as I write this story, it is the same month and date this story originally took place. The rest of my true-life stories are posted on this archive, in somewhat alpha/chronological order. Use your mouse's arrow to click on my blue lettered name below and enjoy. Many of you email me each week with comments about my stories. In my business travels, I then sometimes satisfy those same readers' needs to be spanked by an old fashioned Dad.)