Sisyphus's Community Service


by Sisyphus

The judge sat there in stony silence trying to decide what he should do about Samuel. This was the second time this fourteen-year-old had appeared before him. The first time it was for throwing a stone through the drugstore window. Then, Judge Harris had let him off because his father said he would pay for a replacement. But this time it was a stolen bicycle and the judge was sure that Samuel would only get into trouble again if he allowed the father for a second time to compensate the victim.

Samuel's parents sat their beside their son. They looked more worried than the boy did. "We can't seem to do anything with him," protested Samuel's mother. "He acts like a juvenile delinquent most of the time." The father was nodding in assent.

Judge Harris took a deep breath. "I have two choices," he said. I can sentence him to juvenile detention or to community service, and I'm not sure which will be most effective. Juvenile detention, though it's a more confining and stringent punishment, doesn't seem to cure most delinquents of their bad behavior. They often become more criminal in their ways as a result of the experience, because they learn all sorts of things when they are shut up with other delinquents. But community service, though it can be hard, often fails too."

The judge then turned to Samuel and lectured him on the seriousness of his offense, ending his lecture by giving the boy a choice as to whether he wanted to go to juvenile detention or be sentenced to a month of community service.

It took Samuel just a few seconds to make his decision. He had heard about the rough treatment boys received from both the jailors and the other boys in juvenile detention, whereas community service meant that he would probably be outdoors cleaning off graffiti, washing walls, and mowing park lawns. He told the judge he would prefer community service.

"It's settled then," the judge said. "I will sentence you to two hours each day of community service for one month. That includes Saturdays and Sundays. Tomorrow at four o'clock you are to come to my house for your assignment. Be sure to be on time." He then gave the parents the address and told them that if the boy failed to show up or otherwise tried to evade the community service, he would have to send him to juvenile detention. The parents told the judge that they would make sure that Samuel would be there.

The next day Samuel was on Judge Harris' doorstep at 4:05. He rang the bell and the judge answered the ring looking at his watch. "What time were you supposed to be here?" the judge asked.

"At four, like now," Samuel replied rather impudently.

"It's not four, young man," the judge said sternly. "It's more than five minutes after four."

"Whatever," Samuel said again with a bit of contempt in his voice.

"Well," said the judge, "the first thing you have to learn about community service is that promptness is required. Come in and close the door behind you. Also, from now on, when you address me you are to show some respect. Call me sir whenever you speak to me."

Samuel was a little taken aback by this demand, but he decided it might be best to play along and said, "Yes sir," in a somewhat mocking voice.

"You're going to get six strokes for being late," said the judge. "Do you understand."

Samuel wasn't sure what six strokes meant, but he replied, "Yes sir," this time in a less belligerent tone.

"See that chair over there," said Judge Harris. "Bend over and put your hands flat on the seat."

Samuel suddenly woke up to what the judge had meant by "strokes." He had been paddled once or twice by his father when he was much younger, but that was a long time ago. However, since he believed he could take anything that this old fart of a judge might deal out and a spanking was certainly better than going to juvenile detention, Samuel dutifully went to the chair and bent over it with his backside high in the air.

The judge picked up a rod that had been laying on the table as if waiting for this moment. It was an instrument that Samuel hadn't noticed when he came into the room. Made of flexible bamboo wrapped in leather, it measured about two feet in length and little less than an inch around. Judge Harris swished it a few times in the air to test its flexibility and then landed a hard swat to Samuel's upended behind.

The blow made Samuel jump, but he didn't cry out. "That wasn't so bad," he thought to himelf, an instant before his nerves fully reacted. Then he changed his mind as a searing burn moved through his bottom, and he let out a small gasp. He was surprised by the unexpected intensity of the blow, finding this stroke from the judge's cane much more lethal than the swats he had received so long ago from his father.

He screwed up his courage and waited for the next swat that came a few seconds later. Samuel lasted out the six without uttering any more sounds.

After he stood up, Judge Harris told him to start the afternoon's work by mowing the lawn, and that he would find the hand mower stored in the garage. Samuel responded by saying, "Yes sir," with more respect than he had shown before.

The lawn mowing was hard work and it took almost the full two hours that day to complete it. When he was done, Samuel put the mower away and went in to tell the judge that the lawn was done.

The judge then went out with him into the yard for an inspection. It was clearly not done to the satisfaction of the judge. He pointed out to Samuel patches of grass he had missed, and places where the grass was streaked because Samuel hadn't overlapped the mowed sections.

"That's not a good job," the judge said. "Tomorrow you will do it properly. Now come inside before you go home."

Samuel answered, "Yes sir," a little irritated because, as far as he was concerned, the yard looked fine.

Inside, with the door closed, the judge told Samuel that he would now get twelve strokes because he had done such a poor job on the yard.

"What?" cried Samuel.

"That's right," Judge Harris replied, "and if you forget again to say sir, I will add on more strokes."

"Yes sir," Samuel said in almost a whisper. This community service was going to be more difficult than he had expected.

"Go over to the chair and drop your pants," the judge ordered, "and be quick about it."

"What, sir?" Samuel asked, in a quite nervous tone of voice. He had never been punished before without the protection of his trousers.

"I said to drop your pants and bend over so I can give you twelve strokes. I think that is perfectly clear. Now hurry up and do so, or I will increase the number of strokes."

There was nothing Samuel could do but comply. He realized that every second he hesitated might result in added and painful strokes. He loosened his belt and dropped his trousers down to his ankles, bending over while doing so. He hoped that his briefs would at least offer a bit of protection. He could feel the coolness of the room temperature against his hairless legs.

Judge Harris already had the whipping instrument in his hand and was swishing it in the air to test its flexibility. He landed the first stroke on Samuel's right cheek. It stung like crazy, but Samuel had gritted his teeth in preparation and emitted no sound. The second stroke, delivered about thirty seconds later, hurt just as much, as did the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth.

At this point Judge Harris stopped to survey his work. Samuel didn't move because he knew that the punishment was only half through. He stood there in the bent over position, his posterior nervously shaking a little waiting for the seventh stroke. But before that was applied, the judge reached over and, with both hands, slowly pulled down Samuel's briefs to reveal the fiery red lines that now marked the boy's backside.

Samuel shuddered at the sudden exposure of his posterior, but maintained his position over the chair. He knew it would do no good to protest this treatment, at least while he was in this exposed and embarrassing position. Needless to say, the next six strokes stung more than the first group because there was no longer the protection of the cotton briefs. When Samuel was permitted to stand up, it took all his determination to keep his hands away from his burning and bruised ass. His butt was a hill of stinging, burning flesh. It felt like a swarm of angry bees had attacked en masse, and they wouldn't stop! He didn't want the judge to know how much it hurt, but the judge could see signs of suppressed tears in his eyes.

Samuel was then told to pull up his pants and go home to dinner. The judge reminded him that he was due back at four the next day and that his first assignment would be to mow the lawn properly. Samuel hurried away. When he was out of the judge's sight, he began to vigorously rub his bottom to try to alleviate the pain.

The next day Samuel was on Judge Harris' doorstep ten minutes before four. He stood there until the hour came before he actually rang the bell. He wanted to put off greeting the judge as long as possible. After he had mowed the lawn so that it passed inspection, he was assigned to scrape the old paint off the garage door in preparation for a new coat of paint. This was very taxing work and his arms were soon tired, but he kept at it for most of the last hour. Then the judge inspected it and showed Samuel how many spots he had missed.

"This time," the judge told him when they were inside the house, "I'm going to give you double the number of strokes you got yesterday. You will get twenty-four today. And I will keep adding twelve each time you fail to do a good job until you learn to do it right. Drop your pants and lean over the chair."

Samuel moved cautiously toward the chair. He was still feeling some soreness in his posterior from the day before, but he thought it wise not to protest because it was clear that Judge Harris would probably increase the punishment if he did. Samuel undid his belt and let his trousers drop to the floor. He bent over putting his hands on the chair, his briefs still in place.

"Didn't I tell you to drop your pants?" the judge asked sternly.

"I did, sir," Samuel answered with a bit of a tremor in his voice.

"Your underpants are still on. Take them down right now."

James stood up and pushed the briefs to the floor. He had, of course, assumed that the judge would start the punishment with his briefs on, but that was not to be. Samuel shuddered a little and bent over the chair again, his buttocks now twitching involuntarily with anticipatory fear.

The judge's rod met its mark with precision. Although the welts from the day before had by now disappeared, Samuel still seemed to still feel them and the new ones being created by the rod brought back all the pain from the day before and then some. It took all his effort not to rise from his position after the sixteenth stroke. And he no longer could keep silent. He yelped with each blow toward the end of the chastisement.

Finally it was over and the judge told him he could pull up his trousers and go home. The judge reminded Samuel that the next day he was to go back to the scraping job and finish it properly. Samuel walked home with a great hatred in his heart for the judge. That evening he carefully examined his backside in the mirror. He was able to count all the twenty-four red stripes with which the judge's rod had marked him. He also had trouble sitting at his desk to do his homework. He couldn't seem to find a sitting position that was comfortable. Finally he stood to complete his mathematics assignment.

With great determination and caution Samuel worked at the judge's garage door the next day. His arms were more tired when he finished than they had been the day before, but this time the work passed Judge Harris' inspection and Samuel went home unscathed. Looking in the mirror that night, Samuel saw no more welts, only some redness from the previous ones on his backside.

The next day he was assigned to paint the garage door. The work seemed much easier than the scraping and he finished it within an hour and forty-five minutes. He went inside to let the judge know that the job was ready for inspection. But when Judge Harris looked at it, he shook his head. "That's the worst job of painting I have ever seen," the judge said. "Look at the way you have streaked it. You will have to do it again tomorrow, and you better do it right next time." There was an implied threat in his voice that sent a shiver down Samuel's spine.

The two of them went inside and the judge then informed Samuel that, as he had told him two days before, he was going to add twelve more strokes to the punishment that day, making a total of thirty-six.

Samuel could think of nothing to say but meekly, "Yes sir."

The judge, recognizing the pain that so many strokes might produce, decided that he needed to constrain Samuel's legs and arms this time to prevent any futile attempts to protect his posterior. He told Samuel to hold out his hands. Then, using a pair of handcuffs, the judge clamped them together.

"Now march upstairs to the bedroom," the judge said. This was something different from what Samuel had expected. Apparently the strokes were not to be applied as he leaned over the chair. How, he wondered, was the judge going to position him this time. He was shaking as he climbed to the bedroom.

They entered the judge's bedroom where Judge Harris undid the boy's belt buckle and pulled his pants and underpants down. He picked up one of Samuel's feet so that the pants could be slipped off and then he did the same with the other foot. "Now lie down on the bed," the judge ordered, "on your stomach."

Handcuffed the way he was, Samuel could do little but comply. He lay face down and the judge tied his handcuffed hands to one of the bed posts. Then Samuel felt each of his feet being tied to the two foot posts. The feet were secured so that his legs were spread apart. Next the judge lifted his thigh section and shoved a pillow underneath him so that his buttocks were higher than the rest of his body and an easy target for the rod. The judge then left the room to get the dreaded instrument, while Samuel lay there nervously anticipating the sting of the rod.

The strokes this time seemed to be applied with more force than had been used the times before. Each slice cut through Samuel's body like a knife. He screamed, yelled, and pleaded for the punishment to stop, but Judge Harris methodically continued, pausing between each stroke only long enough for the pain to have its full effect on Samuel's bottom. By the twelfth stroke Samuel was beginning to cry and when the chastisement was finished he was sobbing like a baby.

The judge left him tied to the bed while he went downstairs to return the punishment instrument to its place on the table. Then he returned to the bedroom, undid Samuel's bonds, and told him he should be on time when he returned the next day because the garage door would need to be painted properly next time.

Samuel was in great despair as he walked home. Why, he now wondered, hadn't he taken juvenile detention instead of community service. He wondered if he could get the sentence changed at this late date. Surely juvenile detention would be less painful.

Samuel continued to go to the home of Judge Harris every day after school and on weekends to work his two hours a day of community service. He made sure that he was there on time so that he would never again be punished for being late. Somehow the judge always had plenty for him to do and most of the jobs took all the concentration and energy he could muster.

When he went home at night he was generally quite tired, though he still had to do his homework after supper. He seldom saw his friends except in school and he never found time any more to go to the movies or to the mall.

But Samuel had finally learned how to do most of his assignments with the kind of care and thoroughness that the judge demanded and so that he was not punished too often or too severely anymore. He was even getting used to working for Judge Harris and, crazy as it might seem, he was secretly beginning to like the man.

One day, after he had finished washing the bathroom floor and the judge had inspected it, Judge Harris said, "Tomorrow I want you to be here at nine o'clock in the morning instead of four in the afternoon. We are short handed down at the court house, so I will take you there. I have already cleared it with your school. When you go to school in the afternoon, check with your morning teachers as to what homework assignments you need to do for the day. I will only need you at the court house for three days and then you will return to the regular schedule."

Samuel wasn't sure what it would be like at the court house, but he was happy to have a change of scenery and so said politely, "Thank you, sir," and went home for supper.

He arrived at the judge's home promptly the next morning and the judge drove him to the court house where he was assigned to mop the third-floor hallway. The next day he vacuumed the rug in the judge's chambers, dusted the books and book shelves, and filed a large pile of papers from the judge's desk. The work at the court house was less taxing than the work at the judge's home.

On the third day, Judge Harris told Samuel that he was to sit in the court room and observe the operations of the court. Samuel was quite pleased with this assignment since it meant that he would not have to do any physical labor. He could just sit and watch.

There were three cases that came before the judge that day. The first was of a youth arrested for knifing his sister. The boy was younger than Samuel and, though he had seen him once before on the street, he didn't really know the lad. The judge postponed sentencing until the boy had had a psychiatric evaluation. The parents were quite distraught.

The second case involved a young lad in Samuel's class who had stolen some items from a toy store. Both Samuel and the accused were embarrassed to see each other in the court room. The judge decided to put this boy on probation to his parents, with the father paying the store owner for the stolen goods.

The third case involved another boy Samuel knew, but one a year older and in a school grade above his. The lad was named Robert. This was the third time Robert had come before this judge for minor offenses, but Judge Harris recognized that a pattern was beginning to develop. He sternly told the boy and his parents that he could, under the circumstances, sentence Robert to a period in juvenile detention so that he would learn to behave properly. He also pointed out the community service option. Then, to the surprise of all in the court room, the judge turned to Samuel and asked, "What do you think, Samuel, detention or service?"

Samuel looked up in surprise. But he quickly gathered himself together and replied, "Community service, sir."

"Then its settled," the judge said. "Robert, you will do two hours of community service every day, including weekends, for a period of one month. Be at my home promptly tomorrow afternoon at four o'clock for your assignment." He then spoke severely to the parents to make sure that they understood the importance of getting their son to comply.

Samuel, meanwhile, wore a broad smile of pride because the judge had turned to him to make the decision.

The next day at four o'clock the two boys, Samuel and Robert, met on the doorsteps to Judge Harris' home. Robert was surprised. "What are you doing here?" he asked, not realizing that Samuel was completing the same kind of sentence the judge had given him.

"I'm on community service just as you are," Samuel replied. "I have a little more than a week yet to serve.

"Is it hard?" Robert asked.

"All depends on how well you work," Samuel answered. "We better ring the bell right away. We don't want to be late to work."

Thus the afternoon started. Samuel was assigned to vacuum all the rugs and clean the drapes. Robert, after he was instructed to call the judge by the title sir, was sent into the yard to mow the lawn. Near the end of the work session, Judge Harris inspected the work of both boys and found the yard work lacking.

"You have done as poor a job as Samuel did when he first came," Judge Harris said to Robert. "I will have to give you twelve strokes today like I gave him on his first day."

"Yes sir," said Robert, with a tremor in his voice, realizing what he meant by twelve strokes but not knowing they would be applied to his trouserless backside.

"Bend over that chair," the judge ordered pointing to the piece of furniture intended for punishment, "and place your hands flat on the seat."

Robert moved slowly over to the chair and bent into the position indicated. He was a little nervous, not knowing how hard the strokes might be placed, though he realized that they would be on his upended backside.

"Now," said the judge to Samuel, "pull down his pants."

Samuel put his arms around Robert's waist and began to undo his belt.

"Hey, stop that!" shouted Robert, as he began to rise from his bent-over position.

"You better let me do it," whispered Samuel in his ear, "or the judge is liable to add a lot of extra strokes to your punishment."

"Stay with your hands on the chair," Judge Harris ordered, "I don't want to have to add any more strokes to your record today."

Robert realized that he couldn't prevent the lowering of his trousers, and had better comply with the judge's demands. "Yes, sir," he said with resignation.

Samuel proceeded to lower Robert's pants and underpants so that his backside was revealed in its full glory, two full, prominent orbs of pink fleshcheeks separated by a deep crack, as smooth as the day he was born. This would afford a perfect target for the tanning the judge was about to deliver.

The judge swished the limber cane through the air experimentally, testing it in the air for flexibility and changing his grip until he was satisfied that he had it in exactly the right position. It made a whistling sound as it passed through the air. Then, without any more warning, he laid the first stroke with some force on Robert's rump.

Robert let out a muffled yell. The pain was obviously more than he had expected. He gritted his teeth for the next stroke that came shortly thereafter. Again Robert made a muffled sound, but not as loudly as the first time. Samuel watched in fascination as the strokes were laid on, each producing its own angry red stripe. He was thankful that someone else was receiving the judge's treatment this time and not he.

With the twelfth stroke the judge told Robert to stand up and restore his trousers to their proper position. Then he reminded both boys to be back the next day promptly by four o'clock, and he told Robert that his first duty the next day would be to mow the yard properly.

The two lads walked together to the end of the block where they parted to go to their separate homes. On the way Robert said to Samuel, "Boy that hurt. I've never felt so sore before. Does he always lay it on that way?"

"Only if you do a bad job," said Samuel, aware that this was just the first of many times that Robert would feel the rod. "Let me give you some advice. I've almost completed my month, and the one thing I've learned is to be very careful to do the best job possible when the judge gives me an assignment. If you do, then you won't have to bend down again."

"Thanks," Robert replied. "I'll remember that. I guess I can be super careful for awhile. After all, its only for a month."

Robert seemed to have learned his lesson from the first whipping because the jobs he did on the next three days were done to the satisfaction of the judge. But then one day he was assigned to wash the kitchen floor. After he gathered together the cleaning equipment and placed it on the floor, he decided to take a moment to go to the bathroom. He walked out of the kitchen and started to go upstairs.

"What's the problem?" asked the judge, who was sitting in the living room as Robert went past him toward the stairs.

"I have to go to the bathroom, sir," Robert replied. The judge said nothing and returned to the book he was reading.

Then, after some minutes, the judge realized that Robert seemed to be taking a long time. He decided that the boy was probably dawdling to delay the work assignment.

Judge Harris rose from his chair and went softly upstairs to the bathroom door. He swung this open to find Robert in a rather awkward position, sitting on the toilet seat with his feet extended upward and pumping his distended _s_e_x_ organ.

Robert immediately brought his feet back to the floor and stood up. His face was bright red with embarrassment. He reached to the floor to pull up his pants.

"Leave them down," the judge ordered, referring to the clothing around Robert's ankles, "and stand at attention."

Then the judge called to Samuel who was in another upstairs room working on the assignment he had been given. Samuel came quickly at the judge's call.

When Samuel, later that evening, reflected on the scene, he wished he had had a camera. It was rather comical to see Robert standing there erect, bare from the waist down, and his penis erect at the same time, although the fear of the moment would soon return it to its normal softness. The judge was glaring in anger at Robert and Robert's face was red with shame.

"What were you assigned to do?" Judge Harris asked in a demanding voice.

"Wash the kitchen floor, sir," Robert replied weakly. "I was just about to come down and do that."

"Don't lie to me, boy." The judge was quite angry. "You were hiding here and giving yourself pleasure when there was work to be done in the kitchen. Isn't that right?"

There was nothing Robert could say but a weak, "Yes sir."

The judge now turned to Samuel and told him to go and fetch the handcuffs. "This boy needs to be taught a lesson in the bedroom," he said.

Samuel hastily went down to the living room cabinet where he knew the judge kept the cuffs. Robert and the judge had not moved from their positions in the bathroom when he returned.

"Clamp them on the boy's hands," the judge ordered, and Samuel did so with a "Yes sir."

"Now take him into the bedroom and secure him to the bedposts," the judge ordered. Samuel helped Robert step out of his pants and guided him to the bedroom where he told Robert to lie face down on the bed.

Robert was shaking with nervousness, not knowing what would happen next. He accepted the direction of Samuel and allowed him to tie his feet without protest. What else could he do. He had been caught red handed in the bathroom when he should have been working in the kitchen.

Once Robert was tied down, his cuffed hands to one of the bed posts and his legs spread apart by the ties to two of the other bed posts, Samuel shoved a pillow under his hips to raise his buttocks into whipping position. Samuel then stood there fascinated by the two full, prominent cheeks separated by a deep crack. They had no remaining marks from his previous whipping and were smooth and hairless. They would afford a perfect target for the whipping Robert was about to receive. Samuel even wanted to pat them, perhaps squeeze them a little, and generally feel their smoothness. But he quickly put aside such erotic thoughts as the judge was returning with the dreaded rod.

"You will need to learn that procrastination is not to be tolerated, young man," the judge said to the boy tied in position on the bed. "And I'm going to teach you that lesson right now." With that he began to systematically mark Robert's buttocks with angry red lines. Robert screamed as each of the strokes landed.

Samuel didn't try to count the number, and he later believed there had been many more than the judge actually administered. He was visibly shaken by the pain that Robert must have been feeling, and in sympathy he hoped that the judge would soon decide to stop.

Finally Judge Harris did, and Robert, by then, was sobbing incessantly. The judge told Samuel to leave him tied to the bed and to go back to work. For most of the next hour Samuel could hear sobs and moans coming from the bedroom as he worked in one of the other upstairs rooms.

When it was nearly time to go home, the judge told Samuel to release Robert so that he could put his pants back on and go home. Samuel, after he had done this, was himself allowed to go home before Robert so that he wasn't there when Robert departed with the judge's words, "Tomorrow you will wash the kitchen floor properly, as you should have done today."

That night, lying in bed and recalling the experience of that day, Samuel realized for the first time how much he was aroused by the whipping of Robert. Although he had felt pity for the boy at the time the strokes were being applied, the memory of the event was causing his _s_e_x_ organ to enlarge as much as Robert's had been when Samuel entered the bathroom. Samuel found the memory rather pleasurable.

During the next few days Samuel made up his mind to request a special favor of Judge Harris before he completed his sentence of community service. He decided he would ask the judge if, in the future, he could continue to participate in community service on a volunteer basis.


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