16 - the Judge's Son Gets Paddled


by Jason L. Parker <Jlpspanker@hotmail.com>

In 1997-98, I posted a series of true-life stories that got a lot of very positive e-mail response from readers of this website. I never finished the series, until now. In reviewing these original submissions, I have edited these stories and now repost them with typo corrections, etc. These repostings will be done every couple of days, and the series completed with new stories. This series begins when I was 11, and ends a year ago, with the stories posted chronologically.

This is the second new story posted in this total series. This story is being submitted slightly out of chronological order because of this upcoming weekend's visit of a longtime reader of this series. We will be stopping by the location of this very story. Enjoy all....and you too "J chan", see you at the airport!

Living from the age of 18 till 21 in the Orient screwed up my mind to put it bluntly. Vietnam was not a war yet, even though we had over 2,000 US MAAG troop/advisors to the South Vietnamese Army. I spent more time out of Japan than in it some months, but what affected me the most was the Oriental disregard for human life when it was not family. Many times I would see a traffic accident where the victims laid on the street dying, as the police worked the vehicles out of the way of the jammed traffic, then tended to the victims as an after thought.

Between that framework of daily life and my military occupation, I really didn't give a _s_h_i_t_ about taking anything from anyone, and it took me almost two years once I returned to the states to get my head on straight.

When I started college, after my Army stint, I was a 22 year old sophomore with a bad 'tude. The academic challenges of college and the social life of college, its bar scene, dating, scoring, etc. slowly got my head on right....but it did cause for some interesting experiences.

Not to far from our urban college campus was an entertainment district that was good....but today it is booming by comparison. At the edge of this district was an old one-story food plant that was closed due to the manufacturer moving out to the suburbs into much bigger quarters. An enterprising guy bought the old place and converted into a huge bar/food operation that was divided into four separate areas. Lots of pool tables, dining, drinking and dancing. It was a smashing success...the first of its kind in our city.

With this success brought the problem of underage wannabe drinkers. In our area the first time offense for a bar/restaurant was 5 days with no liquor sales and a fine. The next time it was 10 days and a bigger fine. The third time it was 15 days, plus a mongo fine. A fourth time they shut you down completely for 30 days.

The place had its first two suspensions of liquor sales in its first six months of business, and the owners were getting pissed at the bouncer's letting their buddies and their underage friends into drink.

One night I was walking past the pool table area on the way out the front door, when a beer-drunk lurched into me, causing me to jostle a guy taking his game winning shot at 9-ball. I apologized and this unhappy pool player didn't like my apology or the idea that it was my fault that he lost his 9-ball game. He created a real ugly scene and started making martial arts moves with his pool cue.

The owner and his bouncer were approaching from the back of this guy and I shook my head "no", so they stopped. My 9-ball loser mistook the fact that I was standing there and taking his _s_h_i_t_ as an invitation. It was a mistake. One leg sweep later, combined with me using his cue and my foot on several points of his anatomy...and his buddies had to take him to the hospital.

The owner liked what he saw, since there a lot of beer drunk fights every weekend. He also liked the fact that the guy they hauled out was 6" taller than me, and local college line backer...and it didn't bother me one bit to take his pool stick away from him and use it on him. We immediately struck a deal that Monday through Thursday I would close up at night, and be the roving bouncer from 9PM till closing. (No, I am no Patrick Swayze, and this place was no "Roadhouse"...and there was no Ben Gazarra bad guy.)

That was a sweet deal. Mel Tillis had a hit record many years ago that had a fabulous line in it..."they all look better at closing time". The guys drank more than most girls back then...and the girls didn't drink enough to want to go home with some guy slobbering all over themselves. Likewise, some of the gals looked great because the guys were so drunk. Got lucky many nights just because I was there...and sober...and the gal was good-looking and not happy with her drunken date.

It also worked for the owner. The vice cops stopped coming in, looking for under age drinkers. It wasn't that the teenyboppers didn't try, they did a lot. Back then driver's licenses didn't have any pictures. All you had to be was close to the physical description on the license and they had to believe you...or at least that was the theory.

What always amazed me were the repeat offenders. Jeff was one of those. His name was different than the one on the "borrowed" driver's license. Jeff screwed with the wrong bouncer one too many times.

I had kicked Jeff out one night after he got sloppy drunk and couldn't produce an ID that I liked. I also put the door bouncer on notice about Jeff. About a week later, there was Jeff again, this time giving back to his buddy, the driver's license he had used to get in. Same door bouncer....this time they left together on the spot...with Jeff's buddy. The bouncer permanently. You would think that Jeff would learn...NOT.

A couple of weeks later, on a Thursday night, I came in around 12 PM, instead of my usual 9PM start. There was Jeff standing around a pool table with a beer in his hand. All hell broke loose. I snapped my fingers at the bartender, signaling him to call the cops. Then Jeff got escorted to the back of the place, as I pitched his beer into the trash. After I pushed him against the wall and told him the cops were on the way...he started begging.

I watched this kid try to worm his way out of the mess he was in....and came to the conclusion that his spoiled brat needed his ass kicked big time. He just couldn't see where he had done anything really wrong. Jeff wasn't dumb....he was stupid. His mind was on Jeff, not on the financial harm that his stupidity would cause a bunch of people, including me...I was working my way through college...without any GI Bill.

Jeff wanted me to do anything but turn him in. Anything! Jeff was not a bad looking kid. About 2" taller than me at 6'2". Black hair, brown eyes, trim build...with really long dancer's legs that filled out his size 32 jeans. He was beginning to really get sweaty when he realized that I wasn't going to let him go.

"Please fella, don't turn me over to the cops" was his repeated line. I finally got tired of his whining.

"Jeff, I ain't some "fella". I have kicked your ass out of here twice. This is the third time, and you aren't even bright enough to call me by the name you have heard people call me. Not only do you not listen at 19; you don't seem to care. If I had my way I would beat your butt black & blue and then turn you over to the cops."

Then he hit me with a stunner...like I had struck a chord within his untuned piano brain mind.

"Jason I'm sorry. If it means getting my ass beat...beat my ass...just don't turn me into the cops. My Dad would disown me if I wound up in jail over this." His eyes for the first time were beginning to tear up. The kid was serious.

Just about then a policeman buddy of mine came in. Kenny was a wheelman, that normally didn't do vice cop work, but the district vice guys were tied up on a matter more important than Jeff, and Kenny got the call. He and I at that time was beginning to become a really close friend, my first back the Army. That friendship lasts until this day, as he finishes his law enforcement career with our state highway patrol.

"Gotta problem Jason. Vice can't come in on this for a couple of hours, and they have all the paddy wagons tied up as well. I can't put this kid on the back of my police motorcycle, but I can take the report and have Vice pick him up at his house later."

This sounded great to me, but Jeff went ballistic.

"Oh please no. If the cops show up at my Dad's house I am _f_u_c_k_ed. He won't let me come back home. Please guys. He is a county judge. My Dad is Judge ------. "

Kenny's and my mouth dropped. Jeff's sister had been killed a couple of years ago by a drunk driver, and his Dad was the worst judge in the area to be hauled in front of for drunk driving. This kid was _f_u_c_k_ed!

I turned to Kenny and asked, "Can I file this report in the morning, if you take this kid's information down?"

Kenny looked at me funny for a second and then replied, "Sure, it means we would have to meet at his Dad's place and have a Vice officer arrest him then."

Jeff screamed louder and begged more.

"Got a different way of handling this with Jeff...if you don't mind. I think we can stop this once and for all. Can you hold off doing anything?"

Kenny looked at me funny again and said, "Sure, I am not Vice and I sure don't envy this kid's potential problems with his Dad."

"OK. We are closing, and Jeff has offered an alternative. An alternative I think will get through to him. If you don't hear from me by morning, I will have taken care of this problem."

Kenny smiled at me, frowned at Jeff and departed with, "Have at it!"

Little did he know.

I sat Jeff down at a table and supervised everyone cleaning up and clearing out. As they worked they gave Jeff strange looks, but soon the place was empty, except for a worried Jeff and me.

"Jeff, you have two choices. Choice #1, I take you home to your Dad. Choice #2, I paddle your putt purple after you write out a confession, detailing everything about how you get into bars. Your choice Slick, Dad or paddle. Make up your mind."

Jeff's eyes glazed over, as his mind was obviously numbed by what I had said. He glanced around the place, hoping for a rescue of some kind, from some where. Finally he came back to life, blinking his eyes. "I'll take the paddle."

"OK Jeff. But make no mistake about it. You are going to have one hell of a time driving home. And your butt will look bad for a week. Are you sure?"

Jeff nodded his head and I motioned him over to the bar. He sat down on a barstool as I got a note pad and pen from the office. He wrote out his confession, all two pages of it.

"One other thing Jeff, by tomorrow your name will be in every bar in this district. You go there, same confession applies. Understand stud?"

Jeff started to protest, hung his head down and nodded "yes".

I took the paper back to the office and then retrieved what Jeff didn't know I had....the owner's old frat paddle...hanging on the wall. When I came out of the office, his mouth dropped. He obviously hadn't expected a real paddle...and this 3"x24" paddle was a shiny, dark colored beauty.

"OK Jeff, grab your bar stool and let's head to the band stand." He looked at me funny, but did as he was told. On Thursday night, the bandstand was empty, because the weekend band hadn't set up yet. I motioned for Jeff to put the stool at the front right corner of the stand and he did, raising the stool's height by about a foot because of the bandstand.

"Jeff, I am going to make this very simple...drop your jeans to your ankles, strip off your T-shirt and be _d_a_m_n_ed quick!"

He did, pushing his jeans to his ankles and quickly standing up, then pealing off his black T-shirt leaving his snowy white cotton briefs on display. His legs had almost no hair, since he was one those kids with almost no body hair.

I positioned the barstool as close the corner as I could, and Jeff looked worried...and he had reason to be...his butt was mine.

Without a word, I positioned him behind the back of the stool. I used the paddle to spread his knees far apart, bowing his legs at a weird angle. Then I tipped the barstool back, forcing the stool back between his legs and motioning for him to grasp the lower rung on the front of the stool legs. He did and I tipped the stool back down, leaving Jeff in a "wheel barrow" position on top of the barstool, the stool back forcing his legs apart and keeping him on the stool.

I pulled out his belt from his jeans and tied his bunched up jeans to the barstool back; leaving his cotton covered buns stuck up in the air....his briefs providing a tight white target. He was almost ready. He was positioned so that I could walk to either side or stand in front of him, dispensing all the swats needed from three angles.

I went back into the office and got a couple of spare dress ties, the owner kept for his change of clothes. As I went back to the bandstand, where Jeff was nervously waiting, I flipped on the bandstand lights, making his butt almost glisten pearly white. I tied Jeff's wrists to the stool legs.

Jeff's body was in a perfect position for a long spanking. His cotton-covered butt was right at my lower chest level, the white fabric of his briefs stretched tight across his bubble buns. His briefs were Jockey brand, Y-front hip briefs, and they just covered his butt.

"Jeff we are going to spend a few minutes discussing this problem as I get your butt ready for a paddling." As I said this, I pulled off my own belt and doubled it over, laying the loop on the center of his buns, just above his briefs straight line crotch mark. His head dropped as I drew the belt back over my shoulder and let fly with a hard overhand stroke.

"Whap"

Jeff groaned.

Nine more times I lashed his cotton covered butt from one side. I walked slowly to the other side and gave him another ten. Halfway through the second ten, Jeff started to beg and plead. I stopped. For a few minutes we discussed his drinking. Or shall I say I did the talking, he did the listening. I finished the ten swats.

Then I stood in front of him, my feet just below his head, and gave him ten more. These swats started him yelling and promising to be a new man. A couple of the swats I directed at the center of the crotch mark of his briefs...and these belt swats creased his briefs into his crack. He bellowed loud when those swats landed.

"Jeff, as you drive home tonight, sitting down is going to be a load stud...and here is why". Ten shots landed on his bare right thigh, just below where his briefs started...the most tender part of his butt. He was screaming and crying now. Walked around to the other side of the stool, and the next ten landed on the left upper thigh...same area...even a more intense reaction. I now had Jeff's attention.

"That was 50 Jeff. Are you ready for the paddle?"

"Oh God Jason...I've learned my lesson, I don't need to be paddled after your belt. NO! Please don't...PLEASE!"

I responded by tugging and smoothing out his briefs, baring about an 1" of lower butt cheek. He was ready as I put my belt back on and picked up the frat paddle.

Now Jeff was hysterical with his begging and promising. I quieted that with the first swat that landed on bare cheek and white cotton...both cheeks...dead center.

"C-R-A-C-K"

"FFUUCCKK MMEE. PLEASE NO!"

Nine more times his buns felt hard wood. Each time Jeff's bound body tried to evade the pain and swats. It didn't work. Now there was little verbal and all bawling...like a ten-year-old boy.

I went to the other side and gave him ten more. These swats just intensified the pitch and volume of his bawling. Now he was getting what he deserved, and he sounded like he was really feeling what he had coming.

As I positioned myself with my feet in front of his face, I laid the paddle down on his left cheek and thigh. His butt and thigh were placed perfect. The first swat caught brief covered bun and bare thigh...flush and square. His body shook and he shrieked at this new pain.

I slowly paced these swats; alternating side to side, landing a couple on the sides of his butt cheeks till he had gotten twenty more swats, ten to a bun/thigh.

I laid the paddle down in front of him and rubbed his butt for a couple of seconds, and then I wedged his sweat moistened briefs up his crack, baring his multi-colored buns. His buns and thighs had a base color of dark red...with darker paddle marks. He was almost done.

Each bare butt swat was given slowly, alternating sides. His body now was bucking at each new shot of pain in his bare ass. When it was over I left Jeff hanging there, soaking in the fire in his butt as I finished up the cash drawer placement in the safe. When I got back to the bandstand he was hiccuping as he tried to stop crying. I sat down and let him finish crying.

"Have you learned your lesson Jeff?"

"No more. No more. Yes I've learned my lesson. Please no more....PLEASE."

You're done for tonight stud...but next time it will be double...and I'll have Kenny take you in. Understand?"

He shook his head yes and I got him untied and on his feet. Once he was standing he held onto the barstool for a moment, getting his legs back. I pulled up his jeans, leaving his briefs wedged.

"I want you to sit on bare cheeks and jeans driving home. Understand?"

He shook his head "yes" and then pulled on his T-shirt, tucking it into his jeans and then put his belt on. Jeff never came into the place again, ever. Never saw him again either.

Recently I read where he was honored for his efforts in dealing with alcohol problems at work with his Fortune 500 company. The program is named after his sister. His father never knew about Jeff's early drinking, and got promoted to the Federal bench a few years before he finally retired from the bench.

This story is true, just certain names have been modified. I travel in my own business, and have the freedom to safely satisfy the spanking needs of interested readers. Or like with "J chan's" upcoming visit, they spend a weekend with me in a city.


More stories byJason L. Parker