The Welcome Wagon - Part 2

by Thom <>

This story is a sequel to Joe Kari's "The Welcome Wagon" Read it at www. rdrop. com/users/mmsa/xxx/spank/st4727.html

Recap (the story so far)

A couple of weeks after the festivities at Bowman, Milt Jacobs was called to the front desk of his dorm at Pitzer. He had a phone call.

"Hello, is this Milt Jacobs?"

"Yeah, speaking."

"Hey, uh... this is Hank McCloud."

"Hank who?"

"McCloud. I'm the guy that, well... I'm the one who was using the, um... paddle-- down at Bowman--"


"You know, we kidnapped you sort of, and--"

"Yeah, I remember. You wanna rub it in some more?" Milt said.

"No, no, I...well, it just wasn't fair and all, ganging up like that, " said Hank, "and--look, I feel kind of bad about it. I know I hit pretty hard."

"You guys got me good all right," said Milt. "_s_h_i_t_, I'm still sore!"

"Yeah, I bet. Well... I just wanna say you were a bigger man than us that night, Jacobs. And--"

"Yeah? What?" said Milt.

"And if you want, maybe I could make it up to you."

"Make it up? How?" This was about the last thing Jacobs expected from a Bowman Bulldog.

"I swiped the paddle this afternoon," McCloud said quickly. "I got it hid in my duffel bag now, and the Coach won't be back till Monday." There was an awkward pause. "I could be up there by tomorrow morning, and you could--well, I could... you know, pay up for my part in the whole thing."

"You're kidding, right? This has gotta be a joke."

"Nope. You say the word, I'll take some hard licks. I figure if I ever had it coming, it's now. No kidding, I feel bad about, guy!" Hank swallowed a couple of times. "Just find some place private, ok?"

"Well, that's a handsome offer, McCloud," Milt laughed. "But the man I'd really like to paddle is that prick Ivorsen!"

"Yeah, he can be a little _s_h_i_t_," Hank agreed.

"Well," said Milt chuckling, "don't forget the Panthers-Bulldogs game we're hosting here in two months. I shouldn't tell, but we've got a dunk tank we're gonna set up for you guys, and we're gonna be calling it 'the Bulldog Bath.' We're gonna suggest that because of the prank played on us at Bowman, each Bulldog player will have to take a turn on the dunk seat if they lose!"

"Uh oh," said McCloud with a grin. "Is it gonna be water waitin' for us in that tank?"

"You wish!" said Milt. "And when a player gets dunked, Coach will be waiting with the paddle, to exact the exit fee: five good swats!"

"Ho ho, even better," laughed Hank. "I guess that'll give us something to think about on the bus ride home!"

"It'll be public, you know," warned Jacobs, "at what we're gonna call the 'Sportsmanship Lesson.' It'll be right after the game. Everyone will get to watch the losers strip and line up for the dunk tank."

"Only fair," said McCloud. "But what about Ivorsen?"

"Well I'm gonna propose as an amends for the hazing I got that if the Bulldogs lose, they have to pick one player to be singled out and given a paddling in front of both teams. Good, hard punishment swats. Maybe you can help make sure that Ivorsen gets the honor!"

"I can handle that," said Hank, "The guy's got an ego the size of this state. I won't have any trouble getting him to volunteer--I'll just tell him he wouldn't have had the balls to take the punishment you did at Bowman. Start practicing your paddling arm!

And now, our feature presentation...

"And speaking of which, my offer is still good to make it up to you. Get some practice with your paddling arm.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"You bet. As I said, I feel bad about what we did to you, and I'll pay up."

"You're on, McCloud. When will you be here?"

"How's ten o'clock sound?"

"Ten it is. Where do we meet?"

"Come to the Beta House-do you know where it is?"

"The Beta House? Are you a brother?"

Milt and Hank exchanged official fraternity greetings, then Milt continued, "It will be a solemn honor to paddle your sorry ass, brother McCloud. I'll see you at ten! Don't be late."

At five minutes before ten, Hank McCloud parked his car in front of the Beta house, picked up his Bowman duffel bag with the Coach's paddle in it, bounded up the steps. Before he had a chance to ring the bell, the door was opened by Milt Jacobs. "I live in the football dorm, but I'm a brother. Come on in."

Hank stepped inside, now a little unsure if he was doing the right thing. But he had laid the wood so hard on Milt two weeks ago back at Bowman, he felt he had to atone for it somehow. And what better way than to take as good as he had given.

"This way." Milt directed Hank downstairs to the chapter room in the basement of the House, then to a small room off to the side. Hank had an idea what to expect there; the Beta house at Bowman had a similar room. Milt opened the door, and Hank saw the Beta Paddling Horse. He had only been over the horse once since Hell Week, when he had lost a bet with a brother his sophomore year and paid it out in swats.

"All right, McCloud, prepare yourself for execution." Milt intoned the familiar words from Hell Night. "Let's see, I was completely naked, so you better be. You are willing to go through with this?"

"Uh, yeah. As I told you, it seems only fair. Besides, as you should know, a Beta brother can always take a paddling from a brother, and it will be an honor. Here's your weapon." Hank pulled out Coach Burdock's paddle, the instrument that had given Milt such agony in Hanks hands two weeks before.

Hank pulled his T-shirt over his head, kicked off his shoes, shucked his Levi's, and pulled off his shorts. "Hey, we are alone, right; I don't want any surprises."

"On my word as a Beta, we will be alone. Most of the house is gone today, and I put a reserved sign on the storage room door. That always means a couple of brothers are working out a problem with the paddle. OK, ready? Last chance to back out. Let's see, how'd it go? Oh, yes, 'OK, McCloud, say you're a pantywaist and I'll let you go. But if you're man enough to take some punishment, bend over the horse.'"

Hank did just that. Milt fastened the strap around Hank's waist, and one around each ankle. The horse put Hank's muscular ass in perfect paddling position, with his legs spread far enough apart to keep him from flexing his ass against the swat or the pain. Hank had felt understandably vulnerable the previous times he had been over the horse, today he felt particularly so, about to be paddled-doubtless unmercifully-by the Captain of his arch-rival football team. But he hadn't really wanted to hurt Milt like he had two weeks earlier; he had been caught up in the excitement. That's primarily the reason he wanted this chance to atone.

"Since we don't have a crowd here to count, why don't you? And why not just like Hell Night; you know, 'One, sir; thank you, sir; may I have another, sir?' And just like Hell Night, if you miss the count, I'll do the swat over. Brother, I'm going to give you fifteen, just like I got from you. Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"Wait for it" Milt planted his feet wide, then pulled back for a mighty swing.


Tears sprang to Hank's eyes as the business end of the Bulldog Paddle met its new target. "One, sir; thank you, sir; may I have another, sir?" Oh, boy, Milt could swing the paddle with the best of them!


"Two, sir; thank you, sir; may I have another, sir?"


"Three, sir; thank you, sir; may I have another, sir?"


"Four, sir; thank you, sir; may I have another, sir?"


"Five, sir; thank you, sir; may I have another, sir?"

Milt waited just a moment, then, WHACK!!

"Six, sir; thank you, sir; may I have another, sir?"

Milt was showing Hank no mercy. Each swat hit a slightly different area of Hank's rapidly reddening ass, and Hank was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea. Of course, the swats he had given Milt were every bit as powerful as this. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as Milt continued his onslaught.


"Seven, sir; thank you, sir; may I have another, sir?"


"Eight, sir; thank you, sir; may I have another, sir?"


"Ni-ine, sir; thank you, sir; may I have another, sir?"


"Ten, sir; thank you, sir; may I have another, sir?"

Again Milt paused. He wasn't enjoying this quite as much as he thought he would. His own paddling at Bowman had been a prank, and, yes, he had been humiliated, embarrassed, and paddled long and hard, but this was different-McCloud was a willing recipient.

"Why'd you stop?" stammered Hank through his tears.

"_s_h_i_t_, man, it's not the same. You guys took me for a ride, humiliated me, paddled the _s_h_i_t_ outa me, and it was a prank. Now, here you are offering to pay me back, and the fun's not in it."

"So, what d'ya want to do? Have your whole team paddle me?"

"N-no! It just doesn't seem sportsmanlike somehow."

"Well, it wasn't exactly sportsmanlike when we rousted you out of bed at two-thirty in the morning, was it? I'm just offering to atone. You're doing great, by the way; I'm feeling every one of your swats down to my toes and up to the top of my head. You're not going pantywaist on me? Remember, I gave you FIFTEEN of my best shots."

"_s_h_i_t_, I'm no pantywaist," retorted Milt. "And you're right; you beat hell out of my ass..." He planted his feet once more, and pulled back again for a mighty swing.


"Eleven, sir; thank you, sir; may I have another, sir?" That swat was the hardest yet, and Hank was pushed over the edge. He began sobbing. Milt, meanwhile, had decided to show no mercy, hauled off again and, WHACK!!

"Twelve, sir; thank you, sir; may I have another, sir?"


"Thirteen, sir; thank you, sir; may I have another, sir?"


"Fourteen, sir; thank you, sir; may I have another, sir?"


"Fifteen, sir; thank you, sir; may I have another, sir?" Even through his sobs, Hank was able to call out the count and the request. He was about to relax when WHACK!!

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?"

"Yeah, you're right; you deserve this. My ass STILL has a bruise from your Welcome Wagon. And we lost the _d_a_m_n_ game!" He had Hank McCloud belted into the paddling horse, and, _d_a_m_n_, he thought he should take advantage of the upper hand.


"Come on, man; we agreed to fifteen."


"You only stopped because the campus fuzz was coming; you would have given me more. That asshole Ivorsen wanted you to go on."


"No, I stopped because you'd had enough. And that asshole Ivorsen's going to get his!"

"Yeah, you're right, he will. You're going to arrange it, right?"

"You bet I will."

"Okay, one more. Count it and thank me."


"Twenty, sir; thank you, sir! Oh, my god, my ass is on fire!" Hank was almost sobbing again; but now he felt cleansed of his guilt in laying the wood so hard on Milt's backside that night at Bowman. He was going to feel his atonement for days to come.

Milt was already unbuckling his friend from the horse. Hank stood up and the two football players grabbed each other in a mighty hug. Then Hank began to get dressed again.

Milt spoke again: "Now, one more thing about the rematch: You know all about the team activities we have planned when the Panthers win, but how about putting your ass on the line as well?"

"Whaddya mean?"

"A little side bet, paid off right here. We lose, you give me five swats for each point we lose by; you lose, same deal."

"Just you and me? Five swats per point?"

"Just you and me. Unless you're some kind of exhibitionist."

"Nah. Five swats; it's a deal." They shook hands.

Oh, and by the way, the Bulldogs did lose the rematch, and they all participated in the "Sportsmanship Lesson." Each Bulldog player took his turn on the dunk seat (no, it wasn't water waiting for them in the tank) and got his five swat exit fee from the Panther coach. And Clem Ivorsen got twenty-five swats bare-assed, bent over at the fifty-yard line of Panther Stadium. Milt, as team captain, got to do the honors, and he burned Clem's ass but good. It hadn't been hard for Hank to goad him into being on the receiving end, just as he had suggested.

And the next week, Hank and Milt got together again to pay off the bet. Hank took seventy-five swats from Milt for the Bulldogs' fifteen-point loss to the Panthers. And their friendship grew and flourished.

More stories by Thom