The stick landed square across the kid's little bare butt. And before he had a chance to start begging me to lighten up I drew back and smacked that butt a couple of more. I even surprised myself how fast the licks were coming, and how hard, but the little _f_u_c_k_er just doesn't seem to learn.
Mat's nineteen now, but he never did grow very big. Got that from his Mother's side I guess. And even though I know he's smart as a whip he never did seem to get good at keeping himself out of trouble.
It was only last week I had him down here with his pants around his ankles, his undershirt up under his arms, telling him I wasn't going to put up with any more of his not using his head. I thought I'd given him a good enough whipping that time for him to remember, though I must admit I did hold back a bit. I remember feeling sorry for him, standing there with his hand over his little pecker and staring at the floor while I lectured him good, his not having anything to say for himself. That sure changed the minute I grabbed his arm and spun that bare ass around for the lath-stick I brought down on his butt. He hollered and begged and promised and jumped around so much that the stick hit his legs as much as it did his ass.
I got tired of his hopping around and held him up against the brick wall where I started laying on the last five strokes. I didn't expect him to put his hand back there to protect his cheeks but the little _f_u_c_k_er did. Got it hit like everything else back there, too, and didn't do that again. Hasn't this time either so I guess that was one lesson he did pick up. Got to feeling sorry for the tyke, though, and held back on those last four strokes. Guess I shouldn't have. Didn't take him long to forget.
I was down here working on that same brick wall in fact. This basement I decided to dig out under our home has been a lot of work but I've finally gotten it to where I can start doing some of the finishing. The two-by-fours supporting the floor of the house are the only walls down here now, and with the dirt floor and the outside walls still dirt, some people think I'm crazy to think of this being a good apartment for us to rent out. But that will change with sheetrock. First I got to get this brick wall finished to support the fireplace upstairs. Kind of enjoyed laying the brick. It's this _f_u_c_k_ing clean-up I could do without.
This afternoon the doorbell rang. I didn't know who the guy at the door was but he was big and he was mad. Mat was practically hanging by his jacket-collar in one of the guy's hands, a look as helpless, shocked, and scared as any I have ever seen on his face. Then I saw the guy's other hand and began to share the rage I saw in his face.
The other big hand held Mat's air rifle.
"This your kid?"
I couldn't believe the little _f_u_c_k_er would be stupid enough to shoot at a passing car. Or even over it, as he tried to claim. As I grabbed Mat's arm I asked the big guy, "You want to stick around for this?" He answered, "You bet your ass," and followed us unto the house. I had Mat by the upper arm and was marching him to the kitchen. I put a chair from the table in the middle of the room, sat down, and told Mat to drop his jeans.
The little _f_u_c_k_er hesitated, probably embarrassed in front of the stranger, and for sure scared _s_h_i_t_less. "Drop 'em, Mat, or I'll do it for you." Mat knows he'll take a switch in addition to whatever other spanking he has coming if I have to undo his pants for him. So he undid his belt, unbuttoned his fly, and slid his pants down to the middle of his thighs. I was too mad to make much of a fuss over his not having dropped his jockey shorts. Grabbing his arm I bent him over my lap. That seemed to be the big stranger's cue. He was right there, holding Mat's chest down on my lap and yanking Mat's shorts off his ass. He then looked at me and I just said "Go ahead." The guy's big hand landed so hard on Mat's butt I thought he might squirm right out from between the two of us. I gripped tighter on Mat's shoulder and got a good tight grip on the back of his legs, holding his butt in one place.
The guy made good work of the situation. His big hand came down again and again, as hard as he could muster, covering one bare cheek and then the other, methodically, angry.
After he landed six or so he began telling Mat what a little _f_u_c_k_ he was, how inconsiderate, how thoughtless, emphasizing each point and eventually each word with another and somehow harder smack of that big hand on that naked, squirming, restrained, red ass.
Then he was gone. Just as suddenly as he had started the guy stood up, left the kitchen, and found his way out the door. I heard the door shut, not slam, behind him. I looked down at the boy's bare butt across my lap, held there by my hand and knee, and listened for a minute to Mat's crying, "Oh, geeze. Oh, geeze." He pressed against my lap, trying to get away from that painful ass.
"Oh, geeze."
"Mat," I said calmly, "you go down in the basement and take off all your clothes. I'm going to watch the news and then I'll come down there and teach you what I think of you not using your head."
I let go my grip. Mat slowly got off my lap, trying to control his sobs, and holding his jeans but not even trying to pull them up, headed for the basement door. I saw his red butt, pants held half-way down his thighs, as he pulled the door closed behind him.
I knew he could hear me. The TV can be heard through the floor and every time
I walked around the house, to get some chips or a beer or to take a piss, the floors squeaked and I knew Mat was downstairs, naked, listening to me and knowing that one of those sounds would not stop at the refrigerator or turn to the bathroom but would stop at the door to the basement and open it and begin walking down the stairs.
He was there waiting for me. Naked as can be, sitting on the edge of the old iron bed I keep down there for sleeping on when it's too hot upstairs. He seemed a little too embarrassed and I think the little _f_u_c_k_er had been playing with himself, he'd been there long enough and I know how boys are when they don't have their pants on. But I figure that's his business and I didn't make a big thing of making him take his hand off his crotch so I could see. We both know his butt was going to be getting the attention now that I was here.
"Dad, I really was stupid, and I'm sorry." _f_u_c_k_. The little _f_u_c_k_er really can make me proud of him at the strangest times. He was as calm and unassuming and accepting as could be.
"Well. Get your ass over the end of the bed." He stood up and while he was walking to the foot of the bed I noticed he did have the just-softening remnants of a hard-on. That was gone by the time he reached the end of the bed.
The foot-board of the iron bed comes about to Mat's waist, so I walked over behind him, lifted him up, and bent his crotch over the metal tubing. I promised he wouldn't forget this one and walked the fifteen feet to get the lath-stick that was laying in the corner.
I turned and took a good look at Mat's bare butt bent over the end of the bed, his naked body stretched out on either side. I walked to the edge of the bed and gripped the stick as hard as I could.
The stick landed square across the kid's little bare butt. And before he had a chance to start begging me to lighten up I drew back and smacked that butt a couple of more. I even surprised myself how fast the licks were coming, and how hard, but the little _f_u_c_k_er just doesn't seem to learn.
I'll hold off and let his butt quit squirming for a bit. Let the sting ease up. Then he's got ten good hard ones coming on that little ass. Ten from the tops of his thighs, that tender spot right at the bottom on his ass, to the top of his butt. Then I'll watch him dress and I'll follow him up the stairs, and I'll make him sit down beside me on the couch. That will give him something to think about, his ass burning while we watch the second half of Boss Hogg trying to hang on to his counterfeit money. Might even put my arm around him. Must admit I do love the little _f_u_c_k_er.
But right now there's his little red ass to attend to. I'm sure you'll agree you gotta feel sorry for that Mat son, but a pa's gotta do what a pa's gotta do. I have had stories published in Stroke and Drummer magazines and have assembled ten year's worth of my work into a 64-page anthology. If you'd like information on that I'll be glad to send it. Write to Merrill