As I leaned against the verandah railing, watching the motorcycles pour down the driveway and into the yard, I could feel the burn of excitement rising in my stomach. I wasn't nervous about the spanking. I figured, hell, if Reg can take it, then so can I. It terrified me, though, to think that Dad would be there to witness it and possibly even take part in it. "...have a hand in it," I thought, with nervous chagrine.
Reg had explained to me that Dad would be there
that evening mostly on my account. After the warmups, Reg and I had
gone with the other pink-bummed boys out back to a communal shower
shed. Cold water. "Helps toughen you up," explained Reg, lathering
soap into the crack of his ass.
I dove into the cold spray,
gasping, then hollered at him over the roar of water, "Was Butch
serious when he said Dad was coming?"
"Yup. He came to my
initiation, too."
"You mean I'll be a member of the gang after
this?"
"Not exactly. There's a two year probationary period. You
have to earn an average of more than fifty dollars in twenty
fund-raisers during that period before you're given full
membership. That's another reason why Dad is coming tonight. This is
my twentieth spank-a-thon."
"Does Dad sponsor you?"
"Not
usually," Reg replied, handing me a towel. "He did the first time. But
after that he said if I wanted to join the club, I'd have to do it on
my own merit."
When I had dried off, Reg took a red, silk
dressing gown from a steel locker in the changing room and handed it
to me. It was the type of loose garment that boxers wear before
stepping into the ring. All the boys had their own, with their names
sewn to the back over a large, white number. Mine had just the
number:57. Reg was number 52. I had seen a similar
garment at home, in the basement closet where Dad kept old clothes he
seemed reluctant to throw out. I remembered seeing Dad's name on it,
stitched in an arc above the number 2. Slipping into the robe, I asked
Reg, "Is Dad a member of the Hell's Punishers?"
"Yup," he
grinned. "He and Butch started the whole thing. He doesn't come out
very often anymore. Says that after you and I came along, he didn't
have much time for it. That's why he gave me his bike."
We
padded on bare feet back toward the house. Before we reached the steps
to the back door, I grabbed Reg by the arm, stopping him to say, "You
think if I make it into the club, Dad will buy me a Harley?"
He
grinned at me. "You'll have to ask him yourself."
A slight breeze wafted over the verandah as I watched the yard fill up with motorcycles, trucks, and cars. Reg had gone upstairs to visit some of the guys from the other clubs. I had continued through the house to the verandah, drawn by the sound of approaching motorcycles. As I gazed upon dozens of dismounting men and boys, the air crawled up my legs, feeling cool and pleasant. Dad hadn't arrived yet. Several competing motorcycle gangs had already parked their bikes on the lawn, and I could hear the smacks and yelps pouring from the upstairs windows as the men warmed up their boys.
Butch strode from
the house and stood by me. He placed his hand on my bum, stroking it
through the silk in gentle circles, and said, "How are you feeling?
Nervous?"
"A little," I admitted.
"Well, no need to be," he
said. "You have a big advantage over most of the other boys here."
I looked up at him questioningly, and he smiled. "You've been in
training for a long time. I know your dad. You've been
well-disciplined."
I looked down, a little embarassed, and he
laughed. "I know what it's like," he continued. "When your dad and I
first started this club, we would strap each other until one of us
gave in. Most of the time it was a draw, with both of us rolling on
the barn floor, groaning. When it wasn't a draw, he'd be the
winner. I've never met anyone who could weild a piece of leather like
your dad. No, sirree!"
I couldn't help grinning. It was as if he
had told me my dad was a superhero or something. I was proud.
Another gang roared into the driveway, and I said, "Mr. Redner?
Reg said we'd be competing with the other gangs. How does that
work?"
"Simple," he replied. "We figure out at the end of the
evening which club raised the most money. It's based on an average per
boy, because some clubs have more boys than others. The club that
raises the most funds gets to whip the hell out of the others."
"Oh." Now I was nervous.
He swatted my bum, said good luck, and
returned to the house. I watched his broad back disappear through the
door then turned to observe the new gang that had arrived. Dad's car
was pulling up in the driveway.
He looked very serious as
he strode toward me. For a horrible moment, I had the feeling that I
had done something wrong, that he was going to tell me to go to my
room. But it was just my own nervousness plaguing me with unwaranted
fears, for, when he reached the top of the steps, he put his hand on
the side of my face, stroked my cheek with his thumb, and smiled. He
must have seen the nervousness, because he reached around my shoulders
and pulled me close against his chest. He stroked the back of my head,
saying, "You okay, son?"
"Yeah, Dad," I murmured, my face pressed
against the tuft of hair at the top of his shirt.
"Your brother
phoned me before I left home and said you'd got eight sponsors. He's
proud of you, you know." I smiled, thinking Reg was a very good
actor. "You don't have to do this, Mike," he continued. "There's no
shame in backing out. And you can always do it again later, if you
decide to."
A Harley roared, then went silent somewhere across the
yard. I imagined myself on my own bike, riding with the pack. "I want
to do it, Dad."
Softly, into my ear, he said, "That's my boy."
He held me for a while. The belt on my robe had come loose. The
robe fell open, and I felt him against my nakedness, his hard body
through his shirt, his belt buckle cold and hard against my stomach.
I was breathing fast from excitement and fear, and I could hear my own
heart pounding faster than his. Then, as though his heartbeat held the
reins on mine, his pulse seemed to pull mine back, slowing it until it
matched the steady, strong throb of his own. I felt calmer now and I
tilted my head up to kiss his throat, lingering a little to taste a
bead of sweat that had run down from his chin. He grabbed a fistful of
my hair, pulled my head back, and kissed my forehead. Then he grasped
my shoulders, turned me around, and bent me over the railing. Lifting
the robe onto my back, he ran his hands over my buttocks and
legs. "Did Mr. Redner warm you up, son?"
"Yes, Dad."
"Good,"
he said, prying open my cheeks and running his fingers along the
crack;lingering around my sphincter, his fingers
circling, gently prodding. A long shiver coursed up and down my body,
and I realized I had been moaning. I continued to moan as his finger
entered me, pressing farther in, ramming harder, forcing waves of
pleasure into me like a waterpark wave-machine thrusting mountains of
surf into a pool - waves of pleasure I wanted to ride and ride,
forever. "Sometimes," he said, and I heard his voice as though from
the depths of the pool, deep, resounding, distant yet encompassing,
"one of the men from the other gangs will try to throw you off by
doing this to you, son. If that happens, just go with it like you are
now, and don't let it worry you."
"Yes, Dad," I whimpered. He
pulled out of me, and I felt my hips thrust back of their own accord,
reaching for his hand like a baby who's soother has been taken
away.
"I'll just give you a couple of swats for good luck," he
said brightly.
His hand stung as it whipped onto my right
cheek. My hips shot back in, then pressed out again for more. The
second swat struck my left cheek, and I squeezed my eyes shut to feel
his sting grow then fade. When I opened them again, my eyelashes were
wet.
"Thanks, Dad," I whispered. He pulled me up and hugged
me.
"One more thing, boy," he said. "When you're in that barn
taking your lickin's, I want you to keep an eye on me. I'll be there
all the time, watching closely. If I think you've had enough, then
I'll give you the thumbs down signal, and you'll say 'uncle'. You
understand me?"
"Yes, Dad. I understand."
"Good. Now, let's go
find your brother. It's time we were heading to the barn."