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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 first new story. Enjoy!
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By this point in my true life story series, you are beginning to realize that I had it pretty good as a kid in terms of opportunities and fun. I did, but I wasn't raised with a silver spoon in my mouth, and disliked kids that were...when they acted like it. This story is about such a kid.
After my freshman year in high school...at a private day school, my folks decided that all the fun I was having at the camp in the middle of an Indian reservation in the northwoods would not serve me any further. So, my Dad decided that I might be better off trying to develop the promising athletic skills I was showing. So, instead of my final year of a fun camp, before I entered the real world of summertime workforce the following summer, I got to go to a genuine athletic camp, run by college coaches and college players as counselors.
I had only two real skills. (1) Running speed in sports, not track. (There is a difference that I can't take the time to explain in this story.) Not much agility, but a lot of straight away quickness and speed. (2) I could "pole axe" a baseball. I mean cream dat puppy outta da park. That skill was counterbalanced by an inability to judge an outfield fly ball and a weenie arm throwing motion. This summer camp did not help much, especially when they discovered I couldn't translate the baseball swing into a golf swing. I am an embarrassment to the sport of golf.
This athletic camp still is in existence to this day, and is considered a really good one for general sports development. The camp that I dearly loved in the previous two summers is now owned by a church group, and has inside plumbing and all the other amenities of civilization. Plus, they wear swimsuits. Boo! Hiss!
We had kids from all over the country attending this athletic camp. Several went on from our group to star in college. One even made it as far as the NFL for one season, and another is currently on the Senior PGA. It goes without saying, that this was a camp for the kids who came from bucks....in some cases a lot of bucks. Most of these kids were just great, because they came from old money, and could care less. In fact some of the grungiest kids in camp came from the biggest, big city bucks. And then there was preppy Donnie.
Donnie's father owned the largest manufacturer of it's kind in the country. You literally could not drive down the highway and not see his father's company products on semi's. Donnie also never let you forget it. (Plus, he was a year behind me in the private prep school I attended after graduating from military school. We knew who each other was, but didn't socialize in that school. I hated that private prep school so much, I went back to public high school immediately after this summer camp.)
Donnie was cute, kind of average 14 year old. He was about 5' 4", 110 lbs., short brown hair in the fashion of the "Princeton" cut of that day, brown eyes, braces, no pimples or freckles. And a soft body, one of the softest in this camp. Most of the kids were athletes. Donnie was an athlete "wannabe", that wouldn't pay the price of getting his body into real shape.
He was also one of these kids that wanted everything perfect, especially if he didn't have to lift a finger to make it that way. At this summer camp, there were no maids or janitors, only cooks and outside maintenance men....the rest of the work fell on the campers. Donnie hated doing anything that resembled manual labor. He openly stated that "manual labor was best left to guys named Manuel".
(My Dad died this past year. As you have determined from previous stories in this series, he was an airline pilot. He was not only an airline captain, but also head of his local ALPA chapter and chief of pilot training for his airline. He forced the integration of his airline _s_e_x_ually and racially, a long time before civil rights and affirmative action were politically correct. He did not abide by and would not tolerate racial or _s_e_x_ual prejudice in any manner in our family or at his work. I am my father's son...and Donnie's arrogant, bigoted attitude really grated on everything I had been taught by my Dad.)
Donnie openly defied all the rules about sharing the work responsibility. Threats from counselors couldn't budge him, and our threats and ostracizing did little to stop this jerk from being a real butthole. Finally our cabin counselors went to the camp directors and pleaded their case. They wanted to paddle Donnie's butt purple, and this was after just two weeks! The camp directors would have none of it. But, they did let the counselors know that whatever Donnie's cabin mates would do would be acceptable, since it was between the campers...not counselors and camper.
My favorite counselor was named Troy, the QB sophomore sensation for the major football college power back then. This guy was a _d_a_m_n_ed tough, being the oldest son of a dry land wheat farmer. Since I was raised on a chicken farm, we hit it off. We both hated farm work. Troy took me into his confidence about the camp director's position in regards to Donnie. Troy had brought to camp his frat paddle. More for threat purposes, but now he and I agreed that it was going to be put to good use.
Our cabin had two counselors, 12 campers, 6 to a side, all on twin bed/cots, with the counselor's section and cabin bathroom in the middle. Our side was responsible for keeping our side clean, plus the bathroom. The other section of 6 campers was responsible for keeping the counselor's section clean, plus the immediate outside of the cabin.
Needless to say, the campers in our side got sick and tired of Donnie doing little or nothing about helping us clean the large bathroom each morning. Plus the little jerk did next to zip with our side and his own area in the corner of our sleeping room. I got tired of him flopping his brief covered butt on top of his bed in a flying leap from about 6 feet away...after doing no work.
Donnie had only one skill and that was a decent pitching arm for his age level, but at this camp he was over matched by players with real skill, that hit him like he was pitching batting practice. That lack of success caused him to throw temper tantrums at practice and in games.
So between his spoiled brat temper tantrums, lack of work ethic and bigotry....everyone in camp loved the kid. NOT! At the end of the third week, everyone from the directors to the maintenance people had with Donnie. Enough was enough.
After lunch, when Donnie was in the bathroom, Troy and I sat down with the other four campers in our side of cabin and came to an agreement about what to do with Donnie. We had to get his attention and get it quick, because we had another 6 weeks of living with this kid. We all agreed that the only way to reach him quick was through his smart-ass. At this point in the conversation Troy left and brought in his frat paddle.
He laid it on my bed and said to the rest of the campers, "From this point on, what you do with this is up to you guys. Just make sure I get it back right after you use it."
The other four guys wanted to beat Donnie's butt purple with the paddle. One kid, who had never got spanked in his life, was really vocal. I put a stop to his verbal stupidity by having him take one swat on his butt, hands on the knees, only protection his briefs. He jumped around for 30 seconds, with the other three guys laughing. He was surprised and pissed at how bad one swat felt. At that point I took over the planning.
"Guys, we can't paddle Donnie's butt like we want to, because we would run the risk of having it used on us for being too hard on him." Everyone nodded in agreement.
"I will take responsibility for the paddle, you guys get to use your belts on him. That way, if anyone gets it for too severe a paddling...it will be my butt and not yours. " Everyone liked that idea a whole bunch.
We then agreed upon a final plan of spanking, four guys using their belts, me using Troy's frat paddle. It was going to happen that night. I cleared with Troy and the other counselor what we were going to do. They were a little perplexed by my extra preparations, but understood after I explained to them that I thought Donnie was basically a coward and would react that way.
I went to the sail boat docks and collected five cotton rope lines and a scrap piece of canvas. The canvas was going to be used to cover Donnie's bed...in case he had an accident during his spanking.
Donnie took a shower each night and then each morning. The kid was a neat freak about his body. He wore boy's size 14 Jockey or Carter's brand white cotton briefs. I was hoping for a pair of Jockeys that night, because the crotch mark in the brief's butt would be a perfect target for the other four guys' belt swats. I was in luck as he started to run back into the room to jump on his bed...he had on his Jockeys.
While he had been in the shower, we placed the canvas on his bed. Then we put his rolled up sleeping bag on the middle of his bed. I used a double loop hitch on each leg of his bed with the cotton rope. We were ready!
As soon as Donnie got past the door, he got clobbered with two pillow shots. He thought a pillow fight was ready to start, and he stopped. Troy did his part, by throwing an empty pillowcase over his head and body. Now he was ours, as we grabbed hold of his arms and shoved him towards his bed. At this point, Donnie thought it was some new kind of pillow fight game and he was it. He was it, but the only part about the pillow he had right, as that he was going to have to sit on one for a couple of days.
We picked him up and threw him on top of his bed, his butt angled up by the sleeping bag roll under his hips. I pinned him to the bed by sitting on his shoulders. The other four guys quickly took care of his ankles by tying them tightly to each side of the bed with the rope on those two corners' legs. About now Donnie's radar got to working and he started to fight.
But it was too late. I got up and pulled the pillowcase up to his neck and jammed his head tight against the bed. My spanking mates took care of his wrists in the same manner as his ankles, now his wrists were tied to the front bed legs.
Presto! One spread-eagled, 14 year old, bigoted, spoiled brat at our disposal. He was almost ready to get what he had earned...needed...and deserved. I took the last rope line and tied the pillowcase to his head, wrapping the rope across his mouth, forcing the cloth into his mouth. Now he was blinded, gagged and hog tied. His butt was stuck up in the air, his buns framed perfectly, in the tight, white fabric of his Jockeys. The straight-line crotch mark on his brief's butt was a perfect target point. All belt swats had to land on or above that mark.
For the next couple of minutes all five of us gave Donnie a piece of our mind. All of the frustrations of the past three weeks came out. About this time, the campers in the other section heard the commotion and joined in on the verbal blast. We had an unexpectedly large audience for Donnie's spanking. Once the other campers found out what was about to happen, one of them asked us to stop.
He ran into his locker and got his Polaroid camera. Back then all we had to work with was B&W shots, but none the less, we agreed with his motive. He took several shots of Donnie in the trussed up position and then we began.
Each camper was to give Donnie 12 swats with his belt. To make sure that no one missed because they were getting too _c_o_c_k_y or careless, the 12 swats were divided into three sets of four each. That way each camper got to concentrate of only four swats at a time. And concentrate they did.
The first guy yanked off his black belt with a real good popping sound and doubled it over as Donnie started to scream through his gagged mouth. The kid lined up the end of the belt on the crotch mark, drew back and landed square on the target.
CRACK!!!
Donnie heaved and cut loose with a muffled scream.
"One" I counted.
Three more times, camper number one lashed down on Donnie's white briefs. Donnie's hands started clenching and his toes started curling under. His butt was too spread for him to be able to clench his cheeks, but he did squirm and heave after each swat.
The next camper did the same, all of his swats landing higher up than the crotch mark. Donnie was beginning to get hysterical. This kid had no guts at all. The other campers saw this too...and really started teasing him as each swat landed. Pretty soon, you really couldn't hear Donnie because of the catcalls the campers were making.
Camper number three duplicated the fine efforts of camper one and two. Donnie's hands were furiously grasping at his ropes, vainly trying to get himself free. No such luck. His spanking continued.
The fourth camper was the slowest of all....carefully lining up each swat and then putting everything into the swat...too the point he literally went up on his toes to put more into each swat.
"Thank God these guys are not paddling Donnie. Boy are they unloading on this kid's butt", I thought as I looked on in amazement at their anger. The other campers were really enjoying the agony Donnie was going through with each crack of a belt.
Camper number one then started from the opposite side, and since he was right handed...it meant that all of these blows would land higher up on Donnie's butt. This really started him twisting and heaving.
The next three campers tried to land the swats lower down, towards the crotch mark, but from that reverse angle it was tough. Donnie's butt from the start of his ass crack to his lower cheeks was on fire after 32 swats from four angry cabin mates.
For the final set of planned belt swats each camper stood at the foot of the bed and landed two swats on each butt cheek. Donnie started to bounce up and down with these swats as he frantically tried to pull his hands and feet away from the rope binding them to the bed frame.
This part of Donnie's planned spanking was done. Now it was my turn with the Troy's frat paddle.
Donnie's butt was in an awkward position for a long frat paddle. He wasn't high enough up to stand and swing down so that the paddle landed evenly on both cheeks. So I had to be careful that each swat landed a little different. I tapped Donnie's sore buns lightly with the paddle. His attempts to get free started shaking the bed he was so frantic. He knew the paddle was going to be the worst of all. I didn't let his expectations go unrewarded.
CRACK!!!
CRACK!!!
Two solid swats from the left side. He bounced up and down, frantically trying to shake the pain out of his cotton covered butt. I moved around the Donnie's right side.
CRACK!!!
CRACK!!!
He repeated his bouncing...his fists clenching and unclenching frantically. Now I moved to the front of the bed, facing down on his butt.
CRACK!!!
CRACK!!!
Donnie was making some real screaming sounds through his rope gag...and the other campers weren't teasing him any longer. They knew these paddle swats were scorching his butt good.
I repeated the sequence again, giving him six more swats in the same manner. Donnie's spanking was done...or so I thought as I asked the question of the hour.
"Have you learned your lesson slick?"
All I got was gurgling gibberish through the rope gag, so I undid the rope from around the pillow and made the mistake of pulling the pillowcase off his head. He cut loose with a blob of spit that landed on the paddle and then his cussing and screaming started. It was safe to say, Donnie was totally unrepentant...he was still a spoiled brat...and spoiled brat pissed.
Now I was getting hacked off at his attitude.
"Let's do it again boys!"
Instant repentance from Donnie. Now he was going to be the "saint" of the camp. But it was too late.
I yanked his briefs down to about six inches below his warm multi-colored cheeks. He was now going to get a bare butt spanking. I huddled together with my four spank mates and we agreed on what Donnie was going to get now.
I stood at the foot of the bed with the paddle. Two campers stood on one side of Donnie, two on the other. I tapped on Donnie's right butt cheek with the paddle and he got hysterical in begging for mercy. No one was listening.
CRACK!!!
Crack, Crack, Crack, Crack
Donnie cut loose with a wailing scream as the paddle landed on his right cheek and four different belt swings landed on his upper bare thighs...two on each leg. The belt swats wrapped around the tender insides of his legs and he was almost incoherent.
CRACK!!!
Crack, Crack, Crack, Crack
Left cheek. Then Donnie did what I thought he would do all along...he pissed on himself. His sleeping bag got soaked and dribbled onto the canvas protecting his bed. There was no need to spank him any further. His public humiliation was complete. But his punishment wasn't done. The Polaroid finished recording for history his spanking.
We carefully slipped the sleeping bag out from underneath him and then the canvas, leaving him secured to the bed. Then we put his towel under his hips and let him cry himself to sleep, as everyone went to bed.
The next morning I awoke early to untie Donny, since my bed was closest to his. He was wide-awake, staring at me. He gave me a sheepish smile.
I got up and sat down on the edge of his bed and pulled his briefs back up. His legs were marked, but not that bad. His butt was dark red with many purple belt welts, but no dark paddle splotches. He winced and said.
"That is still sore. Does it look bad?"
"You have to ask", as I rubbed his back and started to untie his left wrist. I gently untied him completely as he lay motionless, and then he spoke as he turned his body to face me as I stood at the end of his bed.
"You know what the worst thing was?"
"Nope"
"Everyone was cheering you guys on. Does everyone hate me that much?"
The kid had a valid question. One that deserved a straight answer.
"Donnie. What happened last night you earned all by yourself. No one helped you act the way you are, except your parents. You probably never got spanked until last night. Am I right?"
Donnie looked down at his bed and I saw a tear drop onto the dark cover. "My parents are too busy to play with me, or pay attention to me...much less spank me."
My heart sank. Chances are his parents never showed him any physical affection either.
"When was the last time your Dad hugged you Donnie?"
"My Dad says I am too big for that now."
"No you are not."
I sat down on the bed and hugged him....and he started crying on my shoulder in uncontrolled sobs. By that time my cabin mates were getting up and I motioned them into the bathroom, so that Donnie could cry in peace.
Each time that summer Donnie started to revert back to his old habits we showed him the shots of that infamous night when he got his butt "right" with his cabin mates. He didn't need any further threats than looking at those shots. When we left camp that summer, I gave Donnie those photos.
Donnie's Dad died of a massive heart attack a couple of years after he got his MBA from a prestigious East Coast school. Today I am proud to say that Donnie's company is the only firm outside of the insurance industry, that in the course of my consulting business, I help train his sales force. And no...none of them get paddled. :)
But it is great to see Donnie hug and kiss his kids whenever we go to his home to wind down after a busy day of training. And yes...I have seen him spank his kids.
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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.
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