I hear the front door open, and then Jimmy's voice at the base of the stairs.
"Dad!"
_s_h_i_t_, he sounds pissed!
"Yes, sir!"
"Get that lazy ass of your down here. Now! You got a date with The Corrector!"
Christ! What is it this time? I'm sure I got all the chores done--the lawn, the laundry, getting those shelves up in the back bedroom. I touch the skin of my naked butt. Ouch! It's still sore from yesterday's session over that boy's knee. He's just on my tail all the time.
"Step lively or I'm coming up after you! And if I have to do that, you won't sit down for a week!"
"Yes, sir!" I shout, and hustle my buns downstairs for a good spanking.
Now, I know what you're thinking. This is all backwards somehow. It's Dad, right, who ought to yelling up the stairs for Jimmy to get his ass down there right now, and that boy Jimmy who should be sweating about getting his bare buns blistered with The Corrector? Well, you're catching on. Everything in this household's been kind of upside down for the last three months, ever since my oldest son showed up on the doorstep.
My name's Ron Meltzer. I'm forty-two, and I've worked about every job you can think of. That wasn't really my choice. I just could never hold a job for very long. The problem was liquor, and dope. Ever since I was a kid, I've had a real soft spot for getting high on just about everything. That's how I ended up married. Mary and I got stoned one night and I _f_u_c_k_ed her and forgot to use a safe, and pow!, she's pregnant with Jimmy. So we get hitched, when she's seventeen and I'm eighteen, and I guess things just went from bad to worse from then on.
We had another boy, Freddy, pretty much the same way five years later. I can't lay the blame on Mary for finally walking out with the two of them. I was out of control: smoke first thing when I got up in the morning, and I'd down a fifth of anything I could get my hands on before three. It was really a wonder I could keep any kind of job at all. The day she left me, I'd just gotten fired from the medical supplies place I was really doing pretty good at. Too many client complaints about scotch on my breath and memory lapses. She was at her sister's for a week, and then suddenly left the state. I tried for a while to run her down, but finally gave it up after my brother-in-law came over one day when I was stewed on the living room couch, "Look, asshole," he said, "Why don't you just lay off. Everybody's better off this way. Mary can get on with her life, and the boys don't have to watch you drink yourself to death. Think about it."
I did, and I laid off. Better to just cut loose and try and get by, and let that family I had take care of itself best it could, which was better than I could do, for sure. For nine years, I barely kept it together--managed to pay the mortgage and the car. That was about it. I also took care of myself physically, you know? That helped when I was interviewing for the next job. I looked okay for a guy past forty, even if every morning I felt like _s_h_i_t_. I'd have a couple belts and then jump rope or go on a long bikeride. When it came down to it, I didn't like being a slave to the bottle and the roach. Of course, the way it turned out, I guess I've ended up being sort of a slave anyway, but of a kind I never expected.
Three months and four days ago, a Saturday, at two o'clock in the afternoon, the doorbell rang, and my life changed. I was a little buzzed--the morning joint and a couple jolts of gin--but still functioning pretty good. I went to see who it was.
On the doorstep was this kid, or should I say, this man. Young. A good half-a-head taller and forty pounds heavier than me, with short brown hair and piercing eyes. He had the shoulders of a bull and it looked liked his thighes were going to bust through his jeans. There was something real familiar about him.
"What can I do for you?"
"Are you Ron Meltzer?" he said
"Yeah." Who was this guy, anyway?
"I'm Jimmy Meltzer. Your son."
I just stood there with my mouth open. When he left with his mother, he hadn't gotten his growth yet. He was still kind of a runty fifteen year old. And here he was. My boy.
"Jimmy!" I opened the screen and put my arms around him and I don't mind admitting I got choked up. I really never expected to see him again. And here he'd come home to see the old man. "Come on in."
We went back to the den. The place was a pigsty. I was never much for housework before Jimmy showed up. He noticed it, too. "Place is kind of more run down than I remember it," he said.
"Yeah, well, you know. When a guy lives by himself... Say, you want a drink. We ought to celebrate."
He sat down on the sofa. He shot me a real hard look. "Never touch the stuff," he said, "but if you've got some soda, I'll give that a try."
"Sure thing." I set out a bottle of Scotch and a bottle of tonic on the table. "So, catch me up. What the hell have you been up to the last ten years. How's Freddy. Jesus, it's been so long."
He'd graduated high school out in California someplace, and signed up for the Marine Corps. He reupped then, a couple of times, made Master Sergeant, and even thought of making the military his career. There was lots of discipline, he said. Lots of order. A real sense of what a man could get away with and what he couldn't. He said he liked that. But he'd decided finally it wasn't really what he looking for, and was taking what he'd learned about computers and had a couple applications in locally, and the chances looked good he'd have a job within a couple weeks.
"I thought I might, you know, live here, if it's okay with you," he said.
"Hell, yes," I said, pouring myself another one, "Stay as long as you want. This is your home, Jimmy. Cheers!"
He told me Freddie'd been a big football hero as a defensive tackle and was trying to decide whether he was going to take a scholarship at San Diego State or go back East. He said Mary was getting along all right.
"What about you?" he said, "What've you been up to?"
"Oh, taking care of business," I said. Probably by then I was starting to slur. "Taking care of business. You know. It's a battle, but that's the way it goes."
"Where're you working?"
"Well," I said. It kind of embarrassed me, you know, "Well, I guess right now I'm between engagements, like they say. Looking for another sales job. That's what I'm good at. Sure you don't want some of this?"
He sipped his tonic. "No. No, thanks, Dad."
Drunk as I was, I noticed there was something funny about his eyes. They had this kind of intensity, like he was coming to a decision about something. But I was too out of it to really think much about it, and even if I had, I wouldn't have dreamed of what he had in mind.
It was getting toward sunset. Jimmy suddenly looked over at me. I was kind of rocking back and forth with my drink. "You know, you _f_u_c_k_er, you're a real mess." he growled.
That kind of set me back.
"What the hell are you saying, boy?" I sputtered.
He stood up. He was one big son of a bitch. "I'm saying you make me sick. Understand! I came back here to see how you were getting along! And you're getting along just like before, like _s_h_i_t_!" Then his voice got real low, "But now, I'm old enough to change that. And you bet your _f_u_c_k_ing ass I'm gonna change it real fast."
He stomped over to the closet and opened the door. "Well!" he said, "I see some things around here are like I remember them."
Hanging on the back of the door was a paddle. The Corrector, we always called it. I had Jimmy make it in woodshop when he was twelve. They had to do a project for their fathers. Other guys asked for piperacks and toolboxes, but I was drunk that night and I told Jimmy I wanted a paddle, one with holes in it, because he was getting too old to get spanked with just my belt. And the little _f_u_c_k_er made it for me.
And I used it on him. On him and his brother. Whaled their little butts bright red, the both of them And it was always there on a thong on the back of the den closet door. Jimmy took it out and weighed it in his hand.
"You remember how you used to blister my little ass, Dad? Mine, and Freddy's. You remember!" He smacked it against his palm, "Well, I think it's about time you got a dose of your own medicine, man. Find out just what it felt like. Yeah! We're gonna start tonight, and it's gonna go on and on till you get your _f_u_c_k_ing life straightened out."
"What the _f_u_c_k_ are you..."
He was on me like a lion. He was across the room in three steps, and grabbed my arm and twisted it back till I thought he'd break it.
"Bend over, _f_u_c_k_er!" he shouted, "Bend over!"
We tumbled down on the sofa and he manuevered me around till I was over his knee. Then he brought The Corrector down--CRACK!-- once, twice, three times.
"No you don't!" he said as I struggled to get up. I don't think, stone cold sober, I could have gone one on one with him. But plastered, there was no way. "Stay put!"
CRACK!
"Now, you always went after us bareass. So that's the way you're gonna get it now."
I couldn't believe what was happening. I felt my son's fingers unbuckle my belt and open my fly. What the _f_u_c_k_ was this? Then, whoosh!, he had my pants down. Whoosh! my shorts. There I was, barebutt over my own boy's knee, and then--CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!--Jimmy started putting The Corrector to work.
I howled like a banshee. Getting your ass spanked by some bruiser of a Marine hurts like hell, I don't care if you are forty-two. But Jimmy just kept paddling. It was like all the spankings he got, all the drunks I'd had when he was a kid, all the disappointments and the upsets from those fifteen years he'd been in this house, were coming out at once. This was paybacks.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
He had my legs pistoning like there was no tomorrow. Jesus! Even as stewed as I was, my butt was on fire. And Jimmy didn't show the slighest inclination to let up.
"This is for all the _s_h_i_t_ I put up with growing up!" CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! "You _f_u_c_k_ing _d_i_c_k_head!" CRACK!
"OW! JIMMY! OWWWWW! Stop it! OWW!"
"This is for me and Freddy." CRACK! CRACK! "From now on, this is gonna be my show! You're gonna take what I give out, Dad. No more farting around!" CRACK! CRACK! "That's the last sauce you ever taste, _f_u_c_k_er." CRACK! "And if you had a joint this morning you can kiss dope good-bye, too!" CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! "You got a hell of a lot to make up for to me and my brother," CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! "and you're gonna do it, _f_u_c_k_er!" CRACK!
I didn't think my butt could take anymore. Jimmy was whaling the living _s_h_i_t_ out of me. My buns felt like somebody'd sprayed them with gasoline and tossed on a match. And you can imagine. I mean, what could be more humiliating than having your own son give you the worse bareass licking you ever got in your life? But Jimmy wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
"OWWWW! Jesus! OWWWW! OUUCCHH! AHH! OOOWWWWW!"
He pushed me off his lap and onto the floor, but he still kept a grip on my twisted arm. "Okay, asshole," he muttered, "Now I'm gonna show you something else I learned in the Marines, because from now on, I'm the man around this house."" He reached over with his free hand and undid his fly. A solid eight inch _d_i_c_k_ bounced out. Jesus Christ, what was he thinking of doing!
"Now, Dad. Now, you _f_u_c_k_ing prick. I'm gonna show you what's what. From now on, you _f_u_c_k_ up and I'm gonna whale your butt till you can't sit down. And when I do, it just might make me horny. And when I get horny, I need to get off. And anytime I need to get off, if I don't have some lady friend around, then I'm just gonna _f_u_c_k_ your rosy ass. You owe me that, _f_u_c_k_er, for what you put me through. From now on we play by my rules. Every day! No _f_u_c_k_ing drinks. No _f_u_c_k_ing dope. You do like you're told! And if you don't, I'll blister your _f_u_c_k_ing butt, Dad. Got it! And if I got the hots and there's nobody around to get me off, you will. Got that! Now spread your butt!"
He got around behind me and grabbed my balls and pulled my ass way up in the air. He spit on his hand and rubbed it up and down my hairy asscrack.
"You a virgin, Dad?" Jimmy laughed, "Well, you ain't gonna be for long. This is what you get for _f_u_c_k_ing Freddy and me over when we were kids--just _f_u_c_k_ed!"
Then I felt that prong of his at the lips of my butthole.
"Jimmy. For God's sake! Jimmy! NOOO!"
Slam! He rammed that stick of his up me all at once! I thought he'd tear me in half. I'd never had a _d_i_c_k_ up my ass before, and it hurt worse than anything I could ever imagine. It hurt even worse than the buttbeating I'd just got.
"Jimmy! Jesus! Don't! What're you doing! JIMMY! AAAHHHH!"
It didn't stop him. He ploughed the bejesus out of me. I struggled like a Trojan, but there was nothing I could do. That Marine boy of mine was going to have it all his own way. His _d_i_c_k_ slammed up my butthole again and again and again, stirring my insides every way from Sunday. My buttlips were stretched so tight I thought they'd rip, and that massive _c_o_c_k_head of his was hitting places in my gut I never knew existed. I was waving my red ass around in the air and yelling at the top of my lungs. But it just went on--pounding, pounding, pounding.
Finally, finally, I felt him tensing up. Then came a hot flood of twenty-three year old Marine cum shooting up my guts.
I was almost crying, "Jesus! Jesus, boy! What have you done!"
He smacked my butt hard with his palm, his _d_i_c_k_ still up my hole. "None of that boy _s_h_i_t_. Sir is what you call me. Got it, Dad! Sir!"
And somehow, for reasons I can't quite explain, it came off my tongue real easy. Maybe because it was that Jimmy was such a he- man. Maybe it was because I felt guilty about how I'd _f_u_c_k_ed up as a father. Maybe it was because of Dr. Spock or because of Mary or some screwed up thing that happened when I was two, but I just said it, "Yes, sir! Yes, sir! Thank you, sir! Yes, sir!"
So, that's pretty much the story, which is what you probably want to know as I'm walking naked down the stairs. Not naked really. I got on a jock strap. That's all I'm allow to wear in the house. Jimmy says it's okay because it leaves me bareass, which is how he likes me. That way, when he beats my butt or _f_u_c_k_s me, he doesn't even have to bother to pull my pants down.
He's got a good job at a local marketing outfit, and that keeps us going. I still don't work outside. Jimmy wants it that way for right now. I just keep the house up, and make all those repairs I should have been doing for fifteen years. It's a big job, but there's a lot to make up for.
I haven't had a drink in three months, or a joint either. Jimmy won't let me, and I don't even want to think of what he'd do to me if I sneaked one. There's a list of "Things To Be Done" posted every morning, and I _d_a_m_n_ well better have them completed by the time he gets home at six, or my ass is grass.
Usually, I _f_u_c_k_ up half-a-dozen times a week, which means I get spanked. Jimmy calls me down to the den, makes me get The Corrector out of the closet, hauls me over his knee, and blisters my ass. He spanks me for fifteen or twenty minutes at a time. I try to keep count of how many hundreds of strokes that is, but I lose my concentration about the time I start to kick my legs real hard. After a spanking, usually, I have to go stand in the corner for half an hour or so and think about why I got it.
That doesn't always happen, because sometimes whaling my butt makes Jimmy hot, and then there's that other part of the bargain. Of course, I have to take care of his needs anyway when he doesn't have a date, which usually means Sunday through Thursday. That ex- Marine of mine gets real horny no matter what day of the week it is. A lot of times, he needs some relief as soon as he gets in from work, so I have to kneel down and give him a good blow job while he watches the news. Then, at night, I bend over and spread my forty-two year old butt so that twenty-three year old stud son of mine can to take his pleasure up his old man's hole! I must admit, I've gotten to the point I kind of like it when he _f_u_c_k_s me, though I still wish he'd inherited my more average size _d_i_c_k_ instead of having that eight inch monster of his.
I get down to the base of the stairs, and I can hear Jimmy talking with somebody back in the den. Who the hell's here? He's never spanked me in front of anybody before. I pause there in the doorway.
"Get your butt in here, Dad." Jimmy says.
"Yes, sir."
Beside him there on the sofa there's some kid who looks like he might still be in high school. He's a big _f_u_c_k_er. Looks like a god_d_a_m_n_ football player.
"Dad," Jimmy says, "I don't know if you remember Freddy?" Freddy's looking me up and down. What has he got to be thinking? He hasn't seen me since he was nine, and now here's .pa his Dad there in the doorway dressed in nothing more than a jock strap, calling Jimmy "sir."
Jimmy turns to the boy. "Freddy, this is your old man."
Freddy smiles widely. I realize then Jimmy's filled him in on what the story is. This college freshman to be knows just exactly how his older brother's been riding herd on the old man's ass.
"Freddy's going to be staying with us for the next three weeks, Dad, till he starts school," Jimmy says. Then his eyes go hard, "But we've got some other business to take care of right now. Bring me The Corrector!"
I can't believe this is happening, but I do what Jimmy says. Freddy lets out a little hoot when I walk past him and he can see that my butt's still red from yesterday's spanking. I get the paddle out of the closet and hold it out for Jimmy to take. He's got a big smile on his face! I glance over at Freddy, he's grinning to, and I can also see his half-hard _d_i_c_k_ bulging against his tight jeans. I can imagine what's going to happen after he watches his big brother spank me.
I stand there, bareass, in front of my two sons.
My masters.
Jimmy takes the paddle and looks me straight in the eye. Then he gets up and passes it to Freddy.
"Okay, Dad. Now you just get that miserable butt of yours over Freddy's knee," Jimmy says, "He and I have been talking, and I think you and Freddy and The Corrector have a lot to catch up on."