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. ENJOY!
Brian was a really neat kid to have around the house. He was always upbeat, never moody like so many teenagers can be. At the time of this story, he and Paul were both 15. Brian stood about 5' 6", slender, but soft build. Dark brown eyes, with straight mousy brown colored hair. His only physical fault was his peach fuzz complexion. I never saw a pimple or blemish on his impish face.
Brian and my son met early in the first summer his family moved into our area. His dad Brent was a plant engineer with a local college. His mom Sarah was a legal secretary. And he had a 17-year-old sister that was blonde haired knock out. He wound up on one of my baseball teams, about 4 weeks into our season. Try as he might, the kid was the worst klutz I have ever coached. He must have been a real chore to teach how to tie his shoes. I am amazed the kid could even wipe his butt, he was that bad. Not that he didn't try; he gave it all he could. At the end of the season, he was glad, really glad that it was over. During this time, he began spending a lot of time at our house....right along with half of Paul's team, Mike's team & Brian's team. It wasn't unusual to count 10-12 extra cotton covered boys buns, racked out on our extra sleeping bags, waking up for Saturday morning breakfast.
As was common, our kids slept over a lot at other kids homes, but not nearly an even swap. One Saturday night, Brian asked Paul over for a tent sleep out. Nothing seemed out of the unusual with the request, so permission was granted. Everything went smoothly until 2AM, Sunday morning, when the phone rang. Someday, just someday, I want to be woken up with good news at 2AM, instead of bad news. This call was no exception.
"Jason. Brent. Meet me at South Suburban Hospital. Paul's been in an accident. He'll be OK, but I'm taking him to the hospital now." Hang up. No other explanation. I told Sharon to stay put with the other kids, and I would be back as soon as possible. [Remember, rural America didn't always have the EMS services we do now. Our area of the county had one deputy sheriff and a volunteer fire department with no EMTs. Brent really had no choice but to take him to the hospital.]
I got to the hospital, just as Brent was following Paul & Brian inside the ER. By the time I got inside, Paul was already on the exam table having his rib cage examined. He had a triangle shaped piece of skin hanging loose about 12 inches under his armpit, the wound about 6" long. Ugly looking thing.
In the next few moments I found out the story from three angles as the medical team just shook their heads. The boys about midnight had gotten bored and decided to go exploring. This desire to explore had been greatly enhanced by the consumption of a six pack and a half of beer, furnished by Brian's sister about 9PM.
One of the places they explored was a new house under construction in their subdivision. [I have built all of the homes that I have lived in as an adult. My family's side business was real estate development when I was growing up. Paul had worked on several homes with me.] Paul had felt no danger, despite the lack of moon and flashlight. Amazing the courage a teenager has, after getting smashed on Milwaukee Beast. He went down an open stairway....with no treads. In his fall, a #16 rough in nail, sticking through a floor joist, caught his ribs.
Brian was crying, Paul was hysterical and Brent was pissed. "Jason, do what you want to Brian. I'll take care of his sister in the morning.", he said with a very grim expression on his face.
As I was watching my son get sewn up, I began to really feel nauseous and lightheaded. I have seen a lot of human carnage in my life, but seeing your son being sewn up, was something I wasn't physiologically prepared for. Just in time, one of the doctors looked up. "Are we all right?"
"No, we are not!", as a nurse slid a chair under my quaking legs. Within a few more minutes, Paul was sewn up and the side of his chest was covered in the orange antiseptic and a huge bandage. Both boys started to cry again as they looked at Brent and I. I pulled both of them over to me as I sat.
"Boys, you've messed up big time. I'm not going to touch either one of you tonight. Paul, in the morning you're going to have your first hangover. Your stitches will hurt like hell as you heave your guts out, with your head stuck in the toilet. You don't need anything more from me for awhile. Brian you'll answer to me over this, with Paul at the right time. Your Dad is going to give you a hint of my approach when he deals with your sister in the morning." Both boys looked at each other and had panic looks on their tear stained faces as I got up off the chair.
I called Sharon as Brent then tore into both of them. She was bawling and screaming at the same time, blaming Brian and his sister for getting her baby hurt. My response to her hysterics made her madder, but by morning she agreed with me. Paul was silent, except for occasional sobbing as we drove home. Both of us got back to bed about 5AM.
The next morning I heard him praying to the porcelain god, with much groaning and occasional screams of pain as the stitches grabbed him in the middle of a heave. I let him sleep it off as the rest of the family tiptoed around me. They knew I was really pissed, and wisely steered clear. Something about the steam coming out of my ears.
Late that afternoon Brian showed up to check on Paul and apologize to my wife and I. I really felt sorry for him in a way. According to him, he got yanked out of bed at 7AM and drug into his sister's room. His dad had then pulled his sister across his lap as he sat on her bed, raised her t-shirt pajama top to her shoulders and paddled the seat of her white panties until they looked pink with light blue splotches through the thin nylon fabric.
He looked up at me and asked. "Are you gonna spank me that way Mr. Parker?", he asked with moisture in his brown eyes.
"No Brian. I can promise you this. My spanking will be different than your Dad's. Much different!", I said in my most serious tone. He looked like he was going to crap on the spot.
He dashed up to Paul's room and I could hear some real serious whispering going on. They were really beating themselves up with worry about what I was going to do their butts. I let them worry for over a week. Paul didn't get his stitches out until the next Friday. The weekend passed. Monday passed. Tuesday didn't.
The family had gone to the opening of the new Wal-Mart in the next town over, and I told Paul to stay with me. I could tell he knew. Brent then sent Brian over on his bike. I let them stew in Paul's room for about a half-hour.
"Boys come on down to my office in your underpants in one minute!" I heard one "Christ" and another "Oh God"....followed by the sound of jean buttons unsnapping. I went downstairs to my office and put the saddle stool in the middle of the floor. [For those of you not familiar with a saddle stool, it is perfect for OTK spanking of a person over 5' tall. Mine stood about 30" tall. I could hook my heels in a rung, and my thighs were horizontal to the floor, a perfect OTK surface. The stool seat was shaped like a saddle. It was about 24" across, bowed in the middle, keeping you in place, while the spankee squirmed and twisted. For an over 5' tall person, it puts their feet and hands barely touching the floor, if that....just like they would be if they were 5 years old across your lap on a regular chair.]
I sat in my desk chair, paddle on top of the desk, when both boys walked in wearing only their white cotton briefs. Paul was wearing his Jockey brand briefs and Brian was wearing a pair of Carters. Even though they were about the same height and weight, Paul's body was hard; Brian's was soft. Both were nervous as hell, feet pigeon toed, fingers twisting the waistband of their briefs, head tilted down.
"Boys it is time to pay the Piper. Enough discussion has been had about why. You both know why. You just don't know how. Well, here is the how. I am going to hand spank you twice; you both are going to paddle each other twice. You both were stupid enough to get yourselves into this mess. You both are going to have to punish each other. My reason to do it this way is simple. Someday soon you boys will be in a position of making a choice between right and wrong. Some of your friends are going to want you to do wrong. At that moment in time I want you both to be able to look at each other and back off and do the right thing. Only you two will know why, but you will remember what is going to happen here now....and back away. That is why you two are going to paddle each other twice....not me. Any question?"
The tower of Babel must have sounded like a choir compared to the sounds that broke loose. If I heard "we've learned our lesson" once, I heard it 20 times in the next couple of minutes. Finally it died down....and they knew it was time.
I got up and sat down on the stool. I motioned Paul over to me. He shuffled over and hopped up across my lap. I positioned him over my right leg and spread his legs apart. I motioned Brian over. I had him kneel down between Paul's knees. I had him pull Paul's legs up between his armpits and he locked his arms against his sides with his hands clasped against his bare belly. Paul put his right wrist against his back and I pushed it down with my left hand. I raised my right hand high and swung down hard.
SPLAT, right cheek. Paul moaned as the next swat hit his left check. 48 more times his buns felt my hand on his tightly stretched briefs. Every 12 swats I paused to rub his buns and lecture he and Brian. Brian was in awe of watching Paul's buns react to my hard hand swats. He was even more frightened at the increasing sounds coming from Paul's throat. He obviously had never been that visually close to a spanking before....plus he knew his was next.
They exchanged positions. I was amazed at the softness of Brian's buns. They felt more like a girls, than a teenage boy's as I adjusted his briefs. Then I raised my hand and he screamed at my first swat. Obviously they were soft and tender, not like my own boys' much more muscular butts. He really set off a bawling, begging and wailing chorus over his 50 swats. Once I was done, they both stood up, furiously rubbing their butts....waiting to see what I had in mind as I reached over and picked up the paddle off my desk.
"OK boys, that was my first spanking. Now you are going to give yourselves two paddlings, one on the underpants, one on the bare....12 swats each paddling. I will finish up with my hand on your bare." Their facial expressions were priceless. They knew that it was going to be tough, but they guessed what my role was going to be and they were right.
I got up and motioned Paul across the middle of the saddle seat. I then gave Brian instruction on how to paddle. Paul was beginning to cry in earnest as he realized that Brian was going to really paddle him. I took a position in front of Paul's head, looking down at Paul's butt, with Brian to my right.
"Brian, if you don't paddle Paul hard, I will stop his spanking and pull your underpants down and bust your bare butt with the paddle. Now, paddle him 12 times as hard as you can. Begin!"
He tried, but his first effort was mild at best. I swatted his butt with my hand, he yelped a little and took the next swing. Not much better. I grabbed the paddle out of his hand and took my left arm and hoisted him off the floor, like a sack of potatoes pressed against my left side. My right hand yanked down his briefs, and the paddle landed hard, CRACK CRACK . He screamed bloody murder as I dropped him back down. He hopped around blubbering and rubbing his bare butt. I motioned for him to take off his briefs and then gave him back the paddle as I resumed my position.
He took and hauled off with the best one-handed baseball swing of his summer.
CRACK!! Paul screamed and his legs kicked back with the buns clenched tight.
CRACK!! Even harder. Brian hadn't swung that coordinated all summer. Eight more times he made his best friend scream, holler and cry. I told Brian to put his underpants back on as Paul got up off the stool with fire in his eyes.
Brian took his position over the stool. He had just grabbed the bottom rung of the stool when Paul's first paddle swat landed.
CCRRAACCKK!!!! Brian tried to fly off the stool, with his throat acting as the jet engine. I grabbed hold of his waist. CCRRAACCKK!!!! Paul swung even harder. Brian's screams sounded garbled he was so hysterical. Ten more times Paul swung hard and landed square. Brian was incoherent in his crying as he got up, seething at Paul.
Paul resumed his position and I ordered Brian to take off Paul's underpants. He yanked so hard, he tore them slightly as Paul started to cry. Paul's butt was red, with several paddle marks. Brian's bare butt paddling sent Paul over the edge. When he got up, he yanked the paddle out of Brian's hands. Brian pulled off his own underpants and bent over the stool.
Brian had just positioned himself when Paul swung hard. Brian's multicolored bare butt clenched hard as he cut loose with a loud scream. Paul paddled him rapid-fire machine gun style, each swat as hard as the last. Brian couldn't even establish a break in his screaming, letting out one long wail. Paul stood back, looked at me through tear stained eyes and then realized it was my turn again as Brian lay on the stool, my hand keeping him in place. I motioned for Paul to put the paddle on my desk. As he did, I moved Brian to the edge of the seat. Paul got pulled over next to him. I moved around to Brian's left side and admired the results of them paddling themselves. It looked as bad as it had sounded from their throats. Now they were quietly sobbing as they waited for what they thought was going to be the worst of the night. It wasn't.
I massaged both boys' tender warm multicolored buns as I lectured them about what they had done and the danger they had put themselves in. The lecture was punctuated with medium hand swats to their tender buns and they screamed out at each stinging swat. When I was through with my lecture, I then finished the session with 2 dozen swats to each boy's upper thighs, covering the tender area where their buns met their legs and about 6" of upper thigh. Each thigh got 12 swats and they got hysterical again at this new stinging pain coupled with the fire in their buns. I let them hang over the stool and cry for 5-6 minutes after I was done.
They slowly got up and put their underpants slowly on, wincing as the elastic waistband rubbed against their butts. They went upstairs and got their clothes on and we drove over to Brent and Sarah's. They both had their say, causing the two 15 year old teenagers to start sounding like 6 year olds all over again. We drove back home and both boys went straight to bed in Paul's room and were asleep when the rest of my brood arrived home from the new Wal-Mart opening. I won't say we lived outside of town, but where else would you find a Wal-Mart opening to be a social event for two towns. That was also some time ago.
That school year the boys were put into drug and alcohol situations with other kids....they backed off. Lucky for them, three bunches of kids at parties got busted. Just before baseball season, the next year, Brian came up to me and gave me a big hug. He thanked me for talking Brent out of forcing him to play. Then he really thanked me for waking Paul and him up to peer pressure.
"We talked about it after each time those other guys got busted. We would have been right with them, except we looked at each other and remembered."
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.