33 - Indian Raid Spanking Dejavu


by Jason L. Parker <Jlpspanker@hotmail.com>

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 40 STORIES POSTED CHRONOLOGICALLY. ENJOY!

This story centers on the activities of three boys. Tom had just turned 16, and was the subject of his own spanking in "31 - Tom's First Spanking". Jimmy, a 15-year-old son of one of my assistant coaches. Paul, my own 15-year-old, subject of his special spanking in "30 - Brian and Paul Get Paddled."

All three boys were friends at school, athletics and being teen-age boys. Jimmy was a special teenager. Toughest kid I have ever coached. Once in an 9th grade football game, the referee brought him to the sideline and asked me to pull Jimmy from the game because he "was playing too hard." That referee never officiated another game in our league. But that was Jimmy. He had a chip on his shoulder that got him into more trouble than his butt could handle.

Jimmy was the son of my best drinking buddy, Buzz. I was the epitome of the white-collar yuppie. I would get out of my Chevy Suburban at practice and unloosen my tie and start practice. Buzz would drive up in his 20-year-old pickup and get out in his machinist work clothes, grease and all. Plus, he had a scraggly beard, bad teeth, reverse jaw, thick glasses, 5' 7" tall, balding and talked with a lisp. And, he was butt ugly. But his wife was a blonde knock out, even after 6 kids. All 6 today are either executives, doctors or career military officers, including Jimmy...a Marine Ranger.

When people saw Buzz & I together socially, they thought it was a joke, because we were such opposites. However, we both respected each other's ability to communicate with kids, teach them how to play sports and maintain discipline within the house, the old fashioned way. Plus, I had a tremendous admiration for his skills with his hands. The man was a master at using any tool.

We had an open date on our football schedule in late September, so Buzz, Ralph (Tom's step-dad) and I thought it would be great to take the oldest of our respective broods on a weekend canoe float trip. We made the arrangements and the boys were really excited. Ralph wasn't too hot; because being from New York City he had never been in a canoe or slept outside in a sleeping bag. (And they wonder why things that sell in NYC, bomb throughout the rest of the country.)

One thing all three boys brought up was their joking threat to do an "Indian Raid", just like I had done as a teenager. Buzz and Ralph had heard the story, from their sons, so they knew it...and knowing me believed it all. All three fathers emphasized that any stunt like that would result in a longer and harder spanking than I got when I pulled it.

We headed out for the river early on Saturday, all of us in my Suburban. On Thursday and early Friday they had a flash flood on the river due to a fall storm, so it looked like a really good day for a lot of fun on the river. The river was going to be fast and deep. By the time we got to the camp area, the rutted one lane gravel "road" was jammed with people leaving the area, and us weekenders trying to get in. The roadblock was the stream that normally was dry, but now was about a foot high and running.

Buzz took it upon himself to jump out of our vehicle and hop into the rapid stream and direct traffic. He looked like a wild mountain man with an attitude, but he cleared traffic. Being the prankster that I am, when it came our turn to cross the stream, I gunned it and sprayed him good and roared off to the sounds of his lispy scream..."Parker, you SSOONN-OOFF-AA-BBIITTCCHH!" The boys couldn't stop laughing at the site of Buzz soaking wet from the chest down, flipping me off and screaming. A pickup, with some good old boys, stopped just a couple of vehicles later, and he wasn't far behind by the time we staked out our campsite.

We set up the site, secured our food in my Suburban and the outfitter dropped off our canoes. Tom went with Buzz, Paul went with Jimmy and I got stuck with Ralph. The river was great. We hadn't gone a 1/4 mile when the boys wanted to jump off of a ledge, so the fathers lit up our cigars, while the kids had a blast. Fortunately it was a warm, 80+ degree afternoon, so it was almost like summer. We made it to our pick-up point without anything more exciting, except the boys kept teasing me about where I would plan to do an "Indian Raid".

As fate would have it, four other men got on the outfitter's return bus, with their sons. These boys were all under 12, and jealous of our sons wet clothes and tall tales of ledge jumping. They got dropped off at their campsite, just below ours, and I saw Tom's wheels beginning to turn.

After dinner, the boys went off exploring and were back in about an hour. They kept to themselves over by the car, intently talking about something. None of the Dads thought they were up to any good, but we didn't think that with the three of us, they would try anything stupid. WRONG!

All of the Dads were tired, because between Buzz's excellent camp cooking and Ralph's case of Michelob and all of us keeping up with three teenagers. We were asleep by 10 o'clock, ready to hit the river first thing in the morning. We were going to go 20 miles tomorrow. (For those of you from NYC, that is a hell of a one-day float on a river.)

That night Tom was to exhibit the beginning of his world class bad crook qualities that have made him a known police character in Atlantic City today. He convinced Paul and Jimmy to do an "Indian Raid" on the group of fathers and sons in the next campsite. What Tom & his cohorts didn't know was, these were off duty SWAT Team members from the city police force, on a weekend retreat with their sons. I knew it, because I recognized one of the men as an assistant coach from a team we had beat the crap out of in a baseball tournament a few weeks earlier. And I am darned sure he recognized me as the asshole head coach that had piled on the runs against his son. (I wouldn't let my kids swing at bad pitches. You score a lot of runs when your kids finally see a good pitch. This cop's son was a terrible pitcher, and my younger son Mike had homered on him twice in three innings.] So the stage was set for our stupid teenage sons.

That night about 1AM they snuck out of camp, as their Dads slept hard next to the sound of the running river. (NYC readers: running river water puts you into a sound sleep quick, especially after a few of Budweiser's finest...Michelob.) They evidently covered themselves in mud from the pools left by the storm. Once they got to the camp, they saw the boys in one area, and their fathers in another, about 10 ft away. Not far enough, not by along shot. Hell, they didn't even make it through the camp, much less get caught running away.

At 2:00 in the morning, I got the privilege of having my foot kicked hard and the bright beam of a new police flashlight in my eyes. My favorite assistant baseball coach wannabe, a. k.a. "one pissed off SWAT officer" who probably could clean my plow in a split second, was holding the flashlight. All three officers had one of ours in tow, and their kids were still at the campground with the remaining officer.

A very long and loud conversation later, I convinced my now favorite opposing coach that the boys' butts would pay dearly for their misdeed. First thing in the morning, their whole camp could examine the results of what was going to now happen to them. They agreed to let us "take care of our sons." I was pissed, Buzz was grinding his bad teeth and Ralph was scared of the cops.

I had Ralph go get more fire wood, and build the fire back up and the boys headed to the river to wash the mud off. That had to be cold...and did they bitch. Each time the squawked, Buzz and I reminded them that in a few minutes their butts would be hot enough to warm their whole body. By the time Ralph tossed the wood on the fire, the boys were toweling off and shaking like hell in the cool fall night. When they were dry, we had them stand by the fire, backside first and stand on their towels, so they would keep their feet clean.

I sent Buzz to get the boys' jeans and briefs. I sent Ralph to the woods to cut some switch material. When he got back, Buzz fashioned two bundles of switches with his knife and duct tape. The boys didn't like the looks of those at all. I looked at the boys as they watched Buzz finish up.

Tom was now almost 6' tall, weighing about 145 lbs., no body hair, just coal black hair and dark brown eyes. He was the tallest, but also the softest physically of the three boys as he stood in front of the fire.

My Paul was the shortest of the boys, but almost as hard a body as Jimmy. He stood about 5'6", and weighed no more than 120 lbs. He had the humpiest butt of the three boys.

Buzz's Jimmy was in between Tom & Paul in height, but not weight. He was 5'10" and a solid 155lbs, no body fat and tight runners' buns.

"Boys, you have just set the standard for teenage stupidity. CONGRATULATIONS! JUST WHAT DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?", I bellowed loud and clear. All three boys jumped at my outburst.

"All three of you knew what would happen if you got caught, and you were stupid enough to pick the only campground on this whole river that was full of cops. Not only that, they were SWAT Team cops. Any of you have a clue as to what might happen to you if they decide to press "endangering a minor" in this backwoods county were in?", I glared at all three of them as they hung their heads and shook them "No".

As I finished Buzz tossed the boys their jeans and briefs and motioned for them to put them on. They quickly put them on, thinking they were going to get a reprieve, because all of them knew I didn't let anyone keep on their jeans for a spanking, ever.

"OK boys, since you are so familiar with my story about my spanking over my "Indian Raid", set the canoes up for yours. NOW!", I barked.

Boy did they hop to. They used the big logs around the campfire to mount the three canoes into position, one end on the ground, one end up in the air. I turned on the Suburban's headlights to light up the punishment scene.

"Stand by a canoe boys." Each boy stood next to the raised end. The logs and canoes were arranged in such a manner, so that they were all looking at each other.

I got Buzz and Ralph aside, and set up our respective roles. Buzz and I would spank. Ralph would straddle a canoe end and hold the boys' wrists as they got spanked.

We agreed on each boy getting three spankings, since there were three of them, 12 swats per spanking. First spanking with our belts, second with a canoe paddle and the last one with the switches.

Buzz and I silently went over to the first canoe, with Paul standing at the raised end and we raised the other end off of the ground. As his end lowered to his knees he unzipped his jeans, pushed them to his ankles and mounted the canoe. I slipped a life preserver under his hips, as he laid down on the metal canoe bottom.

Paul's white, Jockey size 14 boys briefs were stretched tight across his raised and spread apart butt. His knees were tight against the canoe sides, his ankles held under the canoe by his jeans. His legs were spread as far apart as possible, opening his butt and legs for his spanking. Ralph sat down on the end of the canoe and took Paul's wrists and his 250 lbs. brought Paul's cotton covered butt up to my waist like a playground teeter-totter. I smoothed out his briefs, and pointed to the straight-line crotch mark on the seat of his briefs as our target. Tom and Jimmy stood in terror as they saw Buzz and I take off our belts and double them over.

Buzz was left handed and stood on Paul's right, and I stood back on Paul's left and I nodded for him to take the first swat. He did a full round house swing from the back that caught Paul square on the crotch mark.

"CRACK" Before Paul could cut loose with a scream, my swat made the same sound.

"CRACK" "Christ, oohh no!', he wailed.

Ten more times Buzz and I traded swats. Paul was crying by the 7th swat, begging for no more when the 12th had landed. We purposely had not told the boys what was coming. I motioned for Ralph to lower the canoe and Paul partially stood, with his legs locked into the canoe, and his hands rested on the canoe bottom. I took the waistband of his briefs and tugged it up, baring a couple of inches of red buns, and then I rolled the waistband under three times. He was ready for the paddle...after Jimmy and Tom got their dose of the belt.

I pointed to Jimmy next, and Buzz grinned. Jimmy defiantly unsnapped his jeans and lowered them to his ankles, as Ralph positioned the canoe for him to get on. As he did I slipped a life preserver under his hips. Jimmy's worn FOL briefs were a size too small, and his buns were tight against the thin white cotton. Ralph sat down on the end and grabbed his wrists. Buzz motioned for me to go first. I did.

"CRACK" No sound from Jimmy, as I landed dead center with my swat.

"CRACK" Buzz's swat practically landed on mine and Jimmy's head snapped.

Buzz nodded to me and our ten additional swats landed all within the middle part of his hard buns. He didn't make a sound until the 9th swat, and was softly crying by the 12th. "He is tough." I thought. I repeated his underpants adjustment, just like Paul's.

By this time Tom was beginning to blubber. I motioned for him to drop his jeans, and he didn't move. I went over and yanked them down and pushed him into the canoe and he started crying. I could tell that Ralph was ashamed of him, but I didn't have the heart to tell him that his stepson knew how hard I spanked. Since Tom's legs were so long, Ralph had to stand and push the canoe down with Tom's wrists.

Tom's twelve swats sent him over the edge on the first swat from Buzz's hard swing with his doubled over black belt. Paul and Jimmy stared at each other and Tom with the looks that only teenagers can give when they don't respect a peer. It was Tom's idea for the raid, and he couldn't take his spanking. He was really bawling by the time Buzz and I were done. We spaced Tom's swats out, to make sure he really felt it. Ralph lowered Tom to the ground and I adjusted his white BVD's just like I had Jimmy and Paul.

Buzz and I picked up two canoe paddles. These we had to be careful with, because based upon my experience as a teenage camper, a canoe paddle is not easy to control as a shorter spanking paddle. We approached Paul's canoe, and he slid forward.

Now his butt was almost bare, about 1/3, his briefs creeping up his splotched cheeks. I rubbed my hand across the area bared, and his upper thighs were his buns and legs meet. I pointed to me and nodded to Buzz. He was going to follow my lead.

I stood back and grabbed the canoe paddle with two hands about a foot down the handle and gauged the distance with a tap on Paul's butt. I raised the paddle straight up, and brought it down with controlled force.

"SPLAT" The first swat landed flush on his thigh/bun joint, the wide canoe paddle catching the edge of his briefs and the other edge on his thigh. He screamed out, just as Buzz's swat caught him on the same spot.

"SPLAT" Paul's head and neck arched back as he started crying. Ten more times the paddles did their work. Each time I landed a swat, Buzz immediately followed on the same spot. We concentrated on the lower half of his butt, landing 4-5 swats on his upper thighs. Even with his legs spread apart at the exaggerated angle, the long blade of the canoe paddle caught both legs. As Paul was lowered, he just laid on the canoe crying. I didn't bother to adjust his briefs; I gave him a tight wedgie, baring his multi-colored cheeks.

Jimmy didn't take his paddling nearly as stoically as his belt spanking. He started crying after the 4th swat. Buzz and I purposely didn't swing as hard, because he didn't have near the flesh on his butt that Tom & Paul did on theirs. When we finished and he lay on the canoe, he flinched and groaned as I bared his scorched buns with a tight wedgie.

Tom was bawling as his Ralph pulled him down with his wrists. Buzz and I unloaded on his butt good. Ralph even started to say something about the 9th swat from Buzz and I glared at him as I did the 10th. Tom never moved as I gave him his tight wedgie. His butt was the most discolored, because of his fair skin.

Buzz and I picked up the switches as we went back to Paul and he started begging for no more. I shook my head and he put his wrists out for Ralph to grab. Buzz and I agreed that we were not going to do a follow through stroke with the switches. We were just going to come down hard, with a dead arm stroke, so as not to run the risk of too much skin damage. Buzz's first stroke didn't seem to matter; Paul twisted and heaved at sting of the bundled branches. We made sure the switch strokes caught plenty of thigh, as well as butt. Tomorrow was going to be a bad day, sitting in a canoe for three teenage "Indians". When the last stroke had been delivered, Paul was pulled off the canoe and his hands placed on top of his head. He watched Jimmy and Tom's finish.

Jimmy openly cried at the first stroke from Buzz. It was obvious this pain was too much for even this teenage macho stud. He was sobbing by the time he was pulled off the canoe and forced to stand with his hands on his head, jeans around his ankles.

Tom was begging and hysterical as Ralph pulled him down on the canoe. He took the twelve cuts with the switches the worst of the boys, practically bellowing in pain. He could barely stand when he stood up with his hands on his head.

I ordered all three boys to stand as each father took his turn lecturing. At the end of the lectures, the boys were down to just an occasional bout of sniffling. I went to my first aid kit and pulled out some antiseptic cream to stop any infections from taking place. After applying the cream to each scorched butt, I roughly pulled each boy's briefs into place and got complaints from all three. Buzz and Ralph reset the canoes, and we ordered the boys to pull up their jeans and put on some tops and go to bed. I glanced at my watch and it was almost 3AM.

The next morning our party of canoes pulled up to the other campsite at 7:30 AM. After the cop/dads lectured their sons on what can happen to bad boys, our sons bared their butts in a semi-moon position. Both cops and sons were quiet at the visual display of red, welts and switch marks. The effect on the younger boys was tremendous as their father's drove home the point of good behavior.

Our boys were back to their boisterous selves by noon, as we stopped for lunch. They didn't move any too quick, but I knew things were right with the world when they began teasing me that their spankings were worse than the ones I got for my "Indian Raid" whipping. I quieted them down with this one question.

"How would you have liked to be whipped with a belt by the starting fullback for the Big Ten football championship team?"

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.


More stories by Jason L. Parker