"Screw this!" I yelled and pitched my beer mug at the back bar. There was a tinkle of broken glass as the heavy mug smashed a bottle of top shelf Scotch, I always seem to go for the good stuff. I stomped out the door to the bar and went out into the night.
As I walked to my home about a half a mile away the cool night air cooled down my temper as well as my body and I got to thinking about what I had just done. To lose my temper like that during a stupid argument about politics is just plain dumb. Extra special super dumb, as a matter of fact, my father used to say 'never discuss politics or religion, especially after you've had a few drinks' and I had done both, had those few drinks and got into a heated discussion about the latest Presidential election.
I knew that I had to apologize to Jack, the guy that owned the bar. It was just too good of a place to hang out, generally the company was good, the drink prices reasonable and the atmosphere like an old English pub with good draft beer and a couple of dart boards on the wall. It was actually more like a private club than a public bar and you could find the same clientele there night after night having a few drinks to unwind after a long work day.
Jack closed the place at midnight so I made my way back there after hours knowing that he would be still in the bar sweeping up and getting the place ready for the next day. He lived above the place so he had a really short commute to work, walk down stairs and he was there. The signs were off and the lights dim but I knocked on the door anyway. I knew he would answer it if just to say he was closed and to come back the next day.
"Well, well," Jack said coolly as he opened the door to see who was knocking, "the prodigal son returns. What do you want?"
"Look, Jack..." I started.
"Come inside, boy," he said, "let's not take care of this on the street. There aren't any mugs to throw out here." Sheepishly, I went past him into the darkened bar and heard him lock the door behind us.
"Jack," I said, "I'm sorry I lost my cool like that and I want to pay for the damages and I promise to never behave like that again."
Jack went behind the bar and drew a couple of drafts. "I can't serve you down here," he said, "but nothing says that we can't continue this conversation upstairs." Jerking his head at the doorway to the upper level of the house he led me upstairs to his apartment.
He handed me one of the mugs and gestured toward a leather chair. I took it and sat down and waited for him to speak. He took a long drink of his beer and looked at me.
"How long have you been coming to my place?" he asked.
"Er, about six years or so, ever since I've been old enough to drink," I replied. I was looking around the living room we were sitting in, it was extremely neat for a bachelor pad, nice furniture, nice paint and paper and a thick rug on the floor. Jack, who was now in his late forties, early fifties, had never married and ran this bar since his early twenties or so.
There was but one jarring thing out of place on the walls which had some subdued paintings on them, an old, worn wooden paddle, hanging from a leather thong. What in the world was that thing doing hanging there?
Jack saw me looking at that paddle and chuckled.
"I keep that hanging there to remind me of my dear old dad," he said, "he made me the man I am today and was never reluctant about applying that to my bare hide when I needed it. I spent quite a bit of time in my younger days looking at the floor while he tanned my backside red hot with that thing."
He paused and took another sip of his beer before setting the mug on a coaster on top of the table beside his chair.
"What you did tonight was not 'losing your cool'," he said, "a grown man doesn't throw things when he loses an argument. What you did was throw a temper tantrum and that's something that kids do, not adults."
I really had no answer to that statement, he was right, it was pretty childish of me to pop my top like that and resort to throwing that beer mug. I'll admit that I was very ashamed of doing such a thing.
"Look, Jack," I said, "I've apologized to you and I'll pay for the mess I made and I'll even buy a round for the guys that were here tonight and apologize to them as well. Will that make everything okay again?"
"That's a good start," he said, "and the adult thing to do. Now we have the problem of what to do about your childish attitude."
I took a swallow of beer and said, "What would you suggest?"
"I think a good stiff dose of what my old man would do to me in the situation would do you a world of good," Jack said. "Not only that, it would make me feel better as well knowing that you got some punishment that you might remember from this stupid stunt you pulled."
I started at him. "You mean you want to spank me?" I said.
"Well," he chuckled, "I wouldn't call getting tanned with that paddle a normal spanking, really, it's a bit more than that but yes, that's what I'm talking about."
God, I haven't been spanked since I was about sixteen and a half or so when Dad discovered that taking the car away was more effective than any number of stripes laid across my butt with the belt as far as making me do what he wanted me to do. I don't know if he ever would have spanked me again for shortly after my seventeenth birthday he died in an automobile accident. Mom certainly never spanked me, even as a kid, that chore was always Dad's responsibility and she was not going to take it over at my late age. I never had an adult male to talk to after that, except for Jack, him I could talk to about anything. He was almost the dad I no longer had.
"Jack, don't you think at age 27 I'm a little too old to spank?" I said.
"No, I most definitely don't," he said firmly, "I got my butt blistered with that self same paddle at age 25 when I almost lost this business and Dad straightened out my thinking for me. I still thank him every time I see him for taking the time and trouble to tan my hide for me that time, it did me a world of good and I think it will work for you as well."
"I don't know," I said, "it does seem to be a pretty childish punishment for a grown man."
Jack got up from his chair and towered over me. He's a big dude, about 6 foot 4 or so and goes maybe 240 pounds and not a heck of a lot of that is fat. He's never had any trouble in his bar, nobody would dare to act up. Like I did.
"My dear old dad had a saying for that as well," Jack said, "come to think of it, he had a saying for just about everything. 'If a lad has a bottom on him, that bottom can be smacked no matter how old or big he gets'. Last time I looked you do have one of those things Dad mentioned."
"Okay, then," I said, getting up from my chair and standing beside Jack, "let's get to it if we are going to." What the heck, I've been spanked before, how bad can it be? I'd do about anything to get back into Jack's good graces. A sore butt, even at my age, seemed a small price to pay.
"Good lad," Jack said, putting his hand briefly on my shoulder. "Wait here for a minute while I get a chair." He left the room and shortly returned with a sturdy straight back chair, it looked like part of a kitchen set. He set the chair in the middle of the living room floor and walked over to the wall and took down the paddle from its hook on the wall. Returning to the chair he sat down.
Without being told to I doffed my jacket and dropped it on the chair I had been sitting in, I knew that I wouldn't need that for sure any time soon. Wordlessly I walked over to Jack's right side and stood there, not willing to make the move to get over his knees.
Just as well. Jack set the paddle on his lap and reached for my belt.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Misbehaving boys get it on the bare hide," he chided me, "surely you remember that?"
Yeah, I remembered that all right. How many times in the past had I been told to drop my pants and shorts before getting over Dad's knees back when he used to spank me with his hand and later on having to take them right off when I would get hided with the belt while laying on top of a pillow on my bed, bare bottom raised up and nicely rounded, just prime for the strapping it would get. And did get, long and hard.
It is awkward to say the least to undo another guy's belt and fly but Jack did it like he had done this action many times in the past and quickly my jeans were resting around my ankles. I was highly embarrassed for my willie had reacted like it did years ago when Dad used to spank me, it had gotten rock hard and was straining against my Jockeys.
"Uh, Jack," I said as he reached for the waistband of my shorts, "I'm a little, well, aroused down there if you know what I mean. This don't mean that I like getting a spanking."
"Don't think a thing about it," Jack laughed, "it used to happen to me every time Dad tanned my hide for me. Used to come in handy once he got done if it was still that way."
Boy, did that bring me back! I didn't always have a boner once Dad got done giving me a spanking but it would soon return and I would always masturbate once I learned how. Made me feel better, somehow.
Jack pulled my briefs down and then guided me over his knees and somehow I automatically held down my rampart willie as I lay down, just like I had years ago to avoid squashing it on top of Dad's leg. Jack shifted his legs around a bit to get my rear end the highest part on my body and I stared at the floor, balancing my weight on my hands and feeling my boy parts dangling outside of his thigh and feeling my toes hitting the floor of the opposite side.
Jack pushed my T-shirt up further on my body to bare my ribs and took a firm grip around me there and picked up the paddle from the floor where he had set it as I lay down. He set the paddle on my back and ran his big hand all over my bare bum. I felt so exposed and vulnerable, just like when I was a kid!
Jack finished his journey of discovery with his hand on the contours of my bottom, even exploring my crack and brushing his fingers over my butthole. I felt my face blush even hotter if possible when I felt his fingers there. He picked up the paddle and tightened his grip around my ribs.
"You know," he said, hefting the paddle in his strong right hand, "this paddle has been used on three generations of my family, being handed down to the eldest son when they got older. My grandfather's father first made it to use on his three boys and many times my grandfather used it on my dad and his three brothers when they misbehaved and when it came to my generation it served well on me and my brother when we misbehaved. I thought that its use would end there for of course I never had any kids of my own. It's been hanging there on the wall since that last time Dad used it to straighten me out."
There was a long pause as if Jack was thinking back on all the times he had been in my position and felt that carved out piece of wood on his own backside.
"Are you ready, lad?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," came my voice, muffled from talking to the floor. "Let's get it over with."
"I'm not going to lie to you, laddy," he said, "this is not going to be a few smacks on the bottom and all is well, this will be a full blown paddling and when we get done there's not going to be any sass or snottiness left in you. My dad never believed in halfway measures and neither do I, when he tanned my hide for me he tanned it well and so will I when I tan your hide for you. This will be the worst spanking you've gotten in years if not your entire life." He patted my bottom with the paddle and added quietly, "Don't be ashamed about crying if you need to, lord knows I've cried enough over the years when this thing was whacking my tail for me."
I heard the chair creak a little, sturdy as it is, as Jack lifted the paddle high and brought it cracking down square in the center of my bare backside. I had never heard such a noise before when I got spanked, I had never gotten it with a paddle before, and it sounded like a pistol shot. As the paddle made its flight upward the burn started. The second smack landed like lightning and whacked the same spot and got the flames burning hotter. On the third swat in the same location I couldn't help myself. I was wriggling around and kicking my feet just like when I was a little kid over Dad's knee.
"JACK!" I yelled, "STOP, THAT HURTS!"
"I know, laddy," Jack said, "and it's going to hurt a lot more before we get finished here. A spanking wouldn't do much good if it felt good, now would it?"
Like a clockwork machine that had been wound up and had to run its full course that paddle in Jack's strong hand made many, many trips up and down with the lower part of the trip landing somewhere, anywhere, on my rapidly heating backside. I was spanked high on my butt up near my back and low down on the backs of my thighs and everywhere in between many times. The sides of my butt cheeks received many swats as well and boy, didn't it burn when they landed there! I was kicking my legs as much as I could but my pants couldn't slip over my shoes so they effectively hobbled me from too much action back there. Despite my struggles, Jack's strong left arm held me tightly down over his knees.
I 'took it like a man' for quite a while but then the flames grew just too hot and I reverted about ten years or more when last I felt Dad's belt searing the hide of my bare rump and I started to sob.
"That's the boy," Jack said, "let it all come out."
I guess that was what I needed to complete my reversion to kidhood for I started to bawl about as loudly as I did when Dad used to spank me. My crying didn't stop Jack from continuing to spank me, far from it, I'd guess that I got tanned for at least five minutes after my bawling erupted. Finally when my entire backside felt like molten lava was flowing across it the paddling stopped and Jack set me up on my feet.
I stood there rubbing my flaming fanny, the tears still flowing unashamedly down my face and heedless of my erection which had lasted throughout the spanking and then Jack did something that my father used to do when I was little and gotten a spanking but never did as a teen, he pulled me down so my burning backside was on his lap and put his arms around me.
"Shh, shh," he said, "it's okay, the spanking's over and all is well." He was running his hand over my T-shirt clad back and down to the top of my blazing fanny and back up again, putting his hand inside of the shirt so he was rubbing my bare back. I couldn't help it and buried my face in his shoulder until I stopped sobbing.
"I've been watching you since you first started coming in here," Jack said, "and you're a good lad all told but you lack someone to put you in your place every now and again, you get too full of yourself and get carried away. Throwing that beer mug tonight was just plain stupid and childish and you needed to be reminded of the manners that I'm sure your parents taught you. I know your dad is no longer around to talk to but I hope that you will talk to me instead, I think of you as the son that I never had and if my technique of dealing with a misbehaving son seems a bit harsh, so be it, it worked on me and I hope it works on you."
Jack paused for a bit in his speech but continued to run his hand up and down my back, from my shoulderblades to my backside that he had just blistered. Somehow the hand that wielded the paddle that just caused me so much pain felt good touching me there now, soothing even.
"Remember, boy," Jack said, "I'm here if you need me, for a talk or anything else that you might need. The pain of the lesson I just taught you will go away with time, I hope the lesson itself stays around for a while. If you need another reminder, I'm here for you."
I sat there on Jack's lap for a while, feeling the wool of his pants under my now smoldering backside and then did something I have never done in my adult life, I kissed him on the cheek.
"Thanks, Dad," I said.