AHRRRRMMMMM! Jordan started up the big riding mower and drove it down the ramps from the trailer that he transported it on behind his white, Toyota pick-up truck. It was 6:30 on Friday morning. Wearing faded blue basketball shorts, a long white t-shirt hanging out over the shorts, a white baseball cap over his long curly shock of blond hair, and short white socks and dirty running shoes, he was about to begin the task of lawn maintenance in the exclusive subdivision known as "Moss Ridge Estates." Moss Ridge was an office and residential complex for wealthy executives, professionals, and retired people.
At 6' and 156 lbs, he was a thin, sinewy kid, with muscled, but skinny, spindly arms and legs. His extremely fair skin never really tanned, so he had spread sun screen all over his face and neck, around his dark blue eyes, and on his arms and legs, to try to prevent scorching sunburn. Jordan Lowe was a 20 year-old student at the local junior college. He had been working for Bob Hardee, owner of Hardee's Lawn Service, and Jason's boss, for 3 years -- since his junior year in high school. He had a record of reliable attendance and work; and Mr. Hardee had raised his pay and now sent him off to work on his own, without supervision.
He was supposed to stop in the office complex at the entrance to the subdivision to see Joe Wilson, the managing partner of the accounting firm that had its offices in the main building, and that managed the complex. Mr. Hardee, had left him a note that Mr. Wilson wanted to see him the next Friday he was at Moss Ridge, but it was too early. So Jordan went ahead and began mowing the grounds around the entrance drive, and the large office building that greeted visitors as they first entered.
AAARRRRRRUHMMMMMM! Jordan was speeding around the grounds, turning the wheel of the mower swiftly, and scarcely mowing up to the edges of the gardens, and around trees and bushes. He would come back and trim all that with the edger and weedwhacker. As he mowed, his hearing and attention were preoccupied by the music from the headset to the disc player that was hooked on his shorts. He was absorbed in listening to the CD and became oblivious to how far he had traveled mowing, and how much time had passed.
At 11 a. m., he found himself way down the main street, and off on one of the side streets, when he needed to stop and refill the mower's gas tank. He got off, untied the 10 gallon can that he carried with him, and refilled the tank. It was then that he noticed the time. Oh, wow! 11 already! And he was not even half done mowing. And there was the edging and trimming still to do. And he was still supposed to see Mr. Wilson.
Well, he would finish up this tank of the mower, and then would have to return to the truck up by the front office building. He could see Mr. Wilson then. He kept working, eating a sandwich and drinking Sportzade from a water bottle, as he mowed.
At 1 p. m., Jordan noticed the gas gauge was near empty, and turned the mower, raising the blade, to drive back down the streets to the front of the complex. About two blocks from his truck, the mower ran out of gas. Jordan jumped down, took the 10 gallon gas can with him, and sprinted to the truck. In the back were several more filled cans of gas. Grabbing one of them, he jogged back to the mower and refilled its tank. Then, he hopped back up on it and drove up to the building. It was 1:25 p. m.
He had better get in to see Mr. Wilson. He stopped the disc player and pulled it off his head. Then, taking a towel out of his truck cab, he wiped the sweat and dusty grime off his face and arms. His legs were still tracked with sweat trickles down the dusty dirt. He was self-consciously embarrassed to walk into the formal lobby of the accounting office, and entered hesitantly. The lady at the reception desk asked if she could help him.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "I'm here to see Mr. Wilson."
"And who are you, young man?" she prompted.
"Oh, yeah. I'm Jordan Lowe, the lawn boy. Mr. Wilson said he wanted to see me."
"Just a moment, Jordan. Have a seat while I see if he is available." He turned around and walked over to an old, oak Windsor armchair, and sat down. She rang Mr. Wilson's secretary, and spoke with her. "Kathryn, Jordan Lowe, the lawn boy, is here to see Mr. Wilson. He says Mr. Wilson wants to see him. Oh, well, he's sitting right here. He was? Ok. Alright. I'll tell him. Thanks."
"Jordan," she summoned. He rose and walked back to the front desk.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered.
"Mr. Wilson is in a meeting away from the office this afternoon. He was expecting you first thing this morning. He won't be back until after 5 this evening. You'll have to come back then."
"Ok, yes, ma'am." He would be still working past that, anyway, he thought, as he surveyed in his mind how much was left to do at the complex. "Thank you, ma'am. I'll be back then," he offered, then turned and walked outside.
Taking three more gas cans from the back of his truck, Jordan remounted the mower and drove it back up onto the trailer. Then he picked up the ramps, got in his truck, and drove down deep into the complex, to complete the remaining third of the lawns that needed mowing. He drove all the way to the end of the complex, planning to mow from there back up to where he had left off at 1 p. m. It was now 2:10 p. m.
Driving the mower down the ramps from the trailer, he immediately resumed mowing the lawns and listening to his disc player. He forgot to reapply the sun screen.
At 3:30, while racing around the lawns and garden, the mower sputtered and stopped near the front door of one of the townhouses. Jordan jumped down, untied another can of gas, and poured it into the mower's tank. Then, he jumped back onto the mower and restarted the engine. URRARARARRMMMMMM! It was a little hesitant in restarting, so Jordan gunned the accelerator a few times. ARRRRUMMMM! ARRRRUMMMM! ARRRRUMMMM!
Suddenly, he felt a powerful, solid grip on his left bicep. Turning suddenly, he saw a strapping elderly man, about 6'4", and looking to weigh around 260 lbs, wearing khaki pants, a polo shirt, and a cardigan sweater over it. The man's grip did not loosen as he pulled Jordan off the mower. The engine resumed its idling rumble, as Jason's feet landed on the ground. He pulled the headphones off his head and jerked his head around to stare at the old man towering down at him.
"What is it, sir?" Jordan peered into the eyes of the man who still gripped his arm tightly, and shouted over the sound of the mower.
The old man motioned for him to turn off the mower. "I can't." Jordan responded. "I have to finish all this" -- he gestured around the townhouses -- "the mowing -- today." He tried to turn back to remount the mower, but the old man pushed him away from the mower, and then reached up and turned the mower off, grabbing the key out of the ignition.
"Hey, wait a minute!" Jordan protested.
"No, you wait." The old man spoke for the first time. "You know what you're doing! Waking people up with this loud noise! Come back later, when it's not so early! You have no business making all this noise at this hour!"
Jordan stared, confused, looking at the old man. "But, sir, it's not that late. I have to get this done." He thought maybe the man didn't want to be bothered in the late afternoon.
The old man squinted straight at Jordan. "You come with me right now, lad." The old man commanded, replaced his grip on the lower back of the young man's neck, and began forcing him towards the door of the townhouse. At the same time, he put the key in the pocket of his sweater. Trying to resist, Jordan repeatedly braced his feet, only to be nearly toppled over forward, as he quickly hastened to replant his feet under him.
When the reached the door, the old man opened it with his left hand, pushing Jordan through with the continued grip on his neck. Then the old man closed the door, turning the deadbolt closed. With his left hand, he pulled the white baseball cap off Jordan's thatch of sun-bleached, blond hair. "I've told you and told you to take off that cap when you're in the house, boy!" the old man thundered. Jordan's mind began anxiously speeding at once, wondering what was going on. The old man continued to push him past the foyer into the living room of the townhouse. Then he sat down on a big green sofa, releasing Jordan to stand in front of him.
"Sir. Please give me back the key. I've got to get all the rest of this mowed. It takes all day, and I'm going to be late as it is. I really don't have time to talk right now. I'm sorry." He tried to be polite and solicitous.
The old man stood back up. "Now, see, here, Teddy. I've told you a hundred times not to come around waking people up with that noise. But you won't listen. Well, you're going to have lots of time, young man, before I'm finished with you. Do you hear me, Teddy?!"
What in the world was going on?! "Sir, I'm not Teddy. I'm Jordan -- and I've got to get this mowing done before . . ."
While Jordan was still trying to explain, the old man stepped up to him, forcefully grasped the lower back of his neck again, and pulled the lawn boy towards him, turning him inward towards the huge gentleman.
"Hey, cut it out. That hurts!" Jordan denounced.
Dropping back down onto the couch, the old man pulled the young man over and across his lap, pushing Jordan's face and mouth into the upholstery of the couch. In lightning-like seconds, the strong old man had shifted Jordan so that his feet were barely touching the carpet, pulled his right arm up against his back, and yanked the young man's dirty, blue basketball shorts down over his buttocks and down his legs past his knees to gather at his ankles.
As all that took place so instantaneously, Jordan erupted with protests! "HEY! What d'you think you're DOING?! Stop it! You can't DO this! STOP IT!!"
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
The old man's big, solid hand began delivering a volley of swats to the seat of Jordan's boxers. "You always have to get your backside tanned, before you'll do what you're told, don't you, Teddy?!"
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAP!!!
Oh! Ah! Wow! Ah! Whew! For some time now, Jordan had forgotten what it was like to have his behind tanned by a strong man's pummeling hand. "No, wait. Sir, wait! I'm not Teddy! Ah! You're making a mistake. Sir! Sir, you're aaaah making aaa-uhmah misss-ss-staaak!. Umpph! Aaah! Aaaumph! Sir! Sir, stop! Oooo-ahh! Ow! SSTOP! Owowowww! SSSTOP! PLEEZ!"
The fast and furious flurry of spanks from the old man's stone-like hand were swiftly heating up Jordan's seat. He was becoming desperate to get out from under this torrent of swats against his smoldering rearend. He began twisting and squirming, trying to get off the old man's lap and away from the thunderous pounding of his behind. He could not break loose. The old man kept on spanking.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
"Ahhhumph! Aaaaa-uum! Aaah-uh-aaahm! Aaaa-uh-oooaaaah!" He was already grunting and moaning as he felt tears begin to well up in his eyes. He bit his tongue, grimaced and gulped, determined to hold them back and not to cry. Gathering all of his strength, and pushing up with his left arm against the couch, he thrusts himself upwards, trying to break free from the old man's hold. No good. The big old man was incredibly strong and held Jordan trapped across his knees like a rabbit in a trap.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAPWHAPWHAP! WHAPWHAPWHAP! WHAPWHAPWHAP! WHAPWHAPWHAP! WHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAP! WHAPWHAPWHAPWHAPWHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAPWHAPWHAP! WHAPWHAPWHAP! WHAPWHAPWHAP! WHAPWHAPWHAP!
The old man was getting faster and stronger with his barrage on the seat of Jordan's boxers. All at once, he couldn't hold on or back any longer. The tears came springing from his eyes. Sobs rushed forward from his throat. He collapsed into bawling and wailing, still bucking and kicking out as the old man's hand relentlessly torched the lawn boy's rearend. His dirty, faded, blue basketball shorts, tangled around his ankles, flew off his kicking feet and legs. He howled and hollered as the old man delivered a long, thorough trouncing to Jordan's battered backside.
Suddenly it was over -- or so he thought. The old man stopped his spanking. Still shaking with sobs, Jordan did not realize for some seconds that the torch igniting his behind had ceased. Then, he felt the old man reaching off to the right and heard him picking up some object. He started to push himself up off the man's lap, when he realized that his right arm was still in the old man's vice, as he wrenched it up against Jordan's back, driving the young man's face back into the couch fabric.
Then it happened. With the strike of a cobra, the old man grabbed the waistband of Jordan's boxers and pulled them off the young man's behind, down his legs to his ankles where the lawn boy's shorts had been.
"SOB! AAARGHAAAAAA! GASP! NOOOOOOooooo SOB! Waaaaaaaay!" Jordan screamed his outcry of protest amidst his strangled choking and sobbing.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Out of nowhere, a flat 1 x 4, about 18" long, was blistering his bare bottom! Evidently, the old man had kept the board by the couch, and was now branding Jordan's backside with each strike of the board.
Jordan shrieked and screamed, redoubling his writhing and jumping, but futile, struggle to get loose. The old man intensified the smacks to the lawn boy's bare behind, and then spoke.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
"You see, Teddy, it always takes scalding your behind for your to obey. I'm going to roast your rump until its so singed you won't be sitting on that tractor again for a good long time! Hear me, Teddy?!"
But Jordan was defeated --emotionally beaten. He could no longer dispute, much less protest. He wailed and screeched, amidst choking sobs, trying to end the inferno that was burning his behind. His boxers, gathered down around his ankles, and then soon joined his shorts across the room.
"UH-AUGH! UH-AHM-UH-UH-S-SORREEE! PUH-LEEZ! YAIEEEE! OWOWOWW! ARGUH! ARGRAUGH! I WON'T! UH! I WON'T! AH-DOOO-AH-IT-AH- AH-AGAIN! OOOOOOO! AAAAAAA!" He became a small boy, promising and pleading for his spanking to stop. "I'LLBEGOOD! I'LLBEGOOD! PLEEZ! UH-PLEEZ! UH-AAAA! OOOOOOOO! ARGHGRGRAAAH! OOOOOO! IWON'TBEBAD! IWON'TBEBAD! OW! OW! OW! IWON'T BEEE-YOWW! UH-BAAAD! AARGRGRAUGHA! NO-NO-NO-NOT- AUGH-UH! ANEEEEMOOOR! OOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAA! UH-UH! OWOWOWWW! GRGRAUGH-UH-UH! I'LLBEGOOD! I'LLBEGOOD! I WILL! I WILL! OOOOEEYOWW! P-PLEEZ! STOP! STOPIT! PUH-LEEEZ! I PROMISSSS! AAAAAAAA-UH-GRAUGH- UH-UGHAA-OOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! "
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
The old man just continued raining whacks of the board against the crushed young man's angry, red bottom. Finally, it was over; but Jordan did not notice at first. The old man sat there, breathing heavily, with the heaving, shaking lawn boy hanging across his lap.
Then the old man spoke sharply. "Now, get up, Teddy. You're in that corner over there until I tell ya you can move!" He pointed to a corner across from the recliner at the other end of the room. "Keep your hands on your head, too! Or you'll find yourself back across my lap and your bottom flaming with more lessons from this board of education! Understand me, boy?!"
Struggling, in agony, to pull himself off the old man's knees, Jordan murmured his compliance. "Augh-uh-y-yes, ah-sir! Aaaaahoooo!" Trying to stand was hopeless, as he doubled over, falling to his knees, bellowing out as his fiery behind touched his feet.
The old man stood up, reached down, and hitched the young man up by the arms. Jason began sobbing more.
WHACKWHACKWHACK!!
The old man was reapplying the board to his throbbing bottom. He screamed and jumped forward, as the old man led him over to the corner he intended. He leaned forward into the corner, bare from the waist down, sobbing and sobbing with his hands on his head.
After a while, he turned around to see the old man sitting in the recliner. He appeared drowsy to Jordan, and he straightened up and began to turn away from the corner.
WHACKWHACKWHACKWHACKWHACK!!!
The old man was back on his feet, wielding that board against Jordan's behind. "I'll tell you when you can get out of the corner, Teddy! Do I need to take you back over my knees, boy?!"
"N-noooo-uh-uh-noooooaahhh! Uh-uh-aaaaaeeeyowww!" Jordan howled, and turned promptly back to lean again into the corner.
More than an hour later, Jordan thought he heard heavy breathing, like sleep, from the old man. Turning his head only slightly, while still leaning forward into the corner, Jordan spied the old man snoozing. This was his chance to escape! His shorts and boxers were across the room on the floor! But he had to have the mower key too!
He decided he needed to get the key first, so with stealth he walked stiffly, but softly, over to the sleeping giant senior citizen. Reaching into the right pocket of the old man's sweater, he found it empty. The old man stirred slightly, and Jordan stepped back, ready to run. After another 5 minutes, he again reached over the sleeping old man, into his left sweater pocket. There it was! The key! He picked it out, just as the old man snorted and awakened.
Looking up quickly, the old man saw the bare-bottomed young man reaching across him, no longer standing in the corner where he had placed him.
"That's it, Teddy! You won't listen until your bottom's sizzlin! Well, boy, that's what you'll get!"
He grabbed Jordan's thick shock of blond hair, pulling the boy back over his lap in the recliner. Jordan instinctively reached up to try to stop the painful pulling of his hair, and the old man's left hand grabbed the lawn boy's t-shirt, pulling it upward, dragging Jordan forward until his face was staring at the floor, his feet hanging above it. Shifting his legs a couple of time, the old man positioned Jordan's angry, reddened behind up into aim, pulling the t-shirt up over the back of the young man's head.
The cool of the swirling ceiling fan against Jordan's bare bottom and back made him shiver. But it was also a shiver of terror and dread of what lay ahead, after what he had already gotten. In panic, Jordan dropped the key on the floor next to the recliner.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Once more, the old man reapplied the 1 x 4 to against Jordan's behind, his thighs just below his buttocks, and especially his inner thighs. The young man was beside himself with agony! Never had he even thought he could experience such pain, not to mention to ongoing humiliation. With his rearend already so red and sensitive from his earlier spanking, Jordan crumbled into incoherent sobs and shrieks immediately.
When it was over, the old man rolled the lawn boy off his lap, and ordered him back to the corner. With his t-shirt still covering the back of his head an neck, Jordan almost dove into the corner, leaning forward with his hands back on his covered head, to wail his weeping, choking gasps.
"Now, if you think I'm kidding, Teddy, just try leaving that corner again. We'll be here all night -- 'till you learn your lesson, young man!" Jordan could only sob more.
A couple more hours passed. Jordan hated standing there for so long, not able even to try to calm the raging fire on his bottom with a touch or a rub. Crazy thoughts floated past his mind, as he wondered if he might be a prisoner here forever!
Finally, the old man was obviously snoozing again. Slowly, and oh-so-painfully, Jordan stood back up, and stepped away from the corner -- but without turning around to look at the old man. He paused. When nothing happened, he turned slowly and saw that the old man was really sleeping again. Stiffly and woodenly, he pulled his t-shirt back down from his head, letting it drop down his back, and tip-toed over to the side of the recliner. Squatting down to reach the key that had fallen from his hands as he was taken back over the old man's knees, his battered bottom touched the carpet, igniting the smoldering flames.
"Ah-uh-aaaaah" he caught himself before any more sound left his voice. Picking up the key, he stepped slowly and mechanically across the room to retrieve his boxers and blue basketball shorts. As he reached down to pick up his boxers, the old man began to awaken again.
"Ah, Teddy, where did you go? You're really in for it this time, lad!"
Too terrified to risk another tour of the old man's lap, the panicked lawn boy hastily grabbed up his boxers and shorts, fled to the door with them in hand, and turned the deadbolt open. Grabbing the doorknob, he pulled the door open, jolted through it, and slammed it closed, fleeing to his mower, leaving behind his hat and the disc player that were elsewhere on the floor.
There, he stepped quickly back into his boxers and basketball shorts, exposing his battered backside as he pulled them up and over it with excruciating agony. Then, jumping up onto it, he thrust the key into the ignition, turned it to find that it started up instantly, and, forgetting, sat down on the hard metal seat. "Yeeowww!" he exclaimed as he stood up off it at once; but accelerated the mower away from the townhouse, down the street, and around a corner. His eyes filled with tears instantly from the pain.
When he was far enough away from the old man's townhouse that he felt he could not be heard, Jordan halted the mower, and stiffly jumped down from the mower. Looking at his watch for the first time since the old man had pulled him from the mower, he saw that it was almost 7:20 p. m. Whew! He had spent some time in that corner -- not to mention in the snare of the old man's steely grip, across his lap! In another hour it would be dark, and he had at least 3 more hours of mowing to do. Then the edging still remained.
There was no way he could get all that done tonight, now. And his backside was throbbing, and there was no way he could sit on that mower in this condition to finish all that mowing. Eager to get home, and rest his behind by lying on his stomach, Jordan decided to park the mower on an empty lot, take the key, and walk staggeringly back to his truck. He would return tomorrow and finish.
Getting to his truck, he opened the door and winced as he stepped up into it, and then lowered himself down onto the seat. Tears started streaming from his eyes again, as the pain in his bottom radiated to his brain. Softly he began sobbing again as he started the truck engine and drove away.
Forty minutes later, he pulled into the long driveway at his parents' house. Closing the windows, he turned off the engine and slid agonizingly off the truck seat to the ground. His parents were not home -- probably eating dinner out. With pain he trudged up the steps to the kitchen door, reached down and untied and removed his shoes, and then stepped into the house.
Thankfully, it was empty and quiet. He walked straight to the bathroom, pulled down his shorts and boxers, and gasped with shock at his purple-red, bruised bottom and upper thighs. "Ooooo-aaaaaah! Oooooo!" he moaned. Quickly running a luke-warm tubful of water, he stripped off the rest of clothes and socks, and lowered himself, front first, into the tub. As the water closed over his inflamed bottom, it soothed while at the same time stinging. Besides his emblazened bottom, the back of his legs, arms, and neck were reddened from sunburn too.
After lying face down about 20 minutes, he tried his best to bathe and rinse himself off, then pushed himself up and out of the tub, opening the drain. He gingerly patted his backside and upper thighs with a towel. Then, just as gently wrapping it around his wounded, sore bottom, he walked slowly and quietly to his bedroom.
He tossed his dirty clothes into the laundry hamper. Pulling down the bedspread to the foot of the bed, he slid in under the sheet, face first, lying on his stomach. Within minutes, he was asleep. His sleep was fitful and frightful, tossing from one scenario of being caught and spanked, to another of being ambushed, trapped, and whipped. Always he was thrashing, struggling, in vain to get away. During the night, he cried out in his sleep as he went from one setting to another.
At 6 a. m., the next morning, he turned over onto his back, and let out a moan: "Oooooaaaaayowwww!" Instantly, he was back on his stomach. After a couple of minutes, he eased himself out from under the sheet and off the bed. With reluctance and dread, he pulled a clean pair of boxers up over his injured buttocks, then stepped into a pair of clean, faded, red basketball shorts. Bending over to pull clean socks on his feet stretched his tortured seat against his boxers and shorts.
Then he headed to the bathroom, freshened up for the day, and walked into the kitchen for a quick bowl of cereal and orange juice. He was nearly finished and about to leave when his mother walked in and found him standing at the counter eating his breakfast. "Why are you standing there eating, Jordan?" she asked.
"I'm hurrying," he held back most of the truth. "I wasn't able to finish yesterday, and have got to do it today." Then, he put his dishes in the sink, walked over to the kitchen door, stepped out to bend over hesitantly and put on his shoes. "See you, Mom," he called.
"Bye, Jordan. Have a good day. See you for supper tonight, honey," she replied.
"Sure thing, Mom," he returned. He walked stumbling to his truck; opened it; with reluctance, slowly lowered his behind onto the seat; and cranked over the engine. It started immediately, and Jordan Lowe was headed back to Moss Ridge Estates.