Jim and I tried to make the time until Matt's punishment session, or , as Mr Connor described it, "the family hour", pass more quickly by playing basketball, but it still seemed an eternity before Mr Connor came to the door and called, "It's almost seven, boys. Come on in." We almost ran but restrained ourselves, hoping not to appear unseemly. Mr Connor must have noticed our eagerness, but, far from disapproving, seemed to appreciate our delight at his arrangements.
Mrs Connor and Karen were already sitting on the sofa when Jim and I entered the living room. The furniture had been slightly rearranged to accommodate tonight's performance. The sofa, Mr Connor's easy chair, and a love seat formed a half-circle around an armchair positioned a foot or two in front of the mirrored door to the closet. Jim and I took our places on the love seat, as Mr Connor evidently wanted.
I understood now why he conducted these disciplinary proceedings in the family living room. Here, there was none of the security of being in your own room away upstairs. Your humiliation took place in this very public area, where everyone went back and forth all day long. The homey, familiar setting was transformed instantly into a place of dread.
Mr Connor sat down on the edge of his own chair, appearing quite nonchalant despite the harsh measures he was about to employ. He had removed his tie and lloosened his collar before we ate; now he kicked off his shoes, and rolled his shirt sleeves above his elbow, baring muscular and hairy forearms. Getting comfortable, the better to beat butt, I concluded. He picked up his newspaper, announcing to all of us before he began reading it, "Matt should be down any minute. I don't think he'll be late."
Within seconds, soft footfalls began descending the stairs. We all looked up, except Mr Connor who only glanced momentarily at the clock to see if his errant son had added tardiness to his other offenses. He was dead serious now.
Matt, wearing light blue pajamas and barefoot, was coming down to the living room, the formidable strap in his right hand. He looked very boyish and very vulnerable. He stood in front of his father, who made a show of finishing his newspaper before at last putting it down and staring at his son.
Matt silently offered the strap to Mr Connor, who took it just as wordlessly. He ran his hands along it, then, holding it by the handle and the opposite end, balanced it across his lap.
"I don't think I need to tell you again why you're being punished, son. You know that quite well already."
Fearful but still defiant, Matt simply inclined his head.
"So the first thing you're going to do is apologize to Dan and Jim."
Matt mumbled something containing the words "I'm sorry."
Mr Connor turned to Jim and me. "That wasn't much of an apology, fellas. But I promise that Matt will give you a more sincere one after I've finished with him." He looked up meaningfully at the worried jock.
"Well, if everyone is ready," Mr Connor announced, looking to the left and right at his audience, "with your permission, ladies and gentlemen, I'll give Matt his whipping."
Mrs Connor obviously wanted to protest, but knew better than to interfere with here husband's policies of correction. Karen wore a faint smile that was unreadable. Jim and I were both exuberant but trying to appear solemn.
"Take your place, son," Mr Connor said, quietly but firmly.
Matt turned, walked to the chair and bent over it, grabbing the far side of the seat with both hands.
It was a comical sight. Matt's muscular rear end, thrust toward us, tightly stretched the fabric of his pajama bottoms. The lines of his white underpants were clearly visible.
Mr Connor appeared satisfied with these preparations. He stood and handed me the strap. "Here, Dan, will you hold this for a minute?" I took it as he walked with deliberate slowness toward his awaiting son.
I used this brief opportunity to examine Mr Connor's near-legendary strap.
Its stark simplicity perhaps made it all the more awe-inspiring - a short wooden handle, joined to a well-worn, 16"-long, 2"-wide strip of black leather. I judged the leather to be practically inflexible, but Jim had assured me that his dad knew how to make it flex when he wanted. I turned from my inspection of this disciplinary tool back up to its target for the evening.
I could see Matt's face in the mirror as he watched with apprehension his father's approach.
"That's right, Matt. Keep your head raised and your eyes open. I want everybody to see your face at all times. And I want you to know that we're all watching."
Mr Connor stood by his son, facing us, arms folded. He turned his head to address Matt. "You just couldn't learn any other way, could you, son?" He shook his head in disapproval, then spoke to the rest us.
"I'm about to pull down Matt's pants and underwear and give him his whipping on his bare - bottom." (I think he was about to say "butt" instead of "bottom" but remembered that his wife and daughter were present.) "I realize that this may be somewhat embarrassing for you ladies. But I want the whole family to profit from Matt's example. So."
Mr Connor reached down and took hold of Matt's pajama bottoms on either side of the waist. He gently tugged them down to Matt's knees, then let them fall around his bare feet. He stood, resuming his former position, obviously wanting us to appreciate the results of his efforts. We did.
Matt's pajama bottoms had been tightly stretched across his rear end, but his cotton briefs were even more so. His legs, tanned golden brown, disappeared into the underpants, but not before revealing the lowest portion of each white butt cheek. A strip of untanned skin showed just above the waistband, and a shadowy line along the underwear's middle marked the butt crack below the surface.
Mr Connor inquired, "Embarrassed, Matt?"
The handsome face was indeed blushing. He mumbled something like "Yes, sir."
"Well, I'm just getting started!" He paused, then: "You know, Matt, after supper, I started to relent. I was going to let you keep your underpants up and spare you some humiliation. I told myself, I'll give him a break if I can think of one extenuating circumstance. If there was just one time when you showed a little generosity or sympathy, anything instead of your usual jock arrogance. But I couldn't. Just think about that, son. But your thick head doesn't seem to be able to hold more than one thought at a time, and I'm about to give you plenty else to think about! That's right, Matt. Your underpants are coming down after all. Now."
It was time for the grand unveiling.
Mr Connor grabbed Matt's underpants as he had the pajama bottoms and ever so slowly began lowering them, revealing inch by inch his son's milky white buns. Matt, disobeying his dad's order, squeezed his eyes shut during Mr Connor's leisurely uncovering of his beautiful jock butt.
Mr Ccnnor arranged Matt's underwear around the upper portion of his thighs, enough to bare the entire butt for whipping, but not enough to cause unnecessary exposure. He evidently wanted to spare his son some embarrassment, for if he had pulled them down any lower, we would no doubt have seen Matt's balls dangling between his legs instead of the shadowy area now visible.
Once again Mr Connor stepped aside, offering us a unobstructed view of his humbled son. Matt ventured to open one eye, but seeing that every gaze in the room was centered on his naked butt, shut it tightly, as the blush in his cheeks spread to his entire face. "Matt!" his father snapped, and the poor jock had to open both his eyes. The look in them was almost pitiable. Jim snickered.
Matt's dad let us view this exhibit for a full minute or two. After all, that snow-white butt wouldn't be that color again for quite some time. Mr Connor asked, "And how do you feel now, son?"
A whimper was the only response.
"Oh? Well it's about to get even worse."
He began moving toward me. "Tonight I'm going to treat the family to a new experience." He reached for his strap, which I happily gave him. "Thank you, Dan." He smiled at me, then headed back toward Matt. "We're going to find out what a leather strap feels like when applied to a young man's bare bottom." He stood beside Matt and gently touched the strap to his son's awaiting rear end. Matt clenched his butt cheeks. "Matt is going to give us a complete and detailed demonstration." Mr Connor raised the strap high. "Right now!"
I saw a blur, then heard a resounding Crack! and "Oww!" from Matt. The strap was once more across his butt - Mr Connor was already taking aim for his second stroke. When he raised the strap, I saw that it had left a long pink stripe across both Matt's butt cheeks. Then Crack! Ow! The strap was there again, imprinting a second stripe across the first.
Mr Connor began a furious lecture, and each of his admonitions was punctuated by the snap of leather and a yelp of pain from Matt.
"My son here thinks he's such a big man!" Crack! Ow!
"Do you feel like a big man now, Matt?" Crack! Ow!
"I'm going to take you down a peg or two!" Crack! Ow!
"Or however many pegs you've got!" Crack! Crack! Crack! Owwww!
Jim sighed, "Excellent!"
As the whipping continued, Matt made a desperate move to reach back and protect his burning behind, but that attempt was halted when his dad ordered, "Get those hands out of my way or you'll get even more!"
Mr Connor's efforts were being rewarded by the frantic dance of this now deflated jock. Matt thrust his rear end back and forth, constantly clenching and unclenching his buns. Once the cheeks spread so far apart I got a glimpse of Matt's butthole!
I don't know how many times Mr Connor made that strap sizzle across his son's butt. The marks of each individual stroke had now blended into a bright red oval on each cheek. Mr Connor seemed determined to make that red butt even redder.
"Can't you act like a gentlemen, son?" Crack! Ow!
"It wouldn't hurt you to show a little courtesy!" Crack! Ow!
"But I'm going to hurt you if you don't!" Crack! Crack! Crack!
"Yeow! Daad! Pleeease!" He had started begging a little while ago, all his jock dignity vanished.
We arrived at what was to be peak (one of the many) of Matt's humiliation that day. I don't know whether Mr Connor gave an especially more forceful stroke (judging from the intense look on his face I'd say yes) or if he had brought his strapt down on a particularly sensitive area of Matt's butt (and what area wasn't by now?) or maybe both. Whatever the case, the result was that Matt was no longer able to restrain himself. He shot up and grabbed his burning butt with both hands. He rubbed furiously but uselesslly, bouncing back and forth from one foot to the other in his dance of pain. Matt's uncontrolled motions had not only caused his underpants to slide down to his ankles, but had also brought him around to face us. All eyes in the room, except Matt's, must have been focused on his midsection - naturally. We were rewarded with the spectacle of an only moderately-sized set of _c_o_c_k_ and balls, but boy were they dancing away. Matt's jumping made his _c_o_c_k_ wag up and down, while his balls bounced below it. Matt, his eyes full of tears and his mind concentrated entirely on the pain in his butt, was obviously unaware of the humiliating show his private parts were putting on. His audience was, however, spellbound. After the first surprise of realizing what we were seeing, the general atmosphere was one of amusement. Mrs Connor and Karen may have been somewhat uncomfortable, but Jim almost laughed aloud, relishing his brother's total embarrassment. Matt suddenly discovered his predicament. His tearful eyes opened, caught sight of all of us staring at his _c_o_c_k_ and balls, then opened wider in horror, as did his mouth, and his face became absolutely scarlet. He bent down and crossed his arms in front of his still-visible midsection.
Mr Connor had stopped strapping, and had even smirked at his son's comical exposure. He quickly remembered that he ought to be angry. Matt's butt, stuck out in his direction, proved to be an irresistible target. Mr Connor brought his strap down on the right cheek, at the same time grabbing Matt by the left ear. "Get back in position!" he commanded, pulling the unfortunate young man once more over the chair. "I'm not near finished with your butt!" Mr Connor turned and said, "Sorry, ladies," and went back to his fatherly activity. Matt's upraised red butt was again the center of everyone's attention, after the humorous diversion provided by his most private parts.
Despite his threat, Mr Connor was indeed almost finished with Matt's butt. Perhaps he realized he had taken this smart-assed jock as far down as he could go. Maybe he was just tired. Whatever the case, he lowered the strap to his side, caught his breath, and asked, "Well, son, do you think you can give a decent apology now?"
Matt wailed through his tears, "Oh, yessir, yessir, please let me!"
Mr Connor beckoned to Jim and me, "Come over here, boys, where Matt can address you properly." We stood and walked toward father and son. Mr Connor delicately placed the tip of the strap against Matt's butt. Even this gentle touch made him tighten his buns and raise on his toes. "But I warn you, Matt. If I'm not satisfied with your apology, I'll make some more blisters."
Jim and I now stood in front of the still bent-over Matt and looked down at his tear-streaked face, red with shame. He began sobbing his apology.
"Oh, Dan and Jim, I'm so sorry for the way I acted this afternoon! I behaved like the dumb jock I am! I promise never to do it again! I just got the worst whipping of my life and I deserved every bit of it for what I did! Please, please, forgive me?"
Mr Connor, who had listened to this with nods of approval, moved the strap menacingly over his son's butt. "Well, boys, is that satisfactory, or does Matt get more?"
He obviously wanted us to be magnanimous, so I volunteered, "I think he's had enough, Mr Connor." Jim added, begrudingly, "Yeah, I guess."
"All right, then. I suppose that's it. Oh, one more thing, Matt. You're grounded for three months. That means I'll be taking your car keys. You won't be able to sit down for that long anyway." Matt didn't even whimper. Mr Connor continued, "You boys may go sit down, however." We moved away as he asked, "Would you like to rub, son?"
"Oh, yessir, please let me!"
"Okay, Matt. You may rub as much as you like and then pull up your pants." He joined the rest of us.
Matt stood and reached back with both hands to rub unashamedly his red-hot butt. He must have known that at this moment he looked like a punished five-year-old, but the need to soothe, however slightly, his sore behind overcame whatever dignity he had left.
Finished with these operations, Matt pulled up his pajama bottoms and underwear, keeping his back to us the whole time. I don't know why - he had already shown us everything he had to show. He came and stood in front of his dad, waiting to be dismissed. Mr Connor gave him a searching look, trying to determine if the lesson he had just administered had really taken hold. Mrs Connor appeared both relieved and sympathetic. Matt's sister still wore her sphinx-like smile.
Mr Connor proclaimed, "That will be all for tonight, Matt." A pause. "But...you'd better hope this doesn't happen again. Because if it does...next time, I'm not going to be content with just having your pants and underpants down. Next time, I'll make you take off all your clothes."
"Ohhh.."
"That means completely undressing - while the whole family watches. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Now if you think that little bit of exposure (he referred with a slight chuckle to the display of his son's _c_o_c_k_ and balls) that you suffered tonight was embarrassing, imagine how you'll feel having to stand right where you are now without your clothes on while everybody gets a good long look at you. Do you think that will be even more embarrassing?"
"Yes, sir."
"And maybe just the thought of having to do that will keep you out of trouble?"
"Oh, yes, sir!"
Mr Connor nodded. "You may go to your room."
Matt ran up the stairs, still whimpering. He couldn't wait to get out of our sight.
Later, when the rest of us were all in the kitchen, Mr Connor told his wife, "If you'll fix some ice cream, I'll take it up to Matt. I guess he deserves his dessert after all."
Mrs Connor smiled at him and began preparing the ice cream. Mr Connor bent down to whisper to Jim and me, "Although I think he'd rather rub it on his butt than eat it!" We laughed along with him.
Up in Matt's room, Mr Connor showed what a softie he really was. He reduced the period of his son't grounding to one month. "But I still don't believe you'll be able to sit down for a much longer time!" Matt was still too choked up to eat his ice cream, so Mr Connor came back downstairs and ate it for him.