Christian Andrews stood on his front porch and as quietly as possible, turned his key in the lock. As he turned the knob of the front door, he glanced nervously at his dad's car that was parked ominously in the drive.
"Oh crap," he mumbled, feeling the stainless steel barbell in his tongue clicking against his front teeth. His freshly pierced tongue was swelling by the second, and his stomach knotted as he wondered why his father was home from work so early.
The discussion that they had a few days earlier came back to him as he walked into the house. It was a discussion that had started out with him stating that he was eighteen now, and should be able to get pierced if he wanted to, and had ended with his father's resounding "No!"
It really hadn't helped his case any that his father was a doctor and had read in medical journals about piercings that had gotten infected. As his dad recited a litany of horror stories to him, Christian had finally had enough of hearing it.
"Look Dad," Christian had said impatiently, "It's my tongue, and if it falls off, I'll deal with it."
"As long as you live in this house, mister, you'll do what I say!" Michael Andrews had responded, sounding like he meant business.
"But Dad..."
"NO!"
And that had been the end of the discussion. But it hadn't made Christian change his mind about wanting to get pierced, and when he had told his friend Mark about it, his buddy had looked absolutely thrilled at the idea. They had decided to go to this place where Mark knew the dude that pierced people, and Mark said he'd get one too.
Christian couldn't help but notice the gleeful look in his friend's eye, as Mark looked speculatively at him. "Dude, your dad's bound to find out. What do you think he'll do?"
Christian had just shrugged. "Don't know," he'd said shortly, trying to bring the topic to a grinding halt. There was something a little disconcerting about the way Mark's whole face lit up whenever Christian mentioned anything about being in trouble. Mark took the hint, this time, and began focusing on what part of his body he was going to have pierced. He had fibally decide on a labret and he fairly quivered with excitement as they'd driven to the piercing studio. "God, this is going to be so cool!" he'd exclaimed. And Christian had agreed, his own excitement growing.
So now he had this sweet piercing, but he hadn't realized how much it would swell or how fierce the ache would be. He needed to get to the kitchen and get some ice chips. That would probably help. The only trouble was that his father was somewhere inside the house, and chances were that if he ran into him, he'd be obliged to say something. And that would be a dead giveaway!
Christian looked around the living room as he listened for any signs of movement. Not hearing anything, he walked into the hall and then paused again, listening. He walked as quietly as possible into the kitchen and then stopped dead in his tracks.
"Hi Christian," his father said from where he was sitting at the table. "Whatcha been up to?"
Christian gulped and then tried to smile. He got a glass, and opening the freezer, tried to quickly get some ice.
"We're having guests for dinner," his dad said as he picked up a cookbook from the table and began paging through it. "You remember Dr. Cohn and his wife Jillian, don't you?"
Christian nodded his head as he scooped the ice into the glass. His heart pounded as he thought of trying to get through dinner. There was no way he could eat when his tongue was like this, and how could he get through the meal without saying anything? he felt a drop of sweat trickle down his forehead and he brushed a hand through the front of his dark hair, feeling how damp it was. He suddenly had the feeling that if he didn't hurry to his room, he was going to blurt out what he'd done. He closed the refrigerator and turned toward the door.
"Christian, did you hear what I said?"
Christian froze. "Yeth," he said softly.
"What? I didn't hear you," the older man replied.
"Umm..OK," he enunciated clearly. Careful to choose words that wouldn't bring attention to his lisp.
"Is something wrong? Why aren't you saying anything?"
Now he was on the spot and he was going to have to say more than two words "No, nothingth wrong, Dad," he answered as he took a step toward the kitchen door.
"You sound funny," his dad remarked.
A silent moment passed and then Christian walked steadily out of the kitchen. he had just reached the hall and was bringing the glass of ice up to his lips when he heard his father's voice again.
"Hold on a minute, Chris."
He lowered the glass, nearly spilling ice on the floor and stuck his head back through the door.. A sick feeling went through him as he waited.
"What did you do today?" there was an edge to the question that Christian couldn't help but notice.
He turned back around and faced his dad. "Nothing Muthch," he responded. With horror he saw light hit the steel barbell as he spoke, making it flash. At the same time a small spray of saliva arced out into the kitchen.
Mr. Andrews stared for a second and then stood bolt upright. "You got your tongue pierced, didn't you?" he accused.
Christian winced. "Yeth," he acknowledged miserably.
He watched his father's face turn a deep crimson, and then he watched him take a menacing step toward him.
Instinctively he took a step back. "OK now..." he began.
"I thought I told you not to do that!" his father roared.
Christian took another step back. As he looked at his dad's massive physique and the anger on the older man's face, his stomach began to hurt. He stood, shifting from foot to foot, as he wondered how he'd ever thought he could get away with this.
He watched as his father flexed his large hands. "You are in big trouble, young man!" his dad yelled. the sound seemed to echo through the room as Christian felt his legs begin to tremble.
"But dad, I told you I'm old enuth to make my own dethisions," he lipsed out sullenly.
In one huge stride, Mr. Andrews walked over to his son and grasped him by the upper arm. He then gave it a quick shake. "I don't have time right now to punish you," he said between clenched teeth. "I have to figure out what to make for dinner. But as soon as I'm finished, you're going to get the spanking of your life!" With those words he released Christian's arm and walked back over to the table and picked up the cookbook again. "Now go to your room," he said over his shoulder.
His heart pounding with fear, and his tongue throbbing painfully in synchrony with it, Christian tried once more to say something in his defense. "I'm eighteen yearsth old, and I..."
Whirling around, cookbook in hand, his father pointed at the door. "I said, go to your room!"
Without another word Christian practically flew down the hallway and into his bedroom. He sat down on the bed and filled his mouth with ice, hoping it would help with the swelling and the ache. He closed his eyes as the ice began to numb and soothe his enflamed tongue. Setting the glass on the carpet, he scooted further onto his bed until his back was touching the wall. Then tilting his head back, he rested it against the cool plaster. He tried to relax but his father's words kept coming back to him. Scowling to himself, resentfully, he wondered why his father couldn't be more like Mark's dad. He was sure that Mark's old man, wouldn't throw a huge fit like this. He was way too cool for that. He was more like a friend to Mark than a father, and at times like this Christian really envied that. Christian sat there for a few minutes feeling anxious, and wondering how long he was supposed to wait. He didn't have to wait long.
A few minutes later there was tap on the door. "Come in," Christian mumbled.
Christian gulped nervously as the older man walked over, and stood towering over him. He noticed that his father didn't look as angry as he had a few minutes earlier, as he gazed up into the chiselled face above him.
"Stick your tongue out so I can make sure it looks all right," the older man said gruffly.
Christian balked. "It'th all right," he lisped stubbornly.
"Just do it." Christian knew that crisp, business-like tone. He also knew it wasn't a tone to be argued with.
He complied, wincing a little as the top ball of the barbell caught at his front teeth.
Bending down slightly, his dad looked carefully at his tongue and then seemingly satisfied, stood up straight. "Does it hurt?" he asked.
Christian nodded stiffly. "A little," he admitted.
"Did they give you any instructions on how to take care of it? Do you have to do anything special for it?"
Christian shifted on the bed and then pulled a paper out of the front pocket of his jeans. His tongue was hurting so much, that he didn't feel like trying to read it out loud, so he handed it to his dad.
He watched as his dad furrowed his dark brows in concentration as he scanned the paper. After a few minutes he handed it back to his son. "I'll get you some Advil," he told him as he started for the door.
Christian watched as he left and then leaned his head back against the wall again. Opening his eyes a few minutes later he saw that his father had returned with a bottle of Advil in one hand and the hairbrush in the other. "Okay,"the older man said grimly, "Time to take your medicine."
Sitting bolt upright, Christian eyed the hairbrush warily. It was a large wooden hairbrush. Thick, and slightly rounded at the corners, and it could cause quite a burn. Christian already knew that from the few times that he had been punished with it before. His mouth went dry at the sight of it.
"I'm too old for thisth, Dad!" Christian lisped out in indignation, a few minutes later, as he fumbled with the button on his jeans.
"I really don't think so, son," came the casual answer. Rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt and then patting his broad thighs, Christian's dad picked up the hairbrush and then tapped it against his broad palm. "Hurry up and get those jeans down. I still have dinner to make and I'm going to need you to help me, if it's going to be ready when our guests arrive."
Christian huffed in disbelief. He was going to have to help make dinner right after a spanking, and his tongue was still hurting too!
He tried to take his time taking his pants down, tried to postpone the inevitable. But he knew it wouldn't do any good. Once his father decided he needed a spanking, he always got it.
Just as he was pulling his jeans down past his thighs, his father reached out a strong arm and pulled him quickly to his side. With one swift tug, Christian's briefs joined his jeans and he felt himself being pulled over the older man's broad thighs.
Feelings of humiliation and resentment washed over him as he grabbed hold of his comforter with both hands, gripping it tightly. The cool air in the room danced lightly across the skin of his bare buttocks, causing chill bumps to rise on his skin. As Christian buried his hot face in the covers, he hoped that his father would just hurry up and get this over with. He felt his dad's arm go around his waist and he gritted his teeth, knowing the spanking was about to begin.
SMACK!
The first swat was surprising painful, and he jerked and hissed through his teeth. He wondered through the haze of pain, why the first smack always hurt so much worse than the rest. Clutching his comforter even tighter in his white-knuckled fists, he waited for the onslaught that he knew was coming. He didn't have long to wait.
SWAT! "When I tell you not to do something," SWAT! "it's usually for your own good." SWAT!
Christian groaned as his father peppered his butt with crisp hard smacks. Unaware of the words that were coming out of the older man's mouth, he became focused on the pain his father was causing him. The skin on his bottom felt like it was crawling as the hairbrush crashed down over and over on the same spot. Each time the brush hit, he could feel the skin drawing up as if trying to protect itself. He kicked his legs wildly as the brush continued to fall, the sound echoing loudly throughout his bedroom. Soon the pain was too intense and he began to cry softly.
"Ow! that really hurts!" he cried out as the brush smacked down on the lower curves of his backside. Over and over the hairbrush landed as Christian writhed and squirmed uselessly. It seemed to him like the spanking would never end, as his father held him tightly and brought the brush down in hard, blistering strokes onto his upturned behind. He groaned in agony as he felt the burning pain in his thighs as his father spanked him there too. Throwing his head back, he wailed in pain.
"I won't do it again!" he cried out as a sob caught in his throat.
"You won't do what again?" His dad asked as he paused with the brush in mid- air.
"I won't do what you tell me not to!" Christian sobbed out loudly.
He sighed with relief as he felt his father's hand begin to move soothingly across his back, gently rubbing across the tense muscles there. He cried quietly, as he gradually relaxed his death-grip on the comforter, and felt the throb in his butt die down.
After a couple of minutes, he was gently helped to his feet by his father and he pulled his briefs and jeans up quickly. He stood there for a minute, not really thinking about anything except the lingering ache in his butt and his embarrassment.
"Okay Chris," his dad said gently, as he got to his feet, "take the Advil and then come on into the kitchen. I really need your help with this dinner thing."
He gave his son's shoulder a gentle squeeze as he passed. "And take care of that tongue like the paper says. It's so easy for things like that to get infected."
Christian nodded. He waited for his father to leave and then sat down gingerly on the bed and took the pain reliever. Picking up the glass of half melted ice, he put his fingers in the glass and snagged a couple of pieces to soothe his tongue.
Just then the phone rang and he reached over to his bedside table and picked it up.
"Hey dude," Mark's gravelly voice greeted him. "I just showed my dad my piercing and he says he's prolly gonna get one too. Did your dad find out about yours yet?"
"Is that what you called about? to see if my dad found out about it?" Christian asked defensively.
"Well yeah," his buddy responded, sounding overly-cheerful. "I mean, I know how he can get and..."
Christian clicked off the phone in the middle of his friends sentence, and dropped it on the bed. Then wincing a little as he got up began to walking slowly and stiffly toward the kitchen.
Grimacing as his jeans rubbed against his tender butt, he wondered if getting his tongue pierced had been worth the spanking he had gotten. As he considered how amazing it looked, and the ways you could play with it, he smiled to himself and decided that it was.