AUTHOR'S NOTE: After a very long absence, I made my return to this wonderful forum with the first installment of this three-part story. Below you will find Part 2, which continues young Thomas' flashback to his previous experiences with his step-father's strap. Part 3, to appear soon, will complete the story, bringing Thomas back from his daydream and down into the cellar to see what his big step-brother, Cliff, is up to! I've enjoyed writing this story so much that further episodes are already in the works! This is a realistic story of father-son corporal punishment, with no explicit s*xual content.
Having received my first strapping from Dad, and not wanting a second, I was on my best behavior for the two weeks that led up to my cousin Geoff's arrival, and then for the first four days of his visit. Geoff was a trial, though at first not as much of a trial as I had expected, and he did seem to make a genuine effort not to embarrass me when I took him to meet my friends. Peter and Paul, the twins (Dad's belt on their bare behinds), were away at church camp. Chris, whom I considered my best friend (strap on the seat of his pants; bare behind for something really bad), was in Alberta visiting his grandparents. This left Gordon (Dad's belt, underpants), Jamie, Dave (both of them, Dad's belt on the bare), Elmer, Steve, Kenny (each of them, the strap, always bare, like Cliff and me), and Ron (Dad's hand on his bare bottom). We rode our bikes around, racing along a little-traveled side-road. We went to a low budget jungle adventure picture at our little town movie house. We played baseball, although Geoff was hopeless. He didn't even throw well enough for anyone to taunt him with the claim that he threw "like a girl"! His skills at bat? Well, the less said, the better! I could feel my gang growing weary of my cousin, and this started to make me angry, not with them, but with Geoff.
Nearly every day, we would go swimming at an old water-filled rock quarry. It was a classic swimming hole, the kind of place where kids were still allowed to swim when I was growing up, before people really worried about liability and such. No one ever drowned that I knew, although naturally, the "Pit" had its legend about the boy who had drowned in 1952 and still lurked at the bottom, waiting to grab you by an ankle and pull you down. Geoff could swim, but not well, and he wouldn't participate in our wild and dangerous diving from the top level of the quarry into the deep cold water. The afternoon of the fourth day of Geoff's visit, we were all stretched out on the warm, bare rock at the top of the quarry opening, getting some sun and telling the most vulgar jokes we could think of. Geoff was listening in silence. Cliff and some other teenagers were sitting on rocks some distance away from us along the rim of the pit. Cliff was preoccupied with a girl named Cathy. We started to get both a little bored and a little sunburned, and Elmer suggested we go spelunking in the "Crack." This was a narrow, fissure-like cave in the woods a little distance from the quarry. We had discovered the previous summer that one could travel its full length and emerge at its other end. In the middle segment it was pitch black, wet, and terrifically, terrifyingly fun. We seldom went in with flashlights. It was more fun to stumble along in the dark, feeling our way along the cold walls, and playfully poking and grabbing one another. Elmer led us to the entrance. Geoff came along, but whispered to me that he didn't want to go in.
"I'll wait for you," he said.
"You can't wait! We're going out the other end! We won't be back here! You have to come!" I explained, exasperated with his timidity.
"No, I don't want to. How come we have to go in there?"
"Because it's fun! Don't be a baby!"
Geoff bit his lip and said nothing else.
Elmer led the way into the Crack. I let the other guys follow him in, and said I'd bring Geoff along. Geoff refused to follow me as I stood half-way inside the narrow entrance. I could hear the guys calling me to hurry on.
Finally, I shouted at Geoff, "Go home, Geoff! You're such a baby!" and disappeared into the darkness. I hoped that Geoff would give up and follow, not wanting to be left behind. I stopped three times and called back, but there was no answer, and no sound of him coming.
The guys had stopped at what we judged to be the midway point. We shouted and howled in the inky darkness as we always did. Then, again as we always did, we peed against the wall of the cave, leaving our marks as if we were wild animals. This time, when the guys were ready to continue on, I decided that I had to go back to Geoff. I couldn't leave him there. It would get me into trouble. My friends grumbled and indicated their contempt for Geoff, a contempt I shared. But I knew I had to go. So, I made my way back alone in the darkness. I'd never been alone in the Crack before, and I became nervous and uneasy, a child in the dark fearful that something might reach out and grab me.
When I emerged from the Crack, Geoff was gone. I hurried back along the path to the Pit. Geoff wasn't there. I looked down to where Cliff had been and he was gone. Cathy was sitting on a rock with Cliff's main rival for her attentions, Fred Daye.
Cathy saw me and called over, "Hey, Tom! You're in big trouble!"
I would have shouted an insult at her, but I feared Fred would beat me up if I did. So I simply ran off towards home. I knew Cathy was right. I was in big trouble. I had abandoned Geoff, and it appeared that Cliff had taken him home. I imagined Geoff emerging alone from the forest, probably in tears, interrupting Cliff's flirtations with Cathy, and Cliff having to take him home if he wanted to avoid joining me in trouble. I expected he was angry and had willingly snitched on me.
When I got home, I entered the house through the front door. I found Geoff sitting on the couch looking at a magazine. He looked at me and glared. I glared back, feeling angry that he'd got me in trouble, rather than guilty for having abandoned him. I heard my mother walk briskly along the upstairs hall. She descended the stairs and emerged into the living room, frowning at me.
"Well, young man, just what do you have to say for yourself?" she demanded.
I should have apologized. It was the wise and sensible thing to do. But Geoffs glare and Mom's frown and sharp question got my back up and made the rebellious toxin in my blood go to work again.
"Gee, Mom! Geoff is such a cry-baby!" I answered. "We were going into this cave that's in the woods there. It's totally safe and everything! But he wouldn't go! So I told him to go home!"
"You mean you just left him there in the woods and told him to find his own way home?"
"Yes! It's no big thing, Mom!"
"It is to me! And it was to Geoff! I cannot believe you did this, after everything we talk about!"
"Geeze, Mom!"
"That's enough!"
"What?"
"Go to your room!"
"This is so unfair, Mom!"
"Now!" Mom spoke sharply, extended her arm, and pointed her index finger up the stairs. "Now!" she repeated.
"This isn't fair! Geoff is such a baby!" I grumbled as I started up the stairs.
Mom swatted the seat of my shorts and I hurried up.
Entering the room, I found Cliff lying on his bed reading a book. He looked over at me and frowned. "You're gonna get it from Dad!"
"Thanks to you!" I growled.
"Serves you right! You just ditched him there to go off into that stupid cave!"
"Oh, f*ck off, Cliff!" I shouted. I hadn't heard Mom come back up the stairs.
The door flew open. "I heard that, young man! I think your father will be interested in knowing what kind of language you're using!" Mom then turned to Cliff. "Clifford, leave him now!"
"Yes, Ma'am," Cliff answered, obediently getting up and leaving the room.
Mom frowned at me severely. "You deserve a good licking!" Mom said. Then she left the room and closed the door.
I tossed myself down on my bed, fuming angrily. But my anger quickly changed to fear as I reflected on the situation. I had done several things that deserved a punitive response. Mom was angry, and had decided that I deserved a licking. Once she talked to Dad, he would surely carry out her wishes! I got up, hurried down the hall to my Mom's and Dad's bedroom, and found Mom taking her anger out on the dust balls under the bed.
"Mom! I'm sorry! Please don't tell Dad! Please! He'll really give it to me! I'll go right now and tell Geoff I'm sorry, and I'll be real extra nice to him for the rest of his visit! I promise!"
"Get back to your room and stay there!" Mom commanded, staying down on her knees and poking around under the bed with the broom.
"Mom!"
"Now! Or I'll go get the strap and use it on you myself!"
I hurried away. I knew Mom meant the threat, and I feared that if she strapped me, Dad would come home and add to whatever Mom had applied. I didn't want a licking from both parents!
I spent the next two hours tormented by anticipation of what Dad was going to do to me, becoming ever more sure that I would get a worse licking than the last. After all, I had mistreated and insulted my cousin Geoff after promising to be kind to him, I had disobeyed Mom, I had talked back to her, and I'd used 'the F-word' in her hearing. I knew I was in serious trouble! Lying on my bed, waiting, tears came to my eyes several times, tears of fear and regret. I knew I could have avoided all of this trouble just by doing the right thing! Now, because I hadn't been smart enough to recognize that before the fact, I was surely going to get a painful licking from Dad.
When Dad pulled his pickup truck into the drive beside the house, I sat up on my bed, my heart pounding. A thick stew of panic simmered in my stomach. I trembled. Tears welled up again in my eyes. I tried to keep them from spilling out, but lost the fight. They trickled down my cheeks and I shuddered with sobs.
Then Dad came up the stairs. CLUMP! CLUMP! CLUMP! His feet fell heavy on the stairs. CLUMP! CLUMP! CLUMP! Dad opened the door and stepped into my room carrying the strap, frowning severely. I desperately wiped the tears from my cheeks with my shaking hands, and tried to suppress my sobbing. Dad gave me a look that expressed at once anger, disappointment, and a determination to make me pay for my wrongs. He set the strap on top of my chest of drawers, turned, walked out of the room, and closed the door. I heard him go down to his and Mom's room. A few minutes later he proceeded to the bathroom. I heard him start the shower running. Dad almost always showered after a day of construction work. Five minutes later, Dad returned to his bedroom. Then I heard him coming back down the hall. He opened my bedroom door and entered.
He folded his arms across his chest and frowned sternly. At last, he spoke. "Stand up, boy!" he commanded. Once I was up and facing him, he said, "Thomas Charles Murray! You, young man, have done a fine job this afternoon! You were supposed to be nice to your cousin during his visit! Instead, you dumped him and went off with your friends! Not only that, but you called him a baby, and not just once! At home, you defied your mother and spoke back to her! Then, she heard you use a word you know, young man, is not used in our house!"
Dad wasn't actually shouting, but he had such a deep, strong voice that he didn't have to shout to make his displeasure felt. Each sharp announcement of my guilt was punctuated by a rattle of the glass in the window behind me. I flinched and trembled at the stern recitation.
"I'm sorry, Dad!" I sobbed, fresh tears filling my red eyes.
"Not as sorry as you're going to be!" Dad announced. "Thomas, I cannot think of a single reason why I shouldn't whale the living daylights out of you! Can you think of any?"
"I, I, I, I, I, I won't ever, ever, ever, ever do it again, Dad! Honest!" I pleaded, unaware that I was repeating promises I'd made the last time I'd been facing a strapping.
Dad sighed heavily. I'd only managed to make things worse!
"Two and a half weeks ago, Thomas! Two and a half weeks! We went through almost this same discussion! Clearly, I didn't strap you hard enough that time. Clearly you did not learn your lesson! Otherwise, we wouldn't be doing this again!" Dad stepped past me, roughly pulled my pillows out from under the spread, and stacked them in the middle of the bed. "Get yourself ready for a licking!"
Filled with dread, the panic stew in my gut now boiling vigorously, I nevertheless managed to obey Dad's command. Quick obedience, I knew, was the only way to keep the already terrible situation from getting worse. I had enough of a rational mind left to reflect that I couldn't escape a licking. All I could do now was submit to it and hope that I'd come out alive on the other side of it! I tugged down my shorts and briefs, left them in a pathetic pile on the floor, and awkwardly got myself into position on the bed with my bottom hoisted up by the pillows, my arms folded under my chest.
Dad took the strap from atop the chest of drawers and stood over me. "Thomas, you are going to have to learn to do as your mother and I tell you. You are going to have to learn not to answer back. You are going to have to learn not to use bad language." As soon as he'd announced the three things I'd have to learn, Dad set to work teaching me. Dad raised the strap back over his shoulder and brought it down hard.
I had gritted my teeth, clamped my eyes closed, and clenched my naked buttocks in anticipation. I heard the strap cut through the air, and flinched as it came down. CRACK! The strap fell hard across my small rear, leaving behind a hot, burning stripe.
"Owwww!" I couldn't help crying out.
Dad drew back and laid on a second lick, followed quickly by a third. CRACK! CRACK!
"Owwww! Owwwww! Dad!"
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Dad lashed my backside hard and fast. In just seconds, I'd received as many licks as in my first licking. I realized, with horror, that Dad was not about to stop at that. He swung the strap again. CRACK!
"Owwwww! Oh, please, Dad! I'm sorry!"
Dad lashed my behind again, as I twisted and squirmed. CRACK!
"Owwww! Ohhhhh!"
Dad swung the strap again.
"No, please! Please, Dad!"
CRACK!
"Owwwwwwwww! Ahhhhhhhhh!" I squirmed out of position in anticipation of the next lick.
"Get back into position!" Dad ordered.
"I can't!" I whined pitifully.
"You can and you will! You brought this on yourself and you're gonna take it!"
Somehow, I managed to pull myself back across the pillows, forcing my folded arms back under my chest. I braced myself, sobbing and sniffling. My behind was ablaze with stinging pain.
Dad swung the strap. CRACK!
"Ahhhhhhh! Please! Please! Please! I'll be good! I promise! Don't hit me again!" I braced for another lick, wanting Dad to accept my plea, but doubting he would. I knew how angry he was with me.
Dad's answer to my plea came with the sound of the strap being dropped back on the chest of drawers. I sank down in relief, sobbing and shaking. Dad sat on the bed next to me, and I felt his hand on the back of my neck. His touch was gentle, and I welcomed it, despite what he'd just done to me.
"Son, I love you, and I hate having to punish you. But, Thomas, you cannot be allowed to get away with disobedience and disrespect," Dad explained as he ran his large, strong hand across my shoulder.
"I, I, I'm sorry, Dad!" I whimpered. "I, I, I, I know I messed up and didn't do the right thing!"
"Yes, son, you did mess up. You knew better, didn't you?"
"Uh-huh."
"Well, Tom, when you know better, and you do something wrong, you're going to get punished. Every time. For your own good." Dad rubbed the back of my neck, then he said, with a an edge of sadness in his voice, "Now, I'm afraid your punishment isn't quite over yet. There's the matter of your language. Tom, what did I say would happen the next time you said things you're not supposed to be saying?"
"I'd get my mouth soaped," I answered sorrowfully.
"Thomas, when I threaten a punishment, I give it," Dad said.
"Yes, Sir," I answered with resignation.
"Get up and get dressed." Dad stood up as he gave the order.
I slid off the bed, limped over to where I'd left my briefs and shorts, and pulled them on. Dad put his hand firmly on my shoulder and guided me down the hall to the bathroom. There, Dad found a new bar of soap in the storage closet, unwrapped it, ran water over one end to soften it, and then turned to me, a look of grim determination on his face, and sadness in his large brown eyes. I opened my mouth and closed my eyes. Dad put one hand on the back of my head and stuck the bar of soap into my open mouth, running it across my tongue. I gagged and sputtered as Dad lathered my tongue. When he extracted the bar, I coughed and grimaced, sticking my tongue out, lather trickling down my chin while tears trickling down my cheeks.
"Alright, rinse it out," Dad said, his expression pained and pinched.
I rushed to the sink, turned on the water, and splashed handful after handful of water into my mouth, trying to rinse out the pungent, bitter suds. Then, with the taste still on my tongue, I turned to Dad, looking small and sad.
Dad looked at me with a face that revealed both sympathy and satisfaction. "You look like you've been well-punished, Tom. Wash up here, and when you've pulled yourself together you have some apologies to offer, to Mom, to Geoff, and to Cliff. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir."
After Dad left, I splashed cold water on my face and vigorously rinsed my mouth, trying to get rid of the taste of the soap on my tongues and the insides of my cheeks. Then I dried my face and blew my nose. Before heading out of the bathroom, I eased down my shorts and briefs to examine the results of the nine-lick strapping Dad had given me. I looked at my bright red buttocks in the mirror and gently ran my hand across the hot skin, ruefully admiring Dad's handiwork.
"He sure can lay it on," I said to myself.
I heard and recognized the note of pride in my words. Dad's firm, vigorous, decisive application of punishment had raised my respect for him, and my confidence in him. Half-consciously, I realized how much I could count on him. I knew he was strong enough both to dish out a painful thrashing and to protect and comfort me.
I headed downstairs and found Mom, Geoff and Cliff seated on the couch, and Dad seated in his big armchair. Geoff was reading a comic book with Cliff. They all looked at me together when I shuffled contritely into the room.
"Um, Mom, I said I'd be nice to Geoff and help him enjoy his visit, and I didn't do what I said, and then I spoke back to you and was rude. I'm sorry, Mom. Um, Geoff, I called you names and ditched you at the Crack, and that was a rotten thing to do. I'm sorry. Um, Cliff, I said, um, I used a word to you I'm not supposed to use, and I shouldn't have gotten mad 'cause you told Mom what I did to Geoff. I'm sorry.
Dad spoke for the group. "We all agree that we forgive you, Tom. We hope that we can put this behind us and can enjoy the rest of Geoff's visit." Dad then got out of his seat and offered his hand to me.
I extended my hand, took Dad's, and gave it a squeeze. "Yes, Sir."
Mom then got up and gave me a hug, which I gratefully accepted.
Finally, Geoff stood and offered his hand. "Um, Tom, I'll try not to be so much trouble," he said. "I'm sorry you got spanked."
I could see that he felt genuine sympathy for me, that he wasn't relishing my punishment. "Thanks, Geoff. Um, like I said, I was real rotten to you, and I won't do it again." I shook his hand.
TO-BE-CONTINUED