John knew something was wrong the moment he pulled up in front of his home. The garage door was ajar -- and he knew for certain he'd closed it completely before leaving for work. For an instant, he thought of calling the police on his car phone before entering the house, but then changed his mind. It can't be a burglar, he thought, it's only three o'clock in the afternoon. He parked the car in the drive, and -- just in case -- quietly let himself in the front door with his key. As he stepped into the living room, he heard a clink of glass from the kitchen, and his heart began pounding. Jesus! he thought, it IS a burglar! John was about to quietly back out the door, when the "burglar" crossed his line of sight through the hallway -- it was Patrick McGuire, the kid from two doors up the street, with beer bottles in his hands!
John's panic immediately turned to anger. What the hell was the boy doing inside his house? "PATRICK!" the husky man roared, charging through the hall into the kitchen.
The startled youth spun around and dropped one of the bottles he held -- it hit the tiled floor and exploded, sending shards of brown glass and splatters of amber foam all over the room. The fair-skinned boy's eyes darted from side to side in panic, instinctively seeking an escape route -- but tall, husky John Farrell stood in his way, his face red with rage. "WHAT are YOU doing in my house?!!" the furious man demanded.
"Uh...I...uh..." the youth stammered.
John glanced down, and saw Patrick's knapsack on the floor, bulging with schoolbooks -- and beer from the refrigerator that still stood with door ajar a few feet away. "Stealing from me! You god_d_a_m_n_ed little thief!" the man shouted, grabbing hold of the boy's shirtfront and slamming him up against the wall.
"I'm sorry!!!" Patrick blurted out, the fair skin of his cheeks paling even more in shock, his bluee yes widening with fear.
" 'Sorry'? This is burglary, you can go to JAIL for this, you stupid kid!" John shouted, his anger lessening somewhat in the relief that it was only a neighborhood boy pulling a stupid stunt -- not a real burglar. "Sit down over there!" the man commanded, pushing Patrick toward the kitchen table. The youth sat and hung his head, obviously frightened by John's words. Thehusky man felt a small spurt of sympathy for Patrick -- he looked awfully frightened, and he made a very poor "burglar" in his parochial-school uniform of navy dress slacks, white dress shirt and navy tie! John knew the boy's father had been ill for a long time, confined to a wheelchair, and suspected Patrick was just "acting out" with no father to discipline and control him.
"Look, Patrick," John said, trying to keep his still-simmering anger out of his voice,"You need to understand that what you've done here is very, very wrong. It's a crime, a crime you could go to jail for. Is that what you want? Do you have any idea what being in jail is like? Even if the judge let you off with probation, how do you think your parents would feel? How would that look on your record when you try to get into college, or get a decent job somewhere?" The man could see his lecture was having some effect; Patrick kept nervously pushing his dark hair away from his forehead, and he was shaking visibly as the realization of what he'd done began to sink in.
"I -- I was only takin' some beer," the youth mumbled.
"ONLY taking some beer? You broke into my house and stole my property -- it doesn't matter if it's beer or my television! Besides, you're not old enough to drink! Do you know you couldn't get your driver's license until you're 21 if you're convicted of underage possession?" the exasperated John yelled. The boy hung his head again. There was silence while John tried to get his temper back under control.
Then Patrick spoke, his voice just above a whisper. "Wha-what are you gonna do?" he asked.
The man looked at him, and felt the same undercurrent of sympathy. It would be awful to turn the kid in, he thought. There was a real chance Patrick would get some time in a juvenile-detention center, and John was pretty sure what would happen to the boy in one of those places, given Patrick's smooth, boyishly-handsome face -- John grimaced at the idea of the kid being abused like that. And his parents were good people John saw often at Mass on Sundays; to have their boy arrested and his act made public would probably kill his father. John sighed. There had to be some way of punishing Patrick, without actually turning him over to the police, that would still make sure he'd never try such a foolish stunt again. John thought back over his own upbringing, his own punishments -- and remembered the time he'd accidentally set the kitchen on fire when he was fifteen, after he foolishly set down a bottle of his dad's liquor he was secretly nipping from on top of the stove. The pilot light underneath heated the liquor until the bottle exploded and set the kitchen curtains ablaze. The fire in the curtains was quickly extinguished -- MUCH more quickly than the fire in his bottom when his father came home from work and discovered the incident! Even twenty years later, John felt a remembered twinge of that spanking as he recalled it.
He looked up and saw Patrick, shaking, looking at him with expectant fear. "Look, Patrick -- I don't want to have to call your parents and the cops. But what you've done here is seriously wrong, not just a prank. I can't just say "Forget it" and let it go at that, you know that, don't you?" John said. "I guess so..." the youth mumbled. "You're too old to be doing stupid stuff like this and expecting to get away with it," the husky man said, "What are you, fourteen, fifteen?"
"I'm sixteen, almost seventeen," Patrick replied quickly, with a teenager's natural resentment at having his age underguessed.
"All the more reason for you to know better than this, then," John shot back. "I'm going to give you a choice, Patrick," the man said, and the youth's head snapped up, eager to hear how he could avoid being arrested. "Here's the choice," John continued, "I can call your parents and the police to report you for burglarizing my house. Or I can punish you myself. Which do you want?"
The boy's eyes narrowed slightly -- what was going on here? "P-punish me how?" he stuttered.
"What you've done is stupid and childish, Patrick, but you're not a child. I mean a punishment that's appropriate for a child, but severe enough for your age. I mean I either call the police and your parents, or I give you a good, hard, long spanking to make sure you never do anything like this again," John answered in a level voice.
"Spanking!! I'm too old for a spanking!" the boy shouted, fear and resentment flushing his face.
"You're too old to be breaking into people's houses and expecting to get away with it, too!" the husky man shouted back. "That's the choice! Which will it be?" he demanded.
The boy sat silent, still shaking. Without another word John rose and began to walk toward the telephone on the kitchen wall. "Wait!" Patrick cried out behind him, and the man turned around. The boy was clearly frightened of the idea of a spanking; his shaking had increased and his cheeks were pale again. "I - I guess I'll take the spanking, don't call the cops, okay?" John came back to the table.
"I don't like to have to do this, Patrick, but I don't know any other way of making sure you understand that crime results in punishment. Come with me." The youth stood up and followed John into the living room to the foot of the staircase. "Take off your shoes; I have light carpet upstairs and I don't want it dirty," John ordered. Patrick sat on the edge of the sofa and removed his black dress shoes, then stood again. "My study is through the door right in front of you when you get to the top of the stairs," the man directed. "Go in there and wait for me; I'll be up in a minute."
The shamefaced boy began mounting the stairs, then suddenly turned. "Are..are you gonna m-make me take my pants down, t-too?" Patrick asked in a hoarse voice.
"I think you know the answer to that, Patrick. Now get upstairs," John replied. Without another word the youth turned and climbed the stairs.
John went back into the kitchen. He took the dustpan and swept up the broken beer bottle, then dumped the glass into the wastebasket uner the sink. As he did so, his eye caught the narrow plastic cutting board on the countertop. John picked it up by its handle; the pebbled, thick white plastic board was about fifteen inches long and three inches wide, as good a substitute for a paddle as he was likely to find. I may not need it, he thought, but it'll give him a good scare anyhow! Carrying the "paddle," he left the kitchen and mounted the stairs to the half-opened door of his study.
The boy stood, trembling, in the center of the room. His eyes widened when he saw the paddle in John's hand, but he said nothing. "Now Patrick, I want you to understand me. You are going to be punished for what you did here today. You are going to take your punishment like a man, because you know you deserve it. You will do exactly as I tell you, and you will not try to resist me or avoid your spanking. Do you understand?" the man demanded.
"I - I guess," Patrick said, shaking more than ever. "How many are you gonna give me?"
"Enough -- and a bit more." John replied levelly.
He sat down on the armless leather desk chair facing the room. "Take off your pants, and fold them neatly over the back of that chair," he told the boy.
Patrick hesitated for a moment, then with a resigned air unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his navy slacks, and pushed them down to step out of them. His face was flushed with embarassment as he folded them as ordered and hung them over the back of the wooden chair next to him, then turned again to face John, his shirttails hanging down nearly to mid-thigh. "Come over here and bend over my knee," the man ordered, placing the thick plastic paddle on the desk. Flushing even more, Patrick walked forward and bent over the husky man's lap, his groin pressed against John's right thigh, his hands flat on the floor on the other side of the man's chair. John grasped the bottom of the youth's shirt tail and pulled it up until it lay clumped below Patrick's shoulderblades. He took hold of the waistband of the boy's white briefs and pulled upward, stretching the soft cotton tightly so it molded itself to Patrick's buttocks. John sighed mentally in relief as he looked impartially at the youth's rounded bottom -- he'd made the right decision, this boy would've surely been raped within minutes of the first lights-out at a reformatory!
"I've got a feeling you've needed this for a long time, Patrick," he said, "Now I'm going to make sure you get it good."
"Please -- please not too hard?" the youth's muffled voice sounded from near the carpet.
"It needs to be hard, Patrick, and you know it. I'm sorry, but you've got this coming," John said. He raised his right hand high above the boy's trembling backside and brought it down hard across both cheeks at once. WHACK!
Patrick jerked at the first sharp smack, the surprise of the sting. WHACK! Again John's hand came down across his bottom, low down on the thick swells of flesh above his thighs. The boy jerked again and gasped slightly at the pain. WHACK! Another hard spank, on the left cheek of Patrick's bottom. WHACK! Yet another, this time on the right cheek. The heat and sting of each spank seemed to build on those before it, as John methodically spanked the youth with a slow but steady rhythm. WHACK! WHACK!
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Patrick was shaking; the fierce stinging in his increasingly-hot bottom forced him to start squirming, but he didn't attempt to really struggle. John went on spanking the boy, noting the gasping and squirming; he wasn't bothering to count yet. He planned to spank Patrick long enough and hard enough to make him cry -- then spank him thirty whacks after he began crying. He'd been spanking the youth for nearly four minutes; he could even feel the heat of the punished bottom through the cotton of Patrick's briefs, but he still hadn't even gotten a yell out of the boy, let alone tears. John had never spanked anyone before, although he'd been on the receiving end of many spankings as a boy. Maybe I'm not spanking hard enough, he thought. The man began to put more force into his attack on Patrick's backside.
WHAAACK!! WHAAACK!! WHAAACK!!
Patrick jerked sharply at the sudden real pain of the harder spanks across his already-sore buttocks. His squirming increased, and suddenly he couldn't keep silent any more. WHAAACK!! "OW!" WHAAACK!! "YEOW!" WHAAACK!! ""OWWW PLEASE!" John ignored the boy's yowls and went on spanking harder and a bit faster, determined to teach Patrick a lesson he'd never forget. Suddenly the youth shot an arm back, covering his bottom with his hand.
John stopped. "Move your hand away, Patrick, now! And don't put it back again!" he ordered.
"PLEASE! I WON'T DO IT AGAIN!" the boy begged, but he moved his hand away. "I know you won't. I'm going to make sure of that," John said, and brought his hand down again. WHAAACK!! "YEEOOWW!"
But after eight more spanks, the boy again reached up to cover his bottom. "I'm not going to tell you again, Patrick! Stand UP!" the man ordered. The youth slid off his knee and stood, redfaced, rubbing his burning backside. John reached out and disconnected the cord from his electric razor which was lying on the desk. "Hold out your hands," he commanded.
"Please, PLEASE no more!" Patrick pleaded, but held out his hands as told. Quickly the husky man tied the boy's wrists together with the thin, strong black cord. As he knotted the cord, his eyes widened in surprise -- Patrick's position put the pouch of his briefs directly in the man's line of vision -- and that pouch was clearly distended with an obvious and surprisingly large erection! John frowned; he remembered all-too-well that young men Patrick's age had frequent involuntary erections -- but he didn't want the boy to enjoy this punishment! He'd have to be more severe. The man hadn't wanted to subject Patrick to the embarassment and indignity of a bare-bottom punishment -- but if this was going to be the youth's reaction, obviously only the severity of a spanking on bare buttocks would produce the tears and real remorse John intended. He reached out and pulled Patrick's white briefs down to his knees, quickly averting his eyes in discomfiture as the boy's erection, freed of the confining briefs, snapped up rigidly against his stomach.
"NO! PLEASE!" the youth cried out, humiliated at having his genitals exposed and terrified at the prospect of a bare-assed spanking. His humiliation deepened as he was firmly placed again over John's lap, and the boy realized for the first time he had an erection; he could suddenly feel it brushing against the wool of the man's suit trousers -- and the man had surely seen it!
John intended to have no more of this nonsense. He could feel the youth's erection, fully hard, pressed against his leg -- the homo_s_e_x_ual undertones of the situation disturbed him; he'd quickly make sure that reaction disappeared under the severity of a serious bare- bottom punishment! He reached out and picked up the paddle, then laid it on Patrick's buttocks to let the boy know what was now in store for him.
"NO!" the boy yelled, but John raised the paddle and brought it down hard across the already-scarlet backside.
SMACCKK!!! "YEEEEAHHOOWWW!!" Patrick's whole body jumped and he nearly screamed in pain. The sizzling agony of the paddle on his sore bare skin was ten times worse than the man's hand spanking him through briefs! SMAAACCKK!! "AAOOOWWWOOOOOWWW!!!" Patrick's eyes filled with tears as another of the blazing paddle-strokes seemed to make his bottom catch fire. He writhed wildly, his head and shoulders raised, legs kicking in the air, his bound hands waving uncontrollably. Now this is more like it, John thought as he tightly gripped the struggling youth and continued the blistering paddling. SMAAAACCKK!!! "YEEAAAGGHH!!! PLEASE PLEASE!!"
SMAAAACCK!!! "YAAOOOOWWWWOOWW!! STOP PLEASE STOP!!" Suddenly Patrick broke down and began sobbing loudly, loud cries of pain punctuating his bawling every time the paddle slammed down across his sizzling behind. The man began his mental count, blistering the paddle hard on Patrick's glowing, deep-red bottom.
SMMAAACCKK!!! (One) SMAAAAACCKK!!! (Two) .......
Bawling with pain, the boy squirmed and writhed in a fruitless attempt to escape the searing, red-hot burn of the forceful paddling. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a wild burst of ecstasy swept through his groin and his erection, rubbing against the husky man's wool trousers. SMAAAAAACCKKK!!! As John brought the paddle down hard across Patrick's fiery bare buttocks, directly above the boy's anus, that ecstasy erupted. "aaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOO!!!" Patrick screamed as the eruption of agony in his bottom triggered an explosion of unbelievable pleasure in his groin, and he ejaculated in hot forceful streams that soaked his belly and the man's trouser leg.
John was aghast as he felt the sticky wet warmth through his trousers and realized the boy had ejaculated on him! Angry and revolted, he determined to carry out the paddling to its end. SMAAACCKK!!! (twenty-two) SMAAAACCCKKK!! (twenty-three).....
Patrick lay exhausted and crying loudly over the man's lap, the pain in his well-punished behind worse than anything he'd ever experienced -- and his humiliation at having ejaculated on his neighbor's lap worse than the pain of the paddling! Each blazing smack still brought a yowl of pain, but Patrick had ceased struggling. Finally -- SMAAAACK!!! The last smack was the hardest of all, and the boy screamed in real agony.
"Stand up," John commanded, assisting the sobbing youth to his feet. The man averted his eyes from Patrick's now-flaccid, glistening penis and sticky wet belly as he untied the razor cord from the boy's wrists. "Get dressed, get out, and don't ever let me hear of you trying to break into anyone's house again, you hear me!?" he shouted.
"Y-yes," Patrick whispered, quickly pulling up his briefs to cover his naked groin. John stood and left the room. He walked into his bedroom and, disgusted, removed his trousers with the clammy wet stain of the boy's orgasm spread widely over one leg. The man heard Patrick slowly descend the stairs, still sniffling, then the sound of the front door opening and closing. Let's hope that's the last time I ever need to do that, John thought, surveying the damage to his suit trousers.
But it wasn't the last time......
(to be continued ---)