The following story is fiction about M/M spanking. The story contains scenes of spanking and strapping. If these subjects are offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.
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Spanking has been part of my life since I was born. My mom said that I got a spank from the doctor as soon as I popped out of her because I was a 'bad boy' for having caused her pain. It was joke in my family. But more seriously, I was subjected to spanking for all sort of misbehavers after I got out of diapers. When I was little I got them from Mom as well as Dad but after I was ten they were almost always from Dad. He was honest enough with me to admit that Granddad spanked him the same way and for mostly the same reasons.
When I was eleven, Dad said that I was growing up and therefore entitled to make some decisions about my life. It was, he said, strictly up to me to decide when I stop going over his knee for my spankings like a little boy and start to drop my own pants and bend over for the strap or belt like a responsible young man. He warned me that the belt hurt a lot more than a hand but the choice was mine each time. "Of course," he added, "you can avoid being spanked by not misbehaving."
"Ha. Ha. Very funny." I thought.
It took me more than a year to completely switch over but I had by the time I became a teenager. Dad increased but the intensity and number of cuts so by the time I was fifteen a few months ago, he said I was nearing at the limit until I got older and filled out.
* * * * * * * * * *© YLeeCoyote
About when I turned thirteen, Dad's bother – my Uncle Mitchell – moved in with us. He was much younger than Dad and was pretty much of a loser who couldn't hold a job. He was lousy at doing even the simplest chores about the house as well. I started to notice some strange things. Dad would have discussions with Uncle in his den once or twice a week while most of the time they would talk in the family room usually with Mom, which was the same sort of behavior that I observed with my friends' olds.
I thought it was odd because that the sort of pattern that I had with Dad. Those closed door session in the den often left me with a hot red tail because my behavior was not up to standards. To be fair, I should mention that we also had real discussions behind that same closed door, usually requested by me, when I wanted help with the complex and difficult world.
One Friday night my suspicions were confirmed. It was late, almost near my non-school night bedtime, and Dad was very agitated. I heard him on the phone tell Mom, who was visiting Grandma overnight, that he was furious and worried about Mitchell. "The irresponsible one hasn't called or anything and he's hours late." That would earned me a spanking even if I was only ten minutes late rather than several hours like my uncle was.
It was one something in the morning when I got up to pee that night. I was surprised that Dad was still in his den and then when I was returning to bed, Uncle returned. Dad was still infuriated and started to yell at him immediately for being late and all. I stayed by the stairs listening. (Yes, that was naughty but Dad had not closed the door either which made it easy especially as he was quite loud.) At first the lecturing was about being late and not calling but it quickly escalated because Uncle had been drinking and driving which is not only very dangerous but unlawful.
Then came the big shock. Father ordered: "Drop 'em and bend over the end of the couch. You're getting twenty hard ones just like Father [meaning my grandpa] would have given you." Uncle pleaded but Dad was absolutely unrelenting. "If you don't then move out within three days, boy." Apparently, Uncle gave in because I soon heard the belt striking Uncle's butt. It sounded like it was hard and painful especially when Uncle cried out in pain. When it was over Dad made sure that Uncle peed so he would be less likely to wet the bed. I missed the rest as I had gotten back into bed so I wouldn't be caught being a watcher any more than Lady Macbeth.
Over the next couple of years I heard Dad strapping Uncle several times more. It surely happened more often than I witnessed because I saw signs of Uncle having trouble sitting other times meaning that he had a sore ass from the strap.
A couple of times Uncle was brought home by Police Officer Kenneweg. It was sort of official because he really was a cop who lived down the block and knew us all. He patrolled in the neighborhood and if any of us kids got too far out of line we were glad that it was him rather than some other officer that caught us for rather than taking us to the station, doing paper work that would haunt us for years, and then having to be pickup by a parent to be dealt with he just took us home for the latter.
For me, it guaranteed a strapping. Dad pointed out during the time I was vacillating between the babyish boy getting it OTK and the young man bravely bending over for the strap, that being brought home by a cop for trouble making was not babyish. Every time for that, it was into his den, drop 'em and bend over. I never got less than my age in hard cuts and it was memorable. It certainly was deserved.
* * * * * * * * * *
The folks had taken had gone away for the weekend and had been trusting enough to allow me to stay home alone (Uncle did not count) for the duration. Of course, there were some extra rules like no parties and a guest limit. I had readily agreed since staying alone was very important to me.
It was already nine at night when the door bell rang. I wondered about answering it but fortunately I did. I was surprised that it was Officer Kenneweg – with Uncle Mitchell in tow.
"Good evening, Officer Kenneweg." I as said politely as I opened the door although I more than suspected that with Uncle Mitchell in tow it was not good.
"Is your father at home, Thad?" he asked.
"No, sir. He still out for the evening with Mother." That was, of course, true but misleading. I realized immediately that Kenneweg probably would take Uncle to the station house if he knew the entire truth. "Is Uncle Mitchell in serious trouble or can Father handle it as he has in the past? If so, we can leave him a message."
During all of this Uncle was silent and just staring at the floor. I could not tell if that was because he was being brought back home like a little kid or because I was most obviously witnessing it all or, most likely, both. Officer Kenneweg was quiet for a minute as he was working things out. I gave him a gentle push by saying: "I'm sure Father would appreciate you leaving his brother Mitchell here now and will thank you promptly, Sir. What should I tell him was the problem?"
Kenneweg actually smiled at me. "You are acting a lot better now than those times I brought you home, lad."
I quickly interjected: "Thank you, Sir. I do my best."
"I'll leave him with you until your dad returns. He was harassing the kids in the park this evening. Good evening." he said and then to Uncle: "You better change your behavior boy – you're not a little teen anymore Mitchell Torrance Zinnecker." I noted the use of his full name.
"Thank you, again Officer Kenneweg and good evening." I said as he returned to his patrol car and drove off. Uncle continued to stare at the floor.
"Get your butt inside Mitchell." I said and then added "And your nose in the corner. You should be totally ashamed of yourself being brought home like a thirteen-year-old. You're damn lucky that it was Officer Kenneweg who was on patrol or you would be down in the station house needing a lawyer and bondsman."
I guess I've watched too many police dramas on TV to have learnt all those phases. But they worked and Mitchell went to the corner without a word of protest or any hesitation. I've must have struck home. An important question was what would Father think. Would he approve that I saved Mitchell from being arrested or say that I over stepped my limits. I hoped that he approve that I just acted like he would have done again. But what was the next step? The simplest thing, of course, was just to tell Dad just as I promised the officer who would handle everything. I also knew what Dad would do for he did it to me a couple of times and also to Mitchell the same way. I also remembered that Dad said that prompt punishment is the most effective.
Dare I take the next step on my own? I couldn't even try to call Dad for the folks were in the air thus out of touch. Or just take the easy way?
I thought long and hard while watching Mitchell in the corner and came to a decision. Actually, I came to two decisions. First, that I would act like Dad and, second, I would even do it in his den which was much more intimidating than the family room. Luckily the den was not locked. I got the strap out and placed it on the desk for immediate access and a hint of what was planned.
I sat in Father's chair for a bit making sure my courage and resolve were at their peek and also planning what to say. Then I yelled: "Mitchell Torrance Zinnecker get in here. I want to talk to you." This was the next test. I'm happy to say that I passed it and the naughty boy of an uncle was now standing in front of me. More precisely in front of the desk staring at the floor or perhaps at the heavy strap on the desk while I was sitting behind it in control feeling very much in control.
It was now the moment of truth. I took a deep breath and let it all go just as I had planned and copied from Dad's scolding lectures. I watched Mitchell closely as I chastised him. I could see the change in his posture as he felt more and more like a naughty little boy. It was working. I had passed test two.
"That will be twenty-five cuts, boy. Drop 'em and assume the position." I did not know exactly how Dad had positioned him but he knew and that was what mattered. Seconds latter I was seeing a fat ass waiting for the strap.
I knew that I should not delay and quickly got up and into position. I raised the strap and swung it hard on target. The red strip formed immediately. I repeated the action over and over. I could see that it was affecting Mitchell physically for he was making more noise in response to each cut and seeming to whine as well. When I stopped, I ordered him to bed. He went with a "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
I breathed a sigh of relief and sat down again. I had gotten five of five in part one of the test. I was proud of me. Part two of the test loomed for I had to write to explain all to Dad for when he returned. It took me many tries to get it near right and then I carefully and neatly copied it to the good grade of paper that Dad used for important stuff. It was done and I would have wait two days for the result.
* * * * * * * * * *
Understandably, Uncle avoided me the rest of the weekend. It was late Sunday evening when the folks returned. My letter was on top of the mail on his desk in an envelope marked important. I was very nervous when Dad went into den to catch up on whatever. All I could do was wait. And worry.
My wait was not long at all by the wall clock although it felt like it was. Dad wanted to know if I had shaded the truth or was fully direct and honest in what I had written. Fortunately, it was the latter.
Joyfully, I passed part two with flying colors for Dad said that he was proud of me for acting in such a responsible way. He confirmed it a couple of days later after he had talked with Uncle and Officer Kenneweg.
Happily, I got more privileges as a result.
© Copyright A.I.L. October 13, 2018
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Last updated: September 15, 2023