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The following story is fiction about boys being spanked.  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.

This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission.  Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice.

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Time to Fledge


It was the LAST STRAW!  A clown at my birthday party!  Now if I had been six that would have been great but I was now sixteen-years-old.  Some of the guests just left laughing at me and not the clown.  I had been trying to tell my parents and get them to understand that I was not a little baby anymore for I was half way through high school and not in preschool.  But it was a useless effort.  All I heard back was "You are to call us 'Mommy' and 'Daddy'."

That was followed by "We told you that many times, boy.  Now go wait in your room."  That was code for "You are getting a spanking and get ready by dropping your pants and standing in the corner until I get up there to deal with you."

Even the spankings I got were babyish.  All my friends had graduated to the belt and bending over for their fathers, certainly never "Daddy", when they became teens but not me.  When my Dad, or should I say Daddy, came up to my room it was for an OTK spanking with his hand on my cartoon briefs.  Yeah, it hurt during but not after an hour.  Mom insisted on getting me babyish clothes even when I told her how I was teased especially in the locker room.  They even thought the teasing, or should I say the ridicule at the party, was "cute".

I tried to get help – from school, from church, and even the city social agency.  None of them would help and they just muttered pathetic excuses.

It was definitely Time to Fledge.© YLeeCoyote

I was desperate.  I even thought about Billie Joe and the Tallahatchie bridge a lot.  That was a solution to my horrid situation.  But it was not a good solution for there was much that I wanted to experience in life.

I thought about running away.  I had read lots of stories about boys who had done that but they were all in the past.  A century ago it was a very different world.  There were lots of orphans and runaways from bad and abusive (step)parents and welcoming farmers needing help with chores who would pay with food and board.  And sailing ships with a need for cabin boys wanting adventure.  All that was history for I read about how boys as well as girls were trapped into being sex slaves in the big city.

One can't just run away but needs to run to some place unless one has lots of money.  I thought about Uncle Mark and his family.  I certainly would not be treated like a baby.  I remember when visiting the previous year and my cousin Glen got spanked.  He was just thirteen and half then and Uncle Mark really let him have it.  He took him out to the garage and made him bend over a front fender and gave him ten wicked cuts with his belt.  I was listening from behind the garage.  They were hard cuts and Glen howled for some.  When he was finished Uncle told him to come back to the house after he had composed himself.

I tried to comfort him and he showed me his flaming hot red butt.  I practically cried in sympathy although he was holding back the tears having taken it like a man and was glad he did not get his age which was the maxium.  I thought about running there.  Would they throw me out?  Would they call my parents immediately?  Uncle Mark probably wouldn't but Aunt Sally surely would.  She was a stickler for rules and the like.  I junked that idea.

Then there was my friend Daryl and his family.  They had moved to the city last year.  I had even talked with Daryl about visiting.  He was paddled when he was younger and I saw that happen several times.  I even got it with him once.  We both had to bend over with our shorts about our ankles and got six pops each.  I couldn't keep quiet like Daryl did who was more experienced.  As expected each pop really hurt but at least it was not babyish.  Unfortunately, Daryl was off on a trip with his folks for a while.

I was getting back to thinking about Billie Joe's solution when I saw the ad in the help wanted section. «Waiter for boys' summer camp.  Must be 16+»  I gave them a call.  They were anxious for they needed someone immediately.  It was perfect for me.  A safe environment with food and board, some time to play and even some cash.

Two days later I slipped out of the house before my parents got up.  I had told my parents that I was going with a friend for the day so that they would not miss me until the evening.  I laid a false trail by going to the bus terminal and buying a ticket to the city.  I acted like a kid so that the clerk would be sure to remember the loudmouthed asshole in the vulgar T-shirt.  I slipped out the back way when the bus was loading, removed that T-shirt and I went to the railroad station.  I bought a ticket from a machine for cash.  No traces.  I was very well behaved on the train so I would not be noticed on my way to the summer camp.

* * * * * * * * * *

I was delighted to get to Camp Dakota (that means Friend in Lakota Sioux) and safely away from Mommy and Daddy.  Here I would be a working young man and NOT a baby.  Of course, my primary job was to serve the campers and counselors three times a day proceeded by setting things up and followed by clean up.  I soon learnt that there were additional duties.  The primary one was life guarding the twice daily swim sessions and helping the counselors at the sports activities.  I actually liked that because it proved (at least to me) that I was not a little boy but a responsible young man.

It was only three days into the first session that I heard one of the counselors warn one of his kids at dinner: "You already got spanked yesterday, Eric.  Are you trying for two days in a row?"  Several at the table shared the same cabin so presumably knew of it but others did not so Eric blushed bright red.

He quickly responded: "No, Sir."  If I could have pricked up my ears, I most certainly would have.  Immediately, I was wondering about how spanking was done in camp and if I could get to watch.  I could not find out any more info from the other waiters but I had all sorts of spanking fantasies that night.

It was a couple of days later and I was helping a couple of counselors with some ten-year-olds.  Johnny was being Trouble (with a capital-T) and the lead counselor said: "That is it, Johnny.  You have been warned three times and now you getting spanked."

The kid pleaded and promised to be good but it was too late for he had gone too far.  I thought that I would get to see a spanking right then.  Happily I was wrong for then the counselor addressed me: "Give Johnny a good spanking, please, Stan."  That was even better to say the least.  As directed, I took the kid behind the equipment shed.

I sat on the bench and lowered the boy's shorts and briefs.  He was quite subdued by now and even resigned to his fate.  Johnny was the first boy I ever got to spank and he had a delightfully cute bottom.  I prolonged the time I could admire it in its pristine state.  Then I started to spank.

Fortunately, I remembered that he was only ten and used only moderate force.  That was quite sufficient and he howled as I turned his tail bright red.  I confess that I loved seeing my pink hand prints even though they quickly merged with each other to form a sprawling red splotch that soon covered his entire bottom.

It was a bit longer before I had the pleasure of strapping one of the young teens.  I caught Rey violating one of the safety rules at the lake front.  The head swimming counselor ordered six with the strap immediately and then he handed me the strap.  Later investigation taught me that it was a tawse.

Rey accepted his fate without a problem but he did beg that we not do it where everyone else could see.  I didn't see any reason not to acquiesce to his request so we went into the changing room.  He wanted to get things over before anyone else came into the room so he immediately dropped his trunks and assumed the position.  "Ready, Sir."

I liked that – being called "SIR".  I also quickly got into position and gave Rey his due.  That tawse really packed a wallop for he reacted strongly to each cut even though I did not swing with all my might.  He was very stoic, however, for he did not yell.  He pulled up his trunks quickly as soon as I told him he might move and then thanked me nicely and rushed off to join his buddies in the water.  I will probably remember it longer than he will.

* * * * * * * * * *

By the third week I could think about how my parents were suffering.  I had left a brief note explaining that I could not live being smothered.  It probably was excessive that I left the record of "Ode to Billie Joe" on my player but it was too late to do anything about that now.  I wrote two letters.

The first was to my parents.  I was somewhat formal using "Dear Mother and Father" as the salutation.  I explained that I was safe and employed but did not say where or as what.  I pointed out that they were no longer in their twenties with a newborn or even their thirties with a little grade school boy but in their forties with a teen fast becoming a man who must NOT be treated like a baby.  I added that I would be reading the personals in "The Daily Bugle" so that they could send a message to 'SN16' in the personal column.

The second letter was to Uncle Mark.  It contained all of the above and asked him to try to explain to my parents that they must change to accept the natural course of life.  I even asked if I might visit later in the summer.

The postal carrier that dropped off the mail told me that the postmark would be the county seat rather than the village near the camp so the letter would not reveal more than the newspaper name would.  After that I was like Sherlock Homes – reading the personals daily.

My uncle responded first. «SN16: Glad of letter.  Hard task!  Doubling effort to get them to understand.  Yes.  Mark.»  A great reply.  He was on my side and apparently had been in the past seeing how my parents had treated me as a baby.

My parents showed no understanding at all. «SN16: We miss you and cried a lot.  Come home.  Love.  Mommy and Daddy.»  Quite self-centered and totally missing the point that I was growing up.

I wrote my Uncle again thanking him both for past efforts which I had not known about and for the present ones.  Yes, a very difficult task as shown even by their reply.  I enclosed their response in case he had missed it.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was an absolute pleasure being my own man with a job that I loved and food and a safe bed.  The spanking activity was just a delightful bonus.  Don't misunderstand for I loved the spanking – both doing and even watching it happen but something even more important happened.  I got a promotion.  One of the counselors got sick so a junior counselor was moved up to take his place.  I got to be a JUNIOR COUNSELOR!  True it was only for a couple of weeks but it meant that I was now Uncle Stan to a batch of ten-year-olds.

It was really unbelievable how differently I was treated.  Here at camp I was a young man with responsibilities while at home I was a baby under micro supervision.

I went to my Uncle's place when camp was over.  I was welcomed warmly as he had indicated in his response in the personal column.  He was even able to convince Aunt Sally not to tell for a few days as he continued the exceeding difficult task of educating my parents.

I had a couple of long talks with Uncle Mark about me as well as my parents.  I officially learnt that he had been on my side for a long time but had not been making any progress until after I disappeared.  That was not a proper thing to do although he agreed it had been effective and now even after my letters was making progress changing my parents mindset.  I had to agree that it was improper, er, naughty and I deserved a spanking.

"I guess that I should fetch the strap, Uncle." I said and he agreed and said I should wait in my room.

Once I had dropped my shorts and boxers, I bent over the end of my bed.  "This is going to hurt, Mark.  Sixteen – your age – cuts."

«Yipe!» I thought but I certainly did not want a baby OTK hand spanking.  "Yes, Sir." I said trying to be brave.

The first cut taught me that the strap makes a much bigger impression than my Daddy's hand ever had.  I was not as stoic as my cousin had been the year before but (as an excuse) this was my first time.  Each cut seemed to reverberate through my whole body.  I was crying by the midway point and bawling uncontrollably by the end.  I thought that I would never be able to sit again.

When my cousin come home he came in to comfort me.  He even brought a cold washcloth which helped a bit.  He understood it was my first time so did not tease me.  I managed to sit for dinner but on a pillow.

I still needed to cash my paycheck but Uncle Mark refused to do that.  "You need your own bank account." he insisted and the next day took me to the bank near my home to open one.  It was a fantastic high to have a bank book in my name with a nice balance.  It is very different from that babyish piggy bank that been on my dresser for years.

Overshadowing all this was worrying about meeting my parents and the conflicts that were likely.

The End

© Copyright A.I.L. July 31, 2018

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Last updated:  September 15, 2023