Brandon Lanigan 01

"That’s the comic I want most."

I looked behind me to see where he was pointing. "Wolverine #1?"

"Yeah, I’d do anything to get one of those."

I smiled and chuckled. "Anything, huh?" I responded, mostly on impulse. "My little brother always thought Wolverine was cool, but he missed that one. I bought a bunch of them when it came out, and he wanted me to give him one." That would have been mid-’88… only about five years earlier, but it was already going for $50.00, and Wolverine was more popular than ever. No wonder the kid wanted one.

Brandon took the bait and responded, "What’d you tell him?"

I already had a story in mind and easily replied, "I told him I’d give him a copy right after I gave him a spanking."

"Did he do it?"

"Yeah."

"So would I!"

"You would?" I thought in wonder, shock, and glee; but the darned door jingled before I could even open my mouth to reply.

"Hi. Welcome to Magicat’s," I said to the older lady who walked in the door. She was looking for a gift for her grandson, so I had to give her some close attention for a few minutes. Thursday was the day the new comics arrived back then, and so it was our busiest day; but Friday afternoons weren’t slow either. I guess some people were getting off work and wanted to pick up their new reads so they could relax over the weekend. Whatever the reason, by the time the lady had found a gift that she was sure would please her grandson, the rush was on. I’d already fetched new books for a couple of customers and was showing one of them some new Superman stuff that I thought would interest him when I heard my name.

I turned to see Brandon standing by the door. When he saw me looking, he waved and took off.

‘Curses, foiled again!’ I thought to myself, trying to appreciate the implicit humor while struggling with frustration.

By 7:15, I was locking the door behind me, with the deposit shoved under my arm. I went straight home, where Steve was awaiting me. It was late September a few weeks after the start of school, and plenty warm, so he and I went down to the pool to play for a while.

Because I didn’t get off early, Steve always had a fairly big snack after school, then waited for me to get home so we could eat dinner together. Being a Friday night, when he started getting hungry, we ran up to Blockbuster, rented a couple of videos for the weekend, then grabbed a pizza on the way back. I may have wrestled around with him a little more than normal, but it was basically a regular evening.

The difference in the day showed up again when I tried to go to bed. With the living room straightened up and Steve already sawing logs in his room, I plopped into bed; but, when I reached under the covers to relax, my thoughts turned back to the little blond saying, "So would I!"



Every June, I throw an anniversary party for Magicats. We have guests come in, play games, have contests and sales, and give prizes. We open at our normal time of 11am Friday morning and stay open until 11pm Saturday. This last year was the first time I remembered seeing Brandon and it was ‘spanko lust’ at first sight. I wanted that boy over my lap.

Brandon was a lean, active-looking boy. He was a bit smallish and I thought he must be ten or eleven at first, (I later learned he was about twelve-and-a-half in June). He had fine blond hair that he parted, very neatly, in the middle and wore a bit long, in a modified, unshaved version of how the skaters’ wore their hair in those days. He was fairly pale, without freckle or blemish, had soft, gray eyes and fine features that avoided being feminine only by grace of a sharp nose and strong chin. That first day, I remember he was wearing a baggy t-shirt over some type of gym shorts, so I couldn’t get a good look at his figure. At one point, however, he bent down to pick something up, revealing that he still had a very fine, boyish bottom— lean, but far from flat.

The reason I don’t believe in love at first sight is that I experience it a couple of times a week. Sooner or later, especially if it happens someplace where the person would only be if he shared an interest in you, it works out. I figured I would have forgotten about Brandon after that, if I hadn’t been looking through pictures from the party. I did have two pictures of Brandon from it. One was a casual, crowd shot that ‘just happened’ to focus on him; the other was much better, since he’d been a winner in one of our drawings.

Brandon himself kept me from forgetting him, though. The book he’d won had been a limited edition of something with which he wasn‘t familiar. When he got home with it, he carefully removed it from its protector and read it. And enjoyed it enough that he wanted more. When he came in the next week, he reminded me who he was and explained that. He also mentioned that he’d only been in the store a couple of times before. I was happy to show him around and help him find what he sought. It wasn’t just a sale; it was that he was a polite kid and I found it fun to talk with him.

Not only did I help him find the book, but I pointed out that I’d met its author on more than one occasion and shared one of the stories with him. He thought that was really neat and talked about the creators he’d been able to meet the previous weekend; he also mentioned that he’d come to the big signing we’d had earlier that year.

Brandon became a regular visitor after that. Almost every week he came up on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, which were the days we got the new comics back then, but he’d often come up on Monday and sometimes Saturday afternoon when we were slow, and the two of us could have long, rambling talks about whatever was on his mind at that time— the history of Batman, why there were so many X-Men comics, or who had written the best run on the Avengers. The kid was fascinated by the comics and was great company. He would sometimes come in while I was doing boring work, like bagging and filing back issues, and he’d sit there and help me while we talked.

I don’t remember exactly when it was, but it must have been mid-August, because I remember it wasn’t too long before school started. He’d been coming in early on Saturday afternoons almost all summer. As three, then four o’clock slipped by, I began to believe it was one of those rare Saturdays he wouldn’t make it. Then, at nearly 5:00, he came up, hot and sweaty, but smiling.

"Hi, Jack."

Turning to see who it was, I replied, "Well hello, Stranger. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it today. Figured you must have gotten in trouble," I added after a brief pause.

He shook his head. "You thought I got grounded or something?"

"No. I just figured you were too sore to ride your bike up here today."

"Why’d…?" he started, then trailed off and rolled his eyes as he realized what I’d meant. "No! We just had to help Dad clean out the garage today. Mom’s been asking him to do it all summer, but today she told him he had to. And that means…."

"That you had to help." He smiled up at me, surprised. "I’m not too old to remember that."

"Anyway," he continued, as if I’d not interrupted him, "I don’t get many whippings. Mostly I get grounded or they take my video games away or I gotta do extra chores. I only get whipped for really bad stuff. Not like Matthew," he added, referring to his little brother, whom he described as just about the worst pest in North America. "He gets spanked all the time. He got one today!" he added with all the glee that a big brother can show when his little brother finally gets caught red-handed and receives the comeuppance that he usually escapes by blaming it on his big brother.

"He did, huh?" I replied, trying to sound nonchalant and not drool too much.

"Yeah. Me and Dad were moving stuff, and Matthew was supposed to be sweeping and picking up trash, but he didn’t like that, so he tried to move something when Dad wasn’t looking, but he dropped it, and Dad got pretty mad and sent him to his room. Me and Dad cleaned it up, so he could calm down, then he went inside. I did some other stuff while he was gone and he came back with Matthew. Matthew was rubbing his butt and his eyes were all red, and Dad told him that if he wanted to get paid, he needed to do the job he was assigned. Dad took it easy on him after that and I had to do most of the rest of the sweeping, so the little brat still got his way, but at least he got a spanking."

"Do you know how he gets it?"

The boy shrugged. "Sure. Dad tells him why he’s in trouble and pulls down his pants and shorts, then he’s gotta lay down on Dad’s legs, and Dad spanks him until he’s crying pretty hard." Brandon paused for a second, then added, "He cries loud, too."

"You heard it?"

"Not this time, but I can a lot. Our rooms are like," he paused for a second and looked around, then stepped over to a display and drew a little diagram on a shelf. They lived in a two-story home. If you went up the stairs there was a storage closet straight ahead of you. Turning to your left put you at his parents’ bedroom. Turning to the right was a short hall with his bedroom, the bathroom, then his brother’s bedroom.

"Our closets are right here," he indicated next to the hall, "which is neat ‘cause it makes our rooms quieter so Mom don’t yell so much. Matthew has his bed right here," indicating the corner closest to Brandon’s room, "and that’s where Dad sits to spank him, so I can hear it if I’m in my room."

"And he can’t hear you when you get spanked?"

"I don’t get spanked no more."

"I thought you said…."

"I get whipped." I must have been looking slightly confused, because he added, while starting to blush a pretty shade of light rose, "With my belt."

"Ouch," I replied, flashing back to my own boyhood.

"Yeah," he agreed fervently, reaching back to run a hand across his rear, as if to enjoy its current state of well-being.

"So what does Matthew get spanked with?"

"Dad’s hand," he said in a tone that left little doubt he thought I’d suddenly been stricken with the stupids.

I reached up and casually thumped him lightly on his ear. "Watch the mouth, mister." He grimaced as he grabbed his ear, then shrugged an apology.

"You should always remember that, a lot of time, people don’t mean the same thing when they use certain words. If you asked me how I punish Stevie, I’d tell you I spank him, but I use a paddle. To you, I guess a spanking is with the hand, but to me, a spanking is given over the lap. Okay?"

He gave his ear one last, theatrical rub, then nodded. "Sorry."

"No problem. Just ask. You’ll get along a lot better in life if you don’t treat people like they’re stupid. Even if they are."

He smiled at that, and I directed the conversation back to my favorite topic. "So have you ever got to watch Matthew get spanked?"

"Nope. Wish I could sometimes."

"Then how do you know that’s how he gets it?"

We’d started walking over to the new comic rack as we talked, but I looked at the boy as I asked. I probably would have been able to see the glow from his blush even if I’d not glanced that way, though; the boy looked radioactive. "Cause," he mumbled, "that’s the same way Dad used to spank me." "Don’t be embarrassed, Brandon," I told him, dropping my arm around his shoulder. "You don’t expect little kids to get spanked the same as big kids." He smiled up at me, liking that I thought of him as a big kid. "How long since you got a spanking?" I inquired, knowing I wasn’t close to nonchalant anymore, but hoping he was still a little too embarrassed to notice it.

"Right before I turned twelve. Dad says I’m nearly a teenager now, so I’m old enough to either behave or get the belt. He doesn’t whip me much, though. I’ve only had to get it," he paused for a second, obviously counting, "maybe four or five times."

"So not even once a month, really?"

He looked surprised at that, then shrugged. "I guess so. That’s pretty good, huh?"

"Yeah, that’s great. I wish I could have behaved that well when I was your age."

He giggled at the thought of me, as a kid, getting my butt whipped.

"You get to keep your pants on now?"

"No," he replied, suddenly glum, but not blushing this time. "At least I don’t have to let him pull ‘em down anymore," he added, suddenly more cheerful.

"That’s it, buddy. Always look for that silver lining."



I awoke Saturday morning, had breakfast and watched cartoons with Steve, and reminded him that I’d be home early, since his best friend at the time, Nolan, was spending the night, and the three of us were going to the movies. The last thing I said to him was to make sure his chores were done before I got home.

All day long, I was waiting for Brandon to come by. He never showed up, though. I’d planned to leave at 4:30 but waited a few more minutes; I finally gave up and took off since I’d told Steve I’d be home by 5:00.

When I got home, Steve was sprawled out on the living room floor, playing Mario Brothers. I didn’t even have to look around to tell he’d not finished his chores. Even if I’d not been able to see into the kitchen, including the dirty dishes and nearly full trash bag, his guilty look would have given it away.

He flipped off the game and hopped straight up, "I’ll do ‘em now, Dad."

"Steven James, we don’t have TIME for you to do them… unless the only thing you have left is the kitchen?" I added as a question, not really believing it was true. I didn’t make Steve do a ton of chores, but he did have a few to do every day, and a few extra on Saturday.

The boy sadly shook his head, letting me know that there was more than that left to do.

"Well, you have two choices then. You can call Nolan and tell him no movie and he can’t spend the night because you have to do the chores you forgot about, or do we…?"

The boy sighed, "I’ll get the paddle."

"C’mon, kiddo," I replied, taking his neck in my hand and leading him back to his bedroom. I walked across to his desk, pulled out the chair and pulled it clear, before sitting down. Steve walked across to his dresser, pulled open the top drawer, where he kept briefs, undershirts, socks, and the novelty paddle that I used on him when he wasn’t in real trouble.

Steve picked up the paddle and carried it across to me, not scared, but certainly not happy. He handed the paddle to me, then lifted his shirt, undid his pants, and pushed pants and briefs in a bundle to his knees. "All the way off, Steve. You need to dress for the movie, anyway."

I love Steve, but I’d seen him naked practically every night since he’d moved in with me and tons of time before that. Likewise, while I did still get a thrill from spanking him, I’d done it dozens of times in the years since I’d started to care for him, then adopted him. I watched as he undressed, but even as I watched, I found myself wondering how Brandon undressed when he was about to get spanked and if he was still scared when he had to hand the belt to his father.

When he was mostly bare, Steve stepped around to drop over my lap. I really didn’t have to help position him, just give him a minor adjustment so I’d be more comfortable gripping his waist, then I went to work.

Like I usually did with Steve, I started with my hand. He took that quietly, though his feet started to kick and his shoulders started moving up and down and twisting a bit as his bottom turned rosy. I waited until I could hear him starting to gasp for breath, and I had a warm, tingly sting in my hand, then switched to the paddle. He knew what the pause meant, and a sob broke away from him.

I didn’t have a real pattern back then, but I always made sure his bottom was good and red when I spanked him. With Steve, I used a lot of different implements and positions. He probably received half his spankings with that novelty paddle, but it was never quite enough for him to get used to it. He did take the spankings well and, even though his bottom was turning crimson, it wasn’t quite enough to push him over the edge. He was sore enough that he’d mostly gone limp, except for an occasional twitch; and he might not have been bawling, but he was crying loud and hard when I let him up.

I rolled him to sit on my lap and hugged him close for a couple of minutes while he calmed down. As soon as he had his crying mostly under control, I helped him to his feet.

Even as he was doing his fire dance, I told him, "Go clean up and get dressed while I change clothes, then we can go." I waited while he nodded, still looking pretty miserable. "You gonna be okay? I think we can wait a little longer…."

He looked at my lap like it was where he really wanted to be but then glanced at his clock. "I told Nolan we’d pick him up before 6:00, so I guess we’d better go."

I always like lap time, but the boy had a point, so we both went to get ready.



Nolan was ready and awaiting us. We stopped for pizza and still made the movie in plenty of time. Steve had to squirm a bit at first, and the spanking came out. Nolan’s dad had quit spanking him at a young age, but he knew what happened in our family and was very accepting of it. (Nolan was a good kid, so we hadn’t found out what would happen if he misbehaved at my house.) Even so, Steve’s bottom cooled off in time for the movie (or the seats were much more comfortable than the benches at the pizza place). I don’t remember what the movie was, but I do recall the boys had a good time, and I didn’t think it was too horrible.

I’d been teaching the boys to play Magic. As soon as we got home, they both stripped down, and we spread out to play a couple of games. Nolan slept in his briefs at home, but after his first few visits with us, he started sleeping nude, like Steve did. Of course, the Magic games grew into a friendly argument or two and ended with them wrestling around on the floor. I’m not even sure that they noticed the little stiffies they developed, but I did and was careful to remain face down so they didn’t notice the more prominent one I’d developed.

Nolan and Steve weren’t allowed to spend the night together every weekend, especially not with Steve having visitation with his mom, and they had to trade out nights, so they only got to do that once a month or so, but it was worth the wait and they had a great time.



That night, even having given Steve a spanking and seen him and Nolan wrestling naked together, my mind still went back to Brandon. I’d stretched our first talk about spanking as far as I’d been able before he got bored and wanted to talk about comics again. It’d had been grist for a few evening fantasies, though.

He might not have understood my interest, but he did remember it, and was happy to inform me of the next spankings his brother received. He wasn’t quite so excited to tell me about his own punishments, but he admitted it when he’d been seen pushing his little brother down.

I guess that incident had been too fresh in his mind for him to be very open about it, but it did open him up for other discussions.

"Do you remember the last time you got spanked?" Brandon asked.

"Not really. I guess the last time I got whipped was when I was about 17."

"You’re kidding!" Brandon really looked shocked when I said it. "Why?"

"Because I was out with a friend, and he had a few drinks and we’d both been smoking. We thought we’d get home after his dad went to bed, but he waited up for us. It was the last one, and it was pretty bad, too. Not half as bad as my friend got, though."

"You got whipped together?" he asked in stunned disbelief.

"Yeah. You never got spanked with a friend?"

He was shaking his head even before I finished the question. Then he paused. "First time I got a whipping, me and Matt got in trouble together. We both got whipped, but we didn’t get whipped together."

I clarified that he meant his friend Matt, who was about a year younger than him and an occasional comics reader, as opposed to his little brother, Matthew; then asked him to tell me about it.

He suddenly turned shy and forgetful, but finally admitted, "We were supposed to be running laps in gym class, but it was the day before Thanksgiving break, so we snuck around the corner when the coach wasn’t looking. We woulda got away with it, but the principal was walking down the hall and wanted to know where we were supposed to be. Coach didn’t feel like messing with us, so he just called our parents. Dad told me when I turned 12 that I was gonna start getting the belt, so I felt really sick all day. Matt was pretty scared too. He gets the switch when he’s real bad, and he has to pick it himself and he don’t even have no clothes on but his shorts, so I’ll bet that’s pretty bad. Did you ever get switched?"

I promised to tell him that story later, so he’d keep moving.

"Anyway, Mom sent me to my room when I got home. We didn’t have any homework cause it was the holidays, so I just read some comic books, but I couldn’t really concentrate. Then Dad finally got home, and he chewed me out a little and did like I told you; he made me pull down my pants and shorts and lay down on my bed. It hurt really bad, but I guess it wasn’t as bad as I was scared it was gonna be. At least a whippin’s over quicker than a spanking." He paused, and his face screwed up like he was considering something. "The belt hurts longer though, don’t it?"

I agreed with him, since I was sure that was the truth. I also pointed out that fear and anticipation almost always make things worse. I was about to change subjects back to comics, when he mentioned how Matt’s rear looked after a switching. I pounced on that and he blushed scarlet to the ears when he realized what he’d said, but he finally admitted that the next morning, he and Matt had compared rear ends and ended up in Matt’s parents’ bedroom, looking in their closet mirror so they could see their own stripes.



Monday morning finally came around. Sunday had been a good day, and I looked forward to my day off (with Steve back in school, I only took one day off a week, though it wasn’t unusual for me to leave early if things were slow when I had a part-timer around). I wandered through the morning, doing the inventory (this was back when I had a computer to print it out, but still had to do it by hand, then enter it), then moving last week’s new books to make room for the next day’s delivery.

Mondays were always slow, so I never scheduled anyone else to work them with me. I had Sunday off, and I was able to do the week’s grocery shopping after getting off Steve off to school, so I had no excuse other than being lazy.

I was really glad when Brandon came strolling in around 5pm. We talked about his weekend for a while. He mentioned having gone to his grandparents’ house on Saturday and wishing he’d had an extra comic to read on the way. He asked about the movie we’d seen. The main thing I noticed was that he was a little nervous, almost tense. I finally decided to break the ice.

"I was just kidding, you know?"

"About what?"

"About spanking you— for that comic."

"Oh," he replied, seeming a little disappointed.

"I mean, the way you talk about your dad’s spankings, I didn’t think you’d do it."

"You wouldn’t spank me that hard, would you?" he asked, looking up at me, wide-eyed.

"Not that hard," I agreed, "but it wouldn’t be fun, either." I paused for a moment, gathering my thoughts and trying to decide how far I wanted to go. "When my dad spanked us, it seemed like, by the time we started crying, he wasn’t even half-finished." Brandon nodded, obviously agreeing that his father was unreasonable in the same way. "So when I spanked my brother, we agreed that I’d stop when he started crying, as long as it was real crying— I’d know if he was trying to fake it."

Brandon nodded thoughtfully, then shrugged his shoulders, as if to indicate that it seemed fair to him. "I’d still do it."

"Well, that’s what I mean. I was just kidding, but I don’t want you to think I’m a liar or something, so if you really wanted to, I guess I would, because I told you I would."

He looked up at me now, hopeful and excited.

"But if I did it, it’d be just like I did with him; I’d take down your clothes, put you over my lap, and not stop spanking until you were really crying. Are you sure you want to do it?"

"Yeah," he said, probably excited about the prospect of getting a spanking for the first time in his life.

I dug under the counter and pulled a copy of Wolverine (regular series) #1 - Near Mint, from the special comic box and laid it on the counter in front of him. He was too busy admiring it, almost in awe, to watch as I took the phone off the hook, then crossed to the front, put the ‘Back in Ten’ sign on the door, and locked it.

Coming back to the counter, I draped my arm around the boy’s shoulders and led him behind the counter and into the back room. When I’d started hiring part-time employees, I’d rearranged the back room a bit, putting a break area at the very front, and moved my office back a bit. I led Brandon into the office area.

Even though the motions of setting the chair were almost the same as I‘d done with Steve, less than two days before, I found myself much more nervous and excited now. Brandon moved automatically to my left side. I took him by the hips and led him to my other side, smiling up at him. "I’m right handed, kiddo." He smiled back and shrugged.

He’d obviously changed clothes after school, and was wearing a light gray t-shirt that barely hit his hips and something that I could only call sweat shorts. I didn’t even need to tell him to hold the shirt up as I grabbed the shorts and slid them down. Below that, he had on what it took me a minute to recognize as spandex bike shorts. I’d thought they were some weird kind of boxers for a minute. I was a bit disappointed. I’d seen enough glimpses and outlines to make me think that Brandon wore briefs and I’d been looking forward to getting a good view of them. Then I took the bike shorts by the waist, slid them down, and received a pleasant surprise, since he did wear briefs. Why he was wearing three layers on a sunny, September afternoon in Texas, I didn’t know (unless he’d been planning on taking the spanking before he came, and thought maybe I was going to do it over his clothes), but it was certainly nice to see the snowy-white, obviously brand new, perfectly snug without being tight, ribbed, JC Penny’s briefs he had on. He was so cute, and what I really wanted to do was get him in nothing but those. Not being struck with any brainstorms on how to manage that, I took them and slid them down to his knees with the bike shorts (the sweat shorts had hit his ankles as soon as I’d let go).

Even though I’d told him it was going to be clothes down, as I grabbed his briefs, he ‘eeped’ and his hands flew in front of his little boyhood. From the quick glimpse I got, I didn’t see any reason he should be embarrassed by it. He looked like he might have barely brushed the edge of adolescence, and most boys didn’t seem to start getting shy until after that. Still, everyone seems to have his own level of modestly and comfort, and this wasn’t a punishment spanking, so I let it go. Instead of trying to see more of his front, I led him over my lap, anticipating an unblocked view of what I already knew to be a shapely little bottom.

As soon as he was over my lap, I rested my hand on Brandon’s bottom. As soon as my hand rested on Brandon’s bottom, the boy tensed up like a cat at a dog fight. His legs were straight out and crossed at the ankles. His hands were on the edge of the chair, holding his head up. I don’t think he could have been any straighter if he’d been lying flat on a table. His tenseness also had the effect of increasing the dimples on the side of his bottom, making it look even narrower than it was.

I took a minute to rub and pat his bottom, telling him that tensing up like that only made things worse in the long run, but he didn’t believe me. Once again, I decided that this wasn’t a punishment spanking, so I’d let him do this much the way he wanted to.

With that decision made, my hand smacked down on his pretty, pale little bottom. I moved my hand almost randomly around his cheeks, just trying to make sure that his entire bottom reddened at an almost even pace. I did have to make one last decision. I knew he was very shy at home, as well as in front of me, and even slept in pajamas. That meant I could spank his upper legs without worrying about someone seeing the lingering redness, but I decided that I shouldn’t do that since it wasn’t a punishment spanking. Even as I was thinking, I was continuing to redden his cheeks. They were so small, I finally convinced myself that I could go onto his upper legs just a little, as long as part of my hand stayed on his bottom with each swat.

Brandon took the spanking really well. He never did uncross his legs, though they began to bend and flex as his bottom darkened, and his head began to bob up and down as well. I was trying to keep things fairly slow and firm, but not too hard, to draw it out longer. I was enjoying myself thoroughly when he made the first real sound he’d made since I started.

"Jack? I’m crying now."

"I don’t hear anything."

"I got some tears."

"A few tears isn’t the same as crying, Brandon. I need you to be crying aloud, so I know you’re crying."

He just lay there, but after I placed a few more swats, I stopped and began to rub and pat his bottom, enjoying that almost as much as I had the spanking.

"Can you look back here, Brandon?"

He pushed up with his right arm, then turned a bit. The side of his face I could see was certainly damp.

"That’s not what I meant when I said crying, but you do have some tears. Do you want me to stop now?"

Maybe he’d been thinking about it during those last few smacks, but he didn’t pause before saying, "No, go ahead, but I don‘t cry like that very easy."

I nodded and the boy lowered his head back toward the floor.

I gave his bottom a brisk rub, then started to spank again, but only a few swats landed before I began to think. Brandon was my friend, even though he was really cute and spankable (well, maybe because he was cute and spankable, at least partially). I guess I’d not been real clear about when I’d stop spanking him, and, if he had thought that I meant just a few tears, then I wasn’t being fair to him. Plus, I had a raging hard-on and plenty of memories for a private moment; and his bottom was already a dark, rosy shade that was only a hint from being true red. I stopped the smacks and gave his bottom another brisk rub and a few pats.

"C’mon up," I told him, even as I helped him roll up. "I think you’ve had enough."

"You’re not going to make me cry?" he asked, even as he came to a sitting position and tucked his hands into his lap, shielding his boyhood from my curious gaze.

His face really was pretty damp by now, and he might have been sniffling a bit.

"Well," I answered him, "I guess neither one of us was real clear about when we expected me to stop. I didn’t make you cry like I meant, but I kept going past what you expected, so I guess that’s fair. Don’t you?"

He nodded and smiled at me, like the idea that I would change what I expected in order to let him off easy wasn’t something he’d have expected. I reached up and roughed his hair.

"Hop up and get dressed, kiddo. I need to go see if I have any customers waiting, and I don’t want you running around naked."

He giggled, even as he reached down and pulled his briefs into place. Then he turned so he was facing away from me. He reached back and rubbed his bottom, right where the leg bands of his briefs lay.

"Those really sting right there. I’m glad you didn’t spank my legs any more. Dad used to do that and they really burn."

"They sure do," I agreed. "Do you ever get the belt there?"

"Yeah, but just a couple at the end," he admitted, grimacing.

By then he’d finished dressing, and we went to the front of the store. No customers were waiting, so there was no hurry. I picked the comic off the counter and handed it to him as I went towards the front door.

"There you are, sir."

"Can I open it?"

"Sure, it’s all yours now."

I went back. I unlocked the door, put the sign away, and put the phones back on the hooks; then I walked back over to him. He didn’t even notice me at first, until I gave his bottom a light pat. He yelped playfully, then turned to give me a puppy-glare.

"Are you going to show it to your parents?"

He suddenly looked confused and a bit nervous. I’m sure he knew telling them about this little trade might not be a good idea. "Well," I went on once I was sure he didn’t have an answer, "now that you’ve shown me how much you really want that, how ‘bout we consider it payment for the help you give me around here?"

"Yeah! That’s great. Thanks," he said enthusiastically, like I’d not just heated his bottom.

"Was it worth it?"

"Yeah," he admitted, blushing. "It was a little scary, but this is great."



I went back to work while he stood there, practically studying the comic, so I finally sent him to wash his face before he headed home. As he headed out the front door, I had to get in one last jibe.

"Going to ride your bike home?"

"Nope, I’m walking it this time!"