Bryce's Buddies and Good Spankings
It was about 9:45 when a horde of rampaging heathens burst into my kitchen from the utility room. I’d seen them coming, though, and was prepared for them. Before I could activate my defenses, I was nearly swarmed under by two hugs, two pats on the back, one slug in the shoulder (followed by a quick hug), and one embarrassed wave from Brian Jacoby (whom I’ve only met a few times so far). Even braced for the rush, I’d nearly been overwhelmed, but I finally managed to protect myself before they swept me under.
"Who wants fried egg sandwiches?" The question caused an immediate withdrawal to allow me to start handing out food.
I was shocked, however, to hear a surprisingly bass voice answer "Me!" until I looked up to see Dean Marchant coming in the door behind the horde. I guess it was okay for him to be bass since he’s taller than I am, much less the chest high horde I’d been expecting to answer.
I started giving out plates—ham for Tristan, bacon for Tyler, spicy sausage for Bryce—before turning to the other three. "I didn’t know what you guys would like best," I told them and listed the options. While they mulled it over, I turned to Dean.
"Do you want to sit down and eat, or take yours with you?"
"I’d better take mine with me. My boss can be a real horse’s…" he paused to glance around at the pricking ears, "rear."
"Gee, I’d heard nice things about your boss."
"Nah, he can be really mean about stuff like being on time; right, Bryce?"
Bryce giggled. "Yeah, but I don’t think he’d spank you, Uncle Dean." Tristan was laughing too. He has a high pitched, quirky laugh—not girlish, but almost like it’s in high speed. Tyler was smiling, but the other three boys didn’t get the joke, so Tristan explained.
"Uncle Dean works for Uncle Jack."
Suddenly three more smiles appeared, as I handed Dean his sandwich and took orders for the other three. It only took a minute to hand Brian his (non-spicy) sausage, Brooks his ham, and Ethan his fried bologna.
After all seven of them were settled down and munching, I dropped the bomb.
"Dean tells me that you didn’t have time for breakfast, and he’s running late for work because somebody didn’t want to get up on time this morning. Does anyone want to tell me whose fault that is."
Most of the mouths were full of food, but there was a lot of finger pointing, and I did hear one or two mumbled "Dean’s."
Dean had the good grace to look embarrassed. He dipped his head and blushed a bit (which looked surprisingly good with his dark hair and boyish features, even if he is taller than I am). "Mea culpa," he confessed, after swallowing a mouth full. "I told them they could play one more board game before going to bed, and I didn’t set any limits, so they played Risk."
"Yeah," Tristan interjected. "Bryce was about to win, but then Ethan turned in a set and nearly wiped him and Bryce both out, and Tyler won."
"Well, congratulations, Tyler," I said pleasantly, before my voice became more serious. "But you guys should have known he didn’t mean a long game like that, and you all need to apologize to Dean for making him late."
"It’s okay, Jack. They already did."
The boys were looking a little ashamed of themselves (but only a little, since I could still see the boyish glee from having gotten one over on the big guy gleaming in all of their eyes). "Yeah, Dad. We did," Bryce assured me.
"Okay. Well, if Dean’s satisfied, I guess I’ll let it go, too."
Bryce, Tristan, and Tyler all looked relieved at that. They’d all had experience with the Little Deer and really preferred not to have me upset with them.
Brian Jacoby lives close enough that he could go home whenever he wanted, but Ethan Wheeler and Brooks Westlake were both spending the day with me until their parents could pick them up after work. As soon as they were finished eating (long after Dean had scarfed his sandwich and run), I assigned the group a couple of easy chores, and they were soon out playing soccer with the older boys, who’d spent the night with me last night.
The little guys (and I’m not sure what else to call them—tweens are 10 - 12, so Bryce is one, but most of his friends aren’t, so…— were off our normal schedule. When I called the (other) tweens to lunch, that band wasn’t ready, so their soccer game turned into a game of ‘Catch the Man’. The older boys came in, cleaned up and changed into their swim trunks, and had lunch.
When they were through, I called Bryce’s band. They went through the same clean up process (a bit self-consciously, since the older boys were lounging around the pool, and the younger ones must have felt they were being observed). Even though they’d only had breakfast a couple of hours before, they managed to kill a sandwich each (and I’d swear Tyler’s must have weighed nearly as much as he does), and a good stack of fruit and veggies.
While they were eating, I carried the leftovers in and was putting them away. A few minutes later, the little ones came dragging into the kitchen, crawling onto stools and draping themselves on the benches of the breakfast nook. You could look at them and tell they were groggy, less from the heat (it’s still comparatively cool after our rainstorms of early this week), than from lack of sleep and full bellies. They were like little puppies who’d played themselves out, then gorged, and now needed a little nap. Being boys, they weren’t ready to admit that yet.
"So, besides staying up too late and not awakening on time, did you guys behave for Dean?"
"Yeah," Brooks assured me.
"Pretty good," Bryce said at almost the same time.
"Well, he did have to spank us," Tyler confessed.
That got my attention and I went from cleaning the condiment utensils to staring at them—especially Bryce, who knows my policy on spankings at other people’s homes and might have just bought himself a repeat for not telling me. Tristan came to his rescue, though.
"It was just a good spanking, Uncle Jack."
After a second, with Bryce squirming under my glare, I dimmed the intensity and turned to Trist. I’d known his family long enough to know what they meant by a ‘good spanking’. It was what I’d call a warm-up or maybe a warning. ‘Good spankings’ were given on the undies and weren’t especially long (Dean’s spankings were almost all hand spankings—he used the paddle only for really serious things but spanked for things that I wouldn’t). A ‘good spanking’ will leave a boy squirming, rosy-cheeked, and damp-eyed, but they are generally taken almost playfully. I think a lot of that has to do with how Dean gives them. In a lot of ways, Dean’s an overgrown kid, a great big brother, and it seems like he keeps a certain amount of good humor when he gives ‘good spankings’, so I think that, even though the boys understand that it’s a warning that worse is about to happen, they also see it as a challenge to take it well. I dunno.
"So, did you settle down and go to bed after that?"
I got six versions of yes in response.
"Well, I know what to do next time you spend the night then."
There was quiet for a moment while everyone finished munching or took a drink, then Tyler asked, "When can we spend the night next time?"
We decided since I was going to be leaving Saturday morning, and then we’d be in Arlington most of next week, that it’s going to be tonight. I called around to the parents and they’re all okay with it. I made a deal with the kids since they stayed up late last night: at 9 PM, they’re all in the room and ready for bed. They can talk or whatever, but no more playing around after that. At 9:01, anyone still up gets a good spanking.
I knew what they meant when they talked about a ‘good spanking’. I’d not only heard the term before, I'd seen one. It happened a few months ago, right after Dean had taken over as the manager at the Magicat’s warehouse. Herman had been the manager for a long time and had certain ways of doing things that I wanted to change before Dean became too set in his ways. We had a meeting scheduled, but Doug ended up having to see the dentist on the same day. Because the dental appointment ended in the afternoon, Dean had just brought the boy to work with him. When I showed up, Doug was entertaining himself, and most of the numbness was gone.
Dean was in the middle of something when I showed up, so I messed around with Doug for a few minutes. Not that I minded at all. Doug is an incredibly good looking boy—not handsome, but boyish and cute. He’s a little above average for his 12 ½ years, maybe 5’1" and 100 pounds, so only a little. He has beautiful, crystalline, dark blue eyes; thick medium-brown hair with a slight curl at the ends that goes reddish-gold in the summer, and which he wears about collar length and hanging in his eyes; and full-round, slightly blushed cheeks. He has a small, almost delicate nose, but a wide, generous mouth and slightly rounded chin. He might not be really handsome now, but he looks enough like his dad that you can tell he’s going to be.
Once Dean came to a stopping point, he and I were looking around the warehouse, so I could show him some of what I wanted to change, when I saw Doug climbing on some of the shelving. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, per se; but I feel it’s best to observe safety regulations, so I told him to use a stepladder, if he needed to get something higher than he could reach.
A little later, Dean and I were in his office, which is on the second floor, at he end of the catwalk, and has a large enough window to give him a view of the entire warehouse section (which is everything but the computer department offices). We were talking and Dean was mostly paying attention to me, but occasionally glancing out the window, which I was doing myself. Suddenly, Dean asked me to excuse him for a second.
Dean picked up the phone and scared the crap out of me (and probably did worse than that to his son), when the speakers over the warehouse echoed his voice, announcing, "Douglas Jansen, come to my office NOW, please."
About a minute later, a stunned and nervous looking Doug walked into the office. He held the bottom hem of his t-shirt in both hands, wringing it nervously as he stepped in.
"Shut the door behind you, Douglas."
The boy winced, but obeyed his father.
"Didn’t Jack just get through telling you not to climb on the racks?"
"Yes, sir."
Dean launched into a pretty good lecture, and I let him go on for a minute, but then caught his attention and asked silently if I could interrupt him. He nodded, so I took my turn.
"Doug, those racks are as safe and secure as we can make them, but they aren’t meant to be climbed on. Worse, the floor is concrete, which means if you fall, landing would be hard. I’m not worried about the merchandise or the insurance; I’m worried about you hurting yourself. I know," I interrupted him as he started to speak, "You were being careful and you wouldn’t fall; but they don’t call them accidents because you meant for them to happen."
You could see it click when I put it that way, and it was easy to tell that he suddenly regretted disobeying. "I didn’t think about that. I’m sorry," he said to me, before turning to his dad. "I’ll never do it again."
"I’m glad to hear that, son; but we still have to deal with you doing it this time. Get your pants down."
As soon as the words passed his father’s mouth, Doug’s hands were undoing his belt, like he’d only been awaiting the instruction. Even as he was unfastening his clothes, he was talking in a small, panicked voice. "Please, Dad, I’m really sorry. I swear I’ll mind from now on. Not a real spanking. Please?"
He continued in that vein even as he spread his jeans open, revealing the red-dashed waistband on the Tiger briefs I’d given him at Christmas. The jeans were shoved down to his ankles, then he stood, lifting his t-shirt all the way up to his underarms, leaving him in nothing but the snowy-white, cotton briefs, revealing that the 12-year-old might not be full grown yet, but he was far from a little boy anymore. His dad just leaned back and watched the process. After a moment, Doug winced, then reached down and slid his thumbs into the waistband of the briefs, right at his hips. Looking down, the boy slid the front of the briefs down enough that it revealed the upper base of his little peter, but not enough to roll the back over his rounded bottom. He looked up one more time, seemingly unaware that I was there, to beg in a piteous voice, "Please?"
"And you promise you’ll never do it again?"
Suddenly the boy was full of energy again as he promised, "Yes, sir. Never again, I promise!"
Dean considered him a moment before responding. "All right. C’mere."
The boy’s relief would have been evident, even if he’d not smiled at his father’s allowing him to keep his briefs up. Doug shuffled across the floor to his dad, his shoes having to scrape across the carpet because of the jeans hobbling his legs. The chairs in which we were sitting had arms, so Dean scooted to the front of the seat, freeing space for his son across his legs.
As soon as Doug reached his father’s side, he draped himself across his dad’s lap with as much ease of experience as I got from Johnny or Barry. Dean didn’t even have to make an adjustment. Instead, he slid a finger into each leg band of the boy’s briefs, then into the waistband, pulling the back of the undies smooth and snug. Then he lifted his hand.
With no more warning than that, the large hand crashed down across the boy’s bottom, drawing a loud yelp from him. I was shocked at how hard the smack was. If this wasn’t a real spanking, I wouldn’t want to see what was. Again the hand crashed down, this time on the other cheek, but just as hard. Each smack was the same—slow, carefully placed, but hard, and after each one, a squeeze and a rub, before he decided where to place the next.
For his part, Doug responded to each smack with a yelp that didn’t get any softer as the spanking went on. I was shocked and intrigued at the same time and was glad they were both too busy to notice me staring. After 12 swats, there was no question that the boy was about to break. He’d been still at first, but after the first few, had started to squirm after each swat, until he was squirming non-stop. The main hint though was his yelps, which had been damp but now sounded like he was on the edge of serious tears. And his dad stopped.
"Up you go," Dean told him, as he helped the boy up.
Even with his jeans around his ankles, Doug managed a pretty respectable fire dance. When he got the burn under control, he stepped over to his dad for a big hug and a little petting.
Then, much to my surprise and pleasure, he turned from his dad, and before bothering to dress, came over to me. "I’m sorry I didn’t mind you, Uncle Jack. Do you forgive me?"
I opened my arms and the boy stepped forward to squeeze me tight. "Of course I do, Doug. You made a bad decision, you paid for it. Just be a little careful, okay?"
He smiled at me as he pulled back, then nodded. "Okay."
His t-shirt had fallen down most of the way while he was dancing, but I lifted it up again and looked at his briefs. "Aren’t those the double-seat briefs I gave you for Christmas?" I asked rhetorically. "Are you sure those weren’t too much protection? Maybe your dad should give you a few more."
His eyes went wide for a second before he caught my joking tone and his dad’s laugh. Then he blushed and gave me a light punch in the arm. I leaned forward and mussed his hair, much to his pretended disgust and badly hidden delight. Even as the boy dressed himself, Dean and I went back to our discussion, and Doug quietly (and carefully) curled up in another chair to read a comic.
The rest of the day went a little more normally. It was pretty cool (well, for Texas—the high was only in the 70s, though we didn’t get but a sprinkle or two from all the rain that was hitting Dallas), so the boys weren’t in the pool. Instead, they were taking advantage of the uncommon weather. I had to break up a soccer game to call them in for snacks (we get up around 6 am and have breakfast, then have lunch about 11 AM; for a group of growing boys, they need something else before our 6:30 PM dinnertime, so we usually have fruit and cheese or light sandwiches or something). Depending on what the older boys were doing and how many of them were left—parents had been picking up guests from the previous overnighter all through the day—they played Horse, baseball, tag, Get the Man, and some games that I couldn’t quite make out just by watching.
After supper, you could see a definite change in Bryce’s buddies. They weren’t acting bad, they really weren’t even mischievous. It’d be wrong to say they were high strung because that wouldn’t be a change for them. The closest I could come would be to say they were tense. They were all hanging on me enough that I couldn’t read or work, so I finally gave it up and rough housed with them for a while. Finally, a little after 7:00, I was able to move it outside and leave them with Lady and Prince. Believe me, Labradors have enough energy (and patience) to deal with a herd of boys like that, and they all had a great time.
I could have left them to their own devices until nine o’clock, but I didn’t want there to be any question of fairness, or hurt feelings. Knowing it would take a while to get them all moving in the right direction, at 8 PM, I called them all into the house to get washed up. Dean admitted that he’d not worried much about getting them cleaned, so I figured they could all use a good hair washing and bath. Of course, after they finally gave up arguing with me about that and began undressing, the topic turned to who was bathing where. I finally settled the matter by having them all get a pair of clean undies and chasing the entire crew to my bathroom.
Once in my bathroom, Bryce fetched the low stool, while I folded a bath sheet and laid it over the edge of the tub. Making sure I had everything and that the tap was at a comfortably warm temperature, I had Bryce start. He sat on the stool and I carefully leaned him backwards into the tub, where I could wash his hair. Bryce was practically purring with contentment as I carefully worked my fingers through his hair, first lathering it, then rinsing it.
When I was done, I helped him to his feet, then gave him a pat on the rear, aiming him towards my shower. "Now get cleaned up."
Bryce slid out of his briefs and into the shower, and I turned to Ethan. "Your turn."
When I was through with Ethan’s hair, I gave him (and the rest of them) a bit of instruction. "Get in there and wash Bryce’s back for him, then clean yourself up, and the next boy can wash your back."
And so it went. The only change was that I wasn’t going to let Bryce crawl back into the shower, so Tyler had to wash Tristan’s back, and Brian’s, who went last, so his long hair wouldn’t have time to dry.
Other than that, the boys stood around talking while they waited to have their hair washed. As soon as Bryce was out of the shower, he joined back in the conversation, even as he dried off and donned his clean undies. There was even an occasional, shouted comment from the tub or shower.
Finally, about 8:40, everyone was clean, dry, and had their hair combed out, and I herded them back out of my room. My last words to them were, "Remember, everyone needs to be in bed by 9:00. I’ll be in to check on you."
I sat down but was too excited to read, thinking about Doug’s spanking from his dad that I’d witnessed, then about all those little boys with their round little bottoms in the white briefs (and darn Tyler for wearing those green undies tonight).
Finally, with one minute left to go, I sat my watch alarm for 9:01 and walked to Bryce’s room. I can’t say I was surprised by the sight that met my eyes.
Brooks was sitting on the edge of the lower bed and Bryce was on the ladder to the upper bunk, but the rest of the boys were all around the room, just messing around.
"Come on," I told them. "Everyone in bed at nine o’clock. Anyone who’s still up at 9:01 gets a spanking.
"A good spanking, right, Uncle Jack?" Tristan asked.
"That’s what I said, but a spanking’s a spanking. Now c’mon guys."
"But I want a hug, Uncle Jack," Tyler said, bouncing towards me.
"You can get a hug in bed, guys. Move now. It’s already nine, and you’re risking your rears."
They all seemed to think that was horribly hilarious and were laughing as they all gathered around to hug me. Even Ethan and Bryce had gotten up to join the play.
All the boys were gathered around me when my watch began to beep.
"Well, that’s it for you lot. I guess it’s spankings all around. Who’s first?"
I glanced around at them. Tyler looked the most excited, like he thought this was going to be fun. Bryce and Ethan looked the most nervous. Brian looked just about right for some reason, so I reached out and grabbed him.
"C’mere you."
He yelped as I pulled him over to the bed and collapsed on the edge, pulling him over my lap, but he didn’t offer more than token resistance. As soon as he was in place, I arranged my legs so his bottom was nice and elevated, then I adjusted the back of his undies, gave his bottom a quick, soft rub, then SMACKED my hand down. I wasn’t using my shoulder, just elbow and a little wrist, but I used a lot of elbow and Brian let out a real yelp this time.
Just like I’d seen Doug do, after each smack, I gave the bottom a squeeze, then a quick rub, before I placed the next smack. I must have been pretty good about it because Brian was quickly squirming all over my lap as the smacks fell. Because of his smaller size and lack of experience (and because this actually wasn’t a punishment), I was ready to bring it to an end after eight. Still….
"I think he’s had enough, don’t y’all?"
"One more, one more," I was encouraged by seven voices, with the only dissent coming from near my left knee, but even that voice was full of a somewhat admittedly damp laughter. I raised my hand and brought one more down right across the smile of his bottom before helping him pop to his feet.
All of us took a minute to appreciate Brian’s interpretation of the fire dance before I reached out and grabbed Ethan. "Your turn, I think."
With each boy, there were laughing protests that he wasn’t ready yet and promises to get in bed, but nothing more than a little token resistance. Bryce had calmed down once he saw I wasn’t going to give a real spanking, so I did Brooks next. Then my three regulars. Each boy took it about the same way. When I heard Brooks start to get teary, I eased off a bit, while cupping my hand to make it sound harder. With Bryce, I added just a hint of shoulder for the last couple of swats.
Each of the boys hopped up to give us their version of the traditional dance and, if a couple of the faces were maybe a little damp, everyone carefully didn’t notice it. After they’d all had their turns, they all came back around for a long hug, before I started plopping them all in bed. Each boy yelped as his backside hit the mattress—some of the yelps sounding considerably less faked than others.
When they were all down—and staying there after threats of another trip across my lap—I left the reading lights on, turned out the overheads, and then turned to look as undies came down and the inspections and comparisons began.
Now I’m just wondering if I should send Dean a thank you note.