Close Encounters of the Second Kind: A Tommy and Mikell Story

Close Encounters of the First Kind - Anecdotal evidence that spankings exist.
Close Encounters of the Second Kind - Physical evidence that spankings exist.
Close Encounters of the Third Kind - Contact with spankings.

After our trip to Austin for the Magic pre-release tournament, things in my relationship with Mikell seemed to take a step forward. That trip had been the second week in February. The next weekend seemed normal, but then he called and asked if he could spend a weekend with us.

I didn't find out until the next week, but Mikell's mom, Laura, had been released from rehab two days before our tournament trip. She was not happy about him not being there, though she apparently came to accept it when Aunt Ferdie explained how long it had been planned and how much he was anticipating it. I think that one unhappy coincidence of timing may have affected my entire relationship with her. For a while, I thought it had affected her relationship with her son, as well, until I finally realized that's just how she is.

Mikell was very much a mama's boy and didn't mind admitting it. However, she could also drive him crazy. While he was ecstatic to have her home, it wasn't so great that he missed the next, regular Magic tournament, and there was a definite trend in our phone conversations. That Monday evening, he called, but I doubt we talked ten minutes. Mostly he told me how great it was to have her back, how she was keeping Bobby from bothering him, and even how she'd cooked his favorite meal that night. Friday evening we probably talked forty-five minutes before I finally told him I had to go. The next Tuesday, he was griping about how unreasonable she was. Thursday, he asked if he could spend the weekend with us. We finally worked it out with his mom for me to pick him up Saturday afternoon.

Nothing special happened, but it was a good weekend. Stevie and Mikell were becoming real friends, and Mikell didn't seem to have any problems with Tommy, like he did Bobby. It did have one unpleasant and unanticipated side effect, though. The next weekend, their father showed up wanting his visitation. Both Mikell and Bobby went, and Mikell said they had an okay time and nothing bad happened, but you could tell he wasn't very happy about it either. It was only later that we learned that Laura had taken it upon herself to call him and suggest he come visiting again.

Still, after a couple of weeks, I think Mikell's aunt convinced Laura that she needed to give the boy some freedom and let him do things he enjoyed doing. Maybe she just got tired of listening to him gripe. Whatever the reasons, she didn't complain at all when Mikell wanted to go to the store for tournaments or even spend the weekend with me.

Around here, Spring Break comes in early to mid March, and Mikell wanted to spend it with us. His father was going to be out of town, so Laura kindly decided to let him split it between us. Steve drove out to pick him up Saturday, late morning, and I had to have him home by Wednesday evening. We had a great time.

That is to say, Mikell and Steve did. I did as well, but I'm afraid things didn't go as well for some other people. Despite the fact that I'd planned to spend a lot of time with the kids, I still had a business to run and paperwork to do. I tried to do it all in the mornings, which wasn't a problem with the two teens, who were happy enough to sleep in.



I think it was Tuesday morning. We'd really had a great time so far. I'd spent time with all the kids, with just Mikell and Steve, and with just Tommy. I'd let Mikell and Steve have some time to themselves, and I'd dropped Tommy at my mom's house so he could be spoiled and pampered a bit. Monday night, everyone had been home, and I'd talked the two older boys into logging off the computer, putting away the Magic cards and video games, and stretching out to play some old-fashioned board games with Tommy and me. I know Steve had a great time, and later, even Mikell admitted that he'd enjoyed it.

The problem came the next morning. I wasn't making a big deal about Steve and Mikell staying up late. They were both teens and it was a holiday for them, so I was letting them watch movies or play video games after Tommy and I went to bed. (Tommy was getting to stay up late as well, but he was only nine, so late was relative.) It was after ten that morning when I came in. Both of my teens were lying on the floor, still in their underwear, playing Magic. They looked up when I came in.

"Our chores are done, Dad. We just need to get showered if you wanna do sumthin."

"We'll see. Y'all playing again?"

"Yeah," Mikell jumped in. "I had an idea for a new deck, and Steve's helping me test it."

"Sounds good. Everything else going okay?"

"Yeah," Steve answered, sounding not quite positive.

"Except the brat," Mikell mumbled right after that, causing Steve to turn back and glare at him.

"I don't think I caught that, Mikell," I said, giving him a chance to correct his slip.

He must have caught my tone, because he answered, a bit more loudly, "Except Tommy."

"What's your brother been doing, Steve?"

Steve shook his head a bit. Steve had taken to Tommy just as well as he had Corey-- maybe even a little better, since he was used to having a little kid in the house by the time Tommy moved in. He was really a pretty good big brother, and I felt comfortable leaving him in charge of either of the younger boys. However, I wasn't sure he was strict enough to leave him in charge all the time, since it seemed obvious he'd not planned on mentioning this to me. He shot Mikell what might have been a significant look, then rolled over.

Let me mention here that Steve wasn't the best-looking boy that I've ever known. He's also my son in every way that counts. However, that doesn't mean I don't enjoy looking. When I'd come in, he and Mikell had both been lying on their bellies. Even though he slept in just boxers, Mikell always added a t-shirt whenever he was out of bed. Lying on his stomach, the t-shirt had ridden up a bit, and his boxers had settled enough that there was no doubt the boy had a very nice rear end. Steve however... those white briefs were snug on a rear end that I'd seen bare many times. It might not have been quite as firm or well-sculpted as Mikell's looked to be, but it was still more than just spankable. When he rolled over, I had to admit to myself (an admission I seemed to be making quite a bit lately, then apparently forgetting it as soon as it was made) that my boy was growing up.

With his briefs on, Steve's body would have passed for hairless at first glance. It was easy enough to feel the fine, wiry hair on his legs, but it was so blond that you could only see it on the sides when the light was catching it. When he rolled over, he tucked one arm behind his head, and revealed a tuft of not especially long or thick hair beneath his arm. How much hair he had didn't really matter, though. Lifting his arm above his head like that just served to stress that his pecs were really beginning to fill out and firm up. I let my eyes track down to follow the crease from his chest down past his navel. His belly wasn't hard or rippling, but it was firm and shaped. The boy even had a waist already, though it was a bit hard to tell, since his hips hadn't finished filling out yet. His briefs weren't pulled up too high, so his still prominent hip bones were easy to trace in a 'v' that led down to what might be a couple of stomach hairs climbing above the waistband of his briefs (or maybe he just needed a shower). I let my eyes linger on his bulge that, even though soft, was still a pretty good size, and only accented by the white cotton hugging it. I don't know if it's fair to say I was proud of the way he was growing since I had nothing to do with his genetics, but he obviously had it in him to be a good looking man, and I was certainly happy for him.

It only took a second for my gaze to walk down his body, from cute, still boyish face, to firm, well-shaped calves that showed all the walking and bike riding he'd done in his younger days. Even as he took a deep breath and began to explain, my eyes were already meeting his.

"When me and Mikell got up.…"

"Mikell and I," I interrupted him.

He gave me the sigh/eye roll combination that translated as 'Why'd my dad have to be a teacher?', then went on. "When Mikell and I awoke," he said, stressing the proper English as a jab at me, which brought a smile to my lips, "Tommy was in here watching cartoons. When he saw us, he went and put his dishes in the sink, then went and got dressed. I'd already looked and his room wasn't clean. He came back in just a minute, so I knew he hadn't cleaned it, and said he was going to Brandon's house. I told him not until his room was clean, and he just got mad at went out anyway, so I grabbed him and pulled him to his room. He's still there, I guess."

He looked a bit nervous when admitting he'd grabbed his little brother and pulled him to his room. I'd had a talk with him about manhandling the younger boys. On the other hand, there'd been a time or two when I'd done the exact same thing to him, and for similar reasons. I thought about commenting on it, but decided it'd be easier to wait and just explain to him how to do it while making sure you didn't cause any more pain or damage than a tight grip.

As soon as he was finished with his story, I nodded. "Okay, I'm going to go talk to him. Why don't you boys finish this game, then go get cleaned up, and we'll see if we can think of something to do this afternoon."

"Jack?"

"Yeah, Mikell?"

"We were going to play two more games, so I could test it against a white weenie, too."

"You're chores are done?"

They both nodded.

"Okay, one more after this, then go get cleaned up. I'm taking time off work, and I don't want to sit around the house the entire week."

Both boys smiled at me before rolling over to go back to the cards.



When I walked into Tommy's room, he was sitting morosely on the floor, trying to read a comic book. The way he jumped when I walked in told me both how nervous he was and that he wasn't looking forward to this visit. I couldn't say that I blamed him, but his attitude eliminated any doubt I might have had about what Steve had told me. Tommy was normally a cheery boy, but the way his little bottom lip stuck out let me know how unfair he thought this all was.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" I asked, giving him a chance to tell his side, before I became too set on any particular details.

"I just wanted to go play with Brandon. I only kicked Steve 'cause he grabbed me," he finished belligerently.

"You kicked Steve?" I asked, wanting to make sure I'd understood him correctly. Suddenly Tommy's forehead wrinkled up into his 'I want' crease, right between his eyebrows; he usually saved it for when I wouldn't give him something, but it came up on a lot of occasions he was feeling angry or just stubborn. He folded his arms across his chest and hunkered down a bit. Rather than shock at what he'd revealed, I could tell he was trying to get angry. From what I know of little brothers, I'm sure he was mad at Steve for the way the older boy had tricked him into incriminating himself.

"C'mere, Tommy."

"I don't want a spanking, Dad," he replied in a mild whine, while keeping his seat.

"I know you don't, but come here anyway."

Reluctantly, the boy climbed to his feet. As he stood, I took a good look at him. It was a fairly nice day outside, and the boy was wearing jean shorts and a camo t-shirt, though he'd kicked his shoes off, if he'd bothered with any. Even though he'd once had hair nearly as blond as Steve's, Tommy's was slowly darkening as he grew, and his was now a dark, almost sandy blond. A month before his ninth birthday, Tommy was nearly as tall as Steve had been at eleven, and Tommy was heavier—not fat, but with a wide, slightly round build. It was almost funny with his full, round face, but he had this tiny little, button nose that took a long time to catch up to the rest of him. Coupled with his small mouth, it gave him a boyish look despite his size.

Tommy dragged his feet over to me, and I picked him up, swinging him around to sit in my lap. He obviously didn't want to look at me, and probably would rather not have listened either. Still, I talked to him about the differences between spanking someone and just hitting them. I don't think he got the difference at first, but when I turned to a sports analogy, he seemed to start paying attention.

"So when I make a touchdown, I get points—right?" He agreed with that. "So if I kick the ball between the goal posts, I get points; so I made a touchdown—right?"

"No!" he exclaimed, a sneer in his voice, and the idea of a spanking seemingly forgotten. "They're different."

"So you mean that all touchdowns make points, but not all points are touchdowns?"

He nodded.

"So when a boy acts naughty or doesn't follow the rules, he has to take the consequences for his actions. Whoever's in charge of him, his dad, his uncle, or even his big brother, gives him those consequences by hitting him on the bottom; right?"

Again, Tommy agreed, clearly unhappy with the direction the conversation was taking.

"But you're not in charge of Steve and he didn't do anything wrong; you just kicked him—kicked him because you were mad at him. Do you see why that's wrong?"

He reluctantly admitted that he saw the difference.

"Good. Now Tommy, as far as I'm concerned, the only time it's okay to hit someone is if you're defending yourself. And I don't mean if they're calling you names. I mean, if Steve had thought you were going to kick him again, and he'd hit you, I wouldn't be real mad at him. Since you're smaller than he is, he shouldn't have to hit you to protect himself; but the only way I think it's okay to just hit somebody is if they're attacking you or someone that can't defend themselves and you have to do it. Do you understand me?"

We talked a bit longer to make sure he understood. I knew the boy had a bit of an anger problem. He'd been living with Steve and me for nearly a year by that point, but he'd been mad about being taken away from his mom, even though she'd been beating him. I worked hard with him to make him understand why I'd sought custody of him, then to get him to understand that I didn't spank him because I was mad, but because I wanted him to improve his behavior. We'd reached the point where he didn't seem constantly mad about things, but he could still flare up over little things and seemed to think that the proper reaction to not getting your way was to throw a fit (I don't think that's genetic, but he certainly inherited it from his mom).

"Okay, I hope we have that straight now. Steve loves you, but I don't think he likes being kicked, and I don't blame him."

"Now," I said, changing the subject, "I think we need to deal with you not cleaning your room."

With him in my lap, I could feel him sag. "I'll clean it now, Dad," he promised, in an abject voice that let me know he already knew it wouldn't work.

"Yes, you will, Tom; but that's not the point. The point is, I told you last night to clean it when you got up. More important, when I'm not here, Steve's in charge, and you straight out disobeyed him when he told you that you couldn't go to Brandon's until your room was clean. Now, hop up."

He didn't exactly hop, but he slowly climbed to his feet. It'd been well over a year since I'd first spanked him, and he knew the drill by heart. Without me having to tell him, he raised his shirt, exposing his round, but firm belly. As the shirt came up, it showed his denim shorts were riding a bit low, since the entire waistband of his jockey briefs was exposed. I took a second to admire the clean white with the dark double lines and the repeated 'Jockey', separated by the upside-down 'Y'. That wasn't my main area of interest though, and it was the fly of the blue jeans for which I reached. Tommy was very active and, even though he carried a little extra padding, he was still firm and muscular. The extra weight was visible in the outward swell of his belly and waist, but it wasn't sloppy or loose; it was firm and you could feel the muscles beneath with just a poke.

With his shirt up, I undid his fly. The jean shorts were baggy enough that they fell to his feet as soon as I got them over his hips. I love Jockey shorts, with their high waist and 'genuine y-front', and he looked so cute standing there, his lower lip trembling, even though he wasn't my ideal boy. He was still a cutie, and he took his spankings very well.

Unlike his shorts, the elastic on his briefs clung to his legs and then stayed around his knees after I'd tugged them down. Despite his size, at nine, Tommy was still a little boy, though it looked like the little sac between his legs was just maybe beginning to stretch out a bit. I was sure he wasn't bigger in any other way than since I'd first seen him over a year before. Even more than Steve, Tommy enjoyed running around naked, and being nude in front of me didn't bother him at all. Being bared by me was a different story, but it was what came next, not the nudity, that worried him.

As soon as the briefs were down, I sat back and motioned to him. His knees sagged a bit, and he moaned, but he came around my side and let me help him over my lap. His round, full little bottom was like a pillow-top mattress—firm, but with a layer of softness above that. I took a moment to enjoy rubbing and massaging, while I paused for a final bit of lecture.

"I expect you to follow the rules, Thomas Bryan, and do what I tell you to. When I'm not here, Steve's in charge. If you decide not to do something he tells you, you'd better have a LOT better reason than because you want to go to your friends house. Understand me?"

"Yes, s...OW!" The last part was surprised out of him as my hand pistoned up and down, compressing his chubby little cheek and leaving a dark pink blotch.

Tommy was always fatalistic when a spanking was coming. He felt free to whine, moan, and even cringe a bit; but he always did as he was told and never begged, fought, or argued with me. I rarely had to listen to more than one or two little pleas for another chance, and even those came while he was getting ready, or at worst, during a slight delay. Accepting that it was going to happen and taking it well were, however, two different things. Tommy knew he'd be crying loud and hard before a spanking was through, and he saw no reason not to practice from the start.

That's not to say he was a baby about it. Even though each smack must have stung, he was fairly still and totally quiet as the next few landed. The first few swats turned the apex of each cheek a light rose before my hand began to circle around, catching over towards each hip, where the cheeks met, the upper and lower slopes, then down onto his legs. Before I was ready to start a second pass, his little feet were jerking with each smack and working up and down, and his upper body was showing some definite squirming. His shoulders worked up and down until he started to put a hand behind him, then made himself grab the chair instead; a second’s pause and they'd start the some routine again. He was yelping with each smack as my hand started to overlap the already spanked parts of his cheek, and he was lightly sobbing by the time I got to his legs.

A second trip around his bottom, turning everything from pink to a deep rose, only made the reactions more distinct. He wasn't struggling hard, and I think I could have loosened my hold on his waist without his trying to get up, but didn't want to test him that way. I wasn't having to grip too hard, though; and he was still keeping his hands in front of him. This time, instead of finishing his bottom first, I broke away with an occasional swat or two to his legs, and he was crying loudly by the time the entire spank area was nearing red. The boy was crying hard, but not halfway to really bawling, going by his usual reactions.

I'm not sure he even noticed when I'd finished the second time around. The only way to tell was by a slightly longer pause between spanks while I looked to be sure most of it had reached that rosy color. Then I started again.

This time, each smack left a rich, vibrant red color. Maybe he did know I was going over the same ground yet again since he howled a protest when my hand slapped down that time. His feet were kicking constantly now, mostly from the knees but some with his entire leg, and if I'd not needed to hold his waist before, I did now, just to keep him from kicking himself off my lap. His right hand had come up for a second, but he'd let me push it away, and I could feel his left hand shoving against my side, though I'm not sure if he was trying to get it behind him, or just keeping it out of the way. Either way, he was yelping and owing with every breath he could snatch between his full-voiced cries by the time I had his entire bottom a mostly uniform color again, and he was reaching the point that his struggles were starting to ease up as he grew too sore to continue them.

Taking a look, at the full red color, I had no doubt he could take another covering or even two without doing any real damage, but I stopped and helped him from my lap. He'd managed to kick his briefs off, and his t-shirt was still rucked up under his arms, so he was practically naked, but that didn't bother him in the least—his concern was for his bottom. As he reached for it, I grabbed his hands.

"Not yet, Thomas Bryan."

His eyes went wide. He was always allowed to rub at least a bit as soon as the spanking was over. For me to not let him rub.… Then the use of his middle name registered and he started to cry even harder.

"That's enough for a boy who didn't do what he was told and disobeyed, but I think we need something special to make sure you won't go around kicking people when you don't get your way."

"I won’t, Dad. I promise, I learned.…"

"I want to make sure, Tommy, and, even if you did learn, you still have to face the consequences for this time. I think you need to fetch your paddle."

"No, Daddy. Please!"

That was as strong a protest as he'd ever allowed himself, and I had no doubt it was provoked by the already blazing fire in his backside; but when I pointed towards his dresser, his shoulders slumped and he moved to it.

Opening his undies drawer, Tommy pulled the dreaded paddle from its nesting place atop his briefs. I could have used the paddle I'd used on Steve for so long but had found this new one at a flea market and just couldn't resist it. It was a paddle ball paddle, but even though it had the same surface area, it was about twice as thick as a normal one and weighed three times as much. The fact that it was a bright reddish color, slightly darker than dark pink had made it perfect. It was a Fli-Back Imperial Contest Model, but I doubt Tommy ever thought of it as anything but The Paddle.

He carried it to me, handed it to me, then placed himself back over my lap with plenty of hesitation and reluctance, but without me even having to tell him. I stopped him though, spreading my legs a little wider and guiding him across just my left leg, putting my right across both of his, and making him put his hands behind him so I could grip his wrists in my left. He moaned as he settled into position, knowing he couldn't escape if he wanted, and that my putting him this way wasn't good news for his stinging buttocks.

This paddle was only heavyweight compared to other fly back paddles. Though I knew it had plenty of sting to it, I could have easily covered his entire bottom again without worrying about bruising, but I did believe the boy understood that he couldn't act that way. Instead, I brought the paddle down on the upper part of the middle of his left cheek, then did the same to the right. Aiming just below that dark red splotch, I did the same to both cheeks again. He'd already regained full cry and was struggling hard beneath my grip as the third set of swats caught his sit spot. He howled as the paddle came down on those same spots again, and shrieked as I delivered three more swats, fast and hard, to the left side, then the right. A final three, slower, but also harder, landed right over his little hole, each one occasioned by its own shriek.

He was bawling as I put the paddle down and helped him to his feet. I think that, as soon as I let go of his arms and freed his legs, he tried to jump up, but was too sore to make it. With my help, though, he managed to hop up and threw his head back to howl his torment, while rubbing his rear with all his worth, and dancing a plea for the pain to subside. I gave him a minute before pulling his hands away.

"I don't think you deserve a rub quite yet, Tommy. I think you need to go apologize to Steve for disobeying him and kicking him, then you can do your chores."

His eyes went wide and he glanced around, trying to figure how long it'd take him to clean his room, so he could rub his aching cheeks. I fought a smile.

"Okay, as soon as you've apologized, you can wash your face, get a drink, and have a quick rub, but I want this room done right after that, do you understand me?"

He nodded, relief showing in his face. "And put my dishes up."

"That's right, and put your dishes up. Now go."

Walking into the living room, Tommy came to a sudden stop. "Dad, Mikell's here!" he said in a whisper that I doubt could be heard outside the apartment.

"You feeling embarrassed?"

He nodded. I guess his comfort with casual nudity faded with someone he barely knew.

"That's too bad. You should have thought about that before you embarrassed Steve. Now get going before I decide to give you a boost."

He knew what that meant and went into the living room, though his hands had snuck in front of him to cover himself. Mikell and Steve had obviously heard something because they were turned to look at us. Whatever they'd heard had obviously been enough that Steve knew Tommy was getting spanked (like there was any real question of that), but Mikell's eyes went wide with shock. Listening to Tommy apologize, I was watching Mikell, but he didn't notice, since his eyes were riveted to Tommy's flaming backside.

Once Tommy had made his apologies and received a hug and forgiveness, Tommy tottered off to the bathroom. With that done, I headed for my own room, but stopped right around the corner.

"Is that how Jack spanks you?"

"No, he hasn't spanked me like that in a long time, and hasn't spanked me at all in a while."

I smiled, thinking that three or four months wasn't really that long a while, but there was no reason to embarrass him about it.

"He wouldn't spank me like that, would he?"

"I dunno. I guess it depends on what you were doing. Of course, me and Tommy have known him all our lives, so it's different. I doubt he'd spank you like that."

I could envision, nearly hear, Mikell's sigh of relief before Steve finished his statement. "He'd probably use a school paddle or belt for you."

For some reason, the rest of his time with us that week, Mikell kept giving me the most peculiar, suspicious looks.





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