Oh, No(ah), Not the Spanker

We were headed towards the spanking chair, where I do my lecturing, as well as the majority of my spanking; but I stopped and turned to face the boy.

"Would you care to explain to me how this is any different from what you got spanked for last month?"

"Last month?" Noah answered, looking a bit perplexed.

I didn’t think it was deliberate. It’s hard for me to remember how long six weeks can seem to a kid. Or maybe he was just trying to put details of spankings, especially those shared with his older brother, out of his mind.

"You, Mickey, Slurpees…" I suggested helpfully.

"Oh," Noah said as he reddened a bit, details of him and Mickey bent bare, side-by-side, crying hard and loud, undoubtedly rushing back into memory. "Ummm… that wasn’t the same thing at all."

"Noah!" I said, wondering if he really saw this as different or if he was just in denial (or maybe just trying to make me insane—a game most of my teens have seemed to indulge in at times… and an opinion they’ve all doubtlessly held about me). "You’re supposed to be one place, then you not only aren’t where you’re supposed to be, but you come home after curfew. How’s that different?"

"You said I could go to the mall."

"You weren’t AT the mall."

"Well," he said, tucking his chin against his chest and crossing his arms, "you didn’t say we could go get Slurpees. It was different."

I was getting irate, and Noah was getting surly. Obviously, we didn’t need for me to sit in a chair, looking up at him and lecturing. I was already facing the couch, so I took his shoulder, turned him slightly, and headed that way.

"Let’s sit down for a minute and see if we can get on the same page."

Noah sat but made it clear he didn’t want to be there. He was sitting on the very edge of the couch and turned away from me.

I reached forward and rested my hand on his shoulder. He jerked, but didn’t move away from me, so I gave him a soft pat.

"Look at me, Buddy."

He gave a dramatic sigh, making it clear to me and the world how put upon he was, but he did turn to face me. He was giving me ‘the glare,’ but since Noah has in the vicinity of seventeen older brothers, plus a couple of uncles and cousins who’ve lived with me over the years, and almost all of them have given me that look, it doesn’t have an especially strong effect anymore. (On the other hand, I would put Noah in the top three or four. He’s nowhere near as good as Mikell, and not quite as good as Tommy, but I’m sure he could make most parents and a lot of young teachers feel bad with it).

"I’m sorry if I snapped at you, Noah. I didn’t mean to, but I think it came out sounding rougher than I’d intended. You know I feel it’s part of my job to enforce consequences and help you learn to follow the rules, but it bothers me to spank you, and I hate to see you keep getting in trouble for the same… for what looks to me like the same thing. Okay?"

As I spoke, some of the surliness drained away, and he nodded.

"I’m sorry, too. I guess I was being a smart a… aleck."

"Okay. If we’re both sorry, can we try starting again?"

He sighed again, obviously hoping that the apology would be the end. I don’t know where he’d get an idea like that, but they say optimists have better blood pressure.

"You know you’re in trouble for coming home past curfew, right?"

"Yes, sir," he said resignedly.

"How late were you?"

"About forty minutes."

It was actually forty-five, but I let that pass.

"And what happens if you’re more than thirty minutes late."

"Spanking," he responded managing to sound bored and upset at the same time.

"Son, the last time you got spanked, you were supposed to be at the football game. You and Mickey got bored and decided to go get Slurpees. You ran into Nick and his big brother, who invited you to Sonic with them."

"Now, you’re fourteen-years-old and I trust you. If you want to go for a ride with someone we know and trust, I’m okay with that. If you want to leave where I expect you to be, go somewhere near by, and come back, I’m okay with that. But that’s not what happened. Instead, you lost track of time, got back very late, and had everyone worried about you."

"This time," I continued, "I said you and Nick could go up to the mall. The mall closes at 9pm right now, so I expected you home about 9:30. You don’t have to be home until ten, so if you’d stopped at Sonic again, I wouldn’t have had a problem with that. Instead, you came home at 10:45, and instead of the mall, you’d been to a movie. Do you see how those look the same to me?"

He thought about it for a moment and then reluctantly nodded.

"You know I like Nick and James both. You also know I trust James, or I wouldn’t let him take you places and bust your butt," I continued, pausing for Noah to blush at the reminder of what had happened to him and Nick last February.

"The trouble is, I think maybe James trusts you too much. Either he’s believing you when you say it’s okay for you to do something, even when you haven’t checked, or I shouldn’t be trusting him."

Noah started to complain, but I stopped him.

"I’m not saying anything bad about James."

As soon as that was clear, he settled back and shut his mouth.

"What I’m saying is that you seem to make some bad decisions around him, and he’s letting you get away with it."

I paused for a second to organize my thoughts, then went on.

"I’m going to ask you a question, but you don’t have to tell me the answer. It’s one of those things that maybe you don’t really know the answer, and maybe you wouldn’t tell me if you did. I just want you to remember it and really think about it. Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, a bit hesitantly. It sounded safe, but you could tell he expected some trick.

"Who’s your best friend?"

He sat there a minute, looking a little confused. After a few seconds, I got it.

"Sorry, I want you to answer that one."

"Oh. Ummm… I dunno. Eli. Or maybe…"

"Okay, but Nick is one of them, isn’t he?"

Noah shrugged. "Yeah."

"How’d you end up going to the movie?"

"We were talking about wanting to see it, and we were going by the theater, and James pulled in, and it was starting in a few minutes, so he asked if we wanted to go."

"And you did?"

"Yeah."

"And you really like James, don’t you?"

Noah just nodded this time.

I’d known he did. The former high school football player seemed to rank up there with Marcus. The fact that he’d actually seen James playing ball his senior year probably helped balance the fact that Marcus actually played college ball.

"Why didn’t you just call me and ask?"

This time he just shrugged but looked away from me again, seemingly more from guilt this time than frustration.

"Here’s the one I want you to think about, instead of answering. Is maybe what you’re doing going along with whatever James suggests, like going to a movie or going to Sonic and hanging out, because you want him to think you’re cool? Is maybe the reason you didn’t call me is because you didn’t want to risk me saying no and making you come home?"

I paused to see if he had anything to say, but he sat silently.

"You need to think about that for two reasons, Noah. First, whatever the reason is, is this stuff really worth you getting a sore butt over it? Second, whatever the reason it keeps happening, if you keep getting in trouble when James is around, I’m going to have to ask him to quit being around you."

"No!" he said, suddenly turning back to me.

"I didn’t say I was going to do that now, son. Honestly, I do like James and don’t think he’s going to let you get into too much trouble. On the other hand, I do feel like I need to talk to him and let him know what you’re doing and what’s happening because of it."

Noah was getting red and ready to argue, so I held up a hand, then went on.

"I’m not going to do it this time because I think that would really embarrass you. There’s no reason it should. James takes care of Nick and has whipped your backside before. I think that if I call him up and explain the situation to him, he’ll understand and would make a point of helping you remember to call when you change your plans. I also don’t think he’d think any less of you because you have a curfew and your dad wants a general idea of where you are. However, I remember being your age and how much I hated your Granny checking up on me, so I’m going to give you another chance before I resort to that. Okay?"

He nodded, then forced out a grudging, "Thank you."

"You’re welcome," I assured him. "However, that doesn’t change the fact that you were out after curfew. If you’d called in, I wouldn’t have had any problem letting you go to the movie. Since you didn’t call in, and you were more than thirty minutes late, why don’t you get up and get ready."

"C’mon, Dad. I won’t do it anymore. I’ve learned my lesson."

"I’m glad about that, Noah. And now it’s time to face the consequences of your bad decision."

"Can’t you just make me stay home this weekend or something?"

"I think we need to stick with what we already had established, Noah. The rule is, you get home more than thirty minutes late, you get spanked. You know the way to get rid of your spanker, and I’m not very open to the idea of changing the rules after you violate them."

There was also the fact that I was half-planning a trip out of town the next day. I wasn’t sure it was going to happen, but was still hoping, and that would have made grounding Noah somewhat irrelevant.

"Now, are you going to get ready, or do I need to take your pants and…"

Before I could finish that, he was on his feet, toeing out of his sneakers.

As Noah undressed, I took a look at him. It’s hard for me to remember exactly what I was like at his age, but I think Noah’s a little stockier than I was. That may come from the difference in working out for soccer, like I did, and football, like he does. He’s only lean to the extent that he has very little extra weight to his body, but he’s not real developed yet, either. As his sweatshirt came up, I was reminded that his chest and stomach are hard and defined, but he’s not filled out a lot in the chest yet. He’s always been a bit broader than average through the shoulders and hips, but he’s only just now beginning to fill out.

After the sweatshirt, his jeans came off, revealing that the hair on his legs was getting thick and long enough to curl. After that, he paused for a glare, shoved his briefs, down, and lifted his undershirt. He didn’t bother holding it up, but it didn’t fall back down into place, so his privates were exposed. He was a good size, even when definitely unexcited as he was now, but what really caught my attention was that his pubic bush had thickened, and was now almost like a diamond, spreading towards his hips, down onto his sac, and even starting to climb to his belly button, though it wasn’t high enough yet to notice it with his briefs on, which was how I normally saw him.

He paused for a second after lifting the shirt, then asked, "Stool?"

I nodded, and stood away from the couch as he walked away. As he did that, I walked over to my desk and dug into the drawer where the spanking implements were kept.

Noah fetched the stool, brought it back to about the center of the room, placed it, then stood up and looked at me. Then his whole body showed shock.

"No, Dad. Not the Spanker!"

I couldn’t blame him for his reaction. He’d never had the Spanker before, but his Uncle Trent had, and I’d be surprised if Noah hadn’t pumped him for details. And it was a wicked looking implement. The Spanker was about the size of a novelty paddle—fifteen inches long, three wide, and one quarter inch thick. However there were no cute decorations on it—only the maker’s stamp on the highest part of the blade, next to the handle. It was a dark brown, and the business end had five holes in an ‘X’ pattern.

"I warned you a while back that I was going to start using this on you, Noah. I think this is the right time for it."

"But I said I was sorry. I won’t do it again. I promise! PLEASE!"

"You probably won’t believe this, Noah, but I’m sorry, too. You already know my answer though. This isn’t about what you’re going to do next time, Noah. This is about helping you learn that there are consequences to your decisions; and when you decide to disobey the rules…"

"I get spanked," he finished for me, slumping and miserable.

"I warned you you were going to start getting the spanker, and now you are."

With the spanker in my hand, I gestured at the stool.

"Bend over."

Noah made a little whimpering noise that distressed me a bit. Noah isn’t what I’d call a stoic, but he’s authentic. He’s not one of those kids who tries to coax early tears to get off easy. I felt bad that he was this worried, but he wasn’t the first boy I’d used it on, and I knew that if we could just get started, he’d discover it might be bad, but not half as bad as he was making it out to be.

"Dad, I know I screwed up; but please, just Black. Please."

"Son, you know that I’m going to do this like I said I would. You’re not making things any easier on yourself by standing there arguing. Now…" I said, and concluded by simply pointing at the stool again, this time with my free hand, not with the paddle.

What might have been a sob escaped Noah, but he knew when I said ‘not making things easier’, I meant, ‘could be making the spanking harder’. He turned to the stool and leaned forward. Putting his hands on the seat of the stool, Noah went up on his tiptoes, pushed just a bit, then leaned further forward, moving one hand at a time to reach down and grab the lower rungs. He’s pretty tall, but that was still enough to bring his toes off the ground.

I walked over to Noah, laid the paddle on his back, and lifted him by the hips, just a bit more, centering him on the stool. Then I lifted the paddle, laid my left hand on the small of his back, and took aim for my first swat.

Like I said, Noah is honest about his spankings, not trying to hold back or fake worse, so when he yelped with the first smack, I realized he’d worked himself up to a state where he was going to overreact to anything. I also knew that I needed to make this point with him, so I steeled myself and planted a second swat just below the first.

One thing Noah might not have thought about was that the Spanker is wider than Black, so I wasn’t even tempted to give him a four down pattern, like I sometimes did with Black.

A third swat covered the center of his rear from top to bottom, and then I went to work coloring each cheek. Noah continued to yelp with each swat, though he wasn’t struggling much yet. Then he started softly crying, before I’d even finished tracing the paddle down his right cheek.

The crying stayed soft as I went back down the middle, then put a swat on the side of each cheek, and made one more trip down his crack. I’d been planning some extra swats to his legs, since this was a repeat offense, but as his crying slowly gained in pitch and power, I changed my mind and only placed two swats on each leg. They were still enough to push him from crying softly to real, heartfelt crying.

Back to his bottom and he really started to kick and squirm, though he never let loose of the rungs. Between that, my hand on his back, and my foot on a rung on the stool, he didn’t move around much. What he was doing was kicking his legs around enough to spread his cheeks, giving me an intimate view of the light hair starting to grow around his hole.

Apparently that much kicking was a mistake. As I was working the paddle back and forth, from left cheek to right, a swat landed at just the wrong time, and the edge of the leather paddle curled into his open crack. He shrieked that time, and I had to stop paddling to hold him in place as he bucked wildly.

"Move your hand, Noah," I demanded gently, but sternly, once he’d settled down.

He ignored me.

"Move your hand, Noah," I repeated, a bit more forcefully.

"No. Please, I’m sorry. No more."

"Move your hand, Noah, or I’m going to put you over my lap for the brush."

I hated to threaten him, but we both knew I wasn’t finished.

He groaned and sobbed a bit, but his hand slowly moved from his bottom, back down to the rung. I waited a second to be sure he had a firm grip, but was selecting my target as I did.

Noah shouldn’t have been as far along as he was quite yet, but I could tell the boy was about to break. After just a second’s consideration, I put another swat at the bottom of each cheek. As those first two swats smacked down, Noah bucked around and yelled. I still had a foot on the stool and a hand on him, but had to wait a second while his legs cleared away. When I started tracking the paddle down the center of his rear, he broke. His body went rigid for just a second, then he collapsed, and I didn’t have to stop to hear that he was bawling.

That didn’t stop me though. I was positive he wasn’t faking it, but also didn’t think he was as close to his limits as he was acting. I really think he’d just built up so much tension that it’s release was affecting him as much or more than the paddle. In one way, I felt I’d made my point. However, most of me felt I needed to give him at least close to a regular session, both so he’d know he got through it, and so he’d be feeling the sting for the rest of the evening.

I did skip the rest of the pattern on his cheeks, and skipped down to his legs, putting two more on each. He was too limp to do a lot of kicking, but his legs did scissor around quite a bit, jerking slightly with each smack. He wasn’t jerking around energetically enough to make his sac flop around much, but I still paused once to let his legs come more together.

After the leg swats, Noah was a wrung-out rag. I placed a couple of swats on each sit spot, which he’d be feeling until he went to sleep, but they were almost anti-climactic for now.



With it over, I moved my hand from the small of Noah’s back, laid the paddle in it’s place, gently rubbed his blazing rear for just a second, while rubbing his neck with my left hand, then patted him between the shoulders. After a second, when I was sure he knew we were finished, I lifted the paddle and walked away. I put the paddle back into the drawer and then sat.

For several minutes, the room was still and quiet, except for the sound of Noah’s crying. He was still jackknifed over the stool, neither hands nor feet touching the floor. After a bit, as his bawling died to crying, and that died to sobs, he started to shift. It had seemed to take a couple of minutes longer than normal, but I remained still and quiet, letting him recover at his own pace.

Finally, Noah began to shift, gingerly testing how sore he was. After a few small movements, he shifted a bit so his feet brushed the floor. Then he walked his hands up to the next rungs and slowly pushed himself upright.

Once he was on his feet, Noah almost angrily ran the back of his arms across his eyes, then looked at me. He looked incredibly sheepish this time. Noah prides himself on being strong and sturdy and hates being broken down like that. Yet over the last couple of years, he’s come to realize that he’s mad at himself, both for not ‘taking it’ and for bringing it on himself in the first place.

As soon as he looked around, I climbed to my feet. Slowly, walking so as to move his butt as little as possible, Noah stepped forward to meet me.

"I’m sorry I screwed up, Dad."

"I know you are, sweetheart," I replied gently, as we wrapped our arms around each other. "You know I don’t hold it against you."

He didn’t reply, but laid his head against my shoulder.

He was still crying a bit, and I held him like that for a few minutes, until he stirred. I loosened my arms and let him step away when he was ready.

"I’ll go to the corner now."

"I don’t think we need the corner tonight. Why don’t you go get cleaned up and ready for bed," I suggested.

"I gotta go to bed now?"

"No, you can stay up a while, but not much use in getting dressed again, is there?"

He smiled a bit.

"I guess not."

He picked up his clothes, and paused, looking at the briefs in his hand.

"We do have some guests tonight, and I’m not sure where they are. You gonna try putting those on, or should I scout ahead for you?"

He sighed. Noah’s not normally shy around the family, not really even with a red rear, but with guests in the house… He bent down and pulled the shorts on, grimacing as he stretched his tender backside.

"Hey, Dad… Can I clean up in your bathroom?"

I shrugged. "Go ahead, Buddy."

With briefs on, he wiped his face on the corner of his shirt and then headed towards the door.

"Hey, Noah," I called, stopping him.

He turned around to look at me.

"Was it as bad as you were afraid it would be?"

He rolled his eyes, not sarcastically, but in thought.

"You didn’t give me a whole spanking like you would have with Black, did you?"

"No," I admitted. "I cut it off a little early, but not a lot."

"Then, yeah, if it wasn’t as bad as I thought, it was bad enough."

He bundled his clothes into one arm, then turned around. Suddenly his shorts came down and he bent forward, mooning me.

"See?"





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