Targeting Trouble

Sometimes the hardest part of parenting is being unfair.

The simple truth of the matter is, you can’t treat every boy the same. When kids say ‘that’s not fair’, that’s what they really mean (unless it isn’t). For the most part, a kid feels like he should be treated like everyone else. Partially that’s peer pressure (Danny got to move to Peru, so why can’t I?), and partly it’s just the kid trying to find a way to understand how the world works.

It really would be simpler for parents if we could treat every kid the same. "I let Steve go to his first rock concert when he was fourteen years, two hundred and twelve days, so you’ll just have to wait for the second show."

Honestly though, we don’t treat all the kids the same. Part of that’s because, by the time you’re dealing with your third or (God help you) twenty-third kid, you’re tired of arguing about style and let the kid get a Mohawk if he thinks that’s what he really wants. Part of it, however, is because kids aren’t the same, so treating them the same is unfair to them in the long run.

Which brings us to the problem I’m having with Steven.



Steven is not a very mature young man. Physically, he still looks like someone who might be old enough to be a freshman in high school, not someone who is old enough to be a freshman in college. Emotionally he’s not much better.

When Steven moved in with me, he basically put his life in my hands. He was lost, homeless, had no way to earn a living, except maybe by flipping burgers, and didn’t know what to do. I threw him a rope, and he grabbed onto it. In the months since that happened, I’ve come to think that being treated like a twelve year old might have been a positive thing for him rather than a negative, even though it did include the occasional (or, at times, not so occasional) spanking.

Steven has gone through some good times and some bad times since he’s been living here. Overall, I like to think I’ve been able to help him some. He’s a very smart kid, and his grades are finally reflecting it. After the trouble he had in public school and the rough time he had settling into BCA last year, he’s only been to the office twice this year, and I wasn’t called in for either one. While he’s backslid at times and driven me crazy, for the most part, I’ve been pretty proud of him; not because of his successes so much as simply because he’s really trying.

The biggest trouble we’ve had is with driving. Our agreement when he moved in was that I’d start off treating him like he was twelve, and he would ‘age’ when I thought it was appropriate. Driving was the exception to that. Even though, under Texas law he could have gone and got his driver’s license only two days after moving in with me (if he’d had a car in which to take the test), he never tried. He followed our agreement. That summer, even though I wasn’t treating him like a sixteen year old, I let him take driver’s ed, then get his license. With him, Van, and Gordy going to BCA, it was easier to let him drive (not just on him, but on me and the other boys who would have been taking them). He enjoys it, and there’s some prestige in it, but it’s not the same as getting to go where you want, when you want. I always hated when my mother would use me as her gopher, then complain about my wanting to borrow the car for something fun. Because of that, and despite the fact that he wasn’t (being treated as) old enough to drive, I let him use the car occasionally. At first, it was just to get his brother, or maybe so they could do something. Then, much to my surprise (and Troy’s dismay), Steven actually got a girlfriend. After that, I let him start using the car to date. But we still had some problems.

When I made plans for this quick-trip weekend, I remembered the trouble I’d had with Charlie and Steven the last time, so I decided exactly what I was going to allow and explained it to everyone involved. Steven was allowed to go out Friday night with his girlfriend and could do whatever he wanted, as long as he was home by his 11pm curfew. Saturday, he could use the car to get Dillon Rufner whenever Dillon was ready to come over, but that was it. Dillon’s been in trouble with his dad lately, and his dad asked if it was okay for him to start spending more time over here because he knew my kids are reasonably well supervised and that I’m pretty strict with them (which seems much better to me than just grounding the kid and not allowing him to see anyone). I explained that to Bobby and PJ, who were going to be in charge while I was gone, as well as to Steven and Dillon, so there’d be no question. I even made it clear to Troy, who was going to be picked up for his weekend visit by Charlie, that Steven wasn’t allowed to use the car at any other time.



When the twins and I arrived home Saturday afternoon, Van and his friends were at Cici’s pizza having his birthday celebration. Bryce came running up to greet us as soon as we opened the utility room doors. Bobby was right behind him, and they both gave me hugs like I’d been gone a month, not a day. Both of them grabbed bags, and Bryce dragged the twins off. As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, I knew something was wrong.

Steven and Dillon were sitting at the breakfast table, and the way they looked made me think I should have grabbed some souvenir airsick bags.

Steven looked up at me, shot a pleading glance at Bobby, who shook his head, then took a deep breath.

"Someone hit the SUV, Jack.’

"What happened?" I inquired, now knowing why Steven would be upset and worried, but not understanding about Dillon.

"I don’t know exactly. They were backing up and went too far and hit the bumper."

"You weren’t hurt?"

"We weren’t even in the car."

"Oh, you were parked. So it was definitely their fault." I was relieved for about half a second, until I realized that what he’d told me wouldn’t have him looking this way, and wouldn’t have Dillon….

"This didn’t happen last night, did it?"

"No, sir," Steven squeaked.

"Then it happened at Dillon’s house?"

"No, sir." He paused for just a second, probably searching for some last minute stroke of genius to get out of having to tell me this. "At Target."

"Correct me if I’m wrong, Steven, but didn’t I tell you…."

"It was my fault, Jack," Dillon interrupted. "I asked him to stop."

"You asked him, or you held a gun to his head?"

Neither of them tried to answer that.

"If you asked him, Dillon, it’s still his fault. On the other hand, I know I told you he wasn’t allowed to use the car for anything but picking you up, so why’d you even ask?"

For that, he had no answer.

"For that matter, why’d you even ask him to stop? Why not ask your parents to take you?"

Dillon shrugged, looking away. "I just wanted to get a new video game."

I decided to stop playing district attorney, before I made myself mad at them.

"I hope you boys know that I’m not mad at you about the dent. That could have happened to any of us. What I am is very disappointed and a little upset that you decided to disobey me."

I paused and took a deep breath. With the younger kids, I preferred to get a spanking finished as soon as I could. With teens, however, I don’t think there’s a problem with letting them wait for a while. It’s not easy on them, but they’re better able to deal with the torment than Van or Bryce would be.

"Go on up to Steven’s room. I want to think for a few minutes before I decide what to do."

Both boys slowly rose and headed upstairs. Dillon looked moderately hopeful since I’d not just condemned them right there. Steven, on the other hand, still looked miserable, since he had to know what was coming in his case.

I caught up with a few other things, then leaned back and thought about the two boys.

As I said, the reason Dillon’s suddenly spending a lot of time at our house is because his father was worried about some of the friends with whom he’d been hanging. Dillon had gotten into trouble at school for possession of tobacco, and afterwards, it started to look like the trouble was because he was holding for someone else, not using it. While Steven was Dillon’s first friend in my household, he also likes Cal and Mickey for sports, Ryan and Daniel for comics and games, enjoys playing with Van and Bryce, and seems to look up to Charlie enough that he’s wished in my hearing that BCA had an ROTC program. In other words, he fits in with most of my family. His father had considered grounding him, but instead encouraged him to come over here to hang around with kids that he hoped would be a better influence.

Mr. Rufner also gave me permission to ‘tan his hide’ if Dillon needed it, and I finally stood from my chair after deciding this was the time to use it.



When I got upstairs, Troy was sitting on his bed, feet up, and back against the wall, trying to look like he was reading, but mostly watching the other two boys. Steven and Dillon were both on the other bed. Dillon was lying on it like one normally would, except he had his arm thrown up over his eyes. Steven was lying at the foot of the bed, sideways, so his head was hanging off. When the door opened, both of them jumped, then looked at me.

"Troy," I addressed the other boy, "were you with Steven when he picked up Dillon today?"

"No, sir."

"Then go on downstairs and stay there."

Troy grimaced, obviously ticked at not getting to stay for the fireworks, but wisely obeyed.

After escorting Troy out of the room, I turned back to find Dillon and Steven were both sitting up on the side of the bed. Dillon was looking nervously at me, but Steven was just studying the floor between his feet.

"I think Steven knows what’s about to happen, but there’s…."

"You’re going to whup us?" Dillon interrupted me.

"I’m not sure yet. What I want to know is, why did you guys do this? Was it just because I told you that you couldn’t? Did you just do it because you thought you wouldn’t get caught? Why?"

Steven shrugged without looking at me, but Dillon looked away before miserably shrugging.

"Where’s the game?"

Dillon nodded towards Steven’s dresser, and I turned, seeing a Target bag lying atop it. I walked over and pulled a game from it.

"Risen?" I looked for a second, then understood the reason for the special trip. "Correct me if I’m wrong, Dill, but I don’t think your dad lets you play the ‘M-rated’ games, does he?"

"No, sir."

"So you disobeyed me about not coming straight here when Steven picked you up so you could disobey your father about what kind of games you’re allowed to play. Is that about it?"

He nodded again, having found the same fascinating spot on the floor that had Steven entranced.

I crossed back over to the desk and pulled the chair out, turning it to face the boys.

"Good enough. Yes, Steven’s about to get spanked. Do you want to call your dad or get it with Steven?"

"Are you going to tell him about the game?"

"You mean if I spank you?"

He looked up at me, his eyes pleading, as he nodded.

"No. When I take you home tomorrow, we’ll stop and return it so there’ll be no reason to tell him. Sound fair?"

A small, pitiful sound escaped him, as if he were protesting the futility of the whole thing, but he nodded again.

"Okay, then, let’s get this over with. You two come here."

I don’t know when it had been revealed to him, but Dillon obviously knew the routine for punishment in my house and walked straight over to me, starting to lift the bottom of his shirt up his chest. Steven, also knowing the drill, had delayed long enough to remove the camp shirt he was wearing and was already lifting his undershirt as he stepped over to me. With Steven, practice makes perfect apparently.

"Dillon," I told him after looking at his long-sleeved, red and blue striped rugby shirt for a second, "that thing’s too long. Go ahead and take it off, please."

It didn’t seem to matter to him. I doubt being bare-chested was what worried him.

Dillon’s isn’t exactly a good-looking boy—not by my standards, at least. He’s still a few months shy of sixteen but is pretty mature physically, though not yet full grown. That’s not to say he’s ugly; it’s just that he’s at an awkward point of mid-adolescence where he’s no longer cute, but hasn’t quite made the transition to what I expect will be handsome.

Dillon wears his hair pretty short, almost in a standard bowl cut, with bangs hanging loosely down onto his forehead. His hair is a very dark brown; so dark it actually looks black, unless you see it under a bright light. His eyebrows are the same color and are thick without quite managing to be shaggy. His nose is a bit too big for his face—too wide really—but I think he’s going to grow into it. The lines from his nose to the corner of his mouth are rather pronounced, especially when he breaks into one of his wide grins, revealing his even, toothpaste-commercial white teeth. Actually it’s that grin—the grin and a twinkle in his dark brown eyes—that defy everything else and prove that he’s still really a boy.

I’ve seen Dillon in briefs and boxers a number of times since Steven started at BCA and they became friends, so wasn’t surprised by the firm body revealed as he lifted his shirt off. Dillon’s very active—not just taking the required P.E. class at school, but also playing baseball and soccer for the Bransom Youth Association. He still has a boy’s build, though he’s starting to fill out. He’s got a definite waist, a bit of hips, and while his chest and shoulders are still lean, he has good definition to his pecs, and the crease of his chest continues down to a firm, flat belly.

While visiting his parents, I’ve seen pictures of Dillon when he was younger, and he was a definite cutie. To be honest, I no longer find him as attractive as I do Steven, who’s still boyish—lean without being hard. Dillon’s worst offense to my sense of aesthetics is that he’s hairy. His legs are pretty thick with it, there’s a thin line of hair starting to climb from his waistband towards his navel, and this evening, he even had a little black fuzz at the corners of his lips.

Physically attractive or not, physically mature or not, emotionally Dillon was still a boy… a boy I cared for, and a boy in need of discipline. By the time he had the shirt off and had tossed it back to the bed where it lay atop Steven’s shirt, Steven was standing beside him, and both boys shared an aura of dread as they awaited the inevitable.

"Hands behind your back, Dillon," I instructed him, as I reached up and began to unfasten his belt. He obeyed, but winced as he felt my hands near his privates. As soon as Dillon’s fly was loose, I turned my attention to Steven, who just stood there, knowing what was going to happen and knowing that resistance was futile.

I started to turn back to Dillon once I had Steven’s pants unfastened, but decided it would be easier to let him watch my procedure. When I slid Steven’s jeans towards his stocking clad feet, he let go of his shirt and put his hands on my shoulders to balance himself as he stepped out of them. As soon as his jeans were off, I turned to Dillon.

I slid my fingers around the waistband of his jeans, then pushed them down over his rear, before grabbing the sides and running them down his legs. As the waistband hit his thighs, it became obvious that Dillon was not only more hard-bodied than his friend, but the pouch of his briefs suggested he was better hung as well.

Dillon wasn’t quite as proficient at letting me pull his jeans off as Steven, who’s had a lot of practice lately, but we got them off without him falling on his rear. As I had with Steven’s, I folded Dillon’s jeans a couple of times, then tossed them onto the bed. Then I reached for his briefs.

Dillon flinched, jerking away from me, but stopped before he cleared a whole step. I just looked up and met his eyes. He made a small, strangled noise in his throat, looked away, then stepped back. Once he was back in position, rather than reaching for his briefs again, I patted his hip.

"You two kneel down here," I said, gesturing at the floor right in front of me. Both of them complied, lowering themselves to their knees and sitting back on their heels.

"I’m sure that if we have to do this, you’d rather get it over with; and I know you both know what you did was wrong and why, so I don’t think we need a big, long lecture. However, there are a couple of things I think I should say to you."

I paused to make sure both boys were looking at me, then reached out and placed a hand on each boy’s outside shoulder, just where it meets the neck, resting it for a second, then rubbing and lightly squeezing, trying to reassure them. I glanced into their eyes for a moment.

I was really worried about both boys, but not because of their recent behavior. I’ve known boys to go through spells like this. Often, as it was last year with Danny, it’s a last burst of childish will before they settle down and start truly growing into adulthood. What worried me was what I saw in those eyes.

Both boys were worried—maybe even scared—of the upcoming punishment, but there was more than that. Steven’s eyes revealed traces of disgust and self-hatred. I’m sure he couldn’t understand why he’d been in so much trouble, why he couldn’t ‘act like an adult’, and it was really bothering him. With Dillon, it was simpler than that. The normal twinkle in his eyes was replaced by a vulnerability, a question of whether he was really a good kid, or if he was going to make everyone stop loving him with his mistakes.

I leaned forward and talked quietly. I wanted them to understand, not just by my words, that I wasn’t condemning them.

"You guys are both nearly adults now…."

"Hey!"

"Sorry, Steven. Technically, you are an adult. The point is, maybe you guys are too old to be spanked. Maybe your dad," I said, nodding at Dillon, "and I should be trying something else. I don’t think either one of you wants to spend all your time grounded though, do you?"

They both shook their heads, knowing that grounding would only be better in the short run.

"Maybe we’ve been treating you guys too much like little kids. Let me ask you this, though: do either one of you think you’ve been acting real mature lately?"

No head shakes this time, but that’s only because they were both too embarrassed to answer.

"I’m not going to take it easy on you; but I hope you both know that I’m not doing this because I’m mean or because I’m mad at you. I’m sure not doing it because I’m upset about a dent in my fender. The fact is that… Steven, I couldn’t love you any more if I’d known you all your life."

He’d been studying the carpet again, but now looked up at me, his eyes wide, as though I’d never said that to him before. I guess I hadn’t—not in that way.

"Dillon, I don’t know you as well as I do Steve, but I do know that you’re really a good kid and that I like you a lot."

Dillon had looked towards Steven but now was looking at me, and I felt a lot better because some of the hurt was gone from both their eyes. They were still scared, but now of the upcoming punishment, not on such an emotional level.

"There are things that you can get by with just knowing, but there are also things that you have to understand," I told them, confusing them both. I took hands from shoulders and reached up to tap each boy on the forehead.

"You can know things here," I explained, "but you have to know them here," I said dropping my hands down to rest on their bare chests where I could feel their hearts beating out a rapid, nervous tempo, "before they’ll really do you any good. Sometimes knowledge doesn’t do you any good unless you can feel it; and what you have to feel right now is that actions have consequences."

Steven slumped a bit, since he’d heard the lecture before. I had their attention right then, but neither boy was in any shape to concentrate for long about anything but how sore they were soon going to be. Instead of the full thing, I pointed out that both of them had recent actions (minor in possession of tobacco and unauthorized use of a motor vehicle) that were not exactly legal, and that they were really lucky to be getting off with a sore bottom and some embarrassment. I made them talk to me for a few seconds, as we talked about all the ways rules and laws affected adults, then I pointed out the penalties adults faced. It took about three minutes, and both boys were beginning to fidget, so I cut it short.

"I think you both know the real reason I’m disappointed in you and why you’re in trouble, so hop up and let’s get this over with."

Now that the lecture was over, they weren’t really in such a hurry anymore. Both boys climbed reluctantly to their feet. I waited for Steven, then reached over and slid his briefs down and off, then reached over and did the same for Dillon.

With Steven standing about 5’6" and weighing maybe 125 pounds, I think it’s fairly clear he’s never going to be real big. With a hard-on, I think he’s only about four inches, and he doesn’t have much more body hair than a twelve or thirteen year old kid, just a pubic bush that’s not yet spread to his sac. He mostly accepts it, but you could tell he was suffering an extra bit of embarrassment with Dillon being there. I think the fact that he’d never been spanked in front of anyone but his little brother was a lot of it; but the fact that Dillon, who was three-and-a-half years younger than him not only had more hair and a better-developed body, but also was obviously better hung, would have been enough anyway.

Dillon was uncut, which is fairly rare around here, but it didn’t look bad on him. He was long and thick enough that the foreskin didn’t quite cover the tip of the head. His balls were a decent size and hung down barely lower than the head of his penis. The skin around those was a darker brown than elsewhere. His hair was thick. Where Steven’s was a flat little brush, Dillon’s was forming a loose diamond, spreading to both sides and starting to climb towards his belly button.

With Dillon naked and Steven close to it, I leaned back and looked at them for just a second before deciding to pass off my next decision.

"Dillon, I think it’s easier when two boys are getting spanked together for the boy who goes first. Because of that, I normally let the younger or smaller boy, or the visitor go first. You are a guest, but I’ve got a problem this time."

"Steven could have avoided all this just by not stopping when you asked, but you did ask, and you knew you guys were supposed to come straight here. Further, the reason you asked him to stop was so that you could do something you weren’t supposed to do. To top that off, you’re ol… bigger than Steven. I’m thinking I should let Steven go first this time. Can you think of a reason I should let you have the easier spot?"

He thought about it for a second, clearly wanted to come up with something but couldn’t, and finally said so.

"Come here, Steven."

"Do you want me to get my paddle?" Steven asked.

"We’re not going to need it yet."

Steven sobbed because he knew what that meant. Dill just looked confused since he apparently didn’t know exactly how we used the two different paddles hanging in his friend’s room.

Steven honestly didn’t look too happy about the favor I was doing him, but when I motioned again, he stepped to my side and draped himself across my lap.

Steven has become more active since moving in with me, and he doesn’t carry much extra weight, but he’s not exactly athletic. His little rear is wonderful. It’s nicely rounded, both to the rear and side-to-side, and has only mild dimples unless he’s really tensing. Like most everywhere else, it’s still baby smooth. I ran my hand across both cheeks, but only for a second before beginning the first part of his spanking.

My hand came up and down, slowly at first, but slightly increasing the tempo as I went. I didn’t bother with any type of pattern, just trying to keep the redness building fairly evenly. Steven usually doesn’t have much trouble with hand spankings and was able to stay fairly still as his bottom and upper legs moved from white to pink to rose. As the heat built, he started to squirm a bit, and a yelp or two escaped his lips as I caught a sensitive spot. Except for a couple of quiet sobs that he couldn’t quite stifle, he was pretty quiet.

When his bottom was the shade of red I wanted, not quite a true red yet, I helped him up and called Dillon to take his place. Dillon, used to his father’s belt, didn’t seem too concerned.

Dillon hasn’t been over someone’s lap in a while, so I had to help him into position, but he didn’t fight me. While the backs of his legs weren’t too hairy, the hair in his crack was obvious and starting to spread to his cheeks, though it wasn’t yet thick there. Actually, as I ran my hand across the cheeks, he wiggled, as if my hand stirring the hairs tickled him as much as it did my hand. Tickling wasn’t something he was going to have to worry about long, though.

I can’t say Dillon took the hand spanking better than Steven had, just differently. While I didn’t draw any yelps from Dillon, he was actually wiggling more than Steven had. At one point, his hand came up from in front of him, and he only managed to stop it just before he covered himself.

"Hurt more than you thought it would, Dillon?"

"It stings," he protested, a little dampness evident in his voice.

I finished Dillon off with a swift flurry of spanks that left him rosy, bordering on red, then let him up. He started to reach behind him, but I cut him off.

"No rubbing, Dillon," I said, even as I was turning the chair to face the wall. "Would you go get the leather paddle, please? Steven, come here."

Now Dillon realized why the hand spanking hadn’t been a good thing, and his body screamed reluctance as he made his way towards the door where the two paddles hung. I glanced at Steven, who was just standing there, tears starting to trickle down his face.

"C’mon, Steven, let’s just get it over with."

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, but started towards me.

The back of the chair isn’t very high, but Steven still has to go up on his tiptoes just a bit to grab the front of the seat and keep his legs spread a little. I made sure he was in the proper position, then turned to Dillon.

Taking the paddle from him, I said, "See how Steven is right now? That’s exactly how I’m going to want you when it’s your turn."

I waited for his nod, then hefted the paddle a couple of times and stepped up behind Steven. I’d thought about this and changed my mind a couple of times, but had to commit now.

"I could argue about one of you driving, or it being the other’s idea. I could say one of you’s older or one of you’s bigger. The fact is, you’re both just about equally guilty, though. You’ll each get fifteen swats in groups of five."

I’d been lining the paddle up while I spoke. Without awaiting any acknowledgement, I let the first swat land. Steven grunted, but quietly, like he’d managed to clench his jaw on the sound. The second swat fell right below the first, and brought a louder noise, then it sounded like he was panting. I guess the third fell before he could catch his breath because he let out a loud yowl with that one. When the fourth swat landed, he’d definitely started crying. The first four swats had all landed on his bottom, but the fifth came down across his upper thighs, and his response was somewhere between a sob and a howl.

I waited a minute, then took his shoulder and pulled him up. He was moving slowly and reached for his rear as soon as he was on his feet. Steven was the first boy on whom I’d used that little leather paddle, but I’d used it before, and even taken a test swat or two. It’s not very big (only about fourteen inches long and two wide) and didn’t hurt like a hard, heavy paddle would (not long term at least), but it had a lot more sting hidden in it than you’d expect, so I could imagine how bad Steven wanted to rub right then. Still, I wanted him to get full value for his problems, so…

"No rubbing, Steven. Get those hands on your head."

Tears were flowing down his face, but he managed to obey me, though he was mincing around, obviously trying to work some of the sting out.

"Your turn, Dillon; come on."

The boy reluctantly moved over to the chair and took position. I started to have him spread his legs a bit, then realized that his balls were already slipping back a bit, so I ended up having him move his legs a bit closer together.

With no more warning than I’d given Steven, the paddle fell across the upper slope of Dillon’s rear end. He shrieked and started to come up. I rested my hand on the small of his back.

"Stay down and let’s get this over with, Dillon. Move your hand now."

I waited a moment while the hand stayed over his left buttock, thought about cracking him on the leg, or even the hand, but decided to give him one more chance.

"Let’s not make this harder than it already is, Dill. Put your hand back on the seat."

Slowly, reluctantly, his hand moved back in front of him. I lined up and brought the paddle down again and again and again. He took those next swats better than he had the first—better than Steven had, actually. I guess he’d just been shocked by how different the stiff leather paddle felt from his dad’s leather belt.

The fifth swat fell across his upper legs, and he did howl for that one, but came up when I touched his shoulder. Tears were trickling down his face, but he wasn’t in quite as bad shape as Steven.

I gestured to Steven, who groaned but moved back to the chair. As soon as he was in position, I brought the paddle down again, but this time started lower on the swell of his cheeks. I kept the same tempo—slow, but not glacial—but brought only the first three swats down on his cheeks, landing the fourth on his legs, and snapping the last across his sit spots. He was howling with each swat and crying hard before I helped him up.

As soon as Steven cleared the chair, I turned back to Dillon and gestured him back into place. He shook his head.

"Now, Dillon."

"No, Jack. Please, no more. I’m sorry."

"I am too, Dill, but we need to get this finished. Come here."

He shook his head again.

"Do I need to call your father?"

The tears that had been leaking were now flowing freely. He whimpered a bit but didn’t respond. Then I remembered something he’d told me about his whippings at home.

"Would it be better for you over the bed?"

He thought for a second and didn’t look very convinced, but nodded. At that, I pointed towards the bed. He walked, slowly and carefully, over to it and laid himself across the side, far enough up to bring his feet off the floor. I lifted the strap, then stopped and looked at Steven. When he saw me looking, I pointed at the bed. He just shrugged, so I gestured for him to move around to the other side.

As Steven was taking his place next to Dillon from the other side, close enough that their heads were almost on each other’s shoulders, I lifted the paddle. He got the same basic treatment that Steven had, though I was having to be careful with my swings since the angle was different and I had more room to swing. I managed to do it without leaving any bruises, but the boy was still crying loud and hard when the last swat cut across those tender spots where bottom meets legs.

I came around to Steven. He was still crying, but when he saw me coming around for his last set, it got louder, and you could tell he was barely holding onto his self-control. He lost it when the first swat cracked down across his sit spots. The second was worse, cracking down almost entirely on the left leg, and even digging a bit into the sensitive inner thigh. He nearly came up then, but collapsed forward when I gently placed my hand in the small of his back. He was thrashing around though, as I walked around him and placed another swat onto his sit spots, then onto the right leg. Only the last swat landed on his lower bottom. He was bawling hard and loud, sobbing so hard he was having trouble breathing, but collapsed onto the bed, giving up his struggles, as he saw me moving away.

Steven’s reactions hadn’t been any help in calming Dillon, and the boy was crying harder now than when I’d finished with him. He started to roll up as I moved behind him, his hands reaching to cover himself, when Steven reached forward and grabbed the other boy’s elbows. Dillon looked at him for a second, then grabbed Steven’s arms and shoved his own face into the bedspread.

Though it was muffled, Dillon shrieked at every swat of the paddle. He managed to control himself a bit better than Steven had (or was maybe just too sore to thrash that much), but his feet were beating a rapid beat against the carpet as he scooted around.

Both boys were limp on the bed, their hair damp, and still crying loudly enough to hear plainly though they were both face down on the bed. I stepped over to the door and hung the paddle, then went back to them.

Dillon was closest, so I helped him to his feet. I started to pull him into a hug, but he jerked away from me. It hurt but was understandable, so I told him to put his hands atop his head and walked around to Steven.

Steven let me pull him up, but then clung to me as I wrapped him in my arms. After a minute, I started walking him towards the corner. I saw Dillon standing there, looking at us, and opened my left arm, shifting Steven to the right. This time he came to me. I held both boys for a minute, while hard sobs shook them both, then let Steven go, and told him to go on to the corner. I held Dillon just another moment, giving him my whole attention for a bit, before sending him to join his friend.

The two bottoms were an interesting study. They’d both been rosy when I finished the hand spanking, but now both were very red, even where the paddle-strap hadn’t landed. Where it did, in long, two-inch wide sections, they were crimson. As their crying died, they both began flexing their cheeks, bending their legs, doing what they could to ease the burn and pain without drawing more trouble upon themselves. Finally, after a long fifteen minutes, in which their bawling calmed to crying, then died away to sobs, before finally fading all together, I called them out.

"Put on your shorts, then come here."

Both boys slid into their jockeys, then came, and much to my amusement, knelt in front of me again though they weren’t nearly as supple this time.

"You two sore?"

Both heads nodded emphatically at the stupid question.

"As sore as you were when you finished crying?"

Two heads shook, their curiosity at where I was going evident.

"I’ll bet you’re not half as sore as when I was giving those last few pops; are you?"

This time the shakes were emphatic.

"And that’s the good thing about a spanking."

"Huh?’ Dillon replied wittily.

"He means," Steven supplied for me, "that it’s already over."

"Right. We’re going to remember this—and if you ever pull something like this again, you’re going to hope you don’t live to regret it—but we’re going to put it behind us. You’ve paid your bill, you accepted your consequences, and I hope you’ve learned something from it. Now it’s done and we can move on. Okay?"

"Okay," both boys agreed.

"Good. I’m going to go check on dinner. Why don’t you two wash your faces, get something to drink, then you can get dressed and come downstairs. If you’d rather," I added, cutting off any protests, "you can stay in your briefs and stay up here until dinner’s ready. Which do you prefer?"

"Keeping anything else off my butt right now," Dillon assured me with no hesitation at all.





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