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3 D.A.D.s / 3 BOYS - Part 5

Chapter Five: D.A.D. (George Kolka) / boy (Jeff Clements)

George Kolka had to admit that there was a certain satisfaction in drubbing a
big, broad, round behind like his son Jeff's.   Although Jeff looked
somewhere between twelve and fourteen (the longevity treatments extended pre
and early adolescence by nearly a decade) he was nineteen years old.
However, despite the life experience, he still had the developmental
chemistry of a boy and he howled and kicked in abandon as his backside was
SPANKED.

George smiled around his pipe stem and puffed out a cloud of smoke. "I could
wallop this boy 's hienie all day and night," he thought. "He's not some
wimpy little splinter of a kid who's ass turns black and blue as soon as you
take good care of it.....this kid's got a butt that's made for SPANKING!!"

George knew, from doing his research, that Jeff had only been spanked once.
When he was seven, a matron in the Youth Center had given it to him when he
put a firecracker into her apron pocket.

As he continued to pound the boy's dimpled rear, George could imagine his son
bare bottom over the woman's lap, his pants turned down to his knees, and the
woman trying - in vain - to make an impression on this boy 's well-padded
posteriors.   Her hand had undoubtedly worn out long before Jeff's fanny had.

However, George Kolka was no lady matron. He had been a big, brawny arm of
the law before being trained by D.A.D. Now he was an amazing figure of
manhood. He was a bear-like in size (over six foor five and 250 lbs. of
muscle), had thin, but neatly ombed, red hair and an enormous moustache that
covered his upper lip and framed the sides of his mouth.   He was an avid
pipe smoker, who also enjoyed a good, fat cigar, and he had arms that made
Popeye's impressive forearms look like rubber bands.

"This boy's hienie," George thought, studying the warm, red beach ball under
his hand, "needs either my razor strop or a good, thick switch, and if I keep
wailing him in this alley, and he keeps yellin' his fool head off, we're
gonna gather a crowd."

With that, and with only a moment's pause in his walloping, George Kolka hit
the omnicomp remote and transported himself, his roaring son, and the box
they were sitting on to a shed on the Kolka homestead.

It was a woodshed!

The same woodshed in which a much younger George Kolka had shed his tears
while his papa, Yanush, had worn him out with a buggy whip he kept along with
other favorite tools of chastisement.

Jeff stopped roaring when the transportation took place and now he turned his
head and strained to look at the man who had been wacking his rear end so
long and so hard.

Jeff blubbered, "W-who are ya? (sniff) And where are we, huh?"

George slid his hand between Jeff's legs and thoughtfully adjusted the boy 's
penis and balls, which were getting pretty mashed. Jeff wiggled a little,
but he was more concerned with whether or not this guy was going to beat him
any more than with a second of intimacy.

George held Jeff in place with one arm and took his pipe out of his mouth
with the other hand. He pointed the pipe stem at his own chest. "I'm your
Papa, kid," he said. "Legal and government approved. You know what that
means?"

Jeff shook his head and then wiggled. "No....Heh, let me up, mister, huh?"

"Not a chance, tot," Kolka said, hanging the pipe back in his jaw. "It means
that you are my son, and this..." He walloped Jeff's backside again; the boy
howled like a dog.
"This.....is mine!   You step out of line, and we go out to the old woodshed,
and I'll have you bawlin' like a runt pig. Understand?"

Jeff tried to look around the shed. It was hard to do that when your were
lying across some big old policeman's lap. But he saw piles of wood, a
workbench with tools, and a wall hung with various leather straps, sticks and
what looked like big scrub brushes. Jeff felt an uncomfortable awareness
prickle in the back of his head. Although he had never seen these things
before, it seemed as though some primal memory had been stirred by the sight.

George puffed his pipe and followed the boy's line of vision. "Yep, those
are what I'll use, if you need it.   How come you were hangin' out with those
bums?"

Jeff thought for a moment and did what he often did, he lied. "Naw!" he said
expansively. "Those kids were always followin' me around. Especially
Walski, he really looks up to me. And that little kid, Peter, I'm like his
big brother, yeah!"

George shook his head, and without a word, whammed Jeff's backside, right at
the softest spot near the bottom, about forty times (twenty to each side).
Jeff threw his head back, shut his eyes, and howled!

"You've got to be one of the biggest liars I've ever met, son," George Kolka
said, "and my daddy had a cure for lying. It was called 'tenderizing the
tender spot.'"

With tears running down his face, Jeff tried to see what George was going to
do, but where George's meathood-hand went next, Jeff couldn't hope to see.

Resting his left arm heavily on Jeff's back, George used the fingers of his
left hand to part the cheeks of Jeff's brawny backside completely opening to
view the boy's rectum. Then George held his palm out horizontally and began
to smack that small round orifice hard.

"YOW!" Jeff screamed. He kicked as much as he could and tears jettisoned
from his eyes.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

The Bear's palm spanked the boy's pucker hole and as it grew cherry red, it
seemed to pout and swell until it looked like a red flower bud.

Jeff swung his head from side to side and bawled loudly, but the man was
evidently very determined, because he held the boy's buttocks wide open and
walloped away until that private spot had taken on the aspect of a purple
grape.   Then, George concentrated his spanking on the tender skin to the
sides of the boy's rectum and didn't stop smacking them until it was red and
shiney.

"I oughta dose you with a ladle of castor oil, junior," George said, "and
when you took that bowel movement, you'd know what hurting was.....that'd
teach you not to lie in a hurry, but I guess I'll take it a little easy on
you....this time. Anyway, I'm determined that you get a taste of the strap.
Your hienie needs more than the hand to get it tenderized right."

George Kolka took Jeff's by the ear, as he had back in the alley, and raised
the yelling boy ("Shoot, this kid has lungs of steel!") up off of his knees.
He pulled him over to the wall, where George chose a broad, heavy razor
strop and took it down from it's hook.

Instead of seating himself again, George just tucked Jeff under one arm,
braced his leg over some stacked wood, and bent the boy against his raised
leg. This caused more howling and lifted Jeff's butt into a nice round,
prominant target.

"Now here's the word of the law, junior," George said, biting his pipe stem.
"I'm a papa with a good heart, and I think I'll like havin' a boy like you to
raise, but I'm real old-fashioned. And when a boy doesn't follow my rules,
I punish him.   If it's here at home, I'll take you out to the ole woodshed
and bare your bottom. But even if we're on a busy street in the city; if you
need spankin'....I'll spank ya! I don't care if the whole world sits down to
watch, your backside needs baring and papa'll bare it!

'You play any games with any other people, like you did when your robbed that
store, and I'll deliver you to the people you wronged and let them work over
your hienie for an hour or so.   I won't cut you any slack, boy, NONE! Obey
and be happy, or disobey and get beat! It's your choice. Now, here's what
my razor strap feels like."

And George Kolka gave Jeff Clemens a good, sound stropping.

When it was done, Jeff's behind positively glowed and leaning over, George
could see the reflection of his face, and even his pipe, in the boy's taught
and shiny buttocks.

Jeff had gone even more primitive when the stropping had started and George
had, more than once, considered sticking something in the kid's mouth, but he
hadn't and had only carried on with the strop.

Finally, as with all spanked children, Jeff had collapsed in his father's
unyielding embrace and had stopped roaring and merely sobbed through the rest
of his licking.

When it was done. George released Jeff who didn't even attempt to move. He
just stood with his pant around his ankles and cried.

George hung the strop back on the wall and took down a long handled wooden
scrub brush with a large paddle and long thick bristles.

"Next time, junior," George said holding the brush up to Jeff's tear-streaked
face, "and you'll feel this.....both sides!!"

George knelt and told Jeff to lift his feet. The boy looked down and saw the
policeman pulling his pants over his shoes and completely removing them.

"No pants!" George Kolka said. "I don't trust you, junior. And...." he
started. He reached for the wall and took down a long (perhaps twelve feet)
leather thong. He lifted Jeff's shirt and tied it around the boy's waist
with a loop-knot at Jeff's back. Then he drew the thong between his son's
chubby thighs and.....to Jeff's red-faced embarrassment.....tied it around
the boy's scrotum. Jeff's penis involuntarily sprang into an erection and
stayed that way. Meanwhile, George attached the end of the thong to the belt
around his own waist.

"You won't be doing any running away now, will ya son?" George Kolka said and
he grinned menacingly at Jeff. Jeff looked down at his nearly hairless dick
and balls circled with leather.   Jeff felt like a dog on a leash, but much,
much more vulnerable and exposed.

"Hey, mister....please...ya can't do this. I need my pants!" The last words
were said in a wail and George responded by giving a quick little tug to the
thong.

Jeff yelped and then shut his mouth.

"See what happens when you open a big mouth, boy. And my name is not
'Mister.' You'll call me Papa or I'll give you a taste of that brush right
now!"

Jeff's eyes widened and he looked at the big brush, with its heavy bristles,
hanging on the wall.

"Uh, yes Papa. I mean, I will, Papa," the boy stammered.

"Okay, then, let's go into the house."

George Kolka tamped the dottle out of his pipe and put it back in his mouth.
He lead Jeff, bare and leashed, out of the woodshed and across a darkening
yard to a nice-looking ranch house.

As they crossed the yard, George thought that Jeff was not going to be an
easy boy to bring around. He wasn't, perhaps the smartest kid in the world,
or he might simply have become a learned follower.

In any case, George Kolka would have to use Discipline, Devotion and some
good planning to bring the boy around.   But he would do it. There was no
question about it.

(to be continued)