3 D.A.D.s / 3 BOYS - Part 7

Author: Writer8322@aol.com

Chapter 7: Picking Peaches and Public Chastisement

Here are the things that Peter liked about going to the peach orchard with his D.A.D.:

1. riding on James’ motorcycle and speeding down bumpy country roads

2. all the activity of the other biker D.A.D.s and their sons at the orchard - there was a real harvest spirit with lots of laughing and joke-telling (most of it dirty!!)

3. how James put his arm around Peter and introduced him with real pride, "Hey! This is my son, Peter!"

4. eating peaches

5. the promise of baking a peach pie back home

Here is what Peter hated about going to the peach orchard with his D.A.D.:

1. WORKING

Peter had a very well-developed manipulation-ethic; he did not have a good work ethic at all.

While he really did like the atmosphere at the orchard; lots of big tough men like James, all having a good time with their sons (most of whom had also had their heads balded by their fathers), lugging baskets of peaches from one area to another was exhausting.

Peter didn’t mind climbing the trees, even though he still felt self-consciously exposed in his leather shorts, to pick the peaches, but full baskets got very heavy.

When a basket was really full, then Peter would have to carry it to a drop off spot while they picked and filled another basket.

James seemed tireless. His extraordinary D.A.D. stamina, coupled with the fact that he did have a great work ethic, made him a force to behold. Muscles bulging, he carried basket after basket to the drop-off point and them marched back to start on another.

Several times, Peter slumped beneath a tree to rest. James always let him take the shade for a few minutes, then he would playfully pinch his son’s ear and say, "Alright, boy, get your leather-sheathed butt back in action." Usually, he would give Peter a playful, but stinging, swat on his rear end to punctuate this command, and Peter would sigh and carry on.

But, it reached a time when Peter began to get irritated and his manipulative instincts surged to the fore. While James was busy picking peaches, Peter snuck over to another preoccupied D.A.D. and son and pinched their already filled basked of peaches. Then Peter dragged it to the drop-off point.

Two more times, Peter was able to pull the same swindle and by that time, James decided that they had more than enough to enjoy fresh peaches, can a whole bunch, and still be able to bake a couple of fresh pies.

James clamped his big hand on Peter’s shoulder and hugged the hot, sweaty boy close to him. He planted a bearded kiss on the top of Peter’s nearly-bare head and said, "I’m proud of you, son, you did a good day’s work. Now let’s get to the drop-off point and get a ride back to the cycle."

A haywagon made regular stops at the drop off point. D.A.D.s and sons loaded their peach baskets on the wagon, hopped on themselves and got a ride to the orchard parking lot.

Peter was a little nervous when they started loading their baskets onto the wagon, because a few feet away a boy with an earring was complaining to his tatooed D.A.D. that one of their baskets had disappeared.

James turned and listened abstractedly, but he was mostly involved in lifting their baskets onto the wagon. His abstraction was broken, however, when the earring-boy suddenly grabbed his arm and said, "Hey, sir, excuse me, but that’s our basket!"

"What?!"

"Yes. Dad look!" the earring boy said to his father. "There’s the place where someone wrote Sid on the handle."

Sure enough, on the handle of the basket, someone had written "Sid" in black marker.

James turned and froze Peter with a look that immediately started the boy shaking. "It’s their basket isn’t it, boy?" James demanded.

"No!" Peter said, trying to sound cool and surprised. "I don’t know."

James’ hand shot out and Peter’s ear was in a painful twist grip between James thumb and forefinger.

"Aah! Dad-dy, pleeeze!"

"You took their basket didn’t you, son?" James demanded, while Peter writhed in his grip.

"We had a basket taken too," another boy said. Peter was too busy struggling to see who had spoken.

"Yeah, Jim, my boy said one of ours was missing as well," a man with a drooping moustache put in.

James leaned down and looked into his son’s face, "You took those baskets, didn’t you, son?"

"No....uh...I...." Peter had a hard time remaining calm under James’ blue-eyed stare.

Suddenly, Peter felt James hand going for his backside.

"Wha......!!"

James took hold of the zipper that attached attached the seat of the leather shorts to the rest of the pants and unzipped it with one fluid motion. A large square of leather came off and Peter was bare ass in the peach orchard. Sounds of boyish laughter immediately greeted his exposure. Some biker D.A.D. could be heard saying, in obvious explanation to his boy, "His father’s going to give him a spanking."

James, still holding his son firmly by the ear marched him over to a boulder painted white, it was a road marker, and sat down on it. They he pulled Peter around to his left and hauled him across his knees.

"Alright Dads and son," James bellowed, while Peter struggled in his lap. "Since my son chose to shame himself and me by stealing from some of you, he’s going to get his lickin’ right here in public. I’m also going to ask those boys who had their baskets stolen to step up and identify themselves."

Three boys stepped forward eagerly. They had all sorts of hopes for what this might portend.

"Okay, lads," James said, his voice good-natured over what Peter recognized as real anger, "I’m going to give this boy a tail warming that he won’t soon forget, and then I’m going to give each of you a chance to punish him for stealing from you. So hang around."

James leaned over and said to Peter, "I’m ashamed, son, ashamed. And since my face is red, your be-hind is going to twice as red!"

James raised his palm and set to work on the round bottom that looked interestingly exposed and pale in contrast to the black leather shorts that framed it. The tightness of the shorts had the effect of making it look as thought Peter’s backside was absolutely popping out of them like a tight, round bubble. It gave James an enticing target for his palm to paddle.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

James’ hand beat a rapid-fire rhythm on Peter’s fanny that very soon had the boy kicking and yelling. Although Peter really tried hard not to cry, his humiliation and sense of exposure almost overwhelming him, the immediacy of James’ palm and the intense pain it created, quickly transcended that resolve. Peter’s eyes filled with tears and he started to cry.

One of the boys he had stolen from came around and knelt down next to him. While James’ hand rose and fell on the twin bubbles, the boy looked into Peter’s pain-etched, tear-streaked face and said, "You haven’t had a D.A.D. for long I can tell, otherwise you would never have pulled a stunt like this."

Peter glanced at the boy, but the hot wallops of his D.A.D.’s palm only engendered more bawling.

"Ooooh! Aaaah! (sob)"

The boy kneeling in front of Peter shook his head. Then he reached out and , not unkindly rubbed the top of Peter’s head, "You’ll learn bro, you’ll learn. Your D.A.D. knows what’s good for ya. You remember to thank him for spankin’ ya. My D.A.D. gives me extra if I don’t." Then the boy got up and left Peter to his misery.

James was not just teaching Peter a lesson this time, he was genuinely angery, and his hand had soon turned Peter’s backside a bright, angry red. But he wasn’t done.

He lifted Peter off of his lap and then grabbed his around the waist and picked him up off the ground. The eighteen year old hung in his father’s grip as his father carried him across the grass with a crowd of cheering, laughing and rapidly talking Men and boys behind him.

"What’s he gonna do," a boy yelled to his father.

"Lower your voice," the D.A.D. responded, "or you’ll be next!"

"I thought we were gonna get a chance to punish him," one of the boys who had stepped forward complained. His answer was three loud wallops on the seat of his seat bys his D.A.D. and then Peter heard the father say, "Do you want more? Do you?"

"N-no," the boy said, just keeping himself from tears by a prayer.

"Then don’t you act like a wise-guy, brat!"

By this time, James had reached his targeted destination. A large peach tree with low heavy branches.

James lifted Peter up and draped him over a branch with his head facing away from the crowd and his red exposed bottom, ballooning out of the missing square of his leather shorts, facing the crowd. Peter felt the branch pressing into his crotch and kicked his legs. Laying suspended over the tree branch with the bare bottom facing the crowd of D.A.D.s and boys was horrible. A new flood of tears filled Peter’s eyes and ran down his face. The humiliation was horrible.

"Please Daddy," he pleaded. "Please take me down."

James didn’t respond. Holding Peter in place with one hand, he snapped off a thin supple branch and handed it to someone.

"Strip this for me, will ya, Pat?" James said.

There was a pause while Pat took out a pocket knife and expertly prepared the peach switch.

"Okay, you first," James said, indicating one of the boys who had been stolen from. He handed the boy the peach switch. "You can give him ten good one on his hienie, but keep your licks to the middle of his butt. I don’t want any broken skin."

"Did you hear that, Clyde," a D.A.D. said to his boy. "You mind James know or you know what will happen."

"Yes, Dad," the boy said submissively. "I’ll be careful."

"Okay, son," the Man said, "lick him good."

"NO!" Peter cried out.

The boy with the switch drew his arm back and laid into Peter.

Peter screamed. The switch was a good one and had been well prepared. It was just the right thickness and suppleness. The wood was moist and would not break the skin, but it provided a powerful sting and left angry red stripes on Peter’s already glowing backside.

".....7, 8, 9, 10!" the boy counted out.

The switch made a sound like "Fwit!" each time it was applied, and Peter bawled and kicked frantically, but James’ heavy hand seemed to say, "You aren’t going anywhere!"

"Next boy!" James said, taking the switch back.

A boy stepped up to take the switch. Unlike most of the other boys, he had blond hair that was so long that even pulled back in a pony tail, it fell almost to his waist. His D.A.D. liked his son with long hair, and took pains to shampoo and brush it every night. He was proud of his boy’s hair.

"Ten of the best," James instructed.

"Yes, sir," the boy said. He had a voice that was so deep that it resonated under the shade of the peach tree.

The boy did not start in on Peter immediately. He put one hand on Peter’s very sore bottom and patted it. Then he looked into Peter’s face. Peter saw that he was a much older boy. Age was always hard to tell, but the boy looked about twenty, so it was possible that he might even be thirty or older.

"I heard about you, Peter," the blond entoned in his bass voice. "We oughta get together and talk some other time, when I’m not in the position of whipping you. My background wasn’t so different from yours and maybe I can be like a big brother to you, kid. You sure look like you could use one."

The boy’s voice was so sincered that Peter stopped crying and just stared at him.

"I’m going to tan you hard, Peter," the boy said, "but I want you to know that it isn’t vindictive. I don’t give a shit about the peaches, but this stealing crap has got to stop. You’ve got a chance for a whole new life, and I hope this switching will serve as a good reminder to you that lots of Men and boys will help you to do the right thing."

The boy looked at James and said respectfully. "If it’s alright with you sir, I’ll hold Peter while I’m spankin’ him."

James nodded, lit a fresh cigar and stepped aside. The boy said, "My name is Dan, Peter, and I’m sorry that I have to switch you, but you’ve earned it bro."

Dan put his raw-boned hand across Peter’s back, held him in place and gave him a hard switching that made Peter scream with each cut of the switch.

When it was over, Dan patted Peter’s head and said, "Say ‘Thank you, big brother for caring about me.’"

Peter gasped and wailed, but Dan kept his hand on Peter’s head and waited. He knew Peter would do as he commanded and indeed, after a few seconds, Peter blubbered...."Th-thank you, b-big bro-ther for ca-ca-caring about me!" Then Peter opened his mouth and bawled like a baby.

"That’s all!" James said. He looked at the last boy, the one whose father had had to swat him. "My boy’s had enough."

"No problem, James," the boy’s D.A.D. said. He understood completely. "Come on, Ed," the Man said to his son, "let’s leave this Dad and son to their privacy."

The Man’s words seemed to be an injunction to everyone, because in less than thirty seconds, James and Peter were alone. James took Peter down and stood him on the ground. James put his hands on his hips and looked down at the blubbering boy who held on to his burning backside and just cried and cried.

Then, Peter looked up at James with a truly stricken face. James looked down at the boy and his face was calm and almost expressionless, studying his son’s expression. Peter looked confused and unhappy and then suddenly, and most surprisingly, the boy’s eyes opened wide with alarm and he said, "Daddy, please, help me!" and held out his arms.

James’ eyes blurred with tears and he grabbed Peter and swept him up into his arms.

The Father and son stood locked under the peach tree. The hay wagon took the rest of the D.A.D.s and sons back to the parking lot.

By the time it came back for James and Peter, they were standing side by side at the pick up point. James held his son close to his side, and Peter leaned against his Dad for support and strength. Peter Heller had been left behind on the branch of a peach tree, and Peter Lester was being taken home by his Father.

(to be continued)