3 D.A.D.s / 3 BOYS - Part 8

Author: Writer8322@aol.com

Chapter 8: Unleashing the Dog (Boy)

Jeff Clemens, who had been a boy once upon a shady time, now seemed to have taken on the role of dog to a bear-of-a-man he had to call Papa. Papa continued to keep his son on a short leash. The leash definitely established a bond between the giant policeman and his son, but it wasn’t the sort of bond that Jeff enjoyed. In truth, Jeff Clemens had never really bonded with anyone, but the ‘follower’ role he had played with Peter and Kenneth had not included being kept bare-ass or wearing a leather leash around his waist and balls. Papa Kolka had continued to insist that his son only wear a shirt, socks and shoes. Underwear and pants were no longer part of Jeff Clemens’ wardrobe-life. In addition, the thin leather leash that was tied to the most private part of the boy’s anatomy was firmly thethered to the thick leather belt that his father wore. Even at night, when they slept, George kept the belt fastened around his waist.

George and Jeff slept in the same bed and Jeff (although he had tried) was unable to unfasten the leather thong. If he had to go to the bathroom, a major event for both father and son, George accompanied the boy and stood over him while he did whatever it was he had to do. The same was true when events were reversed.

Meals were not pleasant for Jeff. After he had tried to use a kitchen knife to cut the thong, George had disallowed him table privileges. The boy sat on the floor sans eating utensils and had to eat out of a dog bowl. He was even dependent upon Papa to wipe the mess that quickly collected on his face. Sometimes, while they ate, George would reach down and tousle or pat the boy’s hair. In some odd way, Jeff relished the contact, because there was so little else that represented contact for him. No one had visited the Kolka household, and Jeff’s days consisted of lessons, meals, chores, trips to the bathroom and frequent spankings.

The spanking always meant a trip outside to the woodshed and that formal procession, which George Kolka always performed slowly and ceremonially were dreaded by Jeff.

After his initial woodshed indoctrination, the day he had arrived, Jeff had experienced four more trips to the yard. The first time he had gotten soundly switched for wetting the floor; Jeff had done it on purpose as a kind of dumb protest to the thong. The second time, Papa George had employed the brush, both the paddle and the bristles; this had been done when Jeff failed to scrub the kitchen floor to Papa’s standards. George had taken the boy across his lap and used the wooden side of the brush to black-and-blue Jeff’s rump. He had then reversed the brush and applied the bristles to the thoroughly tenderized skin. Jeff’s tail could take a lot of punishment and George had not rushed things.

The third and fourth trips to the woodshed had to do with the home-schooling that George was giving Jeff. Several hours each morning, and several hours each afternoon were dedicated to studying. George had not been and effortlelss student himself, so he was a patient and careful teacher. When the worked at math, George aways gave Jeff manipulatives to help him and when they read, George never hurried Jeff’s faltering decoding skills.

The punishments had not come from slowness, they had come from cheating! Twice, George had caught Jeff copying answers to homework assignments from a master sheet that George kept in his teacher’s edition.

"Son, I don’t mind if we have to go over things a million times," George said, as he marched the already blubbering Jeff across the yard to the waiting woodshed. "But I can’t abide a cheat!"

The first time Jeff was punished for cheating he had gotten whipped with a bundle of birch rods tied together with a leather strap. They had stung horrible and the branches had a way of curling into some very tender spots. Jeff had danced around clutching his smarting posterior for a long time after the birching.

The second time, George had spanked Jeff with a paddle he had made himself out of redwood. George had displayed a playful artistic streak when working on this implement and had painted a picture of a Dad with somewhat exaggeratedly large knees spanking triplet boys, all pants down, and draped over their father’s substantial lap. Under the picture, in German Gothic lettering, George had written "Das Hiney Heater." The three boys looked like the Katzenjammer Kids and took their spanking with enormous howling mouths and hundreds of little tears drops shooting out of their eyes. Their long-legged Papa looked very much like George Kolka himself, complete with big moustache and smoking pipe.

When Jeff had been drapped across George’s lap, and the paddle was briskly applied to his backside, George was almost amused at how Katzenjammer like Jeff became; mouth open and roaring as he always did. His tears too flooded the air.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

One afternoon, after Jeff had struggled with algebra for about an hour, George decided that they both needed a break.

"Come on, son," George said, getting up from their workspace, "let’s go out to the woodshed."

Jeff immediately opened his mouth and started wailing.

George quickly put his great hand on Jeff’s head and hugged the boy to him.

"No, no, Jeff, it’s not for punishment. I want to show you something out there."

Jeff did not look convinced, and although his Papa put his arm around the boy’s shoulder and kept reassuring him, Jeff whimpered as they walked across the yard.

"Criminey!" George thought with a mixture of satisfaction and surprise, "the boy sure has been programmed to respect the old shed!"

Just to reassure Jeff, George left the woodshed door open, something he never did for a spanking, and lead the boy to a small bench at the far wall of the shed. Jeff had never noticed this bench before and was surprised to see that it was covered with intricately carved chess pieces.

George had started teaching Jeff how to play chess, but the boy had a hard time remembering how the pieces moved.

"My Papa taught me how to carve," George said, filling his pipe from a leather tobacco pouch. He tamped the tobacco into the bowl with a large thumb and then lit the tobacco with a wooden safety match.

"How’d you like your own knife and for your Papa to show you how to carve?"

Jeff was staring at the intricately carved rook that George was holding. His eyes went back to the other chess pieces on the bench. These were the most wonderful things that Jeff had ever seen. He looked up at George.

"Yeah," he said grinning broadly, "yeah, I’d like that a lot!"

George smiled around his pipe and rumpled Jeff’s hair; then they got started.

Although he had no way of knowing for sure, George Kolka had had a sense that his son might have natural talent for carving. During the days he had observed the boy, he had noticed how he used his hands, and he had been right.

George and Jeff sat in close companionship for two hours and carved and carved. George chuckled once when he saw Jeff’s tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

Jeff looked up at the man when he heard him laugh and quizzically asked, "What?"

George took his pipe out of his mouth and the ends of his moustache moved apart as he smiled and showed his gleaming white teeth. George shook his head, "It’s nothin’ son, it’s just you." His eyes were warm as he looked into Jeff’s broad good-natured face. "Sometimes you fill your ole dad with delight."

Jeff saw it then; he saw something he had never seen before in his entire life. He saw a look of pride in George Kolka’s face; pride in him. In the nineteen years he had aped, immitated and followed others, Jeff had never earned that look from another human being. Jeff stopped smiling and just stared up into his father’s face.

George studied the boy a minute and then said, "Hold still, Jeff." He used his own knife to cut through the leather thong and then gently undid the loop knot from around Jeff’s scrotum.

"When we go back in the house, I’ll give ya some britches to wear," the policeman said. "Now let’s get back to our carving. You’ve got an amazing knight growing there."

Jeff looked down at the wood in his hands and then back up at George.

George saw, for the first time, a look of openness - mixed with a little confusion - in Jeff’s face. It was almost as if the boy had awakened from a long sleep and was disoriented.

"It’s okay, boy, just get back to your carving; it’s okay!"

The Man and the boy got back to work. After a minute, George was aware of a slight pressure on his arm; Jeff was gently leaning against him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That evening, Jeff was invited back to the table for dinner. "Might as well," George said, "your not hooked up to me anymore anyway."

After dinner, George gave Jeff a bath and while he was shampooing the boy’s hair he said, "You know, son, you have a genuine gift at carving. How’d you like to make some money with your talent?"

"How?" Jeff asked, wiping lather off of his face. George used his big hand to gently clear the boy’s face and then answered:

"When you finish you chess pieces, I’ll take you into town to a store that I think will probably be real happy to buy them from you."

"No kiddin’?"

"Nope," George said. "Boy! How do you get so much dirt in your ears?" George rigorously dug away with a washcloth, but Jeff hardly noticed; he was thinking how he couldn’t wait to get back to the woodshed and do more carving.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That night, Jeff had a hard time falling asleep. George, who was already fast asleep, was snoring, and this didn’t help matters.

Jeff looked at the large figure next to him. George was sleeping on his side and the boy looked at the big man’s face and his massive, hairy body and wondered what he was doing here.

"I wonder what Peter and Kenny are doing?" Jeff thought. "I wonder where they are?"

Jeff looked at George again. He called this man Papa, but was he really his father? Of course he wasn’t his real father, but what made someone your father? Jeff frowned and rolled over on his back. He wished he were asleep; he didn’t like thinking too much.

Through their bedroom widow, Jeff could see across the yard, and the moonlight shone down on the remote shape of the woodshed. Jeff looked at George again. He thought of those slow processionals to the shed and those painful sessions across Papa’s lap.

Jeff’s face burned against the pillow. He made a decision and silently slipped from the bed. He grabbed his clothes from a chair and tip-toed out to the living room where he shucked his pajamas and got dressed.

On a wooden cradenza, George’s and Jeff’s carving knives lay side by side. Jeff picked his up and tucked it in his back pocket. Then he opened the front door and slipped out into the yard.

It was not a quiet night. Crickets and cicadas made a lot of noise which drowned out the boy’s footsteps. Jeff stood in indecision for a moment and then started across the yard. He kept his eyes on the woodshed and thought about the spankings he had received there. He did it on purpose, because it fueled his resolve to run away.

Then, as he got closer, he had the unbidden image of the bench and the chess pieces that he and the Man were working on. All at once, Jeff remembered - and could not drive away - the picture of George Kolka’s face looking at him with pride.

Jeff stopped walking and sat down on the ground. His mind was filled with the Man’s eyes, his smile, the way his moustache framed his mouth. Jeff started to cry; not loudly, not howling, but quietly.

After a few minutes, the boy got up and walked back to the house. He let himself in and got undressed again and back into his pajamas.

He walked into the bedroom and shook George’s shoulder. The big man stirred and opened his eyes.

"What? What’s the matter son?" George sat up in bed, the covers sliding down and revealing his massive, muscled torso.

"I....I...started to run away," Jeff said. "I snuck out and was gonna run away."

George swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there holding Jeff by the arms.

"I didn’t know what to do...." Jeff stammered, unsure of what he really wanted to say. "I didn’t know....?" he finished with confusion.

"Why’d you come back?" George asked quietly.

"I don’t know," Jeff lied.

"I’m glad you didn’t run away, boy," George said in his deep voice, "but you shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have even left the house. I care about you, son, and if you got hurt or somethin’ happened....." he didn’t finish.

"I’m gonna have to punish you, Jeff," George said.

Jeff’s eyes filled with tears, but he just nodded. "Are ya....are ya gonna take me out to the shed?" the boy asked, his lips trembling.

"No," George said. "No, I don’t think we’ll do that. We can square things right here. Ya understand why I’m gonna punish you, boy?"

Jeff nodded.

"Okay then, let’s get it over with."

George took hold of Jeff and put the boy across his large, solid knees. As always, Jeff lay across his Papa’s lap feeling like a tiny little boy. He felt George thick fingers slide into the waist band of his pajama bottoms and draw them down to his knees. They lay there a minutes before sliding all the way down to his ankles where they drooped in a pile.

George laid his big hand on Jeff’s bare bottom and thought how much he ‘didn’t want’ to spank the boy. He said so, "I don’t want to spank ya, Jeff, but I have to. You broke a major rule; you went off without permission and you have to be punished for it."

"I....I’m sorry, can we still carve sometimes?" Jeff blubbered.

George almost changed his mind about the punishment when his son said that, but he firmed his resolve and patted the boy’s bare bottom reassuringly.

"Of course we’ll still carve, boy. This has nothin’ to do with that. We’ll always carve, son. Okay, then!"

George Kolka raised his hand, a hand that could probably be used as an efficient paddle for a boat if you lost an oar, and brought it down on his son’s bottom.

WHACK!

A handprint appeared across Jeff’s cheeks. The boy kicked out and grunted.

WHAM!

Another handprint criss-crossed over the first, and Jeff kicked again and lifted his head.

SMACK!

Jeff clenched his butt cheeks and tears started rolling down his eyes. He grabbed his father’s left leg with his hands and held on.

George felt the touch (Jeff had never done that before!) and again almost lost his resolve to discipline the boy.

SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

George quickened his pace. If he didn’t do the punishment immediately; he would never get it done.

Jeff lay across his father’s knees and cried. But at the same time, he almost nestled into the man’s lap. Papa’s thighs beneath him held him up, they supported him. The hand that punished his bare bottom, was also the hand the bathed him and touched his head so tenderly.

SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

"Oooh! Papa, Ow!"

Jeff had reached the stage where he could no longer take the spanking quietly. He had actually surprised himself. This was the first time that he hadn’t started howling right off.

SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

George used his left hand to tuck Jeff in close to his body, while his right hand continued its spanking.

SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

Jeff started bawling now. His bottom was hot, so hot! And there didn’t seem to be a spot that wasn’t so sore that when Papa’s hand hit it it didn’t send electric messages of pain throughout his body.

"Don’t you ever, ever go off without telling Papa, boy, you understand that?" George scolded, whacking away at the round bottom that seemed to pulsate on his knee.

"Oooh! Yeeees! Yes, Papa! (blub) Stop!"

SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

"You don’t ever make your Papa worry that you’re gonna run away. Understand?"

SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

Jeff nodded his head frantically. He UNDERSTOOD! He’d understand anything if only Papa would stop spanking him.

SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

"I don’t want to worry that you’re gonna do this again, Jeff. Are ya?"

SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

"OH! NO! I promise, Papa! Baw!"

SPANK! SPANK! SPANK!

"I love ya, boy! I love ya, and it would kill me if anything happened to you."

And George delivered five really hard wallops to his son’s lobster-red fanny.

SPANK!SPANK!SPANK!SPANK!SPANK!

But Jeff hardly felt them. His father’s words were all he felt. "I love ya, boy!"

He hardly realized that the spanking had ended and that he had been lifted off of the Man’s lap.

But he was aware of George standing and being surrounded by giant hairy arms and of his face pressed wetly against the man’s furry chest.

Jeff’s backside flamed behind him, but he had a different kind fo warmth in his chest; a warmth that transcended the heat of the spanking.

"I’ll put some linament on your hiney in a minute," George told the boy. "Just let go, Jeff and I’ll get it."

But Jeff did not let go. He held his Papa around the waist and hung on for dear life. George looked down at the boy and wrapped him in his ams again. Gazing down, he could see the redness of the boy’s bare bottom and around his waist he felt the boy’s grip. It was a lifeline grip. George stood there and held on to Jeff while Jeff just cried into his chest and continued to hold on to his Papa.

(to be continued in the final chapter)