I Adopt A Son

Author: Writer8322@aol.com

A Story Set in the Brave New World of D.A.D.

and Told by a D.A.D.

Chapter Two: Stuart Visits My Lap

"I don’t want to go with you," were my son’s first words to me.

I stared at him and smiled. He was standing next to a window in the twelve year olds’ dorm and looked like he might be contemplating bolting (possibly right through that window).

"I bet you don’t," I said. "I can’t imagine why you would, but I want you to come with me, and I’ll take very good care of you son. I’m your legal father, and I’m happy to be it."

I had given careful though to what I wore that morning. I had decided that for a boy, so new to the Island, I would discard my D.A.D uniform and had put on a gray suit, white shirt and tie.

"Do you have a suitcase or is that duffle bag all you’ve got?" I pointed to a green satchel at the foot of one of the beds.

The boy looked at me and grimaced with undisguised disgust. "No, that’s not all I have," he said. "Most of my stuff is in storage somewhere. They took it when I landed on the Island."

"I’ll send for it as soon as we get home," I said reassuringly. I picked up the satchel and reached out with one hand. "Come on, son, let me take you home."

It was the wrong thing to say. Stuart looked about the room desperately and burst into angry tears. "Don’t!" he cried out. "Don’t call me that! I’m not your son. I’m not...not anyone’s son. I....."

I walked quickly up to the boy and took him into my arms.

"Get off!" he shouted.

I held on to him. "Calm down, Stuart," I said. "You’re confused and angry and upset, but that’s not going to help you. I understand how strange all of this is, I do! But I’m going to help you. I promise."

Stuart stopped struggling. He really couldn’t do much anyway. I was six foot four inches of hard earned muscle, and he was a five foot string bean. He stood there, unresponsive and after a moment of feeling that he really was calm, and not just playing possum, I relaxed my embrace. The boy stepped back and looked up at me.

"Do you know about me?" he asked.

I nodded.

"They assigned you to me?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I was beginning the process of adopting a son; I wanted to be your father, Stuart. Of course that doesn’t have any meaning for you right now, but I hope it will very soon. I care about you, boy."

Stuart’s mouth tightened again, but he didn’t explode.

"Okay," he said, "let’s go."

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

Stuart might be a ‘hurt’ child, but he wasn’t a silent one. He also seemed to be incredibly resilient. Once he had decided to go with me, he starting relaxing quickly and basically talked my ear off as we drove, in my open car, from the dorm sector to the D.A.D. residential zone.

"I love to read," Stuart told me. "Do you like to read?"

I told him that I did and we talked about authors.

"I like to swim," Stuart said, "but I’m not good at baseball, are you? Are you a sports guy?"

"I like physical activity," I explained. "D.A.D.s are all trained to use their bodies as efficiently as possible. I’m not a ‘jock-type’ if that’s what you’re asking. I like swimming too. I also like biking and skiing and....."

"I like those things too," Stuart said, cutting me off. I had a feeling that this kid liked to have people listen to him, but was perhaps not a wonderful listener himself. I would have to adjust that.

"I like music a lot. I play the piano, but I’m not very good," Stuart offered.

I told him that part of the matching of D.A.D.s and sons was done on capatability and that we probably had a lot of shared interests, ‘Yes, I liked music too.’

Stuart didn’t spend a lot of time talking about his age or special situation, but he did tell me something that seemed important for him to establish clearly.

"You know that I’m not really a boy," he said.

"No?" I responded.

Stuart narrowed his eyes. "No!" he said firmly. "Lots of people make that mistake. I’m older than you," he said.

I nodded. "I know a great deal about you, Stuart," I said. "I know who you are, what you are and what you need." I said it kindly, but I also said it firmly.

Stuart looked at me and his next comment surprised me by its candor. "I’ve heard about D.A.D., everyone has. I know what it stands for and all that. I don’t need Discipline and it would be inappropriate for you to treat me like a child."

I stopped the car and turned to look at Stuart. "I don’t approve of dishonesty," I said, "so let me be as honest with you as you are trying to be with me. You are a boy!" I said. "And I am your father. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been alive. You’d better start accepting that fact right now! That reality already suggests certain givens. Here’s one of them, Stuart. I am responsible for you. I take care of you and make sure that you are fed, clothed, bathed, educated and guided to a fulfilling life.’

Stuart opened his mouth to cut in, but I frowned and raised one finger. I was pleased that he shut his mouth again.

"Here’s another given. I make certain decisions in our relationship. I decide how you will behave and I correct you when you misbehave. I will listen to you and I want to listen to you. But when all is said and done, you will do what I tell you to do, because if you don’t I will have to punish you. I accept that as a boy, you will need punishing from time-to-time, all boys do. When that time comes, it will be my pleasure and duty to perform that job."

There was silence for a moment, and I could tell by the look on Stuart’s face that he wasn’t happy. We drove on without speaking for awhile.

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

Before we got to the D.A.D. residential community I lived in, I asked Stuart if he was hungry and would he like to stop for a bite to eat. It was just about noon, and who knew if the kid had eaten any breakfast.

"I don’t care," Stuart said sulkily. "If you want to stop, stop."

There was a wonderful restaurant area in the dome with a enormous number of indoor eateries to choose from. Stuart continued to ‘not care’ when I asked him what kind of food he’d like, so I chose a simple place that I had eaten at before. It had a red and white awning and outdoor tables with matching tablecloths. They made good sandwiches and wonderful ice cream sodas; I hoped that I could warm Stuart up with a little treat.

When the waiter came over and looked at Stuart, he said to me, "Would you like a children’s menu?"

I automatically said, "Yes," and Stuart barked, "NO!"

I looked at Stuart, and then back to the waiter and said, "Bring me two regular menus and a children’s menu."

The waiter disappeared and Stuart gripped the sides of the table. "You embarrassed me!" he said. "Why did you do that?" His face was red, and he was almost shouting.

I put my hand on his shoulder and he jerked his shoulder away. "Hey," I said, "take it easy and lower your voice. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I was just thinking of the size of the portions. I’ve eaten here before and their sandwiches are very big."

"You’ve got a lot to learn!" Stuart snapped. "I thought that D.A.D. gave you guys psychological training. How do you think that asking for a children’s menu made me feel?"

I pulled my chair close to Stuart’s; it made a loud dragging sound on the floor, but I didn’t give a shit. I put my large hand over his small one and held it firmly.

"Now you listen to me!" I told him. "Don’t you ever speak to me like that again. Do you understand?"

"I....." Stuart started.

"Do you understand?" I said. "Because if you don’t, I will take you into the Men’s room, pull down your pants and explain it that way."

Stuart’s cheeks were flaming, but I didn’t care. I absolutely knew that what I was doing and saying was correct, and - what’s more - I was ready (and even eager) to carry out my threat.

"Now you let go of the table edge, sit up in your seat and put a pleasant look on your face before our waiter returns with the menu. We can still have a nice lunch together."

Stuart started into my eyes, and I saw - in one awful moment - that he was going to test me out.

"I’m not going to let you bully me or boss me arou........"

He didn’t finish his words, because I was out of my seat and had him by the hand.

Stuart pulled back, but I jerked him clean out of his seat, and still l holding his hand in mine, I headed into the enclosed part of the restaurant and it’s Men’s Room.

"Let go of me!" Stuart yelled, and he pulled back as hard as he could. It didn’t matter; I was heading straight ahead, and he was going with me. His legs practically pedaled to keep up with my long-legged stride as I took him past seated patrons who got quiet to watch the processional that was obviously going to end in some father-to-son discipline. I caught a glimpse of one Man who pointed us out to his son and nodded his head as if to say, "See! See what happens. It could happen to you too, boy!"

At one point, just before we reached our destination, Stuart actually employed the strategy of a much younger child. He got spaghetti legs and flopped on the floor to keep from going any further. I almost chuckled. If he wanted to clean the floor with his butt, that was his business. I dragged him along and right on through the Men’s Room door.

It was one of those large, spacious facilities where a Dad could take his little boy for a diaper change. There was an ante room, before you reached the toilets, for that purpose and it had a changing table and a chair!

I jerked Stuart back to his feet, took hold of his arms and sat down in the chair.

"You have earned yourself a spanking, young man," I said.

Stuart’s eyes filled with horror. "No!" he said. "Don’t...don’t do it!"

"Like fun I won’t," I said. I was angry, and I wanted him to know it. "You are going over my knee, and when I get through with you, you won’t be so eager to act like a rude, spoiled brat!"

I lifted the shocked boy off of his feet and laid him across my lap. He was shaking like a leaf; no one had ever spanked this boy before.

When my left arm went across his back, pulling him close to me and-simultaneously-locking him in place, he actually burst into tears. I knew that he was a high-strung boy; quick to fits of temper and quick to tears.

"Please don’t do this, let me up," he said, his tone was half pleading and still half angry.

I leaned over and looked into Stuart’s face. "I’ll let you up, after I’ve taken down your pants and tanned your little bare bottom. Your going to learn right here and now that you’ve got a dad who doesn’t accept disrespect from his son. Now you might as well just lay here and accept this, because you’ve got no choice."

Stuart tried to push himself up, but he was firmly pinned down by my arm. I took hold of the back of his pants and unbuttoned his one piece. All boys on the Island were put into one piece outfits that had a button-up section in the back. A father could lower a large square of material if he needed to bare his son’s backside for a spanking or, if he peferred (and psychologically it was sometimes preferable) he could unbutton the entire lower part of the onepiece and take it down just like a pair of pants.

I decided that my new son might benefit from the sensation of having the whole lower part of his body laid bare by his father.

Stuart struggled mightily when he felt my fingers opening the buttons around his waist. I tried to imagine the thoughts that were racing through his mind as he underwent this initiation into classic father and son discipline. I decided to heighten it with dialogue.

"You might as well forget all about your life before the Island, Stuart," I said. "Here you are my son and your life as my boy begins. Part of that life is going to mean periodic trips across your father’s knee. It’s inevitable!"

"It’s not fair!" Stuart said. "You’re bigger than me and you’re taking advantage of it."

I chuckled. "Fathers are always bigger than their sons. That’s so they can spank their boys when they need it!"

I had undone Stuart’s buttons and purposely said to him, "I’m going to take your pants down now, son."

"Aah! No!" Stuart wailed. "Damn you, let me .......YOW!"

I had quickly raised my arm way over my own shoulder and given him a really impressive WALLOP right across the still-unlowered seat of his pants. Stuart bounced on my lap, and while he was still gasping for air I gently and very slowly (this was going to sink well in) pulled his pants down. The material revealed inch after inch of uplifted boy butt. First there was just a swell, then the beginning of his crack.....

Stuart thrashed his legs and tried to reach around to stop me, but the pants moved inexorably down over his bottom until it was completely exposed (boys were permitted no underpants beneath their onepiece).

I still didn’t stop lowering, however. My son was going to feel completely vulnerable over my lap; that was one goal of this session. I continued to slide the lower half of the one piece down Stuart’s legs until he slid over his thighs and calves and I left them rolled around his ankles and dragging to the floor. Not only would this increase Stuart’s sense of exposure, but having the pants around his ankles would inhibit he feet-kicking. Two goals accomplished with one move!

I could see the pink results of my son’s first spank, and I rubbed it with my palm. I was letting the boy know that his bared bottom, in this position, was my property. When I laid Stuart in my lap, and took down his pants, he had surrendered free will to his father. If he wanted to keep free will, he’d better behave.

I told him this in a firm voice. "Do you understand why you’re going to get this spanking. Say , ‘Yes, daddy.’"

Stuart was weeping, almost silently. He was feeling sorry for himself and wasn’t ready to listen to me.

"Well," I said, cooly, "perhaps you’ll listen to this son. The next sound you’ll hear will be your father’s hand on your bare backside."

SMACK!

Stuart bounced again and yelped. Then he sobbed loudly. It was fake.

SMACK!

He bounced again, and twin, distinct replicas of my hand appeared on each of Stuart’s butt cheeks. I had branded my son with my mark. He was truly mine now.

SMACK!

"Are you ready to answer yet, boy?" I asked.

Stuart wiggled around as much as he was able (which wasn’t a helluva lot), but the wiggling was meant to communicate that he was a brave soldier who was enduring this brutish behavior. I’d show him some brutish behavior, alright.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Stuart’s backside began to give off a warmth and a glow that was almost irridescent. His very white, never-before-spanked, bottom absolutely radiated the results of my ministrations. I decided to bring that glow to full effulgence.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Stuart rapidly went from faux weeping to genuine, uninhibited, bawling! It was the best thing that could happen to him, though he didn’t know it. This spanking was doing more than establishing my authority; it was taking down the first artifical barrier tha t Stuart had constructed to try and pretend that he was more than a boy.

I worked on that with both the flat of my hand and my words. "You were a naughty boy, Stuart, and now daddy has to spank you better. Take this SMACK! and this SMACK! and this SMACK! "

Stuart howled and his feet wiggled about in their tangle of lowered clothes. His arms flailed the air and his head went up and down with each new, resounding SMACK!

I now put my hand on the lowest part of his bottom, in the fold between buttocks and upper thighs. The skin was so soft and tender there; it would awaken new levels of attention in my son.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Stuart reacted like someone who had been given an electric jolt. His head jerked up and he almost screamed.

I seized the moment.

"Are you ready to talk to me, son?" I asked SMACK!

"Baw! Yes!" Stuart dribbled.

SMACK!

"Do you understand why you’re being spanked?"

SMACK!

Stuart cried like the little boy he was, like all boys were, when over Dad’s knee. "Waaah! Yeees!"

"Tell me!" I demanded. SMACK!

"OW! Oh! Stop! Please!"

SMACK!

"Aah! I’m sorry, I’m sorry.....your doing this because of what happened at the (sob) table!"

"You aren’t ready yet, boy! I want the facts, and I want it clearly!"

SMACK!SMACK!SMACK!SMACK!SMACK!SMACK!

Stuart started to get unglued. The bottom of his buttock and the top of his thighs were crimson with attention.

"Stop! I’ll say it right!" Stuart yelled. "Your sp-sp-spanking me for being rude and disrespectful."

"That’s right," I said. I put my hand across his backside; it reminded him of that hand and what it would do if he didn’t give me the answers I wanted.

"You’re being spanked for rudeness and disrespect. I won’t let a son of mine behave like that, will I Stuart." This question, if properly answered, would force Stuart to acknowledge our relationship.

There was a pause, too long of a pause.

SMACK!

SMACK!

SMACK!

Stuart twisted his head as much around as he could. I saw the tears and snot on his face. "Daddy, please," he said, his whole body racked with the effort of those words, "I’m sorry. D-don’t spank me anymore."

"You didn’t answer my question, Stuart. I asked you if I would let a son of mine behave like that. I want a clear answer from you."

Stuart dropped his head and cried, I put my hand across his bottom and gripped it possessively, but not harshly. Stuart cried harder and then he tried to compose himself.

"I’m waiting for an answer," I reminded the boy.

Stuart sniffed and gurgled and spoke. "You won’t let me behave in a disrespectful way," he said, his phrasing, and its content much more than I had expected. "You expect your son (pause), me, to be respectful." Stuart had said it all. He collapsed across my knees and let go.

I held him there as if my legs were a bed supporting my child. In a way, that’s exactly what they were.

Then I lifed Stuart up and stood him between my knees. I took out a handkerchief and did the time-honored father-to-son face wiping that followed a spanking. Stuart was a mess. Besides having various liquids smeared across his face, his eyes were swollen with crying and his hair was damp.

Without raising his pants, I carried him to the sink and gently washed his face for him. I dried it with paper towels from a dispenser and then bent down and raised up his pants. Stuart was quietly crying as I did his buttons.

When I turned him around, to do the buttons at the back, he said quietly, "That hurt!"

"I know," I said. I slowly buttoned him up.

"You really are my DAD, aren’t you," he said, his voice had the tremulo that comes with speaking while you cry.

I fastened the last button and turned Stuart around.

"Yes, son, I’m really your father."

Stuart nodded.

"Now we’re going to go back out there and have lunch."

Stuart’s puffy eyes widened as much as they could.

"No, please. Everyone will know what happened."

I shook my head. "It doesn’t matter. You need to do this, son. You need to accept your spanking and go out and show me that you learned your lesson. If you don’t, then our business in here isn’t finished. AND," I added, "if we go out there, and you forget, I’ll take you back in and start all over again."

Stuart’s head drooped and he cried. I pulled him into my embrace and his wet face soon made my tie wet. I didn’t give a damn. My son was in my arms, where he needed to be, and I held him with all the fatherly love that I already felt for him. For me, administering this first tanning, had made Stuart my boy absolutely.

"Go ahead and cry, son," I said, "let it out. I can hold you for just as long as you need me to. When we go out, I’ll be with you and you can think of that. You’re not alone,Stuart. You’ve got a D.A.D. who’s right there with you."

I lifted his head from my chest and looked into his teary eyes. "And I won’t just be there when it’s time to give you a spanking." I smiled. "We’re going to do lots of wonderful things, and you’re going to be a very happy boy."

Stuart’s intelligence kicked in. He read me! And he knew that I was telling him the truth.

"Are you ready now?" I asked.

Stuart nodded.

I took my son’s hand and lead him out of the Men’s Room.

(to be continued)