adopt son

I Adopt A Son - Part 4

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

and told by a son (Stuart Taylor)

Chapter 4: Cigars and Poker and Paddling

I read my Dad's part of the story, and I guess I agree with most of it. Did you ever see the play "Rashomon," well it's about these five people who tell the same story from their own individual point of views, and - of course - each person's story makes them look good.

My Dad, Michael Taylor, is a very honest man, so his stories are as true as he can make them I just have a different point of view. My point of view is that everything I did I did for a reason, and the reason didn't seem bad to me.

I know that Dad forbid me to smoke, but I had a really strong urge to see what it was like I guess I also wanted to see if smoking his pipe made me feel like my Dad.

I didn't start out thinking I would like Michael Taylor, and I sure didn't like it when he punished me my dad is strict! But, he's also a really good man who loves me a lot. I bet there's a billion other boys who don't have a dad who always makes time to play with him, and help him with his homework, and reads to him. My Dad always has time for me.

Dad has lots of friends, because the D.A.D.s and sons on the Island get to do a lot of things together. Dad and I swam almost every day and there were other D.A.D.s and sons we met at the pool. We also got to go camping (there are whole forests right in the Dome) and fishing and hunting and, as my father told you, biking.

And once a month, Dad had a couple of friends come over with their sons. The Dads sat at the dining room table, smoked big cigars and played cards: Poker. We boys sometimes played in my room or, if the D.A.D.s let us, we would go swimming or bike-riding.

Sometimes when we were playing in my room, one of the sons would get too wild and if his D.A.D. had to remind him to "Keep it down!" too many times, the boy would get spanked. None of the D.A.D.s seemed to worry too much about privacy when that happened.

I remember one Dad, his name is Paul Campost, getting up from his card-playing chair and grabbing his son who was laughing about something and sounding like a big jack-ass.

"Seems like I told you three times to tone down that volume," Mr. Campost said, as he grabbed his son Jerry and put one foot up on his chair. Then he picked Jerry up under the arms (and Jerry was BIG I thought he looked about sixteen which could mean that he was really in his twenties) and tossed him over his knee.

Jerry was big, but with his Dad's leg up on a chair that way, he hung there and dangled like a sausage. I should say a 'skinned' sausage, because his father didn't lose any time peeling down his britches and boxer shorts. Then his Dad did something I hadn't seen or heard of before. I unbuckled this big, thick leather belt he wore around his waist, and pulled it out of the loops.

Boy, I sure paid attention when Mr. Campost did that! And that belt looked bad I mean it looked like it would really hurt!

Mr. Compost doubled the belt in his fist and said, "It's the belt this time, son."

"Yessir, dad," was all big Jerry said, but I could see how red his face was and that there were already tears in his eyes.   Personally, I thought the tears were from the shame of being so big and still have your pants pulled down in front of a whole crowd of Men and boys.

"And let's hope it does you some good. What do you say, son?"

"Daddy, please will you spank me for my own good," Jerry obediently responded.

"Yes, son, I will!" Mr. Campost said and he swung that strap the full length of his arm. It landed straight across Jerry's backside with a terrible CRACK! Immediately, a big wide, red stride appeared across Jerry's backside, but he didn't make a sound. His whole body sort of 'jumped' on Mr. Campost's knee, but Mr. Campost held Jerry by the back of his neck with his left hand and Jerry was on his knee for good.....or at least for as long as his father wanted him there.

He wanted him there a long time!

I'm trying to write this honesty, like my Dad did, so I have to say that I had mixed feelings watching Jerry's big backside get whupped.   Part of me felt really bad for Jerry, because he was big and this had to be killing his ego. It's one thing to be a little boy and go over your Dad's knee, but it's hard when you're getting to be big and a Man still reminds you that your only a boy.

Another part of me loved watching Jerry 'get it.'   First of all, Mr. Campost looked just like a picturebook lumberjack. He was a big man, bigger than my father, and he usually wore jeans and a red and green plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up.   He had thick red curly hair and a full, bushy, curly red beard.   With one of Dad's cigars sticking out of the corner of his mouth, he looked tough! And he swung that belt with no consideration of Jerry's howls.

Oh yeah, Jerry had started out taking it quietly, but he didn' end up like that. After about twenty wallops with his father's strap, Jerry broke down and started crying, kicking and begging.

"AH! Dad! Oh, please, Dad!"

CRACK! "Next time, when I tell you to lower your voice, I guess you'll listen. That right, boy?"

CRACK!

"WOW! Baaaw!   Yes SIR! Yes SIR, daddy! STOP! PLEASE!"

CRACK!

"Did you ask me to stop, son? Did you?"

CRACK!

"Oh, oh, oh!" poor Jerry cried.

CRACK!

"What are you supposed to say, boy?"

CRACK!

"Aaaah! Oooh! 'Thank you daddy (sob), may I please have another?"

"That's better, son. Yes, son, you may!"

CRACK!   CRACK!    CRACK!

I don't want to go on describing this scene 'cause Jerry might see this someday and I think that even a boy deserves a little privacy although the D.A.D.s would disagree and my Dad might even given me a good spanking for writing this. Maybe I'll erase this part later on.

Anyway, the reason I told about Jerry's strapping is to let you know that after that happened, I resolved never to let that happen to me. I was never going to give my Daddy a reason to smack me in front of anybody else.

Then came the night of the video game!!

Dad was having three other D.A.D.s and their sons over, and he and I had done a lot of preparation for the evening. Dad had gotten two wooden boxes of very expensive cigars for the Men, and he and I had made three six foot subs loaded with lettuce, tomato, onions, cheese, turkey, salami, and peppers.   They were beautiful. In addition Dad had bought me a new game for my video system it was one I really wanted and boy did I give dad a big hug and kiss for that. He's the best!

While Dad was brushing my hair (of course I can do it myself, Dad just likes to have me look a 'certain' way when we have company), he reminded me about sharing the video.

"I know it's new, Stuart, and you've been waiting a long time to play, but you know that you have to give everyone a turn."

Dad held me by the chin and tried to brush down some stubborn hair at the back of my head.

"Of coure I will, dad. I know that!"

Dad grinned. He spit into his palm and smoothed down the stubborn hair it stayed.

Dad beamed at me. "There," he said, "you look sharp!" He gave me a playful spank on my bottom. "Now run outside and welcome people while I get some ice ready."

The three D.A.D.s and sons who came that evening were:

1. Harry Rosen and his son Mitchell.

2. Vince Bianchiani and his son Vince, jr.

3. Dave Kelso and his son Dave-boy.

It's funny how Dads sometimes name their sons, isn't it, and the effect it can have. Of course I'm adopted, but I sometimes wished that my name was Michael jr. so I could feel even more like my D.A.D.'s real son. I envied Vince jr. and Dave-boy that they had their D.A.D.s' names and had even mentioned it, maybe two or three times, to my Dad when he was putting me to bed. Dad had kissed me on my head and said, "You are my real son, Stuart. And if you don't believe it, I'll take down your pajamas, put you over my knee and then you'll really believe it!" Dad laughed and kissed my head again, but I still thought it would be great to be Mike jr.
After the D.A.D.s and sons had all arrived, we boys stayed outside for awhile playing 'catch' while the D.A.D.s sat around chewing on their stogies and ......probably talking about US.

After awhile Mitchell, Dave-boy and Vince jr. all wanted to see my new game, so we went upstairs to my house.

The Dads were all sitting around the card table now, under a cloud of odorless cigar smoke, studying their hands. I watched how the Men moved their cigars around the corner of their mouths, the gold cigar bands glinting as they did, and wanted to try it. Then, I remembered the day of the pipe and surpressed the thought. Cigars, like Pipes, were for Dads....not boys.

"Hey, son," Dad said around his cigar, "goin' to try out the new game?"

"Yeah, dad," I said. "How's the game going?"

Dad winked and chomped down on his cigar so that it went up at a rakish 45 degree angle. I knew this meant that he had a good hand. Unfortunately, Mr. Bianchiani saw and started fussing with his hands. I knew an exit cue when I saw one and quickly lead the boys into my bedroom.

The video game was called "Death Squadron in Devil's Canyon" and I guess it was similar to lots of other games.   The player controlled a futuristic plane and had to pilot it through a canyon filled with obstacles.

I loved playing this kind of game, though - to be honest - my reflexes were only 'so/so.'     Still the visuals were dynamite and we were soon all enthralled and - like my Dad had told me - taking turns.

It soon turned out that Vince jr. wasn't good at video games at all, and he abandoned us to lay on my bed and throw a ball up into the air. Mitchell preferred to be a spectator and Dave-boy.....well, Dave-boy was incredible. I had never played a video game with him, so I had no idea what his reflexes were like they were lightning-fast.

While I struggled with obstacles and kept blowing up, Dave-boy moved from level to level and his turns got longer and longer until he was almost playing by himself.

"Hey, Stuart, what's the matter?" Dave-boy teased when I had hit the canyon wall and vanished in a pryotechnic display for the twentieth time. "Your fingers are like jello. Here, let me show you how to do it. Watch me carefully this time!" Dave-boy almost grabbed the controls from my hand.....AND THAT WAS IT!

I knew what was happening to me when it started happening,but I couldn't help it. I was ANGRY....angry, frustrated and jealous.

"You think you're hot shit, don't you?" I flared. Vince jr. stopped throwing the ball and everyone seemed to freeze. Bad language was forbidden! If one of the D.A.D.s had been in the room there would have been hell to pay.....and some soap to eat too!!

Dave-boy only shrugged and grinned. "Take it easy, sonny," he said. "You just need to grow into it. Let a big boy show you how!"

"Never mind," I almost yelled. "Give me the controls it's my fucking game!"

Dave-boy yanked the controls out of the game center and held it up at arm's length.

For a few minutes he danced around my room with me dancing after him. Since he was older and bigger than me, Dave-boy could keep me jumping for it for quite a while....that is unless I found another way to get it.

I found one.

In frustration, I hauled off and punched Dave-boy flat in the nuts.

"OH!" he grunted and he folded up just like a paper airplane. Dave-boy lay on my floor gasping for air and clutching his offended nuts.

I grabbed the controls from his hands and, at that moment, my bedroom door opened. Mitchell, my Dad, and the other three D.A.D.s pushed in their cigars still clenched between their teeth.

Mr. Kelso hurried to Dave-boy who was now biting his lip as tears streamed downhis cheeks. My father grabbed my upper arms and the controls fell to the floor. He looked into my face, tongued his cigar to the corner of his mouth and said, "What's going on in here, Stuart?!"

I looked from Dad to Dave-boy and couldn't think of a damn thing to say but the truth.

"I...I hit him in the balls," I stammered.

"Why?" my father asked.

Again I felt frozen by the truth, besides what good would it be to lie. I had hesitated too long and Dad gave me a little shake.

"I asked you a question, son!" Cigar smoke clouded from Dad's mouth.

"I got angry because......"

"Yes?!"

"Because Dave-boy was better than me and......" again I froze, lost for the best words to use.

Mr. Kelso had helped Dave-boy up to a kneeling position and Dave-boy was dash ing the tears from his eyes. He had started to rally.

"I was raggin' on Stuart," Dave-boy said, his voice sounded very constricted.

"He was teasing you and you hit him in his genitals?" my father asked incredulously.

I felt completely miserable. This was arguably the worst thing I had done since becoming Michael Taylor's son. I nodded my head miserably.

"Did Dave-boy hit you?"

I shook my head and whispered, "No, Dad."

"He teased you about the game and you hit him for that?"

Again I nodded.

"Is there anything else to the story?" Dad asked me. I could feel that he was hoping that there was.

I shook my head and tried not to feel the eyes of all the Dads and boys on me.

"Come over here to me!" Dad said angrily, he pulled me over to the bed. He chomped on his cigar, shifting it to the other side of his mouth.   "Come over here!"

Dad sat down on the bed and yanked me between his parted knees.   He held me by my wrists and looked at me fiercely.

"You did something stupid and dangerous!" Dad said. "You hit that boy in a sensitive spot for an idiotic reason."

"I.....I'm sorry...." I turned my head in the direction I thought Dave-boy might be in. "I'm sorry Dave-boy....I...."

"I'm sorry I ragged on y ou Stu," Dave-boy's voice came from my left. It sounded a bit better.

Dad pulled my wrists and the next thing I knew I was being pulled around to his right side and lowered onto his lap. When I fell across his knees, Dad parted his legs a little more so I would be suspended there. He placed his right hand on the back of my bottom and hoisted me into the proper position for a good spanking.

Then Dad put his left hand on my head and his right hand across the seat of my onepiece.

"You're going to be spanked and put to bed without supper," Dad said sternly. "And tomorrow morning you'll disconnect your video game system and put it in my closet. You've lost it for two weeks!"

Dad unbuttoned the seat of my onepiece and took it down. My behind was suddenly, coldly, displayed for my friends and their fathers.

I turned my head in horrified embarrassment and saw them all standing there watching. The boys stood in front of their fathers their fathers' hands were on the boys' shoulders.   In a second anyone would have read the scene my humiliating public spanking was going to serve as an example for the other boys.

My Dad didn't care if he had an audience or if we were alone. I could tell by his voice and his touch. His D.A.D. training was operative, and he was performing a duty that the situation demanded.

Dad had taken the cigar from his mouth and held it in his right hand. I could feel the damp part that had been in his mouth resting on my bare bottom.

"I'm ashamed of you, son," Dad said, his voice strong and angry. "It's one thing to mess up on your schoolwork or try smokin' one of your Dad's pipes, but to hit another boy in his privates is unexcusable. I'm going to give you a lesson your will never forget. And that is a promise!"

With those words, Dad shoved his stogie back in his jaw and gave me the first wallop across my behind.

Oh! It really hurt! Dad had put more into that first spank then he ever had before, and it was quickly followed by three others that left both sides of my backside stinging and singing. You don't believe your backside can 'sing.' Trust me, if my Dad made you go over his knees, and he yanked down your pants and whopped your bare behind it would sing!

Now Dad began a methodical spanking landing his hand first on one side and then the other. Sometimes he would spank the same spot three or four times. When he did that, it hurt so badly that I would cry out.

"Oh, Dad! Ow, please!"

"Are you sorry you hit Dave-boy?" Dad asked, never letting up with his palm.

"Oh, yes. Yes, daddy. YES!"

"Are you ever, ever, ever going to strike someone like that again?"

"Nooooo! No! oooh! No, I promise, Dad!"

Dad's hand moved up to the top of my behind and made it first warm, then sore, then burning.   Then his hand moved to the sides of my backside and walloped them until they jumped and danced and so did I on Dad's knee.

I tried to turn my head to appeal to my father...."Daddy! Stop! OW! Stop! It hurts too much! Oooooh!"

Dad took hold of my head and turned it back around and down.

"You mind your business, boy, and I'll tend to mine!" Dad said.

He smacked away at the bottom of my behind, wacking the same red spot until my legs scissored the air wildly and my arms flailed in front of me. My head was pressed down, and I could hardly see for the tears that kept welling up in response to the incredible pain in my backside.

"Vince, would you do Stu the goodness of going into my bedroom and getting my hairbrush?" Dad said.

"Sure thing, Mike," Vince replied and his voice retreated.

THE HAIRBRUSH!! Oh God! No! I couldn't stand Dad's hand anymore, much less the HAIRBRUSH.

Dad's hand was like a machine that was pounding something into another shape.   In fact it was. My backside was swelling up under the continual spanking of Dad's mighty hand.

Now I was bawling loudly. I didn't care who heard me, I was howling and begging.

"DAD! STOP! Baaaaaw! OW! OW! OW! STOP!"

Vince returned with the hairbrush, and I vaguely heard Dad say, in the voice of someone talking with a cigar in his mouth, "Thanks!"

Then.

WHAP!    WHAP!   WHAP!

I screamed and thrashed as much as I could, but Dad was really determined. "I'm gonna whale the tar out of you, Stuart!"

He spanked away at my red, hot shiny bottom with the hairbrush as though he were determined to teach it a lesson, as well as me.

I was frenzied. The hairbrush was more than I could handle, and I became unglued. Dad held a roaring, kicking, bawling litle kid over his knee and spanked the bejeezus out of him.

"Does it hurt?" Dad asked me, paddling the sides of my bottom.

"YES!" I yelled.

"Good!" Dad yelled.

The fuss I was making seemed to have no impact on Dad he had decided to bring me to a point I had never been to before.

In the midst of all the action, Dad decided that he needed to change my position. So he took me, howling non-stop, and made me straddle one of his legs. He pulled me up so that my feet were off the ground and tucked the top half of me under his left arm. This new position forced my legs apart and gave Dad a new area for the hairbrush, my opened buttocks.

Dad walloped it with the hairbrush and I bawled my head off. I had never yelled so loud or shed so many tears. My face was drenched and my voice was almost stripped.

"DADDY! DADDY! DADDY!" I bawled. I didn't even have breathe enough for more than that. I just howled and called it over and over.

"Will you, will you, will you, ever hit anyone like that again!" Dad roared over my wails. He kept spanking my open rectum and it seemed to swell out.

"No, Daddy!" I swore. And still my father larruped me.

Finally, when my backside was nearly purple, the hairbrush stopped and I was left limp and burning over my Dad's leg.

Dad must have made some kind of gesture, because without saying anything the other Dads and sons filed quietly out of the room and left our house.

Dad held me on his leg and gently rubbed my flaming hot behind while I continued to emit heavy, heaving sobs.

Finally, Dad picked me up and held me in his big strong arms. He walked the floor with me pressed to his chest, my face laying sideways on his shoulder. I felt his right arm across my shoulders and his left hand gently cradling my inflamed bottom.

Dad carried me to the bathroom and ran a bath, never putting me down. When the bath was full, Dad lowered me into it (I was still crying) and gently gave me a warm, soapy bath.

During the bath I stopped crying and Dad spoke to me.

"That was a hard spanking wasn't it, son?" he asked.

"Yes daddy," I said. The spanking had reduced me to what I really was anyway, a little boy.

"It hurt me to paddle you so hard, but you deserved it Stuart."

I gave a silent sob, "Ye-es dad-dy."

"I want to show you something," Daddy said. He left the room for a moment and then came back with a paper in his hand. "Here," he said.

He tenderly dried my hand with a towel and put the paper into it. It was the final adoption papers, all complete and legal. It said:

This is to certify that Michael Taylor has been granted official and legal fatherhood over one Michael Taylor, Jr. formerly Stuart Hayden.

I read it and my eyes filled with tears once again.

"Do you mind, son?" Dad asked me. "Do you mind taking my name?"

I held out my arms and, soaking wet though I was, my Dad gathered me up and held me tight.

Now I was really and truly his boy.

THE END.