Spanking In Comicbookland - P3

Author: Sandy Writer8322@aol.com

Steven knew why Sweetpea, in the Popeye comics, spent all his time crawling around on the floor. It wasn’t just that he hadn’t learned to walk yet - it was the difficulty in walking in the christening gown. The white garment trailed way below Steven’s feet and was sewed together at the bottom.

When Popeye had paid for the gown, no one had seemed a bit surprised to see a boy of twelve in such an outfit, and left the store, Steven had been shocked to find that the streets of Metropolis had disappeared. Outside of Stacey’s was the wharf of a seaport town that was rustic in the extreme.

The streets were nothing but old boardwalks and the shacks that lined it were, each, uniquely bizarre .....as were the characters loitering about. All of the women were large and uniformly shapeless in dresses that reached to their ankles. Their hair was in buns or rattails or piled high on their heads and secured with combs and pins. Many of them smoked corn cobs exactly like Popeye and most of them were surrounded by bunches of kids and screaming babies. It was extremely common to spot one of these big mommas sitting on a porch rocker with a howling brat being spanked over her lap.

The men all looked like sea pirates. They all smoked pipes or stubby cigars; many of them were whittling and a few were smacking the tails of young boys who had gotten in their way. The air was filled with the smell of salt, the screeching of seagulls and the bawling of spanked children. Steven had never actually seen anyone spanked before and now he was seeing literally dozens of spankings on street after street.

Popeye was in great spirits and delighted in tossing Steven up in the air and catching him. Each time he did this, Popeye laughed his odd chortline laugh and gave Steven an affectionate hug. Outside of the awful smell of Popeye’s pipe, Steven couldn’t help but like the seaman.

“Where are we going, Popeye?” Steven asked, during one of his ‘down’ times.

Popeye tickled Steven under his chin and the boy giggled involuntarily. “I’m takin’ ya home sos Olive can stop eatin’ her fingernails and toenails.”

“Was she worried about me?” Steven asked.

Popeye chortled again, “Gug! Gug! Gug! A’course she were, Sweepea. It’s her natural instinks ta worry! Gug! Gug! Gug!”

Popeye lived in an amazing dwelling at the end of the wharf. It was reached by a series of rickety wooden stairs that lead to a three story shack that leaned out over the water. The sky was moving toward sunset and a reddish glow lit what looked like three wooden shacks hastily put together and then plopped one on top of the other in complete defiance of architectural rules and the rules of gravity.

“Here we be! Here we be!” sang Popeye, as he tossed Steven into the air again. “Home sweek home. Olive! We is back, and I’ve got our little boy kid with me.”

From inside the shack a shrill voice peeled out, “Oooooh, Popeye. I was sooooo worried.”

A string bean of a woman came crashing through the ricket screen door and promptly fell flat on her face.

“Ooooh, Popeye, help me,” she whined as she tried to push herself up.

Steven saw, with a little shriek of uncontrollable laughter, that the woman’s long nose had gotten stuck in a knothole on the porch.

Still holding Steven in one arm, Popeye took hold of Olive’s long bun (her hair was pulled very severely back) and jerked her head (not too gently) out of the wood.

“Ooh, thank you Popeye,” Olive said, clambering to her feet. She wore the largest yellow shoes that Steven had ever seen.

“Oooh, Sweetpea, you naughty little boy. You had me positively frantic.”

“Here’s yer little boy kid, Olive. He’s perfeckly safe!”

Popeye handed Steven to Olive who immediately clasped him to her bony chest.

“Oooh, Sweetpea ya scared me half to death. Where have you been?”

Steven opened and shut his mouth unsure of what to say. Finally he made a try at it. “I was flown to Metropolis by Superman, but that was after I met the Katzenjammer Kids and we threw some kind of miracle weed grower in the Captain’s garden and....”

“Ooooh, listen to him!” Olive said in horror. “Did you ever hear such an outrageous pack of lies in your whole entire life?”

Popeye squinted sternly at Steven. “If there’s one thing I can’t abide it’s a child what tells lies!”

Popeye took Steven from Olive’s arms and carried him into the shack. Olive followed them clasping and unclasping her hands fretfully.

“Oooh, Popeye, don’t be angry. He didn’t mean it. Didja Sweetpea?”

“I am not Sweetpea!” Steven said angrily. “My name is Steven and......”

Olive had clasped both her hands over her mouth as if by doing so she could press the words back into Steven’s mouth.

“That’s all I can stands, ‘cause I can’t stands no more!” Popeye declared. He plunked down in a wooden chair in what was evidently a front parlor and put Sweetpea/Steven over one of his knees. “I hates to do this, but what has to be has to be.” And with those words, Popeye began to spank Steven.

Draped over Popeye’s knee, with his feet trapped in the closed sack of the gown, Steven couldn’t do anything but accept the sailor’s punishment.

Popeye’s famous strength made this a very painful spanking indeed. The sailor’s spanking style was to deliver each spank slowly and purposefully letting each one sink in before landing another.

Popeye’s enormous hands covered all of Steven’s behind and the christening gown offered no padding. Soon Steven was crying and, surpisingly, so was the soft-hearted Popeye.

Each loud WHACK! produced a howl and flood of tears from Steven, and each time Steven cried, he could hear Popeye sniveling and sniffing. Popeye also made little “Boo-hooing” sounds to accompany his distress.

Even in the midst of his punishment, Steven couldn’t dislike the sailor who only thought he was doing what he should and was filled with misery at having to do it.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

When the spanking was over (the fourth in one day!!!), Popeye lifted the crying Steven from his knee and held him up in front of him.

“Now I hopes ya has learned not to lie. Is you, or is you ain’t, Sweetpea?”

Steven hung in Popeye’s powerful arms still crying. He wasn’t an idiot, so he said, “I am Sweetpea!”

Popeye hugged the well-spanked boy to his white tunic and handed him over to Olive.

“I think our little boy kid is hungry, Olive.”

Steven had to endure being sat in a high chair (Popeye thoughtfully put a soft pillow on the seat first) and fed by Olive. The high chair was so constructed that Steven/Sweetpea’s arms were pinned to his side by the food tray. And he had to open his mouth while Olive fed him something mushy that tasted remotely like peas.

When this was done, Popeye held Steven over his shoulder and patted his back until the boy faked a belch. This pleased Popeye so much that he chortled again and carried Steven into a rustic bedroom with a large crib.

“It’s time fer you ta get a little shut eye, ya adorable little swab.” Popeye took his ever-present pipe out of his mouth and gave Steven a big kiss that made a loud SMACK-ing sound against his cheek. Olive kissesd him too and then he was laid in the crib and covered with a blanket.

“I feel like a complete asshole,” Steven thought, but he said nothing.

“Now you go right to sleep little feller, or I might have ta give ya another spankin’,” Popeye said.

“Oooh, no, he’ll be as good as gold. Won’t ya Sweetpea?” Olive asked nervously. Steven thought that she was the clearest candidate for thorazine that he had ever seen.

Steven nodded his head vigorously and the doting parents tip-toed (amid the creeking of the plank floors) from the room.

Steven lay there for a moment wondering what was going to happen, when suddenly he heard the sound of a window being lifted. Steven held on to the side bars of the crib and peeked through. An enormous, bulky shape was climbing into a window on the far side of the room. Steven saw a face almost completely hidden by a bushy black beard. The head, which had a spiky matt of equally black hair wore a blue sailor cap with a peak and the rest of the enormous body was dressed in a tight blue muscle t-shirt and dark trousers.

“Bluto!”Steven said aloud. But the next moment a smothering mountain of a hand was clasped over his mouth and he was lifted from the crib.

“Quiet ya scurvy brat!” growled a voice from inside the beard. But Steven was too busy getting his teeth around one of Bluto’s fingers. He bit down as hard a he could.

“OW! Ya scurvy barnacle!” Bluto howled and dropped Steven.

“Popeye! Help!” Steven called.

(to be continued)