dadearns

My D.A.D. Earns His Hairbrush - Part 1 & 2

My D.A.D. Earns His Hairbrush

Part One: Introduction

When I was seventeen, my mom ran off with one of the femme amazon groups that’s so popular on one of the government Islands. It wasn’t a complete surprise; but it still didn’t feel real great. It was just before my eighteenth birthday, so I celebrated by getting drunk with some friends and smashing my father’s car.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time I’d been at the wheel with questionable blood levels, so it was all pretty ugly with the cops. My dad handled it ‘okay’ considering all that he was going through, but when he got me out of the police’s hands, and we were finally home, he told me about a drastic decision he’d made.

"We’re going to move to one of the Islands, Andy, into a dome. You’re going to continue your schooling, stop screwing around, and I’m going to get some professional training, so I can be more of a help to you....and myself. What’s happened with your mother is really hard, but we’re going to get past it. I’m worried about you son, you’ve been getting wild, and I haven’t handled it. It can’t go on."

Professional training, in a dome, meant that my father was going to become a D.A.D. dad. Everyone knew about that and what it meant. It meant that he was going to start taking special injections and pills that along with pretty intense physical and psychological training would probably change him quite a bit. I’d never seen a D.A.D. dad personally, but I’d seen pictures. They were all big men who looked like they could probably haul a tractor across a field bare-handed and still have enough strength to benchpress a cow. The D.A.D. project had been going on all over the globe for about fifty years and was considered not only successful but the new wave for mankind.

D.A.D. training didn’t just involve physical/psychological reorientation, it also meant that my father would be being trained in how to deal with me. First and foremost, D.A.D. was about the restoration of the ‘Father Figure.’

Everyone knew that D.A.D. stood for "Discipline" and "Devotion." My father had never been strong at either, and I guess I’d taken some advantage of it. Don’t get me wrong, my father was a nice guy, but he was like a lot of dads; he worked a lot, he played golf with his friends, and he ruffled my hair when he came home. Maybe that’s why my mom finally joined the movement; she was tired of coping. Well, in honesty, she didn’t do much coping, mostly she hung out with other wives/mothers who felt unappreciated and bored with both their husbands and their kids.

"Maybe you’re going to one of those freaky island," I said, "but I’m not." I’d heard a shit-load of stories about what went on at those Islands, and none of them sounded like what I wanted to be doing. "I’m eighteen, and I can do what I want."

"Guess again," my father said. "You know the law."

Unfortunately, I did. With everyone living a whole lot longer, thanks to the new synthroids, the courts had extended the age at which a boy or girl achieved their legal maturity until twenty-six. I had eight more years to be an infant in the eyes of the law.

"You’ll come with me to the Island Andy," my father said, "and you’ll either come willingly, or I’ll use the law to bring you there in restraints. I don’t think you’d like that, son. From what I hear, the Island personnel don’t react favorably to boys who arrive in restraints."

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

One thing you can say for my father is that he knows how to get things done. Within a month, he had taken care of his business, our house and we were booked on a flight to the Island that would be our new home.

The evening before we were set to leave, dad and I had a huge fight about the whole move. Our house looked like a ghost villa with everything wrapped up in plastic and only a few suitcases in the hallway. Island officials were strict about what you could bring, and I had a major fit when I was told how much I would have to leave behind.

Dad showed me the paper we had gotten from someone named High Father Edmund.

- Boys may not bring individual video or virtual games with them. Game rooms are available for group activity.

- Boys may not ornament their bodies in any unnatural way. Piercings will be allowed to close and body art will be painlessly removed by lazer.

- Boys may not bring, or endulge in drinking, smoking or the taking of unapproved drugs. (This one really got me because I had starting drinking with some friends and I enjoyed smoking now and then. It wasn’t as if smoking was bad for you anymore. The only legal tobacco was a synthroid that was completely harmless. It couldn’t give you cancer, but it did give you something to do with your mouth. My dad and some of his friends who were cigar afficionados walked around chomping their stogies and producing clouds of odorless smoke. Restaurants didn’t even ban pipes and cigars anymore since they didn’t affect anybody.)

"You may need to make a change in your life, but I don’t!" I raged at my dad. "I have friends who will put me up, so you can go to that freaking Island and I’ll be fine."

"Oh, yeah, Andy, you’ll be fine! What friends will put you up? Who are their parents? Do they even have any parents?! Forget it, you’re a minor and your place is with your father. You’re coming with me!" Dad pushed a big stogie with a gold band into his mouth and fired it up. He walked around our plastic covered living room,puffing angrily, his hands thrust into his pockets.

"Fuck that and fuck you!" I screamed. Dad turned and glared at me. "It’s not fair!" I went on. "I’ve heard about those Islands and it’s not for me."

Dad took his cigar out of his mouth and walked up to me. He wasn’t a giant man, but he was still six inches taller than me at 6’ 1". He looked me in the eye and said, "You are going with me, son and that’s the final word on the subject. I already told you, I’ll have you brought in restraints if I have to, and when they restrain you on the Island they strip you bare to make sure you have nothing to hurt yourself or anyone else with. I don’t think you’d care for that.

‘From what I’ve heard, they have very firm ways of dealing with rebellious behavior on the Island. They also don’t like disrespect or bad language. If I’d been more of a father to you before, maybe this wouldn’t be happening now.

‘It’s just you and me, son, and we’re going to spend a lot more quality time together on the Island. Quality and quantity, and things are going to be a lot different. Now you get up to bed, we have to leave early in the morning."

PART TWO: I Witness My First Spanking

I was not a happy camper the next morning when a sky cab took us to the helodrome where we would be airlifted to the Island. There were three other men taking the trip with their boys. One of the men had two sons, ages 19 and 22, and the other two each had one son, ages 20 and 24. The big attraction was the twenty-four year old who actually was in restraints. The restraints consisted of a collar, wrist cuffs and ankle cuffs, all of which were joined by a flexible cable.

One of the pilots took the extended end of this cable and connected it to a loop in the ceiling over the boy’s head. Once during the flight, when he complained of having to releave himself, an attendant unlocked him and carried him, slung over his shoulder like a fire victim, to the john. The Attendant was the first synthetically altered man I had ever seen. He was clearly a D.A.D. or in training to be one. He was over 6’4" and incredibly powerful. He had dark hair that had been cut so short that he was almost bald and a trim black moustache. I had a somewhat exciting fantasy imagining the attendant taking down the young man’s pants and underpants for him.

My fantasy turned real when loud cries and sounds of scuffling were heard from the head and the door of the toilet suddenly swung violently open. The restrained boy literally fell forward, but was caught around the chest by the attendant.

Despite his locked wrists and ankles, the young man had apparently attempted some sort of escape in the bathroom and was continuing it even though his pants and underpants were gathered at his manacled ankles and he cock and balls were on display (not to mention his hairy butt) for all to see.

"Get the fuck off me!" the young man yelled.

"Harry, cut it out!" his father hollered from his seat.

"Fuck you, man!" the boy screamed back.

"Alright, that’s it," the Attendant said. "You’ve got something coming to you, son, and you’r going to get it now!"

So saying, the Attendant braced his foot against the bathroom door and hauled the twenty four year old over his upraised knee. The young man was powerless to resist and could only hang over the attendant’s wide and massive thigh with his broad bare behind on display for all of us.

The Attendant was so big, that the twenty four year old, not small himself, hung over his knee without touching the ground on either side. The Attendant reached for his belt and it was then that I noticed a large wooden hairbrush hanging there. There was a hole in the handle of this implement and a strip of leather, through that hole, secured it to the Attendant’s belt.

In a second, the brush had been snapped free and the Attendant fisted it as though he were brandishing a mighty sword. I guess he fucking was, because that’s how he used it.

While the twenty four year old hung there with his ass up and ready for attention, the Attendant gave it what it needed. His arm swung in a circle that made him look like Don Quixote’s windmill, and each time the Attendant’s arm came whistling down from on high, the back of that big hairbrush left a white weal on the boy’s ass. The boy started yelling right away, but after five minutes of steady spanking, his yells turned into cries.

I’d never witnessed a spanking in my life, and I certainly never imagined anything like this punishment. The Attendant’s face was perfectly calm, although the arch of his eyebrows gave away his intensity of purpose. His arm was like a machine, rising and falling in sweeping circles. The hairbrush in his fist was a formidable spanking implement. Broad enough to cover one of the boy’s butt cheeks, the brush was also fairly thick so that each wallop must have caused incredible pain.

After another five minutes, the boy’s head and legs were bouncing in the air and he was weeping like a six year old lying across mommy’s skirt for a bare-bottom hand slapping.

Personally, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the boy’s butt. It was doing the most amazing things. Every time the hairbrush landed on it, it contracted with the pain. This was followed by a wail from the boy and, the next second, his backside seemed to swell out and glow like a lighthouse beacon. Then, in the seconds where the Attendant’s arm was moving in its upswing, the bare bottom seemed to pulsate and throb before the next wallop left another white oval on the scarlet skin and the contracting happened again.

The spanking lasted for fifteen solid minutes with everyone riveted to the scene. When it was over, the Attendent did not let the boy up. He held him over his knee and spoke to him.

"From now on, son, you will do exactly what I tell you. Is that perfectly clear?"

"Yes, yes," sobbed the boy.

"Yesssir!" corrected the Attendant, and he delivered a dozen searing new spanks to the boy’s bottom. The boy bucked and kicked out and sobbed "Sorry! Sorry!" but the Attendant didn’t stop until he had completed all twelve whacks.

"Oooh, oooh!" moaned the boy. And then he said something that I would remember, he said, "Oooh, daddy, I’m sorry!" Why was he calling the Attendant, Daddy?

"Now you are going to stay over my knee until you calm down. Then, if you really need the bathroom we’ll go back in. You try any monkey business and I’ll paddle you till you can’t sit down. You understand?"

"Oooh, yes, yes, daddy!" There! He’s said it again! He’d called the Attendant, Daddy!

In another minute, the boy had stopped crying and the Attendant lifted him from his knee. He held the boy in front of him and looked into his face and at the tears that still streamed silently from his eyes. The Attendant frowned sympathetically and hugged the young man to his chest for a minute. Then he lifted him into the bathroom and closed the door behind them.

I looked at my father for the first time since the incredible scene took place and he looked at me in a way that made my face turn red.

"I think that tanning did that boy some good," my dad said. "What do you think?"

My face felt even hotter, but I just turned away and looked out the window.

"Did me good to see some good old-fashioned Discipline," my father added, and he pulled one of his cigars from his shirt pocket.

When the Attendant and the young man emerged from the john, I saw that the young man was no longer wearing the restraints. He allowed the Attendant to hold his arm and guide him back to his seat. When he gingerly sat down (it was clear that it was extremely painful for him) the Attendant smiled fondly, reached out to rumple the young man’s hair and then walked away. The young man didn’t look at his father, but quietly turned his head to the window.

I gazed at my father again, but he was leaning back smoking with his eyes closed.

(to be continued)