joelfanp1

Joel Buys a Fanny Paddle P1

After Joel became my ‘dad’, he invested a lot of time and energy into the role.    I was proud to have Joel for a father.   He has big and handsome with curly blond hair and a big barrel chested body. Although he was only a year and a half older than me, our age difference seemed much greater.   First of all because I was small and skinny with big brown eyes and glasses and secondly, because Joel was big, brawny, smoked a pipe all the time, and was a ‘take-charge’ sort of person.

During our father/son period, Joel seemed to have lots of girl friends who were attracted to his masculine good looks and an air of sophistication that hung around him. They also seemed attracted to my role with Joel. Some of them thought I was Joel’s little brother, but Joel told several of them that he was my legal guardian.    Joel insisted that I call him ‘Dad’ at all time, even in front of other people, so as time went by a legend grew up at my junior high school and Joel’s high school about Joel being my guardian.

Of course I had to answer a lot of questions about this, but I was up for all of them.   My imagination was stimulated by the whole situation and my verbal skills rose to new levels of story-telling.   Besides, it was all true. Joel was my dad.   I felt he was, he felt he was and we lived it fully. One embarrassing example occured one day during lunch at my school.

I was out in the school yard with my friend when I spotted Joel sitting on a bench by the fence smoking his pipe. He was surrounded by three of his high school cronies and they were watching me.

When I saw Joel, I grinned and headed toward him, but I almost stopped in my tracks when I saw that he was frowning around his pipe.   He was sitting with his legs spread far apart and one hand was drumming ominiously upon his knee. With his other hand he beckoned to me with a finger.

“Is that your guardian?” one of my friends asked.

I nodded.

“He looks mad,” the boy said.

I walked up to Joel. His friends poked each other and smiled.   One of them, a tall boy with very dark hair, clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“Hello, dad,” I said nervously. “Is something wrong?”

Joel puffed on his pipe and talked around the pipe stem.   “Your math teacher called the house,” he said. Joel had told me to give the school his private phone number to fill in on the school form that said, “Parents’ Home Phone.”    Of course I did what my dad told me to do.

“Your math teacher said that you missed two assignment and failed your last test on decimals. You didn’t tell me you were having trouble.”

I looked around at Joel’s high school friends, my friends and a group of boys that sensed that a scene was taking place. Joel and I were the center of a group.

“Can’t we talk about this at home?” I asked sheepishly.

Joel gave an angry puff on his pipe and pulled it from his mouth. “I want to hear a little more respect when you’re talking to me, son,” he said.

“I...I’m sorry,” I said, “it’s just....”

“It’s just that you didn’t tell the truth, that what it’s just,” Joel said putting the pipe back in his mouth.   “It’s just that you need a little lesson.”

My face turned red, and hot, I could feel sweat bloom on my forehead like acne.

“Give him a spankin’,” one of Joel’s friends said. “That’s what my dad did to me when I was a little kid like him.”

There was a murmur in the crowd. Most of it was just sound in my ears, the blood rushing through my head drowned out the words, but it didn’t drown out Joel’s words.

“Come right over to me,” he said, using his pipe to point to the space between his knees.

I walked up and stood between Joel’s knees. Joel put his pipe in his mouth and took hold of both my arms.   His hands were big and strong and held me in place.

“I have to give you a spanking, Sandy,” he said intimately, just as though there wasn’t a crowd around us.   His voice was deep and serious and everyone got quiet to hear it. “I have to take down your pants, put you on my lap and give you a good paddy wackin’ and if you make a fuss, I’ll take off my belt and strap you with it.   Do you want me to do that?”

I started to cry, both from fear and embarrassment. Joel had never punished me in public before.

Joel gave me a little shake. “Do you want me to give you the belt?” he asked loudly.

“N-no.”

“No, who?” he said loudly.

“No, daddy,” I said.

Joel puffed his pipe and undid my pants. I whimpered when he got a fist-grip on the waist ban, but without any hesitation he pulled them down to my ankles and then picked me up and laid me in his lap. His left hand pressed against the back of my head and his right hand took hold of the waist band of my briefs.

“Yeah,” said a kid. “Give it to him on his bare behind. All fathers spank their sons on their bare behind.”

Joel pulled my underpants down to my knees, and I sobbed so that my tears fell on the ground. I could feel Joel’s knees under my chest and crotch. I could feel his left hand against the back of my head and his right hand laying, now, across my bare bottom.   I wished he would leave it there, so my shame would be covered, but he didn’t.

Suddenly, his hand rose over his head. I thought it would come crashing down, but it hung there for a moment while Joel uttered the words, those cliche words that are the province of all fathers who spank their sons.   He said, “This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.” And with that his large, heavy palm smashed down.

The sound of that first spank sounded like the crack of a gun. I felt certain that the whole schoolyard would feel it, but in another instant I didn’t care about that, because the impact hit my nervous system. My whole body jumped on his lap, and Joel pressed me firmly down. I could feel the reddening imprint of his palm on my right buttock cheek. His hand rose again.

“Ooooh, daddy,” I said trembling, more tears rolled down my nose and my hands hung over Joel’s knee my fingers splayed.

CRACK! The palm smacked across the left buttock cheek.

CRACK! The palm smacked the same spot.

I cried out.

CRACK! The palm smacked the same spot again.

“Oooow, daddeeee, no more!” I begged.

CRACK! The palm smacked at the top of my rights buttocks.

CRACK! The palm smacked the same spot.

“Look at the handprints on his butt!” someone said.

Another kids ruffled my hair, “That’s all right, kid,” the hair-ruffler said, “your dad knows what’s good for you.”

CRACK!   Joel began working at the bottom of the backside, where I sat down.   Now, I was beginning to lose control.   Joel had to move his left hand from the back of my head to across my back and around my side. He held me in place and continued with the spanking.

CRACK! His palm hit the center of my bare behind and pressed into the place where my cheeks came together. I felt the impact right on my anus.

CRACK!   He spanked the same spot.

CRACK!   CRACK! CRACK!   He spanked the same spot over and over.

“Waaaaah!” I wailed.   “No more! No more! “

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! “i’ll give you ‘No more!’” Joel stormed.   He sounded angrier than he had at the start.

I tossed my head from side to side and my tears fell continuously. I was bawling and kicking. My pants were starting to bunch up on my shoes.

“Are - you - going - to - do - your - homework?” Joel said, punctuating each word with another spank.   My backside was swelling up I could feel it. As it swelled, it felt like my anus was bulging forward. It felt like Joel was spanking that very private part of myself. The burning and aching of the muscles in my behind was intense.

“Yes! Yes! Dadddeeeee. I will. I promise.”

“Whale ‘im!” some excited boy cried out.

Joel stopped wacking me and now he was holding me in place and gently easing my underpants back up. He relaxed his grip on my back so that I could raise up as he pulled them over my sore bottom.   I knew that Joel did that in consideration of my being exposed.   A dad might see his son’s penis, but noone else.   The backside, bared for a spanking, was a different matter. Joel had taught me that lesson this day.

Now Joel lifted me off of his lap and put me in front of him between his legs. He took his pipe out of his mouth and put it in his shirt pocket.   He reached down and pulled up my pants fastening them up again himself.   All this while I kept crying and wiping my eyes with balled fists.

The crowd was dispersing, except for Joel’s cronies and two of my friends. Joel lectured me.

“I don’t ever want to find out that you haven’t done what you’re supposed to,” he said. “Remember what I told you about your work.”

I remembered how Joel had told me that I didn’t take advantage of my abilities, that I was lazy and manipulative.

“Don’t make me come out here again!” he said threateningly. “If I have to come out here again, I’ll whip you and put you in the corner of the yard so everyone can see.”

“Noooo!” I moaned.

Joel frowned, reached around and smacked my bottom hard. “Don’t you tell me ‘No’,” he said.   “I’ll do it and you’ll stand there crying.”

He got up from the bench.   “I have to get back now,” Joel said, “but I think it’s time that we went shopping for a fanny paddle.”

One of Joel’s friends let out a roar of laughter. “Shit!” he said.   “My dad had one of those hanging on the wall of the kitchen.   It had this picture of a bunch of animals with a deer in the middle and a bear behind him, and it said, ‘For the cute little deer with the bear behind.’” The boy laughed again.   “Man, that thing was murder.”

Joel didn’t react to his friend but kept his eyes fixed on me. “We’ll go shopping this weekend.   You need a reminder hanging on our wall too,” he said.   Then he gave me a big hug and held me close.   “Love ya,” he said, “be a good boy.” Then he gave me another little smack on the bottom and moved off with his friends.

(to be continued)