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Campground Discipline
Part 7

by Graham

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Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 12 Apr 2006


The fall semester of my senior year of college was like living in a straight jacket. My curfew was midnight on Fridays and Saturdays. I couldn’t go out at all Sunday through Thursday night, and had to be in bed by 11 p.m. I didn’t have any evening classes, and it was rare that I could convince Mom and Dad to let me leave the house in the evening to go to the library. Of course, with the internet, they knew there was less need for me to have to go to the library.

My father’s regimen was to get up early and go workout, before heading to the university for teaching classes. He decided that I needed exercise, since I was not allowed out after dinner in the evenings. So, he began waking me up at 5:30 in the morning, just like he did each summer, and driving me with him to the gym. Afterwards, we showered and shaved, and he dropped me off on main campus for my classes, and he headed to the College of Medicine.

That meant I was stuck on campus all day long, even when I didn’t have classes, or they were over. Dad picked me up at 4:30 at the undergrad library each day, and we went home for dinner. A couple of times, I rode off campus with friends during the afternoon, to get lunch or a snack, but I was always made sure I was back at the library before 4:30 p.m.

After just a few weeks, I was feeling wound up tight from frustration, nervous energy, anger and resentment, and fear over the restrictions put on me. Yet, I was stuck. I couldn’t find a way around them, or out of them, and I was afraid of crossing my father. My friends knew that my life was pretty strictly regimented, and they seemed more than a bit annoyed with me when we came back to start fall semester, and I was less able to do things with them than previously. I always told them my study load was heavy, and I had a lot of responsibilities at home, with the family. I didn’t want them to know that my how rigidly my parents’ control was over me, and especially that it was stricter now — and why. Absolutely, under no circumstances, did I want them even to suspect that I was still subject to getting spankings from my father.

So, I bit my tongue, kept my mouth shut and stayed out of trouble, and complied pretty scrupulously with the limits my parents had placed on me. It was really tough to do sometimes, because I wanted to be with friends my own age, and to do things they did. But I also knew my father, and what was sure to happen if I didn’t obey, and in that case, that some how some of my friends would find out. So, my fear of all that drove to me behave stringently with my parents’ rules.

As it turned out, the long, grinding weeks of the semester flew by, and I was facing finals. Because of the imposed discipline of studying, getting enough rest, and exercise daily, I was in great shape for my finals, and blew the roof off them, getting straight A’s. My parents were really happy about it and excited for me. It had been a tough and austere semester living under my parents conditions and control, but with those results, I felt so good about myself that I almost didn’t mind being so restricted.

My Mom and Dad remarked about how it looked like I had finally learned and was growing up, and hadn’t gotten into any trouble since we returned from summer vacation. Of course, my little brother, Jonathon, had to ask, Mommy, how come Jared was so bad on vacation, during the summer, and is good now? She told him that I was finally growing up to be a reliable, trustworthy, young man. Inside, my ego swelled.

At Christmas break, some buddies were making plans to go to Texas, and down into Mexico and back, for 10 days. They wanted me to go with them. I told them I didn’t know if I could get away, but they rebutted by reminding me that classes were out, and I had all that study time free now. I really wanted to go with them, and asked a lot of questions to get specifics, knowing I would need that if I was going to have any chance of getting clearance from my parents; but I was afraid to sound like I might make a commitment.

That night, at supper, I casually mentioned that Frank, Roy, and some other guys were planning a 10-day trip to Texas and Mexico, and back, and wanted me to go with them. My parents looked up, at me, and then at each other. I’d really like to go, I added, since I haven’t done much of anything all semester long. And I proved I can do good, I hastened.

Do well, Jared. Be good, do well, my Mom corrected me.

Oh, right, Mom, I quickly agreed.

Well,..., she began to waver. My father spoke up. When would this be, Jared? We want you home for Christmas.

Oh, man! I thought to myself. December 27 through January 6, I replied.

How much will it cost, Jared? Do you even know?

Yes, sir. We each have to have a thousand dollars, so there’ll be a total of $6,000 for us all to buy gas, eat, share a room, and do things.

What things?! my father demanded. Get drunk, get yourself involved with people you no better than to do — like you did this past summer? Even worse? I don’t know, Jared. I’ve got an uneasy feeling about you doing this. And, besides, you don’t have the money for this. We’d have to give it to you.

I know, Dad, but I’ve shown you I can do — I mean, be — good. And look at the grades I got. Are those the grades of somebody that doesn’t know how to stay on the right track, Dad? I was using my new leverage, and it accomplished some results, as he stopped, and I was met with silence for a couple of minutes. And I didn’t get a job because you wouldn’t let me, so I’d get the good grades I did. Otherwise, I’d have the money saved up.

Tell you what, Jared. Let Mom and I discuss it tonight, and we’ll let you know tomorrow.

Okay, Dad, Mom, I eagerly replied, buoyant with hope that they might let me go.

The next night, to my shock, my father told me he and Mom had decided I could go. They would give me the $1000, and let me go. But my father was going to send his cell phone with me. I was to keep in touch and let them know where I was, so they could get hold of me if they needed to. I was excited — thrilled. I called my buddies and told them I was a positive for the trip, and immediately we launched into an animated conversation about what to take, where we were going to go, and (spoken softly and more cryptically) what we wanted to see and do.

Christmas Eve came, and then Christmas Day, and it was our usual family celebration. My brothers got lots of toys and equipment they wanted. I got some clothes, and a digital camera to take with me on my trip. My parents stunned me by telling me they were going to loosen up some of the reins on me next semester — let me stay out ’til 1 a.m. on Fridays and Saturdays, and let me drive myself to campus and classes. Bedtime was to stay the same, and I still wouldn’t be allowed out Sunday through Thursday evening, unless I had some good reason to get their permission. It wasn’t really all that much, but I was feeling almost heady with the winds of more freedom.

Two days after Christmas, we left at 6 a.m. — 6 of us in Roy’s old Jeep Liberty. We were packed in so tightly, that there was little room to relax much, but we were so excited about the trip that we didn’t care. We drove a long day before reaching Brownsville. We got a cheap motel room with two double beds and 3 of us crammed into each bed to try to sleep. The next morning about 9:30 we woke up, and quickly took turns getting ready. Then, we headed down to the lobby for some juice and donuts, and left to cross the border into Matamoros.

It was about noon when we finally crossed the border into Mexico. We drove on and decided to head over to the Gulf and spend the afternoon on the beach. It was fun, but it was also dusk when we packed up and headed back to Matamoros. We didn’t have a place to stay, and spotted a small, old motel on the way into the city. We rented a room and unpacked out things, and took turns showering and cleaning up.

Then, we headed out to find supper. I was wearing a pair of white champs shorts, with navy blue stripes down the sides and a smaller yellow stripe running down, inside the navy blue stripes; a long-sleeve t-short over a short sleeve t-shirt; and flip flops with bare feet. It was almost 9 p.m. when we finally ate at a small restaurant in town. The food was great, and we all drank several beers, enjoying the new-found freedom that was ours. Then, we decided to begin our tour of the town. We drove closer in and parked in a field away from the main part of town, then walked in.

The downtown streets had rows of little bars and strip joints, with doors open, music blasting from within. We were peering in and trying to decide what to explore first. A man who looked to be in his 50’s grabbed the arms of a couple of us and shouted, Come in, boys. Everything you’re looking for is here, and he started pulling us towards the entrance.

We had to pay $10 cover charges to enter, but nobody even asked for identification from any of us. The bar was a dance club, with a stage towards the back. Girls were dancing and peeling off clothes as they danced on the stage. Beer was available everywhere, and we each bought bottles. I began chugging mine down quickly, as I looked around, wide-eyed, at the girls dancing on stage. We all moved up together to some bar chairs closer to the stage and sat down to drink our beers.

After a while, several pretty girls, who looked like servers moving around the place, only dressed in scantier clothes, caught my eye. My quick glance was met by the gaze of one, and she flashed a smile back at me. My heart gulped. In only a few minutes, she was at my side, asking me if I was ready for another cerveza (beer). I drained what was left in the bottle I was holding, and nodded yes. At a closer glance, she was very attractive, but obviously quite a bit older — maybe in her early 30’s.

In just seconds, she was gone with the empty bottle, and returned with another, colder one and a glass. She set both the bottle and glass down on the table, and then came and stood around beside me. Then, she leaned against me and reached over to begin opening the bottle, and still hanging over me poured the beer into the glass. I was feeling overwhelmed with warmth and fidgety excitement. When she had emptied the bottle, she slipped an arm around my neck. As I sipped the beer, she fiddled with my ear and the side of my face, and I started feeling very warm and short of breath.

I felt her hands slip inside my t-shirts, rubbing around my back, chest, and stomach. Besides inhaling sharply, I was stirring with arousal. At almost 2 a.m., none of us guys was feeling any pain. Because my shorts had no back pockets, I had my wallet in my right side pocket. My foggy brain still alerted me to be careful, even though my raging penis was hungrily longing and hoping for this to lead to something more.

I felt her hand move down the front of my shorts, then under my boxers, instantly coming in contact with my aroused penis. Gulping, I turned my head, and my widened eyes stared into her knowing, hungry eyes. Her hand, submerged below my shorts and boxers, squeezed and swirled my now-red-hot member.

Oh, wow! Nobody has done this since two summers ago — Marie, in Quebec! Oh, man! I was so excited, so quick! I think I’m gonna shoot! Fidgeting and worming around on my seat, I found myself rapidly and overwhelming driven to the irresistible, uncontrollable edge. What is this! Aieee-aaah! I can’t take this... I started to speak to her: Uh-uh-aah, waaaait! Uh-uh, stop! Uh, uh, uh, ooooo-ah-nooo-aaaaaaah! Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I blasted explosively into her hand and my shorts, shouting with ecstasy.

Oh, man, now I’ve done it! What’s she gonna think?! Did anybody see?! I opened my eyes to see her face registering a sweet, smile of satisfaction, as she wiped her hand against my shorts leg — Gasp! — on the inside. Gulping down gasps of air, out of shock and embarrassment, I shuddered with a sudden chill of excitement and apprehension. What’s going on?! What’s happening?!

She leaned over and whispered in my ear. You are soooo hot, senior. Come with me. She took my hand, pulled me up off my seat, and led me away from the dance floor towards a number of private booths in a darker area in the back. While walking me to one of them, she threw her arm around my waist and stuffed her hand into the left side pocket of my shorts, where my father’s cell phone was stuffed, while her other hand reached down and grasped my butt with her fingers.

I squirmed, almost skipping, as I was raging hot again! I can’t believe it! How come I’m burning hot aroused again?! Then, she directed me into the booth to sit down. Someone brought me another bottle of cervesa, and I quickly gulped some to try to gain a breather.

She sat down close to me, reached over, and began pulling my long-sleeve t-shirt up over my head and off my arms. Then, she did the same thing with my short t-shirt. In only seconds, my chest, back, shoulders, and stomach were bare. She began rubbing all around my back, my chest and nipples, my stomach and abdomen. I was lying back in the booth, wriggling around under the flood of stimulations.

What is going on?! Except for that too-short time a couple of summers ago, I had never even been this close to a girl before, and here was this warm, fragrant, aggressive woman hitting on me hot, and big time!

While her hands ranged over my upper body, her tongue forced my lips and teeth open, shooting past and down into my throat. Oh, man! It’s so fast! I can’t breath! I can’t think. I felt my penis start to lift, extend, thicken, stiffen, tenting my cotton shorts. Like a hard mast being erectedm it was becoming sensitive and responding all over again. What is this?! I never get hot again this quick!

She leaned so hard against me that I slumped backwards and downwards, lying back, stretched out flat on the seat, with her mouth attached to mine, her hands sweeping my chest, nipples, abdomen, as she lay on top of me, between my legs. A slippery hand slid down the side of my shorts, then over to the front, grabbing the throbbing head of my rod. My brain was firing off flares like fireworks. She began softly rubbing below the penis head, twirling it back and forth in her fingers like a washing machine agitator.

Oh, man! I can’t believe this! I was being driven, swept along, towards the edge. I can’t do this! This shouldn’t be going on, I tried to tell myself; but Aaaa-aaaa-ooooaaaaaa! It feels so great! I can’t stop!

Squirming and wriggling around on the seat I was lying on, I felt myself resigning to the overwhelming, pleasureful stimulations from this hot woman on top of me. Suddenly, I felt her hands untie the draw string to my shorts, and pull them down from the sides of my hips. I writhed under the depantsing, but instantly, they were at my feet, my flip flops falling off, and the shorts following.

Lying flat back in only my boxers, with my raging pole protruding from the opening, I tried to hold myself still, to force myself to regain control. But my back, butt, legs, and feet were bouncing and jolting around on the wooden seat.

She reached down, and helped remove my boxers from the snag on my erect penis. They were down at my ankles, as her restless hand relentlessly, over and over, stimulated my member to pulsating, throbbing intensity.

I can’t take this again! I’m losing it! I’m losing it! I’ve got to stop it,... I have to, to stop! I have to!... Oooooooaaaaaaaaa! She began sliding her hand up and down, then circling, up and down, crowning and eagle-clawing the head of my engorged penis. I tried to whisper, but she smiled into my eyes and kept on.

I was leaning backwards, my head stretched way back, my eyes closed, but my mouth gaping as I gasped with ecstasy. My abdomen, butt and hips were lifted high up off the seat, twisting and jerking under her, while my engorged, erect penis was pulsating in her hand.

At the same time, my hands instinctively reached up to her blouse, lifting it to grasp her breasts, while continuing my convexed, backward bend without any thought of trying to hide the fitful, agitated movements of my hips and legs. Her inflaming fingers ignited my pumping member, and I rocked my hips more and more, twisting and gyrating my pelvis and inflamed rod into and against her arousing, exciting fingers and hand.

Once more, I started to try to whisper, as my hands circled around her warm breasts, but my whispers turned to moans, then muffled cries of pleasure and delight. Oooooo, uh, nooooo, uh-ooooooo-uh-uhn-nuh-uh-uh-oooooooo-uh-aieeaaaaaaaaaaaah! This time I detonated repeated, violent blasts exploding into her hand, spilling out onto the seat and floor.

I collapsed back against the seat, naked, exhausted, heaving heavily, gulping gasping breaths. Lying back naked on the seat, I was light-headed with the rush of adrenalin and euphoric feelings of emotional paradise, toying with clearing my thinking through my pleasure-shocked, sensory overload.

All at once, I heard loud, male voices. I looked to the side and up, and saw uniformed policemen charging into the establishment. Two of them trudged straight over to the area of the private booths, and then right up to where I lay, still panting with released relief, but now also inhaling sharply with heightened fear.

I started to sit up only to feel powerful hands gripping my shoulders and hips, pinning my butt and back against the seat, holding me in place. A strong voice barked Spanish, while I lay there staring up into numerous, unfamiliar eyes. The girl who had been lying on top of me, pleasuring me, had jumped up, pulled down her top. I heard her reply in Spanish, then she drifted back away from the site.

Gringo, get up! the man grasping my shoulders ordered. What have you done?! Where are your clothes?! he demanded. I tried to sit up, but found myself being pulled up by my shoulders and buttocks, off the seat on which I had been lying, onto my bare feet. My hands immediately flew to cover my dripping, sticky privates.

I looked around on the floor of the darkened room, trying to spy where my clothes had gone. My boxers were on the floor near where they had fallen off my feet. I grabbed for them, quickly stepped into them, and pulled them on. I couldn’t see my flip flops or my shorts anywhere. My t-shirt was a bit farther away, and pulled my captors along to where I could reach over and grab it, pulling it down over my head, and they released my arms long enough to allow me to stick them through it. I couldn’t locate my long-sleeve t-shirt, though.

The next thing I knew, I was being manhandled, my hands cuffed behind me, and led � dragged, really � out of the building. I was pushed into an old police car, the door slammed shut. I sat there stunned, in shock. What had happened? What was going to happen? Where were my friends? All at once, I felt extremely isolated and alone.

After about 30 minutes, the police came back to the car, and drove off with me in the back. I was taken to an old jail, fingerprinted and photographed, and placed in a cell far back in the jail. It had a crude sink and toilet, no bed, just a mat. To me, it seemed like I had been hidden away in the caverns of the earth, never to be seen again. In just hours, my world had gone from fun and exhilaration to shock, fear, and despondence.

The next morning, in my boxers and t-shirt, and barefoot, I was taken in a wagon from the jail to a courthouse. Amidst a stockyard of people and cases, I hastily appeared before a judge. Most of the proceeding was in Spanish, but I heard enough English to figure out that I was being charged with improper conduct in the bar, and attempting to rape the waitress.

I tried to speak up, to say that it was she who had led me along, but I found myself forcibly pushed by my head back down on my chair. Eying around the room, I felt not only out-numbered, but also like a foreign victim, with no rights or understanding of what was happening. I heard the judge saying nada, nada, and then I was pulled up out of my chair, recuffed, and still barefoot, in only my boxers and t-shirt, led back to the van.

Back at the jail, I was deposited back in my cell. I was beside myself with desperation and dread. What was going to happen to me? How could I get out of this? What could I do to take care of it? I didn’t have a clue.

Meanwhile, my parents had been trying to reach me, without success, on my father’s cell phone. My Dad was really ticked that I didn’t answer, but no one knew anything else.

Two days following my arraignment, my five friends arrived back in Mississippi. They went to my house immediately, delivered my clothes from the motel where we’d last stayed, and told my father that I was in jail in Mexico.

My Dad grimaced and groaned at the news. I knew we shouldn’t have let Jared go, he confirmed to himself. Now, what? he asked my friends. But they had no idea.

He sat them down and interrogated them about everything: spending the night in San Antonio, crossing over into Mexico, going to the beach, coming back to Matamoros, going to the club, the girl and me going back to the private booth, the arrival of the police, my arrest, everybody being cleared out of the club, their fleeing far enough to observe me being taken away. Beyond that, they knew nothing.

Dad thanked them, and let them leave. Then he told Mom what had happened, and she said the same thing that my Dad had: We never should have let Jared go. He’s too unpredictable and untrustworthy to be allowed so much latitude. My father decided he was going to leave early the next morning to drive to San Antonio.

Meanwhile, I just sat in my cell for four more days. Showers were allowed every other day for 5 minutes, and then still barefoot, I put my same blue boxers and t-shirt back on. Meals were small, nearly inedible. I had nothing to do, nothing to read, and no chance to leave my cell except for the showers. I began feeling desperate and depressed, thinking maybe I would be here for years and years � maybe forever � forgotten and unknown by anybody.

In the early afternoon of my sixth day in the jail cell, a guard came walking back to me. Gringo, he called out. A visitor for you.

I was surprised. Who is it? I asked.

Your father, the guard replied, pulling me up by the arm off the mat I was sitting on.

No way, I responded.

Si, yes, way, Gringo, the guard responded.

Gulp. No, it can’t be. If my Dad comes and sees me here, he’ll tan my butt so bad... I worried out loud.

Too late, Gringo. You come with me, he pulled me out of the cell, leading me barefoot, in my same boxers and t-shirt, down the corridor, then turning, down another, towards a closed, wooden door. Still holding me by the arm, he turned the key in the door, unlocking it, pushed it open, and then pushed me inside, closing it tightly behind me. He was on the outside, and I heard him lock the door again behind me.

I looked up to see my father sitting in an old chair, alone, waiting, and I groaned to myself silently. My father’s weary, worried, sad eyes betrayed his stony face: he was disturbed at my presence in this jail and my appearance in my same old dirty boxers and t-shirt.

I’m sorry, Dad, I blurted right away, deeply ashamed, and at least as terrified of how upset I had undoubtedly made him. I stood beyond his grasp. He stood up and walked towards me. Instinctively, I backed away, backing into the locked, wooden door. He reached me, took hold of my arm, and led me with him back to the chair where he’d been sitting. He sat down, with me standing close to him.

I cannot believe my own son is sitting in jail, he muttered. What’n hell are you doing here, Jared? Indecent behaviour in a bar, and attempted rape! he demanded as he stared, boring into my eyes. You sure haven’t learned the lessons I thought you’d know by now; but know this, you’ve got a lot more lessons coming, young man.

As usual, he still had hold of my arm and quickly yanked me off my bare feet, falling headlong across his knees. He wasted no time in snatching the waistband of my dirty, loose boxers, pulling them down to my feet. Then the fierce spanking began.

He pulled an old, wooden hairbrush out of his pocket and brandished it all over every part of my bare bottom, inner and outer thighs and buttocks, until I was shrieking and kicking, but unable to halt or flee. My filthy boxers flew off somewhere. I kicked and bucked, twisted, writhed, and bounced, my feet and legs thrashing around, as I tried to elude the hairbrush that my father had brought to tan my behind.

Sooner than I ever wanted to admit, I was broken and beaten, succumbing to sobbing, bawling, and begging for forgiveness and a stop to this spanking. Dad might as well have been deaf: it went on and on and on. I ceased struggling, collapsed, sobbing and pleading, amidst choking and gagging, shuddering sobs, and still my Dad kept on blistering my bare, blazing bottom.

When it was over, Dad pulled me up to stand barefoot in just my dingy t-shirt. I was sobbing and wailing, doubled over and stomping up and down, my hands polishing my fiery behind. He let me go on like that for a long time. Then, he spoke softly and firmly.

You’ve got a lot more than that coming, Jared, but for now you know exactly how I feel about finding you here like this. I don’t know what’s going to happen, and what’s involved, but you’re going to have to stay here until we can get it dealt with.

Ooooooo, uh, Daaaad, I’m sorry, uh, uh, I cried out. I haaate it here, uh, uh, I’m, uh, sorry, uh, uh, waaaaaaa.

Well, I’m glad you do hate it here, Jared, because being here, and what’s in store for you once we get you out, are intended to teach you such a lesson that you’ll never, ever even come close to behaviour like yours, that can land you in jail. Do you hear what I’m saying, young man?

Oooo, uh, uh, yessss, uh, Daaaaad, I wailed. I’m so sorreeeeee, I cried out as I continued to knead my blistered bare butt.

Alright, then, for now, you’ve got to stay put, here. I’ll be here working on it, and I’ll let you know what’s happening.

Okaaaay, uh, Daaaad, uh, uh, waaaaaaa, uh-uh! I sobbed softly

Guard! my father called several times, and in a few minutes, a guard entered from the door I had been shoved through. He came over, roughly grabbed my arm away from my bare, obviously spanked butt, and began pulling me out the door, down the hall, away from my Dad. Byyyyye, Daaaad! I shouted out. I, uh, love you, uh, uh,...

I love you too, son, I heard his reply, as I was returned to my back cell, only now naked from my waist, with my raw, red butt on display as I lay on my stomach and chest on the mat.

Two more days I sat in my cell, still in only my t-shirt. I felt panicked, desperate, depressed, frightened, discouraged beyond hope. Maybe this is what the rest of my life is going to be, I thought to myself.

About noon on my tenth day there, a guard unlocked the cell, grabbed my arm, and pulled me out and down the corridor. He led me along, as I tried to cover my genitals with my hands. Finally, we came to a different door. He unlocked it, opened it, and dragged me in with him. There I met with a man who was obviously a superior officer. He spoke in Spanish to the guard, and then addressed me. Your case is almost finished, Gringo. You have to pay a $5,000 fine, and spend ten more days here. After that, you will be released.

$5,000 fine?! I didn’t have any money. 10 more days! I can’t pay a fine, I announced. I don’t have any money, or any way to get any.

Your father has paid the fine for you, the supervising officer informed me. You must complete the days of your sentence, then you will be released to your father.

What?! I shouted my response. How can you do this?!

It is part of your punishment, the superior officer explained. Your father knows. He’s accepted it. So must you.

I couldn’t help it. I just lost it and began crying, weeping, sobbing right there in that office, in front of the officer and guard. The next thing I knew, I was being led out, weeping, back to my cell, where again I laid down on my face on the mat.

The days that followed were like time had slowed down to almost a standstill. I couldn’t wait to get out. I wanted to escape this dirty place so bad. I mostly just laid on my mat on the floor, because I didn’t have anything else to do.

After five more days, four guards unlocked my cell, pulled me up off the mat, secured my hands in front of me, and dragged me out and down one corridor. Turning right down another corridor they led me to another room. They unlocked the door, and swept me in with them. Wha-ut is this? I demanded. They grinned, and one of them yanked my dirty t-shirt up over my head, tearing it off me.

They sat me on an old, steel table, and forced me to lie down on my back. Then, with a makeshift shower hose, began spraying water on me. Apparently, I was to be showered and cleaned better. In a few minutes, several pairs of hands were scrubbing and poking me, washing my face, under my neck, arms, and around my chest and abdomen. Then, my legs were lifted and held up over my head, and my butt and genitals were washed and scoured. Somebody’s hand was washing my anus, pushing against it.

A large finger pushed up and inside me, squirming around, wriggling inside, twisting, probing inside me like an over-sized snake. Suddenly, the finger hit my prostate, and I let out a yell, Ooooooooooaaaaaaa! The probing digit remained deep, massaging around — especially on my hot button. My penis began growing, thickening, rising, extending, demanding my consciousness. I began trying to pull my feet and legs free from the hands holding me, trying to kick them away.

Instantly, several guards reached over, pulled me up off the table and dragged me toppling across the lap of one of them who was seated in an old, bent, metal chair. For a moment or two, I was disoriented, not realizing what was coming.

I tried to struggle and balance myself, but it was futile as multiple hands and arms held me in place, draped across the lap over which I was upended. My head, arms, and secured hands were hanging down in the puddles of water on the floor, and I bounced myself on my close, bound hands. Basically, I was incapable of doing anything to right or support myself, as I dangled on the lap and across the legs of the guard.

Suddenly, I was stung by the sudden, hard, repeated, smarting pain of something that sounded like gunfire exploding, but bit against my still-recovering rearend like searing fire. It was continuing, incessant, unrelenting, and accumulating, and escalating.

I screamed, and writhed and thrashed about on the lap, but an arm encircling my waist, and other arms seizing my legs and shoulders, held me in place. The shock, unpleasantness, and shame of being restrained in this position and receiving this treatment, quickly intensified from discomfort, to affliction, agony, then torment � all of which overwhelmed my helpless flailing and grappling.

Though wrestling and thrashing about, I remained fixed firmly across the knees of the one guard, with my heating rump being strapped over and over and over. My firm, small, flat, but muscled backside, and thin, but muscled, thighs, were still hurting, but now radiating with an excruciating painfulness.

I was frantic, desperate, but despairing of anything I could do, to stop the onslaught that was scorching my rearend. As much as I tried to kick and buck and bounce to avoid the unending smacking against my buttocks and thighs, I was powerless, restrained as I was. While being scorched with the blistering strap, my rod also started becoming engorged from the friction of my thrashing around in futile efforts and hopes to avoid the fiery bites.

In my wailing, screeching pain, I began begging, pleading for them to stop, to let me up, to end the torment to my behind. When no let up occurred, frenzied hopelessness overtook me. All at once, something unexpected, buried deep within me, came surging forth. My eyes, wide with fright and shock, pain and shame, squinted tightly, and tears flooded against the doors pushing through. My mouth was gaping from the smarting, blistering slaps against his bottom and thighs.

Then it opened further agape. My head and shoulders, intermittently arching backwards and upwards, froze upward and backward, into a tensed, steeled paralysis, and I screamed � shrieked really � with all the fear and anguish I could utter � long and loud. At that same moment, I exploded, firing round after round of almost unending ejaculate, discharging and emptying my testicles dry. I crumbled, weeping and sobbing.

How long this continued I have no awareness. After a while, I became conscious of being dragged off the lap of the guard, made to stand while stomping and stamping up and down with my hands plastered on my excoriated bottom, as another hose cleansed me down again. Then, I was dragged out the door, and down the halls back to my cell, sobbing and wailing all the way, and dropped onto my stomach and chest on my mat on the floor.

That night, I turned down any food, and until the evening of the next night. I crawled over to the toilet to use it without sitting down. Eventually, I drank some clear soup and ate some plantains, but otherwise returned to lying on my stomach, trying to let my branded behind rest exposed to the air. For the next few days, I spent my time lying on my stomach and chest, gingerly favouring my tender, flayed, bare butt.

On the evening of the fifth day after being strapped, I was yanked up off my mat, taken from my cell, and given another, longer shower. Once again, while being bathed by many hands, I was subjected to the intrusion into my anal canal that stirred me to writhing, but on repeated contact with my gland, ignited my rod to fully aroused hungering, that was brought to relief by other, wet, soapy hands. Over and over, I launched rockets of ejaculate that exploded all over myself and those hands and arms securing and bathing me. That, of course, led to both laughter from my helpers and another long dousing to hose me down clean again.

After waiting for the water to dry off of me, I was then taken, barefoot and totally naked, down the hall and into the room where I had first been booked. My Dad was there, and I felt like I could leap into his arms, I was so happy to see him, and to realize I was going to be let go.

I stood there during the almost 30 minutes it took to finish processing my release. Then I was allowed to walk over to my Dad. He had a bag, and reached in and pulled out some boxers, jeans, a t-shirt, and some running shoes. I was excited not only at the prospect of being free, but also of being able to put some clothes on.

Cautiously, and wincing, I stepped into the boxers and pulled them up. Pulling the jeans on was agony to my scalded butt and thighs, but I pulled them on carefully, and then pulled the clean t-shirt over my head and arms, and stepped with shaky legs, unsteadily into the shoes. The door was unlocked and opened, and my father and I walked out �- free! I walked as quickly as my seared, wounded bottom would allow, almost skipping as I accompanied him to his car.

We’re going to get across the border, back into the US, as quickly as we can, my Dad explained to me. You get into the back seat and lie down on your stomach and chest. That’ll keep the weight and pressure off your butt while you ride, Jared, he ordered. I did exactly what he told me.

That night, we stopped at a motel in Texas, with only one large bed, and spent the night. I was never so happy to be in an old bed, in an old motel room, even sharing it with my father, as that night. I fell rapidly to sleep and in my sleep snuggled back into the protective security of my Dad. In the morning, I was awakened by him shaking me and calling to me to get up. Despite all that had happened — and was going to happen — his voice sounded a warmth and kindly feeling, and I welcomed it with comforting gratitude.

It was 7 a.m., and Dad wanted me to get in the shower so we could get going. I slid out of bed on my stomach, and hurried to the shower. Less than ten minutes later, I was standing with damp hair, gingerly pulling on another, clean pair of boxers, my jeans, and another, clean t-shirt.

We stopped at a diner for breakfast, and Dad drove on, stopping for quick, large, Subway sandwiches, until we reached home late that evening. When we pulled into the family home driveway, I was almost giddy with excitement at being free and back home again.

The next day, my father took me to the university campus in the morning, and instructed me to make arrangements for making up the classes and work I had missed. He picked me up at 5 p.m., and I rode uneasy back home with him.

After supper that evening, he announced my sentence to me. I was grounded for the whole semester. I would receive a spanking every Friday night for the entire semester. My bedtime would be 11 p.m., Sunday through Friday nights, and midnight on Saturday night. He would be getting me up at 5:30 a.m. to go work out with him, and then drive me and drop me off on campus for the day, to be picked up at the end of the day. During spring break, I would work on campus to earn money to repay my parents for the sizeable penalty they had paid for my release.

I was not to be trusted or be allowed out beyond the very strict controls they had set for my life. Every Friday night, after dinner, I trudged to my bedroom, removed my pants, and waited for my father to come in and whale my eventually bared bottom. Each Friday night, he sat down in the desk chair in my room, pulled me back across his lap, and administered an unbelievable, round of repeated, extreme spankings. Each Friday night, all semester long, I was dispatched howling and squalling, with blistered butt, to bed by no later than 9 p.m.

I could not believe how severe his discipline of me was. Once finally finished, he would stand up, wrap his arm around my waist, and lift me hanging at my waist, and drop me into my bed. I’d fall on my stomach, still sobbing. He’d pull up my sheet and blanket over my battered, bare behind, gently pat my tousled, damp hair, and remind me I was his son, and he loved me. Then he would turn off the light at my bedside, and walk out, closing the door behind him.

It was like doom had set, but I knew I had no choices. For sure I had messed up hugely, and lost my parents’ trust. Also sure was that I had cost them a lot of money and trouble. If forced to admit from the deep, submerged recesses of my mind and emerging, adult ego, I knew I had brought all this on myself, and would be paying the price of my misbehaviour for the next five months.

 
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