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Campground Discipline
Part 9

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: 04 Sep 2007

On our trip up to the Atlantic Provinces, Mom suggested that we stop by the campground in the Adirondacks, where we spent so many weeks two summers ago. (It was the one where my summers of getting into so much trouble with my Dad, and getting so many spankings, began.)

We pulled in early on Friday morning, set up the RV to relax for a couple of weeks. I was wearing a pair of my same, old running shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops.

We needed to get groceries, and had passed the same campground store on the way up where I’d gone two years ago to get groceries and supplies. To my pleased surprise, Dad suggested I take the Explorer, with Mom’s list, and go get our groceries and supplies.

Mom wrote up a list, and Dad handed me $300, joking, Don’t forget to come back, Jared. I laughed with them, but put the money into my wallet, and carried it, along with the list, into the Explorer.

I drove off from our campsite, and began unleashing the big engine winding down the road towards the camp store. I pulled up rapidly, stopped quickly, and jumped down from the truck, bounding towards the store with wallet and list in hand.

I was amazed to see the store look totally unchanged, exactly like I remembered seeing it two summers ago. I started gathering up the groceries and items on the list, into several hand-baskets, which I took to the counter as I filled them.

I’d already filled two, small carrying baskets, and was working on another when the same group of men I remembered from two years ago came into the store. They headed over to the dine-in, picnic table area in the corner of the store. Some of them sat down to drink their drinks, a couple of them took up opposing positions at the end of the ping pong table in the eat-in area.

Hey, look! one of them called out all at once. It sounded like the same one I remembered harassing me back two years ago. I thought I recognized that Explorer speeding around the road turns. It’s the Doc from Alabama’s kid – from two years ago. So, how’re you doin, boy? You been staying out of trouble, or you still getting your butt busted by your Dad? Ole Doc can lay a mean whipping on a boy, can’t he, kid?

I suddenly felt sick, angry, and scared. I decided to ignore them, finish up my shopping, and leave.

Hey, boy! Your manners aren’t any better than they were 2 years ago. Ole Doc was branding your behind all over the place back then; but maybe you haven’t been getting it often enough, boy. You know, son, all of us here grew up like your Dad raises you and your brothers. A good, sound spanking straightens a youngster up, and clears the air of all kinds of foolishness, like thinking he can do whatever he wants, make his own rules, ignore adults’ authority.

He paused to stare at me as I tried to ignore him. It’s nothing special for us to see – or take – a young man turned over a lap, his pants pulled down, and his bare rump tanned real, red hot – until he learns a lesson - you hear, boy?

Despite my strongest efforts of self-control, my hands started to shake slightly. Still, I kept my peace, and remained silent. The silence became overwhelming, like the eye of a hurricane, waiting for the storm to return. I felt an ominous apprehension, as I stooped down to get some boxes of instant potatoes.

“How do ya like that? This kid is begging for it, isn’t he? Just daring somebody to take him over their knee and straighten his attitude out real good.”

Again, I kept my face staring at the goods I was shopping for, without looking up or around, although I was feeling uneasy and apprehensive.

Suddenly, I felt a strong arm reach from behind my back and waist, around the front of my chest, and another strong arm reaching down from behind me and between my legs, hoisting me up backward, off my feet. Instantly, I was thrashing and fighting in the air against the hold on me, trying to break free from the grips that held me up, almost flat on my back.

As I did, my t-shirt slid up my back and chest. The guy grasping me grabbed hold of my shirt, and it pulled right up over my head, down my arms, leaving him holding it in his hand.

I toppled off his hand under my butt and between my legs, landing on my back and butt on the floor. Turning over swiftly onto my hands and feet, I bounced up, bounding down the short row towards the door, ready to run out to the Explorer.

My fast 5 or 6 steps brought me to the door, that had been wide open when I arrived; but now was closed. Standing in front of the closed door were two of the men who had come in after me. Two others were following after me, with the one holding my t-shirt bringing up the rear.

I panicked, and jutted to the left, to turn down another short aisle. As I did, one of the men at the door reach out and grabbed the waistband of my shorts, pulling me back towards him.

The next thing I knew, I was once again lifted up completely off the floor, by different arms that grabbed and hefted my legs, arms, and body. I still had my wallet and list gripped in my left hand, but otherwise, I had no control over anything.

Hey, Billy. Bring over one of those ping pong paddles you guys were gonna use. We’ve got another need for it at the moment.

I knew at once what was going on, and began struggling in the arms of my captors, while calling out, Hey, you guys, stop! Let me down. I didn’t do anything. I was just minding my own business, doing some shopping. I’m not causing any trouble. Let me down!

They carted me off, away back over to one of the picnic table’s benches. You cause trouble when you don’t behave yourself and show respect, boy. That’s reason for a good, hard spankin’, – but you oughta know that, kid. I’ll bet you’ll remember when we’re done here, though.

Three of the men sat down, side by side, on the bench, with their backs to the table, while lowering me, stretching me out, and draping me across their collective knees. I thrashed and writhed, wildly and furiously, trying to get free, to get away. The one at the end by my feet put a leg over my feet and legs, trapping them down on the floor. The one at my head grabbed my right arm, pulling and twisting it up against my bare back, and holding my face down by the back of my neck.

The middle one, taking the ping pong paddle in hand, began delivering a set of hard, rapid swats to the seat of my running shorts.

I felt the hard, sharp smacks to my butt immediately. My back stiffened; my legs tried to kick; I pulled against the hands holding my up-twisted arm in place against my back; and my head snapped up and backwards, as my face registered the recognition of the smarting pain on my behind.

Ooooooophhhhh-aaaaaaaa-ow! was expelled from my mouth. It didn’t matter that I was two years older. Here I was, a young man, a college grad, a medical student, sprawled over the knees of men who were paddling my fanny like I was a 10 year-old.

I was infuriated, but also scared, because it was hurting more and more. Intensifying my struggles to wrest free from the many arms and hands restraining me, only topped my momentary fury with frustration, and then dread. I was unquestionably in their control.

Heeeey, ow! ow! Stop! I shouted. Stop it! Ow! Ow! STOP IT-aaaaa-ow! Ow! Damn you pervs! Stop it NOW! Oooooo-aaaaaa-ow-ow-ow! I hurled my angry, verbal commands at them.

Suddenly my order was honoured. There was a stoppage in the barrage of smacks peppering the seat of my shorts.

Listen to’im, guys. The boy’s talking to us now alright, but he’s still disrespectful – and now mouthy too. I don’t think we’re getting through to’im yet. </[p>

He reached his left hand over to the waistband of my shorts, and yanked them down over my buttocks and hips, down my thighs and legs, past my knees. Next, my gray and white, plaid boxers were hauled down just as quickly.

Nooooooo-aaaaaaaaa-noooooooooooo! Noooooooooooooooooo! I howled my protest.

Will ya look at this, guys?! This kid’s butt’s recently been tanned real good. How’d you get this, kid?! he demanded.

Let me UP! NOWWWWWW! I shouted my demand.

You’re still not listening, are you, boy?! And you’re certainly not in any position to make any demands of anybody, kid. I asked you a question, and I expect an answer.

The ping pong paddle smashed repeatedly into my now-bare, obviously recently-spanked behind, igniting burning, fiery pain that radiated like shock waves up my body, from my butt to my brain. I hollered and bellowed, but the battery of smacks with the paddle continued, unabated. The small, hard, ping pong paddle danced and popped all over my butt and upper legs, especially my inner cheeks and thighs.

I asked you how you got this, boy?! He emphasized the seriousness of his inquiry by the smacks against my bare bottom and thighs.


I thought so. Why, boy? What’d you do to get this from your Dad?

I didn’t want to answer their embarrassing questions.

My butt and thighs were sizzling from the blistering swats of the ping pong paddle.

Ooooooo-aaaaa-ow-ow-ow-aaaa caa-use-aaaaa-ow-ow-I-aaaaa-ow-ow-ow-didn’t-aaaaa-ow-ow! waaa-aaant-ow-ow-aaaa-to come-aaaaa-ow-ow-with themmmmm, and-aaaaa-oooooo-ow-aaaaaa-ow-ow-talked-aaaaa-back-aaaaa-ow-ow-ow!

I screamed and bounced around as much as I could on the laps of the men holding me in place while spanking me.

Well, good for old Doc! Damn good thing to bust a boy’s butt when he doesn’t mind and appreciate what his folks are doing for’im, – gets to thinking he’s too big for his britches, too high and mighty! Nothing like a good spanking to set a boy straight, correct his thinking real quick, bring-im down to reality that he’s got to obey!

The pain on my still bruised bottom from that nasty, stinging little paddle was unbearable. Intertwined with my screaming and hollering, I was begging and pleading for them to stop, confessing and apologizing for being disrespectful, promising and assuring them I’d be better, never be disrespectful again, do the right thing, be respectful, be good.

It yielded me nothing. The machine-like smacking continued, setting my bottom and upper legs on fire, scorching the soft, inner skin like flames burning it off.

It was almost as if this whipping had been planned and put in place by them, and they’d been waiting 2 years to carry it out. I wailed and screamed, bucking up and down on the legs over which I was a sprawled captive. They kept on spanking.

All at once, in an instant, the sorry, punished little boy buried deep within me, but that always surfaced during thoroughgoing spankings, emerged in a torrent of bawling tears and sobs that burst forth from my mouth and eyes. No longer able to talk through my choking, gasping sobs and convulsive squalling, I threw out incoherent phrases, interspliced between my wailing and gagging.

Haughuh-uh-uhm-uh-suh-ar-uh-eeeee-augh-uh-ow-uh-waaaaaaa! Uh-uh-saaaaid-uh’m-uh-uh’ll-uh-beeeee-uh-uh-ooooooo-uh’m-uh-sorreeeeee-uh-huh-waaaaaaa-uh-uh-beeee-uh-uh-gooo-huh-uh-ooood-oooooo-uh-uh-waaaaaaaaa!/p>

He kept volley after volley of that ping pong paddle bouncing all over my buttocks, sit-spots, and inner thighs, until I was only passively shrieking through my sobbing.

Suddenly, as quickly as this humiliating episode had occurred, it was over. They released me and jerked me up off their laps, standing me on my now bare feet, as my flip flops had dropped off my feet while I’d wriggled, and twisted, and turned as much as I could in the confinement of their grasps. Immediately, my hands flew back, plastered to my bare butt and upper legs, rubbing, squeezing, and clasping them furiously.

Doubled over, I sobbed and squalled choking gasps through gaping mouth. I was scarcely able to see the floor, through my squinting eyes. I jumped and danced around, bouncing up and down. The pain of the punishment just administered to me was far worse than even its humiliation.

In a couple of minutes, I felt my left arm grasped, and heard myself being ordered, Pull up your underwear and shorts, boy. I just ignored them, bending over further, my hands still glued to my agonizing bottom, weeping and wailing in my misery.

The ping pong paddle was returned to service, and I screamed and jumped forward, but swiftly removed my hands that had been smacked with the first couple of swats from the paddle. Listen up, kid – or do we need to continue this some more?!

Ooooooo-aaaaaa-uh-uh-waaaaaaa-uh-uh-nuh-noooooo-uh-waaaaaa-uh-uh-waaaaaaaaa-uh-nooooooooooo! I howled. I felt hands grab my boxers and pull them roughly up my legs from my ankles and feet, scraping over my incinerated butt, followed by my running shorts.

I yelled and squalled as the shorts and boxers touched my charred behind. Someone’s big, hard hand swatted the seat of my shorts. Now, that’s what we mean when we talk to you, son, he admonished.

Oooooo-uh-waaaaaa-uh-uh-it-uh-burrrrrns-uh-uh-hurrrrrrtz-uh-uh-oooooo-uh-ahm-uh-suh-uh-arrrrr-uh-uh-eeeee-uh-waaaaaa-uh-waaaaaa! I called out crying.

Someone handed me my t-shirt, and said, Put your shirt back on, youngster. Crying uncontrollably, I clambered into my t-shirt, pulling it over my head and down my arms and torso, then, returning to doubled over bawling and stomping, my hands squeezing and massaging my throbbing bottom.

All right, boy. You were askin’ for that, so now you got it. You should be a better behaved boy from now on. Now, show your respect and thank the guys for correcting your behaviour.

There was silence broken only by my continued sobbing and rubbing my blistered backside through the seat of my shorts.

Move his hands, he’s not listening yet! My arms were pulled away, removing my hands from massaging my rump, and another set of smacks with the ping pong paddle was unleashed on my now-throbbing bottom under the hot seat of my shorts, while my arms were held far from my rearend.

I wailed. Ooooo-ow-ow-ow-uh-uh-waaaaaa-uh-ow-uh-waaaaaa! Uh-uh-ow-uh-oooo-uh-kaaaaay-uh-uh-stuh-uh-oppppp-uh-uh-waaaaaaaa!

Say it then, boy! Thank these men for taking the time and trouble to correct your bad behaviour.


Thank you for spanking me. I needed it – real bad.

Oooooooo-aaaaaaa-uh-uh-waaaaaaaa! I wailed in anguished shame and disgrace at being ordered to say such a thing.

Ooooo-uh-uh-waaaaaa-uh-uh-kaaaaay-uh-uh-waaaaaaa-uh-uh-thuh-aaaank-uh-youuuuu-uh-uh-for-uh-uh-uh-waaaaaaaa-uh-waaaaaaa-uh-haughuh-uh. . . I shrieked as another volley of smacks blistered by behind.

Ooooo-uh-ow-ow-kaaaaay-uh-uh-waaaaa-uh-fuh-orrrr-uh-spaaaang-guh-uh-keeeeng-guh-meeeee-uh-uh-waaaaaa-uh-oooooo-uh-uh-I-uh-nuh-eeeed-uh-ed-uh-it-uh-uh-waaaaaaaaa! . . . I complied under the blistering spanks.

Again, boy. Say it like we told you – like you mean it.

Augh-uh-waaaaa-uh-uh-thuh-uh-aaaaank-guh-uh-youuuuuuu-uh-uh-fuh-orrr-uh-spaaaaag-guh-uh-keeeng-guh-uh-meeeeeee-uh-uh-waaaaaaaa-uh-uh-ooooo-uh-uh-uh-nuh-eeeeeded-huhuh-it-uh-uh-waaaaaa-ooooooo-waaaaaa-uh- reeeeeal-uh-uh-baaaaad! Haughuh-uh-augh-uh-waaaaaaaa-uh-huh-uh-waaaaaaaaaa!

My arms were released, and dashed back to clasp and rub and knead my aching, wounded butt, and I stood there, doubled over again, sobbing and bawling uncontrollably.

Now, that’s better, boy. You’re welcome. Anytime. Anytime you forget your manners or act out, you’re always welcome to get whato you need, young man — your bottom tanned real good, right here.

Standing there squalling at that moment, I was shaken to the roots and core of my being. I felt a seething, but restrained anger over what they had just done to me. A a now-knowing fear about their attitude was mixed with rueful regret I’d been so foolish as to let myself appear to be misbehaving, and allow all this to be brought on myself. Despite my outrage and shame of being treated like this, nevertheless, for that moment standing there, I was foremost aware of overwhelming feelings of having been utterly defeated, subdued, and punished with corrective, corporal discipline, like a bad and naughty child.

Better go finish up your shopping, kid. Your Dad’ll be wondering where you are, if maybe you went out joyriding with the Explorer. You better hurry it up and get back, or ole Doc may have a long, hard talk with your backside, boy. And we know you know too well what that’s like, don’t you?

I allowed only a split second of silence, replying quickly through my squalling, Uh-uh-ye-es-uh-sir-uh-uh-waaaaaaaa-uh-uh! Then, stiffly and woodenly, with pain radiating all over my behind, I picked up my wallet and the list and returned to completing my shopping. The entire store was silent as the men stood watching me finish up while whimpering muffled sobs.

At the counter, I paid for it all, and began carrying the 6 bags of groceries to the