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A Fateful Day at the Airport
Part 2

by Y Lee Coyote

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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: 03 Sep 2008


The following story is fiction and contains scenes of spankings and discipline of men by a youth.  If these subjects are offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.  It is recommended that you start with part 1 (the link is at the end).

This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission.  Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice.

The author would appreciate your comments – pro and con, including constructive criticism, and suggestions.


A Different Viewpoint

Petey has given you a really accurate report about how he became my boy and how the three of us live.  There are some things he just does not know about me.  That is the way it should be as I am in charge and it is best that he thinks I am close to perfect (perhaps even omnipotent) as possible for it makes him more obedient.  Think back to when you were a child and how you thought that your parents were truly all-powerful, knew everything and could do anything.  Then as you grew up, you began to see that they were not perfect and you began to assert your own autonomy with more and more impunity.

Petey thought that he was ever so cleaver and discreet watching us in the airport that very first day.  However, I had noticed him watching us and was most delighted that we got the adjacent seats.  As we chatted, it quickly became evident that he was totally enthralled by the idea that a youth, such as myself, was in total control of his father.  That was sufficient enough to tell me that he craved a strong father figure as a leader.  I let him think that I was spilling my guts while in reality I was squeezing information out of him.  Perhaps you remember what Addison DeWitt [George Sanders] said in All About Eve about doing that very same thing.  Well, he was wrong about one thing – for it applies to males as well as females.  Having pegged Petey as a boy trapped in a man's body, I made my plans.  He was a pushover!  Within days, no, hours he was under my control although he did not know it.  I quickly determined that he needed strict supervision and I supplied it.  Fortunately, his apartment lease only had a few months to go and when it expired I took him home as one would do with a waif you find begging in the streets.

It was great that Tommy and Petey had become friends for now they were brothers.  They had similar personalities and needs.  They actually encouraged each other to be boys just by setting the example.  Of course, there were other advantages.  First, my household now had two incomes so that I could save more for college expenses and, second, more hands to do the chores.  This also increased my prestige in my social circle.  I was quite unique in having two [adult] boys.  All the others with two [adult] kids had their parents (a boy and a girl) while the rest just had one.

The trouble with all this great perfection is that it just a front.  I mess up just like everyone else and need both guidance and discipline at times.  Of course, my two boys don't know that and furthermore don't even suspect it.  The one person who actually treats me like a boy is my grandfather.  He is a very wise man and when he helped me establish domination over Dad he imparted some of his wisdom.  "Douglas, please feel free to call on me for help with your father for raising a parent is a difficult task.  Also, you will find it hard to be in charge of yourself all the time so again feel free to ask me for help in any matter including your own discipline."  I, of course, thanked him but was certain that I would not need help with myself.  It was only a month before I realized my mistake.

I had gotten a poor grade and I was not sure what to do so I called on Granddad.  He quickly guided me to setup rules for myself along with a corresponding punishment schedule for when I broke them.  We spend several hours working stuff out and I then had to follow my own rules.  I quickly learnt that I needed more flexibility about stuff as I was in charge.  I made several adjustments that allowed me the necessary freedom.  And then I got a couple of bad grades.  I knew that there weren't any excuses for that yet I found that punishing myself was extremely hard to do.  The usual sort of stuff – early curfew and no TV – did not really seem to be right.  It was corporal punishment that I needed.  That, after all, was the family tradition.

Maybe if one had a spanking machine one could spank oneself effectively but otherwise it is not possible except as play.  This all meant another visit to Granddad.  When I confessed my transgressions and told him why I was there he smiled.  I'm glad that he also explained that he had expected me as this was the only practical course of action.  As I said, he is very wise and good at handling people.  I certainly would have rejected the entire idea if he had suggested it at first.  We quickly agreed that I had outgrown the traditional, over the lap, pants down spanking even with a hairbrush or paddle.  Grandpa suggested an old fashioned but most traditional method used in the UK – the cane – since he recalled how effective it had been when he was in school.

I certainly was surprised when Grandpa took one out from the closet.  He had foreseen the need and was prepared.  He cut the air with it a couple of times and it made a fearful swosh each time.  He let me examine it.  He assured me that generations of school boys and not just in England had suffered chastisement from a cane and survived better for it.  I removed my jeans and underpants and bent over a chair as Grandpa instructed me.

The cane swoshed and connected with my bare, upturned bottom.  It was absolutely fearsome.  It was worse than the dentist.  I thought that a red-hot poker had connected with my ass.  I'm sorry to say that I yelled and stood up clutching my wounded behind.  When I had calmed down, Grandpa reminded me that it did not count since I jumped up.  I resumed the required position and braced myself now, at least, I really knew what to expect.  I guess that I learnt in a few seconds what English school boys learnt from their older brothers and friends in the years before they are old enough to get caned.  Grandpa raised the cane and again assaulted my butt.  The second stroke was as hard as the first but I was able to stay in position and did not scream like I had for the first stroke.

He gave me the remaining five cuts.  Since it was my first time he did not make a gate but placed each searing cut parallel.  It was painful to bring up my underpants but at least they protected me from my rough jeans.  With some difficulty, I managed to thank him for disciplining me.  I resolved to work very hard at my studies to avoid another session with the cane as I stood on the bus for the ride home.  It was difficult to hide my discomfort from Dad but I managed.  That also added another reason not to earn another caning.

I figure that I got caned once a month for the first year.  Grandpa never went easy on me which is how it should be.  I did my best to report all my failures to Grandpa so that he could apply the proper punishment.  Of course, I was really the one to decide when I had earned such punishment.  It is a man's responsibility to punishment himself should the need arise as well as punishing his boys.

The End

© Copyright A.I.L., September 3, 2008

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