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Follow up
Part 6

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: 22 Oct 2011


Riding in the car, Mom was silent until after we pulled into our garage, and started walking into the house. I notice my Dad’s car was home, and wondered why he was here early.

What’s going on with you, Nathan, that you’re getting in so much trouble lately, especially this spring break?

Nothing, Mom. I wasn’t doing anything, and I got in trouble. It’s not fair.

Well, that’s kind of hard to believe when there’s so much of it, Nathan.

Walking past her into the kitchen, I turned to the refrigerator to get a snack. That’s because you’re a woman and you don’t know: things don’t make sense to you; and I don’t need you sticking your nose in my business, I tossed out defiantly.

Leaning into the open fridge, I was taken aback at feeling a sharp, stinging series of whaps to the seat of my khaki shorts. Backing out and standing up, I turned to see my Mom, brandishing the long-handled, wooden spoon from the kitchen, swatting my behind.

Heeeey, Mom! Stop it! I shouted. She told me that I needed to watch my mouth, and not talk to her like that, as she kept on smacking my rump under my shorts.

Aaaaaaaaah! Stop it! I exclaimed out, whirling around and grabbing her arm holding the wooden spoon, and twisting it forcefully to prevent her from swinging it and the spoon any more.

You let go of my arm this instant, Nathan Ford – unless you want a lot worse and more than my spanking you with this wooden spoon, young man!

My young, male testosterone was surging, and I was angry over everything that had happened to me today, this week, this whole spring break. Yet, feeling a bit heady with the power of the immediate realization that I was stronger than my Mom, I just held her arm still, tightly, refusing to let go, ignoring her command.

Noooo, Mom. I’m not a kid. I’m a man. You can’t doooo this any more! I’m not going to let you! I blurted out.

Wisely, she stopped, pulled her arm back from me and I let go. We shall see about that, young man – but you made your choice now.

Even in the rush of my anger and new feeling of dominance, I realized the core of her response was the threat of my Dad; but I couldn’t control my temper or mouth. Damn it, Mom! I’m in college, not a kid any more. You can’t treat me like that! Don’t you get it?!

I had scarcely completed my response when I felt a strong arm grasp my shoulder, then a powerful hand grip my ear, bending me downward while I cried out in pain.

You come with me this instant, Mr. Bigshot, Dad spoke, tugging me along by the painful clasp on my ear and five sharp smacks to my bottom. He led me to my room, and pulled me into it. At that moment, he let go of my throbbing ear, replacing it with his grasp on my left biceps. He sat down on the bed and looked at me, bent forward by his hold on my arm.

I hope you realize that this defiance cannot be allowed to go unpunished.

What do you mean? I asked incredulously.

You do not ever talk to your mother like that again – ever – and don’t ever interfere with her when she’s disciplining you, young man, Dad swatted the seat of my khaki shorts while speaking with unmistakeable firmness and authority. If she determines you need a spanking, then that’s what goes and that’s what you get: you get the spanking – no if’s, and’s, but’s, or questions about it. Do you understand me? he demanded.

I stared up into his face with astonished outrage. I’m 19, and I have to accept being spanked by my Mom with a wooden, kitchen spoon? Visibly shaking, I nonetheless kept silent, knowing all-to-the better not to talk back or oppose him.

And – just like now – anytime you decide you’re too big or too old to obey your mother, you’re going to end up getting your britches warmed and tamed several times first, and afterwards – and then still go get the spanking you deserve from your mother. Do you understand me, Nathan?

I was stunned. Of course I understood him, but I didn’t want to. I hated this. He was telling me I had to accept a spanking from my Mom, or I’d get spanked by him several times — and also from her! That sucked soooo bad!

But Daaaaad, that sucks! I verbalized my thoughts. It’s not fair! I tried, when he rudely interrupted me with a smack across my mouth. That really hurt! And it shocked and rattled me too. Dad had never struck me in the face before, so I realized he must really be furious.

I’m ashamed of you, Nathan! he chided.

I was blubbering from the startling affront of being smacked in the face. Uh-uh-I’m-uh-suh-arrrr-eeee-uh-uh-Daaaad, uh-buh-ut-uh-uh-I’m-uh-19-uh-uh-Daaaaad! I shouted amidst my tears.

I know how old you are, Nathan. You think that makes a difference? You think that excuses your behaviour?

You are young man, but you think you’re a way lot more than you are – which is how a kid thinks and acts, not a man! – and it’s exactly what needs to be pulled up short, taken in hand, and re-taught a lesson! And, when all is said and done, you’re still our son, living under our roof, under our care, guidance, and responsibility. Is that clear?

Uh-uh-ye-es, uh-sir-uh, I answered.

As long as you are our son, under our roof, you’re under our care and responsibility, and you are going to do as we tell you; and, when you get out of line, you’re going to accept the consequences. Is that clear?

There was a seemingly long pause. Is that clear, Nathan? Dad’s voice was firm, demanding, and absolute.

Buh-uht-Daaaad... . uh-you-uh-uh-are treating me-uh-liiiike-uh-uh-kid.

Listen up, mister Big Shot, Dad replies with unmistakeably impatient irritation. The bed you slept in last night, who bought it for you? And the sheets and blanket and pillows you sleep on? You bought them for you?

Sniveling, I answered, You and Mom did.

The boxer shorts you slept in last night, and the ones you’re wearing right now, who bought them? Who pays for the clothes you wear?

You and Mom, I answered begrudgingly, knowing full well the destination of this interrogation.

Who pays the utility bills for you to take the nice, long, hot showers you like, and buys the food you eat hungrily every meal here?

You do.

And who actually fixes the food for those meals that you love and devour?

Mom does.

And who’s paying for most of your college expenses – your tuition, books, room & board, fees? Even the car you’re grounded from driving right now?

You are.

Is the point clear now, Nathan?

Um, ye-es, sir. I knew I was shot down. I was a total dependent; and, in fact, I enjoyed it – just like a kid. And my Mom and Dad, being in charge, provided it all to me; and like a kid, I had to do what they said, because I was readily taking all their love and care and kindness, and using it and enjoying it.

Then he ordered me to strip. I was taken aback by the stern, no-nonsense, authoritarian way he was taking control. I didn’t like being told to undress, like I was some kind of a kid, or a dress-up doll, and wanted to refuse to do it. On the other hand, I knew I really didn’t have any choice. My Dad had compelled me in here, and beyond any question or doubt he was the boss. Obediently, albeit a little sullenly, I stripped down to my boxers.

Hang up those clothes, Nathan– this room isn’t going to be a pig sty, he ordered.

Still stewing a little over being treated like this – like a child – I grudgingly obeyed, unwittingly jutting my narrow, muscled butt up in the seat of my boxers each time I bent over to retrieve an item and turned and padded to the closet to hang up jeans and a shirt. In my fit of irritated pique, I did not think about whether my foot-dragging delay was exasperating my father.

The boxers, too, Nathan, he directed. It cut me deep inside to have to relinquish my last fortress of modesty, but slowly – and reluctantly – I tugged my boxers down over my narrow, bony hips, past my buttocks, to fall to the floor. Bending over nude, I picked them up and put them on the bed.

When I turned around to look back at him, my hands covering my genitals, I saw him with the old, oak hairbrush in his right hand. His impatience with me surfaced. He reached over grabbed me, pulling my hands away, and jerked me up off my feet, to fall hard, sprawling upended across his lap. What was he doing? What was happening to me now?

Oh! Ow! Ow! Oh! Ow! Ow! Ooooo! Ow! Ow! Ow! A sudden volley of hard smacks descended on the exposed flesh of my bare bottom. Then another and another, and another. No warm-up, softer swats to start out this time.

The downpour of stinging, hard smacks elicited another storm of protests that took a little longer to subside. As always, the brush wins out, though, as I began first to yelp, then to protest, then plead and beg and bargain and negotiate, frantic desperation growing.

Writhing and squirming, I was thrusting and rocking around, bouncing and bucking on his lap a much as his firm restraint of my movements would allow. In short time, tears were flowing and I was crying and apologizing, promising to be better, not to do it – never to disobey – again – ever – always to listen and do what he said, including being spanked. I hated it, but eagerly promised over and over again, trying to end the conflagration searing my butt and upper legs.

When he insisted on it, I added the promise to obey Mom and do whatever she said too – without hesitation, without opposition – which, he stressed, included spankings. He was unquestionably very serious. I was so frenzied with desperation, I would unabashedly capitulate and agree to anything. This spanking was so painful, it was boring its effects deep down to the core of my psyche and soul.

At that moment I was in every bit as much terrified fear of my Mom as I was my Dad who was whaling on my throbbing, sore butt and upper legs. She would command me — like him — and I had to comply, obey, or else.

All at once, my muscles contracted, stiffening me up backward, almost planked on my Dad’s lap. I was in the uncontrollable throes of an emotional explosion, as surging forth from within me, wretched, screeching sobs burst out of my mouth and eyes.

I collapsed, shrieking in pain and additional humiliation and shame. I’d been bad and was being punished, and I knew it. I knew I deserved it; but I hated it so much. I was defeated and finally yielded, surrendering to the inevitable and inescapable trouncing I was receiving.

When he had finished, Dad did not allow me the usual hanging, sobbing time to wind down and regain control. Instead, still gasping and gagging sobs, I was pulled up off his lap to stand stomping, doubled over, hands and arms back clutching and kneading my blistered, throbbing buttocks and things.

Owaaaaaa-aaaaaa-ooooo-ow-ow-Daaaa-deeee-ow-ow! I screeched as he grabbed my ear and dragged me, hands still clasping my rump, into the kitchen to stand before Mom. Is there something you would like to say to your Mother, Nathan?

Huh-uh-uh-Muh-om-uh-uh-I’m-uh-suh-arrrrr-uh-eeeee-huh-uh- I-uh-didn’t mean-uh- to uh-be-uh-disrespectful-araugh-uh-and-uh-dis-uh-uh-oooo-uh-baaay-huh-uh-I-uh-promise! Uh-uh-I-uh-will-uh-fuh-ollow-huh-uh-thuh-uh-ruuuules-uh-and-uh-uh-doooo-uh-wha-ut-uh-youuuu-uh-saaaaay-uh-waaaaa-uh-uh-waaaaa-oooooooo-pleeeez-huh-uh-doooon’t-huh-uh-spuh-aaaank-huh-uh-meeeee-anyeeee-uh-moooooore! I sobbed and begged.

Ow-ow-ooooo-uh-Duh-aaaa-uh-uh-deeee-uh-puh-leeez-uh-stuh-aaaahp! Nuh-ot-uh-uh-gaaaain I screamed as my Dad resumed smacking my aching butt with the hair brush again.

That’s not what I told you, Nathan. Do I have to whip your fanny again before you come in here and obey and submit yourself to your Mother?

Nooooo-ooooo-uh-Daaa-uh-deeeee-uh-I-uh-uh-willlllll! I wailed, knowing I had run out of options and had no choice. Ooooo-huh-uh-kaaaay-uh-Mom-huh-uh-I-uh-knoooow-uh-you-are-uh-uh-gonna-spah-aaank me-uh-toooo-ooooo-uh-waaaaaa! I squalled in disgrace.

You’re right, Nathan, I am. It’s what you deserve, what you have coming, and it’s what you need – especially now. She sat down at another kitchen chair and signaled me to get my bare, torched bottom across her lap. I trembled slightly, but submitted, slowly going to her and lowering myself across her knees.

Her hand touching my steaming, red, hot bottom made me flinch and I cringed with pain and humiliation. She said no more as she began administering another, blistering spanking with the thick, wooden spoon from the kitchen – the very implement with which she’d threatened me initially.

I squealed momentarily, but immediately broke back down into gushing sobs and bawling, my legs involuntarily jerking and kicking upward until she placed her leg over them to hold me in place. I felt like a naughty, little boy getting his bare bottom spanked by his Mommy.

Ooooo-huh-uh-waaaaa-uh-uh-Muh-ommm-huh-uh-I’m-uh-uh-sorry-Mommm-uh-aaaa! I ammmm-ooooo-huh-uh-Mommaaaaa-uh-Mama-Mama-huh-uh-pleeeeez-huh-uh-I’ll-uh-beeee-uh-goooood-uh-Mama-Mama-Mama-aaaaaa-haugh-huh-uh-ooooo-I-uh-uh-wooon’t-uh-beeee-uh-dis-uh-respect-uh-fulllll-uh-uh-gaaaain! Huh-uh-I’ll-uh-ooooo-uh-baaaaay-uh-youuuuuu-from-uh-now-uh-uh-onnnnn-oooooo-uh-pleeeez-Mama-Mama-aaaaa-pleeeeez-uh-noooo-uh-waaaaaa-uh-waaaaaa-uh-waaaaa! I was squalling like a bad, small boy.

Hanging upside down over my Mother’s lap staring at the floor through tear-filled eyes, after two, consecutive spankings, with my Dad watching, I had been completely reduced to a sorry, sobbing, naughty, little boy who had just been punished thoroughly. Mom, having more sympathy than Dad, let me weep for a few minutes, then helped me stumble up off her lap to resume bouncing on my bare feet, grasping my tortured bottom.

I think that you’ve learned your lesson this time, Nathan; but remember that you are not too old for a bare bottom spanking any time Daddy or I determine that you deserve a much needed spanking, she lectured, as I sobbed uncontrollably.

Do you understand, Nathan? Is that clear? Dad demanded.

Huh-uh-uh-ye-es-uh-uh-waaaa-uh-uh, I squalled, still rubbing and rubbing my butt cheeks and thighs.

It better be, young man, or you’ll find yourself getting two-for-one spankings, one after another, until you do obey, he decreed. Now, get yourself back up to your room and into bed.

Nude as the moment I was born, I bounded out of the kitchen, upstairs, into my bedroom, and scurried into my bed, lying stretched flat out on my stomach, crying. As I lay there thinking thoughts of self-pitying misery for myself, at 7:30 p.m. on Friday night, another thought pressed in on me.

After what I’d experienced earlier, and now this, from my Dad, and from Mom, I knew the marks would still be evident Sunday night when I got back to the dorm, and Monday my roommate, and the other guys in the dorm, would see that I’d been whipped again, just like a kid. Just thinking about that prospect, I started rubbing my injured behind gently. Then something unexpected happened.

I felt my manhood stirring and springing to life. In seconds, I was rock hard. I rolled onto my side. Keeping my left hand on one, fiery red butt cheek, I began stroking, pumping, my rigid pole with my right hand, over and over.

In what seemed like only a few seconds, my mind and emotions found me reliving being over my Dad’s knees being spanked, and then hanging across my Mother’s lap being spanked some more. Suddenly, I was erupting like a volcano.

This orgasm was so powerful it was dizzying – the strongest I’d ever experienced. I almost fainted. Arching backwards, exploding, I spewed load after load of sperm onto the bed sheet and myself. Breathing heavily, as if I’d just swum a meet, I felt myself letting loose, relaxing; and by 7:45 on that Friday night, I, Nathan Ford, college freshman, having been spanked twice and put to bed by his parents, was sound asleep.

Back at school and classes on Monday, I thought to myself I was in all probability the only student on campus, returning with a throbbing, sore bottom, whose Spring Break seemed to have consisted of one spanking after another.

 
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