His Dad's Son
|by Mike Ward|
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: 17 Mar 2003
Mike was feeling very satisfied with life. He had just had a wonderful first year at university enjoying the best parts of student life; the union, some rugby, exploring the clubs and pubs in a new city. At just a month short of his nineteenth birthday Mike felt himself to be king of his own world. And now, as the examinations ended in the second week of May, he could look forward to over four months of summer fun. Mike had planned a few weeks of hiking around France, to improve his spoken French of course, in the company of a couple of other lads from his year. But first there was the minor matter of convincing his Dad into shelling out generously towards expenses. That would mean heading home for a few days but first Mike intended to take a detour and spend a couple of nights crashing out on a friend's sofa in London. Southampton was alright as a student city, but nothing beats the Capital.
So it was that when Mike arrived at his childhood home on a gorgeous sunny day in May, life was just perfect. Well, it could always be a little bit more perfect. As Mike rang the doorbell he was thinking about how his Dad had always been very strict with him when he was a child. Dad had been a bit of a traditionalist when it came to parenting even if he was quite liberal in every other way. Mike had been sent to a local preparatory school until he had turned fourteen and then four years at a local, very minor, public school. Dad had constantly reminded Mike that this education was costing a huge sum and that he had better work hard and do well at his exams.
And Mike had worked hard. He had been the dutiful son heading off to school each morning looking neat and tidy, shoes shining, hair combed, and tie neatly knotted. All through his schooldays Dad had insisted on a daily morning inspection by the front door and Mike had learned early on to meet his Dad's high standards and avoid Dad's wrath. Mike had had to endure some teasing at school, for even though he had had his growth spurt early on, and even though he did quite well at games, he had acquired a reputation as a swot and a teachers' pet. But that was simply a survival strategy. Doing well at school meant that Dad's cane remained in its place on the bookcase and that was Mike's first priority in life. Some of the teasing had also come because of Mike's clothing at prep school. For while short trousers were mandatory until boys had reached double figures at ten years old and optional thereafter, Mike's Dad had insisted that Mike would wear shorts all the time until he moved to the senior school. So in the winter of his last year in prep school, when Mike was thirteen and the tallest lad in the school, he cut a very distinctive figure in his grey school shorts and kneesocks, the only boy in the top four year-groups who was so attired. Being ribbed by his class-mates was one thing, they had grown used to seeing Mike's knees, and some were quite sympathetic knowing that he only wore shorts because his strict father wouldn't buy him any longs. But having to endure the taunts of boys who were two or three years younger than him had made life at school quite miserable.
But all that changed at senior school. Long trousers were a required part of the school uniform and Mike had relished the sensation of pulling on his first pair on his first day at his new alma mater. There had been a scary moment at the uniform suppliers when Dad had insisted that Mike try on a pair of very short grey school shorts. These had been bought along with several new pairs of kneesocks (both the prep school and the senior school were part of the same foundation and shared the same uniform colours). Mike had been terrified at the thought that Dad was thinking of keeping him in shorts forever. Much to Mike's relief a pair of long trousers was also purchased. On the way home Dad explained to Mike that the longs were only for school and that he would have to change back into shorts as soon as he got home and would stay in shorts at the weekends. And that had been the routine for the next two years. Mike would come straight home from school and change into the humiliatingly juvenile short shorts before he sat down to do his homework and study.
Only two of his friends ever called round now as most were too embarrassed to be seen associating with a tamed teenager with his gartered socks and his tiny shorts. But Philip and Colin stood by him. Philip's parents weren't quite so strict as Mike's Dad but they still made Philip wear shorts in the summer months when he was not at school and Philip's Dad was also a firm believer in the cane and strict timetable's for his son's activities. Colin came from a more liberal family but he seemed to enjoy hanging around with the others and was always very interested to hear about their latest punishments. If he heard that one or other of his mates had been caned he would insist on seeing the results and they had grown used to lowering their pants and exhibiting the marks of discipline that had made them the submissive and obedient boys that they had become. Colin had even tried on a pair of Mike's school shorts when they were both fifteen. He said that he wanted to see if they felt the same as he remembered from when he was only nine years old and had last worn a pair. It was the feel of the white cotton lining and the cool air around one's thighs that was most distinctive about school shorts. For some reason they always felt more exposing that ordinary casual or sports shorts. The boys had concluded that that was mostly because adults always seemed to feel that the wearing of proper school shorts indicated that a sharp slap across the back of a boy's thighs was an appropriate response to even the most trivial misbehaviour. School shorts seemed to denote child, and a child under obedience to his parents at that, in a way that other shorts did not.
Mike had been very relieved when he moved into the sixth-form at sixteen and his father had indicated that shorts were no longer mandatory outside school. But a pair of those dreaded grey school shorts with their white cotton lining had been purchased at the uniform suppliers anyway, 'just in case'. The implied threat did not need explanation to Mike. Dad did, however, continue to insist on school kneesocks and garters as part of his uniform even though they could not be seen under his long trousers. But, as Dad said, just like making sure that a boy is only ever allowed to wear white cotton briefs, kneesocks have a way of reminding a boy that, whatever his age, he is subject to his Dad's authority in all things.
And indeed Mike had to pull on those school shorts on a number of occasions during his last two years at school. 'Shorts!' became his Dad's one word order that indicated that Mike was going to be punished for disobedience or failure. 'Shorts!', would be said quietly and with authority, and Mike knew that he had better move swiftly to get changed if he was to avoid having his punishment increased. Standing in front of his Dad, dressed in a uniform that was indistinguishable from that of his junior school, and being subjected to a scolding had always made Mike feel very, very small indeed. At seventeen years of age it was utterly humiliating to think that he alone of all the hundreds of boys in his school, was still being treated in such an incredibly childish manner.
Dad would sit down and the now lanky teenager would have to arrange himself over Dad's knees for the first part his punishment. At first Dad's hand would rain down smack after smack over Mike's bottom and its protective covering of tight grey terylene. Then Mike would be told to raise himself a bit and Dad would reach down and undo the clasp of the shorts and pull them down to Mike's calves, exposing the boy's very tight white briefs. Now the punishment session began in earnest as Dad would pick up a trainer and use it to slipper Mike's bottom and thighs. After a few minute's the teenager's agonised yelps would give way to an almost constant sobbing as the pain became increasingly unbearable. But Dad knew well that a spanking had to continue well beyond his son's imaginary pain barrier. The punishment of boys requires effort and time and Mike's Dad was always willing to give as much of both as he considered necessary. Eventually he would have a very penitent little boy lying limply across his lap and Dad would know that it would soon be time to leave the slipper aside and order his son into position for the cane. These moments, as Mike tried to catch his breath and bring his tears under control while knowing that it would soon be time for the cane, were always the most intimate moments between Dad and son. Dad would often slip his hand under Mike's briefs and gently massage his son's bottom. The heat of a well-spanked bottom was, as far as Dad was concerned, the most pleasant sensation of all. Occasionally Dad would bring his hand around to his son's genitals and he would remark that Mike's penis and scrotum were still quite small and a continuing sign of his son's immaturity.
When Mike was fourteen his Dad had once found a few emerging pubic hairs as he fondled his son during one of these punishment sessions. Mike had immediately found himself standing naked in the bathroom as his Dad shaved away those signs of manhood's onset. Every week thereafter, when Mike was taking his Saturday evening bath, Dad would come and run a razor blade over his son's pubic area. Along with shorts, kneesocks, little-boy briefs, over-the-knee spankings, and early bed-times, this bathing and shaving was a constant reminder to Mike that he was a boy under discipline.
When Dad was satisfied that his son was now ready for the next part of his punishment he would withdraw his hand from the boy's briefs, give his bottom a final sharp smack, and order him to get ready for the cane. For the seventeen year old boy this meant yet even more humiliation. When he had been younger Mike would simply have to get up, go across to the big armchair, and lean over it, presenting his briefs or shorts clad bottom for his father's attention. But when he had joined the sixth form Dad decided that an extra dimension to his punishment sessions would be required. So Mike now had to raise himself from his father's lap, undo his shoes and remove them, remove his shorts from around his ankles, and then remove his briefs. Having folded the briefs and shorts neatly, he would walk over to that big old armchair and lean over it as always. But now he had to spread his legs wide, stretching to get his feet as far apart as possible, and presenting a beautifully tight bottom with lots of exposed thigh for his father's attention.
Dad always took his time at this point. There was no point rushing a boy's punishment to its end, the very act of bending over and waiting for the first stroke was part of the ritual and left the boy in fearful anticipation of the pain to come. Dad always limited the number of strokes to the traditional six. Too many strokes of the cane and the boy would simply become numb and would fail to register the excruciating pain of each well-delivered stroke. If an offence required a more severe punishment than usual then that could be achieved quite simply by increasing the force with which the cane was delivered. But six strokes, each one counted out by the boy and carefully placed in parallel lines one beneath the other, six good strokes was always enough to reduce Mike to an appropriate level of submission. Stripped of his clothes and properly caned, the boy was also stripped of every delusion he might have held about growing older and leaving the things of boyhood behind.
Dad relished these moments, allowing a couple of minutes to pass between each stroke so that the boy would feel the full pain of each one. It was a matter of pride to Dad that each stroke should land exactly as intended, producing a set of lines that ran from the top of the boy's buttocks to just under the crease where bottom and thigh meet. That a well-caned bottom is a work of both science and art was one of Dad's favourite aphorisms, and throughout Mike's schooldays it was a sight that Dad was able to appreciate as often as he wished. Indeed, the very sight of those lines as they changed colour from the first flush of red tracks on white flesh into the more bruised colour of cane strokes that had done their work, was itself one of the reasons why Dad always insisted on the last stage of these punishment sessions.
Mike would be ordered to stand up and turn around. He would stand to attention with his hands by his side and would then have to respectfully thank his Dad for having been put to the trouble of having to discipline his son. And then came the coup de grace, that final part of the ritual that left the boy entirely broken, obedient, and submissive. This was the part that Mike found most difficult as he had grown older. But it had to be done if he was to avoid yet more punishment. Mike would be required to ask his Dad to remove the rest of his schoolboy clothing and to place him in the corner so that he could mediate on the benefits of having a Dad who cared for him so much and who was prepared to take the time to teach his son to be a much better boy. And that was exactly what would happen. Dad would undo Mike's tie, unbutton his white school shirt, loosen the boy's garters, and strip his son of the last pieces of clothing. Then the naked boy would be led over to a corner, ordered to place his hands on top of his head, and left to stand there with his bottom exposed to the gaze of whoever might happen to enter the room.
Dad would usually make himself a cup of tea or pour himself a drink and sit down to recover from the efforts of disciplining his son. Then too would spend some time meditating. But Dad's mediations were on the beauty of a boy's well-punished bottom and thighs glowing with the reds of a thorough spanking and smarting from the lines left by the cane. And Dad would make no concessions to his son's humiliation. When, as Mike was doing his corner-time after his last punishment session which had been just before Easter in his last year of school, the door-bell had rung indicating the arrival of Colin for a prearranged study session, Dad had invited the other teenager into the sitting room and offered him a cola while he waited for Mike to have completed his meditations. Colin had made sure that he sat in the best possible viewing position so that he could enjoy the sight of his friend's punished bottom, and had even had the cheek to compliment Mike's Dad on the accuracy of his strokes.
When corner-time was completed Mike was usually either sent straight to bed or told to put on his school uniform again, with short trousers of course. But that day Mike's Dad had insisted that Mike was to remain naked and go up to his bedroom with Colin to complete their school assignment together. It was an afternoon that had given Colin no end of pleasure ever since, and Mike had even had to endure his friend's desire to feel the ridges left by the strokes. It had been an utterly humiliating punishment session for Mike and he was thoroughly relieved when Colin had left, much later than usual, and Mike had been able to crawl into his bed and sob his humiliation away.
Now, as Mike was standing at the door waiting for Dad to open it, he thanked God that those days were over. He was a university student now, dressed in a pretty cool surfer's t-shirt and a pair of baggy cargo pants. He had worked hard at school and had obtained the grades necessary for a good place at college. He had turned eighteen, reached the age of majority, the age of entitlement, the age of legal drinking in student bars. He would soon be nineteen and he felt the pride of manhood, a young man at the very peak of his abilities. And it had been a really good year. Mike couldn't believe how much fun he had managed to pack into a few months. But then he had had to make up for all those years under his Dad's authority. Life was pretty well perfect.
The door opened and Dad stood aside to let Mike through with his baggage. Mike dropped his big rucksack on the floor and then relieved himself of his holdall. It was good to be free of all that stuff at last, carrying it through London had been a right pain and Mike's muscles felt stiff and abused after the journey. He turned to greet his Dad.
Dad was holding a sheet of paper in his hands, a letter emblazoned with the university crest. "Well Michael, it seems as if you and I have a few matters to straighten out, leave that stuff there and go straight up to room. I've laid out some more appropriate clothes for you on your bed. Be changed and down here within ten minutes or else".
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