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A Better Life

by Y Lee Coyote

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: 07 Apr 2008

The following story is fiction and contains a scene of tawsing in a role reversal situation.  If these subjects are offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.  Columbo is the title of an American TV series about a detective who worried a lot about details; see: «»

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.

Junior could see the problem as soon as he turned onto his block as he walked home.  The garbage cans were still by the curb and the lawn had not been mowed.  It was almost six as he got home after band practice.  Today was his dad's early day at work and he should have been home at two and been finished with these chores by four (by five allowing for the goofing off he usually did).  This was the third time in five weeks he had failed.  Sterner measures were apparently needed unless he was required to work overtime.

As Junior passed the car in the driveway he noted it was cold.  One learnt ever so much watching Columbo about how important details are.  His father was in front of the TV with two hours worth of empty bear cans about.  "Hi, son.  Tough day at work.  Had to work overtime.  Join me for the end of the game?"

Junior picked up the remote and snapped the TV off.  "Don't lie to me, Dad.  You did not do overtime and you been watching the game for hours rather than doing your chores – AGAIN."

The man stared at the floor for he was ashamed to face his son.  How the blazes did the boy know the truth he wondered once again.  He had gotten away with stuff like this with his own father.  "I'm sorry, Junior.  ...I..."  But he never got any further for Junior cut him off.

"Clean up this mess immediately and wait for me in the woodshed."

"Immediately, Sir." the man said jumping up and collecting the cans and snack stuff.  After depositing them in the kitchen he got the vacuum and cleaned up the crumbs.  Then he dutifully went to the woodshed behind the garage.  He wished that it had walls but it was only a lean-to sort.  He knew how he must wait.  He hated that but he would get double if he did not follow the standing orders.  He removed his clothes – T-shirt, shorts, tightie-whites, sneakers and even his socks so he was starkers.  He stood with his nose against the wall and his hands on his head.  He waited.  His eyes kept flickering to the right.  Just a foot away hung the heavy tawse.  He knew that it would be coming off the wall soon and why.  He also knew it would hurt a lot.  He already regretted not doing his chores as he should have when he got home.

"Father," said his son, "I'm terribly disappointed in you.  You did not do your chores; you lied about things; you made a mess in the family room; you had too much beer.  And this is not the first time either.  I'm most disappointed.  Give me the tawse and get into position."

The poor excuse for a man did as he was ordered.  He took the tawse from its hook and handed it to his son just one third his age.  Junior looked at his naked father and noted that he did not need another shave as the man bent over the trestle presenting his bottom for punishment.  He did not have to wait long for Junior immediately raised up the tawse and brought it down hard on target where it left a blazing red stripe.  This was the first of the ten cuts for this day and by the end the man's ass was bright red and most painful.  His face was tear-soaked.  He felt and looked like a well-punished naughty little boy.

"Mow the lawn now before it gets dark.  Then bring in the garbage cans."  ordered Junior as he picked up his father's clothes and went into the house.  As he walked across the lawn, he saw some movement through the boundary hedge.  The neighbor kids had been watching.  He was sure that his father would hear them giggling as he did his chores naked.  It would be an additional punishment which was good.

The man rubbed his fiery bottom and got the mower from the garage.  As he worked, naked, he could hear the kids laughing; laughing at him working naked.  The neighborhood rule was simple – children were allowed to be naked until they had pubes, after which they had to cover up.  He fit the definition but he did not like it all.  With his little boy bottom aflame, he did not dare to complain.  He did the backyard first hoping to be less noticeable in the front yard when it got darker.  He truly regretted not having done his chores when he got home.  Then he would not have been tawsed; been naked in public; seen the end of the game and not reminded neighbors that his young son was in charge.  Once again he promised himself he would be good in the future.

It was eight before he was finished and could go back inside.  He found that there was a sandwich waiting for him instead of a proper dinner.  Grateful at not having to go to bed hungry, he wolfed it down because he was ravenously hungry.  Junior then came into the room.  "Have you finished your chores, Father?"

"Yes, Son."

"Good; now go shower and go to bed, Father."  The man did as he was ordered.  When he was finished he put the chastity cage on and snapped the lock.  Because the horrid cage had been on the bed, he knew that his son was most angry with him.  He hoped that he would remove it in the morning.  It seemed that his wife was always most sexually attractive and willing when he was locked up.  It was the one thing that seemed unfair about his punishment.  Perhaps this was another reason to be a good boy, rather than a naughty one, and avoid being punished.  If only he could manage that.

Yet, he realized, life was much better now that Junior had taken charge.  He was especially happy that the credit card debt was almost paid off.

The End

© Copyright A.I.L., April 7, 2008

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