|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: 11 Apr 2011
The following story is fiction about father/son discipline. The story contains a scene of a strapping. If this subject is offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.
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It was careless and stupid of me. I didn't have any excuses whatsoever. I didn't even do anything worthwhile for my fuckup. I was just hanging at the Mall with the guys playing some games and did not watch the time. It would not have been so bad if I had only missed one bus but I missed two of them. The first interval is fifteen minutes but the second one is double that so I was three-quarters of an hour late. By the time I called home, I should have been there, and I had already missed the second bus. It would been better if I had called before the fifteen minutes had passed. Dad grunted at me and told me to park my ass at the bus stop so I could not forget again. I would have walked but there are not any sidewalks where the traffic is, so it is too dangerous at night.
Sitting alone at the bus stop and then on the bus, I contemplated my short term future. I was alone because my buds had gotten their bus to another part of town. Besides, their lateness was not relevant to my situation. What was relevant was that this was the third week in a row and my father was most displeased with my lack of responsibility. He had talked about taking measures. There were two – grounding and earlier curfew – that I most certainly did not want. Even a 'fine' (withholding my allowance) was preferable although not desirable. I kept thinking about the possibilities all the time waiting and riding.
I was certain of one thing only – that Dad was mad as the proverbial hornet. That certainly meant that he would punish me. If I was him, I would come to the same conclusion. It certainly would only make my case worse to argue or make up excuses. It was only as I walked the last couple of blocks to the house that I knew what the solution was.
"Hello, Dad. I'm very sorry. I'll wait for you in my room. Please give me a few minutes to get ready." I said to him as I entered the house and then dashed up the stairs. I quickly used the toilet and then stripped. I then sat on my bed with my heavy leather belt in my hands. I had my desk chair turned around for Dad to sit in while we talked.
I did not need to tell Dad where to sit for he always did that when we had these sorts of talks. I just hoped I would get to talk first.
"Dad," I blurted out as soon as he came into my room, "I know that I really messed up tonight and that it's the third week in a row. I don't have any excuses. I'm sure that you are disappointed in me. I know that I deserve to be punished." I paused and took a deep breath. I stood up and handled the belt to him. Then I assumed the proper position with my hands on my bed and my butt up and presented. This was the first time I was in this position for it had been more than a year since Father had agreed that I was getting too old to be spanked like a little kid OTK in response to my complaints. I did not like the replacement punishments.
I was not sure what would happen. Would Father ground me? Change my curfew? Dock my allowance? Use the belt? He had not been overjoyed with giving up spanking me and this was a more grownup form of spanking that I could accept now that I was a teenager in high school.
Dad surely was considering his options. I could hear the snap when he pulled the double belt taut. "The belt will hurt a lot more than a spanking." he said.
Damn, that was so trite. "Yes, Father. It is suppose to." I replied keeping my position and trying to be very macho.
"Very well." he said moving into position. Then there was that first ever stroke of the belt on my butt. I howled and almost jumped up like a pussyboi but I gripped the bed tightly and held my position. Dad was right. This definitely hurt a lot more than a hand spank. Millions of other youths like me had survived such treatment and I was determined to prove to Dad that I was NOT an irresponsible baby.
Then there was the second, the third,..., and more strokes. Each seared my ass worse than the previous one had. But I kept my resolve until Dad stopped. He tossed the belt onto the bed and pulled me up. He gave me a great big hug. "You took that well, son. I'm proud of you."
"Thanks, Dad." I squeaked. He left me and I got into bed. I lay prone without even the covers touching my very sorry ass. The thing that was echoing in my head was the word "Proud". I certainly had fucked up this evening but had found the way to redeem myself. Dad was probably still angry but probably satisfied that I was repentant.
In the morning, Dad did not say anything about it. I left the subject closed.
© Copyright A.I.L. April 11, 2011
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