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Carl's Summer Job
Part 6

by Brhmsj

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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: 31 Dec 2017

Carl’s Summer Job, Part 6

Fast food summer jobs being what they are, Frank never had the same two days off from week to week. He and Carl were both busy enough with their jobs that it did interfere a bit with their time together, making it sometimes a bit impromptu, which the boys found fun. Frank had a Thursday off and Carl suggested that Frank come with him and meet Mr. Schmidt. He knows our parents, so it’s not like he’s a stranger. He had discussed it with Mr. Schmidt who was happy to see Frank. It had been a few years since he’d seen the lad. Knowing the closeness the boys shared made him curious, too.

I know I met him a few times, but it’s been a couple of years. I have nothing else to do that day, so I suppose I could say hello. His place looks cool. Carl had told him a bit about the job, particularly the set-up in the basement. Thus far he had said nothing about the spankings. Carl wasn’t sure why he was so eager to have Frank meet Mr. Schmidt. Was it spanking related? He’d heard a little bit about Mr. Bailey, but didn’t know much. He’d shared some things with Mr. Schmidt about Frank and his other friends. Frank knew that Carl had talked about his friends, but didn’t know quite how much Carl had revealed.

It was arranged that Frank would go to Carl’s and they’d walk over together for Carl’s usual ten o’clock arrival. I have no idea what work he has for me today, Carl said as they walked. It’s always interesting, though. I’m learning a lot about gardening. I don’t know if I’ll ever want a garden at all, let alone as big as his, but it is fun for now.

Nothing had ever been said about punctuality, but Carl always made sure he was on time, or a little early. Early arrivals never seemed to be a problem. Mr. Schmidt had no trouble identifying the handsome young man with Carl. He did remember meeting Frank and Tony a few times when they were younger. It was nice to see how Frank had changed. Carl made introductions after the boys were invited in.

I won’t stay long, said Frank. Carl’s been telling me about his job and your place. I’ve never had a chance to really look, so I hope you don’t mind me tagging along today.

Not at all, son, Mr. Schmidt said. Carl noticed the use of son. You are most welcome. I can show you around while Carl gets to work. I’ve an outdoor project, so I can give you a tour of the gardens. Frank happily agreed. Carl was in his usual cutoffs and wisely had brought a change of clothes. Somehow he didn’t want to be spanked with Frank around and suspected that Mr. Schmidt would not hesitate to spank just because a friend was there. He was right. Mr. Schmidt had done so on more than one occasion in the past.

Frank had been unsure about wearing cutoffs himself, as this was a first meeting. Even so, he was in shorts and a t-shirt which showed him off to good advantage. Unlike Carl he wasn’t commando much that summer; if he did go commando it usually was only at home. With that sense that older men develop from time spent with teens, Mr. Schmidt could see that Carl again was without underwear (which he liked seeing) and that Frank had on a pair of briefs. The thought crossed his mind more than once that he’d like to see this boy out of clothing. Maybe even over his lap.

Oddly enough, for all that they were in the same line of work, one might say, Mr. Schmidt and Mr. Bailey were unaware that the other was a spanker. They had met socially on a few occasions, but being on different sides of the neighborhood their paths rarely crossed. So, Mr. Schmidt was unaware that Frank was spanked regularly by an older man. All he knew about was the time that Carl and Frank were spanked by their fathers for the lawn incident. He also knew Mr. Hanson well, so had heard from him that the boys had been spanked for their behavior. Mr. Schmidt made no comment other than to say that the punishment fit the crime. So, he had good reason to wonder how Frank would look over his lap.

Carl had been set to work on a digging and planting job in one corner of the back yard. He’d become quite expert at this and found the work satisfying in that he had a real sense of accomplishment when he saw the finished product. As the summer went on he was rewarded with seeing the plants bloom and brighten up the garden. Mr. Schmidt knew that after such a project Carl would be quite dirty which meant for a longer shower, always pleasant to watch. He did wonder if Frank could be under the shower, too. There seemed no logical way to give cause for him to need a shower.

After his tour of the gardens, which he truly admired, Frank discretely took his leave. Mr. Schmidt told him he was welcome any time and, if he wanted to do some work with Carl, he would be paid for it. Frank appreciated the offer, but made no commitment.

As for Carl’s bottom, it was not reddened that day. Saturday was another matter. While mowing, Carl nicked a couple of plants as we went by. He was pretty sure they were due to be trimmed, but he did feel he had to confess what happened, which he did, knowing full well what the consequences were. Mr. Schmidt surveyed the damage, which was quite minor.

You may have surmised that these plants were due for a trimming, which I want you to do after you finish mowing. However, the fact remains that you were careless and you will be spanked. Carl immediately got hard, his erection straining against his cutoffs. Both were aware of it. Knowing that Mr. Schmidt could see it, Carl blushed slightly. In response to Mr. Schmidt’s chastisement, the boy hung his head and said Yes, Daddy. He finished the mowing, returned the mower, followed by a quick lunch. Mr. Schmidt had set up a table with an umbrella to keep out the sun, and they often ate there, as they did today. Carl enjoyed these outdoor lunches and always made a point of saying so, which pleased his employer.

After lunch the boy was shown just what plants needed attention and how much they should be cut back. Mr. Schmidt didn’t stand over him, but did keep an eye on the project as he worked on some other things. The final results were more than satisfactory. The man made sure to compliment the boy on his work, as he always did. Even knowing that he was soon to be spanked, Carl beamed with pleasure at the commendation.

That’s enough for today, Mr. Schmidt said, in tones showing no hint of the chastisement soon to come. Carl was pretty dirty now from this job; there was no way to avoid getting into the soil a bit, and he’d been on his knees to get at some of the plants, so was dirty pretty much from top to bottom. They went into the basement. Carl undressed and turned on the shower. As was the custom, Mr. Schmidt took Carl’s clean clothes out of the bag, set them aside for Carl’s departure, and put the dirty ones in, leaving the bag by the door.

The anticipation of the spanking to come had caused Carl’s erection to return as they walked to the house. It was a relief to release it from the cutoffs! Carl was fully relaxed about Mr. Schmidt seeing him naked and seeing him hard. Mr. Schmidt never tired of seeing a teen boy hard under the shower. Or hard anywhere else in the house! As Carl washed he turned his attention to his genitals, placed a soapy hand on his erection. For some reason he was at a peak of desire and it took little more than that touch and a couple of strokes intended for washing for him to let go. He was startled by it and gave out a slight yell. The intensity was such that he felt weak in the legs momentarily, but pulled himself together quickly. He finished up, toweled off, and walked over to where Mr. Schmidt was waiting, seated in the center of couch, ready for the boy to go over his lap.

As he always did, Carl stood in front of Mr. Schmidt, awaiting instructions. The man fixed a stern look on the boy which made Carl uncomfortable. Did I give you permission to masturbate in the shower?

This was new! Nothing had ever been said about needing permission for that, in the shower or elsewhere. Carl realized, though, that so far he never had masturbated here without permission. Was he supposed to have figured this out for himself? He knew he inadvertently had added to this spanking. Mr. Schmidt reached out, took Carl’s arm, and guided him over the lap.

You already had earned one spanking today, now you’ve added a second. I need to decide if I give you one long, hard spanking, or if I give you two. You are only getting a hand spanking for the incident with the mower, but your lack of control requires something sterner. This always warrants a hairbrush spanking. He felt the boy tense up at those words. So, it’s a choice between one long two-part spanking, or a hand spanking followed by the hairbrush. After corner time for contemplation. A pause. What do you think, son?

What do I think? Carl thought. He loved and even craved the attention from Mr. Schmidt that a spanking provided, though spankings were by no means the only attention the man gave. Whichever way, though, it would be a painful session today, maybe even a crying session. Mr. Schmidt seemed to be in no rush for an answer. Carl wasn’t sure either way but finally just dove in and said one long one, Daddy.

That’s fine, son. That’s what we’ll do. Now, before we do, run upstairs to the bathroom and bring back the hairbrush. You know where it is.

Yes, Daddy, the boy said as he climbed off the lap. His trip up the stairs hardly was scampering, but he didn’t waste time, either. Hairbrush in hand he descended the stairs, approached the man, handed over the hairbrush, and was guided back over the lap.

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK. This was going to be a serious spanking! Before the first five smacks had fully landed, Carl was crying out ow, ow, ow. Mr. Schmidt’s hand did not slow down or let up. Neither kept count but it is likely that Carl received thirty good hard hand smacks before there was a pause. Carl was letting with a steady owwwwww in accompaniment of the steady smacks that reverberated around the room. This was becoming a noisy event. Mr. Schmidt did not rest a comforting hand on the boy’s red bottom. With no warning another five, SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK. Carl’s legs now were kicking in time with his ow ow ow. When he could take his mind away from the agony of the swats he thought that this spanking was far beyond what the misdemeanor of clipping the plants deserved.

Finally, a real break. Carl knew it was a real break because this time Mr. Schmidt’s hand did rest on his bottom. Carl wasn’t crying but he was sniffling, preparatory to tears, which he now felt certain would come. This wasn’t going to be a cathartic cry, he thought.

That part of the spanking was not just for your carelessness with the lawn mower, as I’m sure you guessed. You need to understand and remember that you can’t just do things as you wish without proper permission, in your work or otherwise. There is only one way to make you remember that. Isn’t there?

Yes, Daddy, came a voice near sobbing.

And that is?

A good spanking, Daddy.

Yes. What kind of good spanking?

On my bare bottom, Daddy. Mr. Schmidt seemed to feel that this catechism was a useful part of many spankings. Carl took an odd comfort in it. To the boy it represented a unanimity of opinion, even if the topic was spankings he would receive. This unanimity made him feel closer to the man, feel he had a special place in the man’s life. Mr. Schmidt often felt the same way with his young employees. With this boy it was a bit stronger. He didn’t try to explain it to himself. It was what it was. He liked it and knew that Carl did, too.

What else does Daddy have to do to help you remember?

Spank me with the hairbrush. Carl sounded close to tears now. They weren’t far behind.

Yes, son. Five brisk swats of the hairbrush came down. By the third Carl was yelling as loud as he ever had. These weren’t particularly hard, he’d had harder with the brush. But, on top of the hand spanking, they were very painful. By the fifth he thought his butt was on fire. The paddling wasn’t over, but the technique changed. It took only three smart smacks to get the first thing Mr. Schmidt wanted, words of repentance.

Owww! Please, Daddy! Pleeeeease! I’ll be good! I’ll ask first! Please, it hurts!

A pause. Yes, son, it does hurt and we know why, don’t we?

Yes, Daddy. To help me remember.

That’s good boy. That’s exactly why. Now five carefully delivered smacks of the brush landed on the boy’s scorching bottom. Carefully delivered because it was time for the finale, the tears of repentance that had to follow the cries of repentance. A boy thoroughly and well spanked. After number five the tears were right on cue. Carl went limp, as most boys do, surrendering to the punishment and the tears. Memories of spankings for naughtiness when he was old enough for spankings, right up until he was ten or eleven, came flooding back and the tears increased. He was gulping for air, trying to control his sobs. As any boy of any age does after such a spanking.

It hurt. As best he could remember, this hurt more than any spanking he’d received that summer. The tears hurt, too. They weren’t making him feel better. Something deep inside him told him that this was just and that it came from love, no matter how much it hurt. If his tears were showing signs of subsiding, this just brought them back. Mr. Schmidt knew from long experience that the best thing was to let the boy cry it out for a while. The boy’s focus was only on the pain he felt and the tears flowing. It always took a while for any boy to return to the greater reality.

At the right moment Mr. Schmidt helped Carl to his feet. He then stood and wrapped the tearful boy in a warm hug. Carl hung on tightly, savoring the physical intimacy and warmth. He started crying lightly again. After some moments of this embrace, Mr. Schmidt quietly said lie face down on the couch, son. I’ll be right back. Carl did as told. Mr. Schmidt was gone less than a minute. He sat down on the edge of the couch and squirted crème on the red, sore bottom of the well-chastised teen. Carl jumped a bit as the crème felt cold. However, Mr. Schmidt’s hand rubbing the crème into his bottom, with repeated applications, felt so good. Despite the discomfort from the spanking, the ministrations of the man’s hand was causing Carl to get hard against the couch cushion. He adjusted himself in the tell-tale way any male has, making Mr. Schmidt smile at the results of the butt rub.

Spanking and consoling done, Mr. Schmidt let Carl lie there on the couch. He knew that was best for the time being. Carl did not fall asleep, he just lay there quietly for quite some time. Mr. Schmidt went upstairs, leaving the boy to his sorrows for a while. Carl had stopped crying but he didn’t want to move. He was still uncomfortable enough that he had no interest in touching his hardon, not that he’d have dared to now. He wondered if in the future he would have to wait for Mr. Schmidt to give permission or if he’d have to request it. Or maybe both.

It was easily an hour later when Mr. Schmidt returned. He gently sat on the edge of the couch again, this time putting his hand on the boy’s back and gently rubbing. It’s time for you to be getting home, son.

Yes, daddy. The back rub continued for a minute or two more then both got up and shared another embrace. For all that some things this summer seemed weird to Carl, being naked and embraced by this clothed adult never did. He retrieved his clean clothes and the laundry bag with the soiled ones. With a promise to be there on Tuesday he took his leave.

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