A model son
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: 02 Jan 2018
When Philip picked his young, almost adult son up at the airport, he had something else on his mind besides retrieving Colin to the safety of the family home. As they drove away from the airport, Philip pulled out a bonus check payable to Colon from the Penzoil shoot the youth had done almost a month earlier.
Look at this, son! It’s more money from your modeling for Penzoil!
Colin looked the check and exclaimed,
Wow, Dad! This is really a great job! I just keep on making money! It was clear to Philip his son was thrilled with his success in the modeling field.
But Colin, I am going to drive over onto Walnut Street for you to look at a billboard advertisement.
I want you to see it, and explain it to me. Colin sat quietly, wondering what was up.
On Walnut Street, Philip slowed down as they approached the Penzoil billboard ads, the ones showing Colin in various stages of getting spanked, corresponding to the phrases,
Colin was stunned, never, ever, imagining that the ad would become a billboard ad in their home town.
Duh-ad, ah, I, ah, I didn’t know, ah, this is what the shoot was for, ah, until after I was in, um, the process of doing it!
I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t know before hand, and it was too late to refuse to complete the shoot when I learned what would be involved.
But, Daddy, it isn’t as bad, ah, as you think. Ah, what I mean is, ah, it wasn’t all that bad, um, didn’t hurt any more than when you spank me. Anyway, it’s over, and, ah, you can see how much it’s produced.
His Dad then handed Colin a magazine with several photos of clothing for sports events, and also young men’s underwear. There were the pictures of Colin and Keith playing baseball, and especially the locker room, speedo session, with both young men’s spankings featured under the expression,
Spanking new clothes for springtime sports.
Lastly, were the pictures of Colin lying on the bed, his speedo concealed by the blanket, along with Keith leaning back against the headboard, his speedo also concealed, creating the impression the two men were in the bed together in the nude.
What is this group of pictures all about, Colin? When I see these, you can understand how I would become immediately concerned about you, your naivete, innocence, and welfare, young man. I did not agree to you going out to become a poster child for what looks like illicit behaviour with adult males. This cannot continue, and it is not going to go unaddressed either.
As soon as we get home, you and I are going to have a realistic, father-son chat. It is obviously in order, and needed, Phillip flatly decreed.
Colin’s face and spirits dropped, knowing full well what a
father-son chat was.
When they arrived at home, Philip told Colin to go to his room, unpack and put his things away, and then wait for him there. Colin felt like he was marching to death row.
He lay down on the bed, forlorn and dreading the impending discipline from his Dad. The next thing he knew, his Dad was in his room, standing over him, calling him to wake up.
Groggily, he opened his eyes, shook his head, and stammered,
Oh, Daddy, I’m sorry. I guess I fell asleep.
’Well, I know you’re tired from all the travel and long work yesterday, Colin. I hate to punish you son, but I’m afraid not to. I’m afraid for you to think you got away with something, with misbehaving and not following through. It’s important, you’re so important, Colin. I want you to be the best, young man there is – far better than I am, or ever was, or will be.
Nooooo, Daddy, I know you always know what’s the best. I want to be like you, and make you proud of me. If you have to spank me, I understand. I hate it, but I understand.
Oh, no, sireee, young mister! Colin didn’t know whether he hated or liked his Dad calling him by that familiar term. A long-standing term of both affection and teasing, but also addressed as a preface to discipline, it always evoked mixed feelings in him, mostly filled with dread.
You can give me that look all you want, stare all you want! he said shaking his head.
It’s not going to work, young man. Has it ever worked? You earned yourself a darn, hard whipping, and that’s exactly what you’re going to get! No pleading and promises are going to get you out of it.
You are amazing, son, Colin. I love you and am proud of you, but I’m convinced we’ve got to do this. Afterward, we’ll spend some more time together, and have a good supper together. Come on now. Get those jeans and your underwear off, and let’s get it over with.
Colin was plunged into the depths of misery, regret, and despair. Why couldn’t his Dad give him a break, just once, he wondered? Why was he so inflexible when he’d decided Colin needed a whipping?
Couldn’t he think of something else beside spankings to punish Colin? Of course, he already knew the answer from many years back.
As those familiar, questioning-pleading thoughts flashed through his mind, at the same time he removed his shoes and socks; unzipped, pulled down, and stepped out of his jeans; then with the perpetual, inner sigh of ruefulness in surrendering his last line of modesty, he pulled his briefs down and off, stepping out of them.
Sitting on the edge of Colin’s bed, Philip reached for his slimmer, slighter, young son and lifted him to deposit down draped over the boy’s Father’s lap. Colin groaned and drooped, resigned to the licking he was about to get.
This is the lesson in red, hot fire to make you remember what you say, what you promise, and do it, Philip announced as he began applying the scalding smacks of the hair brush to Colin’s young, muscled, narrow, but curvaceous bottom, and fleshly, lean upper legs.
No matter how many times a boy has felt the burning bites of past lickings, the immediate moment of each new spanking always brings a shattering, conscious self-awareness. He is the boy; his Dad, who is spanking him, is the man.
You are in need of a firm hand and discipline to guide you, son; and that’s what you’re going to get. A boy who gets a spanking, re-learns he has to listen and obey, and afterward, he’s good again. You know that, Colin, Philip reproved his son.
Choking with sobs, Colin agreed, acknowledging the truth of his Father’s statement. He knew better than to argue.
His Dad sat down on the edge of the bed, reached over and down, and lifted his beautiful, buff, little son up off the mattress, pulling him over his Father’s lap. He considered how he had warned and cautioned his son, how the boy had kept quiet and concealed what he’d done and what had happened, and the underlying disobedience and rebellion intrinsic in Colin’s behaviour.
This warranted the strong, severe treatment Mr. Corcoran intended to apply. The severity was justified. If two previous warnings had not solved this problem, maybe a paddling would.
His son’s bottom was a mess of black and blue bruises and there was no doubt that he had learned a lesson. Regardless of the state of her bottom, a spanking was called for, so a spanking would be administered.
From the first smack with his Dad’s hand, Colin could not hold still. His Dad spanked his cute, curved, little bottom long and hard, and Colin winced in pain from every smack.
Philip wished it was always this easy to punish his son. It generally took more than a minute to get a real reaction from Colin, and his Dad always had to work hard during the spanking to make sure he got through to his son, which was invariably evidenced when the tears began flowing.
He emphasized his points by just placing several smacks in a row in the same bruised spot, on the lowest, undercurved part of his bottom. The paddle had really done the job, as every little smack to the bruised parts or his butt just raised the level of Colin’s crying.
While his Dad felt a little sorry for the pain that Colin must be feeling, getting spanked on such a bruised bottom, it did not change the spanking in any way. Colin had earned a spanking by not telling the truth about what had transpired in the photo shoots, as well as not disclosing that he had been paddled now several times in several of them.
Philip was not about to change anything. He had Colin over his knees, and within less than five minutes, the boy was crying. It took very little time for tears to surge into Colin’s eyes, then gush bawling from his mouth, flowing down his reddening face.
Colin’s Dad spanked him hard, as he always did – just as long and just as hard as always. Phillip knew this one undoubtedly hurt Colin much more than a typical spanking, but that was not Phillip’s fault. He needed to be sure he got through to his son in a way that the boy would not soon, hopefully ever, forget.
He finished up with a few minutes of his hardest spanks, focused repetitively on the hot, fiery marked,
curved areas of Colin’s bottom where it meets his upper legs. That peppering of his
sit spots had
Colin bucking and jumping around on his Dad’s lap, even as he shrieked and bawled sobs he could not control.
With Colin crying as hard as he ever had from a punishment by his Father, his Dad stopped. Firmly, but kindly, lifting the limp, dangling boy off his lap, Philip warned him not to let it happen again, then just as firmly, but also gently, lay his handsome, young son down onto his bed, on his face, bed before leaving the room and Colin to cry himself out.
Fully exhausted and chastened by the harsh spanking, Colin lay remembering the as-yet unseen and unknown
Santa Clause is coming to town ad just shot in Chicago. He breathed deeply, glad, but fearful, of his Father’s unawareness of it.
As he lay there, rubbing and massaging his poor bottom and upper legs spawned a growing erection between the youth’s legs. Rolling carefully onto his side, he grasped his eager, young manhood, commencing a frantic, feverish, vigourous wank that brought the long-familiar, post-spanking relief of an explosive ejaculation, followed by swiftly falling asleep on top of the bed covers.
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