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Part 33

by Graham

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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: 04 Feb 2018

That last week of November sped along. By the weekend, when Jamie was expected to leave, to return to Johnson City, neither one of us could tear ourselves apart from each other.

We justified the change in plans as staying together for one more, the last, week of classes, before separating for final exams. So, we had the first week of December too.

We planned he would leave Sunday afternoon, to return to Johnson City and stay through final exams before driving back to the Leary farm near Lima, Ohio. Every night when Jamie returned was especially precious, a bitter-sweet savoured time together.

On Sunday morning, after going out for pizza together Saturday night, and hot sex when we returned, we were sleeping in, intertwined in the bed. About 11 a.m., we were awakened by knocking on the front door.

I quickly jumped up, pulled on jeans, ran to the bathroom to empty my nearly bursting bladder, and headed to the door. Looking out the top window, I was shocked! It was my Dad!

He spied me looking through the top window and shouted to me, Open up, Lincoln!
What could I do? I opened the door sheepishly, and he stepped inside.

Is he here? He is, isn’t he? my Dad inquired. That’s his old VW out there, isn’t it?

I gulped, and my face reddened. Ah, yeah, er, yes, Dad. Jamie’s here, I answered.

I woke you, didn’t I? he inquired. I nodded.

Get him up! he barked his order at me. I want to see him, meet him, and speak with you both! Swallowing difficulty with a sudden dry mouth, I turned and quietly, but quickly, walked through the little kitchen, into the bedroom.

Jamie was groggy, but awake. Who is it? he whispered.

My Dad! I replied with a hushed voice. He wants to meet you, says he needs to speak with you and me, I added.

Jamie’s face whitened as pearly cream-coloured as his freckled body. He made a cringing face. Okay, let me get some jeans on. I need to use the bathroom first.

Like me, Jamie followed me out of the bedroom in just his lean, snug jeans. Dad, this is, ah, Jamie, ah, Jamieson Jeremiah Leary, actually.

Jamie stuck out his hand and my Dad reciprocated as they shook hands. Could you excuse me for just a minute, please, sir? Jamie asked. I need to use the bathroom bad. Forgive me, sir.

That’s nothing to forgive, young man. Go do it. After you, I may do the same, so we can all be comfortable when we talk.

Jamie uttered a quick thank you, and fled to the bathroom, closing the door, from which we heard the fire-hose sound of him urinating. He washed his hands as the toilet flushed, returning to the small living area.

You boys sit down there, on the couch, he directed, before leaving for the bathroom himself. When he returned Jamie and I were seated at opposite ends of the couch. Dad went and pulled one of the wooden chairs from the kitchen to sit down before us.

The nervous tension was thick in the air. I feel certain Lincoln has told you about our visit with him, two weeks ago, for Thanksgiving. That’s when we stumbled on, and learned, the facts concerning you and Lincoln. He was speaking to Jamie.

We eventually had a very open and honest conversation together, Lincoln’s Mom, Lincoln, and I. He understood before we left that he was not permitted to continue living in this relationship, this arrangement. He was told to stop it, end it, right away.

As I drove up this morning, it was at once clear that Lincoln had not obeyed us, but was violating our instructions to him. It’s not like he didn’t fully understand what we said, what we told him would happen if he did not comply. We will not pay the rent for this cabin, nor put any more allowance money into Lincoln’s account.

So, here’s the bottom line. You, young man, are to pack up your goods  – everything  – and leave here. Do not come back! If you do, not only will Lincoln be punished severely, he will lose the privilege of living here, going to school here, and having the allowance to do so he has enjoyed for the past 3½ years.

We both sat dumbfounded staring at, and listening to, Dad.

I don’t know what your Parents, ah, it’s your Grandparents, isn’t it (Lincoln told us). I don’t know what they will feel or do if they learn about what’s been going on between you two boys; but Lincoln’s Mom and I are not willing to accept it. While he’s our son, in our charge, he will not be allowed to live and act this way. So, that’s the bottom line, young man.

One thing I had to say about my Dad. He was clear cut and plain in what ever he said, while not raising his voice or his emotions beyond simple, reasonable conversational tone.

I was fidgeting out of fear, sorrow, and upset. Despite how calm and polite Dad was, he was also mean in driving Jamie and me apart, not allowing us to enjoy the relationship we had discovered together.

Well, Mr. Collins, sir,...

Jamie astonished me in speaking up in response. He sat there on the other end of the couch, in just his snug jeans, his bare feet crossed, his lean stomach caved backwards into his backbone, his lean alabaster body otherwise exposed, his blue eyes gleaming..

. . . ah, Lincoln and I have discussed the, um, situation. If you refuse to pay the rent for the cabin, then, ah, we’ll find a way to pay it, and also for him to live without an allowance from you, Jamie replied with a humble and meek tone and affect.

My Dad was obviously surprised by what he heard. He cleared his through, took a deep breath, and responded.

Look, young man. I don’t know how it is with you and your Grandparents. I don’t need to know. My boys know when I say something, I mean it, and they had better obey and comply, or expect the unhappy consequences of not doing so. Dad was still calm, though now a bit curt.

Your little scheme you’d like to embark on is not obeying Lincoln’s Mom’s and my orders. He is not allowed to go on like this, continue living with you as you are doing! That is not complying at all.

What it is really is brazen defiance. You boys are thumbing your noses at authority, in effect refusing to comply. Well, neither one of you is going to be allowed to do that. Is that clear?

I felt like I was sitting on the sidelines of a tennis match, looking back and forth, watching my Dad as he spoke, and Jamie as he listened. Jamie’s face, neck, ears, and shoulders and chest became beet red.

Mr. Collins, sir! That’s not fair, and it’s really mean and unkind! I thought you cared about your youngest son, but it looks like you only care about making him conform to your orders and commands.

Listen up, you little brat! This was the Dad I knew when his patience was exhausted and he was exasperated. You watch your mouth, kid! You have no business even attempting to interject yourself into my relationship with Lincoln as his Father.

What would your Grandfather say, and do, if Lincoln were ill-advised and mouthy enough to criticize his orders and directions, and accuse him of not properly caring for you?

I’ll bet he’d build a fire on your rearend and Lincoln’s too, and rightly so. You’re an impudent, little snot who thinks he can wangle with smooth words a right to engage in what is nothing more than subversion and rebellion.

Well, it’s not going to take place! You are going to do as I told you, pack up and leave, not to return; but now only after you’ve gotten your britches tamed first. Lincoln too. You boys will have a good reminder from your sore behinds to listen and obey what you’ve been told.

Ordinarily, I’d start with Lincoln, but I think your brash, cheeky behaviour begs for first treatment, young man. Get up, and come over here! he barked.

Both Jamie and I were shocked by the way this conversation had turned out, not to mention my Dad’s abrupt, sharp command. Jamie sat still, frozen in place with fear.

Dad stood up, walked the 3 steps to Jamie, leaned forward, and pulled the red-headed, freckled, blue-eyes string bean up off the couch onto his bare feet. Grabbing hold of the front waistband of Jamie’s jeans, Dad pulled him forward, while stepping backward to the chair.

Dad had decided to initiate the dealings with Jamie. He grabbed the thin, lanky, young man, applying some managing force to control him. Jamie’s face instantly became a red-hot thermometer and he tried forcefully to back and away.

No, no, ah, sir! Don’t do this, nooo! Sir! Ah, you, ah, don’t, ah, want to, ah, don’t need to do, um, thisssss! he was pleading while being tugged along.

Dad’s hand moved to the button and zipper on the front of Jamie’s jeans, opening them wide to the long, hard, growing soldier that emerged saluting. Jamie was redder than ever. Jamie protested loudly, shouting unheeded commands at Dad to halt his actions.

My Dad yanked the jeans down over the creamy, slim buttocks, down Jamie’s long, lean legs, to fall to the floor. Instinctively, Jamie’s hands flew to try to obscure the bone that was rising, thickening in front of him.

Dad sat down and jerked the lanky, alabaster red, bed head up off his feet to drop across, draped over Dad’s lap. Jamie’s tomato-red face registered a stunned, fearful look.

You, boy, are undeniably a brat who needs a long, thorough, and harsh spanking over someone’s knee, someone like me. You need to be spanked, without conditions, by somebody who isn’t afraid of setting a bad boy’s, bare, raw bottom properly on fire, as red as your head and face.

He handily manhandled the long, lanky, young man down, and across his lap. With his strong left arm on Jamie’s neck, he kept the ivory-skinned redhead dumped down face to the floor.

Ominously upended across my Dad’s bigger, stronger, man’s legs, Jamie was now completely nude. Ejaculate from last night was dried on his legs and abdomen, and he was angled and pushed so far down, his long, thin feet could not reach the floor.

Taking up the same ping pong paddle Jamie had used to spank me throughout the week, Dad began applying it with the skill of a racquet ball player, pommeling Jamie’s bare behind. He spanked the ivory, white buttocks, backs of thighs, and hyper-sensitive sit spots.

Dad’s anger was lit by the ostensible impertinence of the lanky red head in his grip. He ignited and painted Jamie’s gorgeous upper legs and bum a fiery, flaming, raw red.

Jamie could not withstand the assault and caved in quickly, breaking down to crying and wailing, sounding more and more like the high-pitched cries of a naught, misbehaving, now spanked boy. I was stunned into semi-consciousness watching my Dad master Jamie Leary completely, delivering a licking to the young man’s scorched, singed bottom to rival the worst he’d ever gotten from his Grandpa Leary.

When Dad finally concluded the licking, Jamie was unquestionably defeated and vanquished. His incessant, uncontrollable, gagging sobs were the only sound as he lay subdue and subjugated to my Father’s dominant authority and superior strength. Both men knew Jamie Leary had been spanked into submission, and would not resist any longer.

After letting him hang weeping until his crying began to diminish, Dad hauled him up onto his bare feet, stomping and leaning back, his hands clasping his seared bottom, his boner jutting out before him. Taking him by both arms, Dad shoved him backward to the couch, pushing down to sit his burning butt on the cool surface.

Okay, Lincoln, you’re next, and you know exactly what to do, and what’s going to happen.

Dad sat back down with the old, ping pong paddle in his hand. Eyeing it with dread, I sighed heavily, shrugging my shoulders, gulped aloud, and stood up, knowing indisputably what was in store.

I was smallest kid in our family, shorter, slighter built, than my older brother, Jackson, a former college football lineman. At almost 5′10″, I favoured our mother, who was lithe and light weight.

Dad reached around me with one arm and hand, and unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans with one swift move, yanking them down and off my smaller, slight body. With the jeans were at the floor, he grabbed my small, bony hips, lifting me easily in the air and depositing me upside down over his legs.

My head and legs dangled far off the ground. The cool air of the cabin felt alarmingly strange on my skinny narrow buttocks and lean, bare legs.

The first smacks from Dad took me by surprise and I began kicking my legs, trying to escape the stinging spanks. I twisted and turned my body all over my Father’s lap, but he held me tight with his large strong arm wrapped around my small, slim waist.

He beat out a staccato rhythm on my boyish backside. I was shocked, angry, frustrated, and embarrassed, but tried hard, determined to make no sound, wanting to avoid breaking down like a little boy under a spanking from my Father in front of Jamie.

The unrelenting crash of smacking spanks of the whippy, ping pong paddle on my small, flat buttocks and upper legs sent instant, burning, electrifying shocks down my legs, up my body, merging in pain in his brain.

The paddle hurt so bad as the pain mingled humiliation spread across my lean, thin body (except for the blazing red rump and thighs), leaving me unable to do anything but helplessly kick my legs and yell.

Not one square inch of my buttocks and the backs of my thighs escaped the attention of the paddle wielded by Dad. My bottom felt like flames were lapping and singeing it.

The pain was awful, overwhelming, crushing me eventually into capitulation. This spanking had become too much for me, and something inside me shifted, despite the presence of a weeping, Jamie Leary watching. I could not hold back any longer.

Tears began streaming freely from my eyes, down my face. I was blubbering like a baby. I sobbed and squalled, pleading, begging, bawling like I was being turned inside out and wrung out.

Nothing in the universe mattered to me at that moment other the pain and shame of the fiery spanking I was getting. On and on my Dad spanked me.

I could scarcely move to the left and right, or forwards and backwards, my only bodily response freely available to respond to the intense onslaught was to jolt up and down.

With each successive, fiery smack against my lower buttocks and upper thighs, I bucked up and down on, humping and grinding into my Father’s thick, muscled thigh, while the sensations shot along nerve wires to my todger.

Along with the unbearable pain, and shameful disgrace, of this spanking was an incredible stirring in my aching penis that was grinding and rubbing, bucking wildly against Dad’s strong leg, gathering readiness to explode at any moment.

I was completely beside myself, lost at sea in the emotions of pain, shame, and sexual craving. This spanking seemed to me at the moment, to be the worst of my young life (even after the Thanksgiving weekend!).

No only was it punishing my bottom and decimating my self-esteem and ego, it was also driving me to an uncontrollable pitch of sexual fury. Just when I felt myself about to lose all control, and fall into a bottomless abyss of erotic excitement, Dad stopped.

Gulping gasps of air, I strained fiercely to suppress and restrain the surging climax. My Dad swatted my backside several more times, eliciting panting squeals and shrieks from me as I gasped, sucking in air and straining to hold back the steam-rolling climax

He pulled me up off his lap, stomping and jumping around, as if I were on a pogo stick, with my hands grasping my inflamed buttocks, my engorged wanker bobbing around.

As with Jamie, he marched me over to the other end of the couch and pushed me down on my torched bum as I squealed on contact with the sofa.

With both of us duly and harshly spanked, and weeping in painful, shameful remorse, we eyed each other askance, fleetingly. We were sobbing from the pain, the disgrace, and the purpose of the spankings.

There was nothing to compare with the bonding two friends feel after they have been spanked together. At that moment, our souls were sharing our emotions as our bottoms where sharing our lickings.

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