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Carl's Summer Job
Part 12

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: 26 Feb 2018


Carl’s Summer Job, Part 12
 

It is inevitable that we all have a bad day now and then. Carl was no exception. The day started out well enough. Carl woke up and pushed back the covers, releasing his morning wood. He glanced down at what little stubble there was and had a moment of happy anticipation of the job Mr. Schmidt would do later to get him fully smooth. There was a surge in his already erect penis. He loved the shaving ritual which had developed. He took care of the morning wood, washed up, pulled on his work clothes, and made his way downstairs for breakfast. He was in a bit of a mischievous mood that morning and when he left for Mr. Schmidt’s his change of clothes, which he had carefully put out on his bureau the night before, were left behind. He knew the consequences, but was eager for it today. There was no way he could know that leaving his clothes behind was the beginning of a downward spiral resulting in a butt blistering he’d long remember.

Mr. Schmidt took note of the lack of clothes but said nothing. It was Saturday, so lawn mowing day. This did not go well. The mower was having one its cranky days, stalling out and proving hard to maneuver. The boy’s frustration mounted as it went on and more than once he let out loudly with an expletive. Never the F-bomb, but some other choice words nonetheless. All words which Mr. Schmidt did not tolerate. Mowing finally done he was put to another project, using an old rake that was to be retired at summer’s end. Still, it was old and brittle. Sure enough, the pole broke, an almost inevitable event. Carl let out with his loudest swear of the afternoon. Mr. Schmidt said nothing. He retrieved another rake, not really appropriate for this job, and the task was finished.

Nothing was said as they went into the house. Carl sensed that his employer, and spanker, disapproved of today’s behavior, knowing full well what such disapproval resulted in. He glumly showered. After the shower Mr. Schmidt silently restored the boy to his smooth prepubescent look. This was something Carl always enjoyed, but not today. For the first time he did not become erect during the process. His mind was too focused on what was to come, even without being told.

The shaving was finished and Mr. Schmidt said, come with me. We need to talk, son. Mutely Carl followed his spanker across the room. Mr. Schmidt sat in the spanking spot on the couch. Feeling ashamed, Carl stood in front of the man, awaiting his lecture and sentence.

I don’t know what has gotten into you today, but I am very disappointed in you. I know the mower can be problematic, but you know you should have been more careful with the rake, even if you knew it was old and would be replaced. I admit it had to be replaced last the summer, but I never did. I understand your frustration at the mower, but that is no justification for the language you used, either then or when the rake broke. On top of that you deliberately left your change of clothes at home. Carl reacted to that. Yes, son, we both know full well you did it on purpose. Carl now looked at the floor, ashamed of himself. You know that bad language is not tolerated here. Now, how shall we deal with all of this?

The familiar catechism, though the tone of voice was new, true anger seeping in.

I have to be spanked, daddy.

You most certainly do! What kind of spanking does a boy like you deserve?

Bare bottom, over daddy’s lap. Carl had never phrased it quite that way before.

Quite right. And what else?

What else? Carl froze for a moment, unsure of what was expected of him. Finally he managed to get out, a hard spanking on my bare bottom, daddy. He didn’t know if that was the correct answer, but it was the one that came to mind. He knew it was what he deserved, in any case.

That is correct, son, and that is what you are now to get. There was no further discussion. Carl knew to get in place and he did.

SMACK SMACK SMACK, which felt to the boy more like BAM, BAM, BAM. The first five hurt more than any initial spanks ever had in the past. The next group brought on wails of ow changing to owwwwww and yelps of pain. His spanker took no notice but continued the spanking. Suddenly it stopped, sooner than Carl ever would have thought it might. He suspected it wasn’t over. It wasn’t.

Go upstairs and bring down both the hairbrush and the bath brush. At these terrifying words Carl let out a wail as if he’d been spanked again. Collecting himself, he rose from the lap, went upstairs, and shortly returned with a weapon in each hand. This was going to be the worst! He nearly was in tears already, just in expectation. Mr. Schmidt showed no sign of caring whatsoever. Carl’s humiliation was acute and he knew it only was to get worse. He so hated disappointing this man he had come to love like a father.

The hairbrush had its turn first. No sooner was Carl over the lap but the brush came down, hard, on his already burning bottom. He shrieked in a way he never had before. Mr. Schmidt, so expert in the ways of spanking boys, knew how to keep the shrieks from turning to tears. That was the bath brush’s job. Still, across his lap was a naked eighteen-year-old boy in a proper agony for his bad behavior, being given constant reminders of what bad behavior earned such a boy. Carl could barely think. This was a new pain he’d never felt. Even Dad had never spanked him quite like this. One last smack of the brush and Carl let out with what really was a scream. Oh how he regretted his behavior that day! He knew it wasn’t over. Another brush waited.

The pause was just long enough for Mr. Schmidt to change implements. What Carl could not know was that the bath brush would do its work quickly. Effectively, too, of course. Before Carl was ready for it, and with very few smacks, the brush turned yells, screams, and wails into tears with hard sobs. This was not cathartic! He felt terrible – the pain in his bottom and the humiliation and regret that he had disappointed Mr. Schmidt. He wailed with tears as he never had in his life. He truly knew now was meant by a butt on fire. As his thinking cleared he thought it likely that this pain would last well over a day. It would.

There was quite a while of wailing and sobbing before Carl subsided into crying. It was only when this shift occurred that Carl felt Mr. Schmidt’s hand gently on his sore bottom. He was rubbed lightly and tenderly which only made him cry more. He had no idea how long he lay there, crying like a naughty, misbehaved, now well punished, bad boy. His spanker gave no indication that he was to get off the lap and the boy made no move to do so. When he had calmed down a bit more, but still was sobbing lightly, silently Mr. Schmidt stood him up and led him to the corner. New waves of humiliation swept over the very repentant boy. Softly he cried as he stood there, reflecting on the day’s behavior which had brought on this chastisement. How long he was there, he had no idea, nor did he ever learn.

When the crying fully stopped he was left to stand there a while longer. He heard Mr. Schmidt walk up behind him, still silent. A hand, covered in cool crème, was on his bottom, gently rubbing the ointment into him, somewhat easing the pain. He couldn’t imagine what his butt looked like. Not pretty, he was sure. For some minutes the rubbing and soothing went on, helping the boy begin to relax. That done, he waited for instructions.

An arm was on his shoulder and he was turned around to be enveloped in a long, warm, hug. Of course this brought a return of the tears, but this time it felt good. He so wanted to make this man pleased with him! Even after the hardest spanking of his young life, now that he was in Mr. Schmidt’s arms he felt a love toward this father figure that was stronger than ever.

I don’t think you want to sit on Daddy’s lap just yet, Mr. Schmidt said in kindly tones.

No, Daddy, I don’t think I can. Just hold me! Mr. Schmidt did just that. Again, for how long Carl never knew, nor did he care. After a while he was taken to the couch to lie face down. Mr. Schmidt sat on the edge, lightly rubbing the boy’s sore bottom and his back, even upper legs at times. Carl relaxed, enjoying the touch and the physical intimacy. He drifted off to sleep. Mr. Schmidt kissed the back of Carl’s head, then left the boy to his sleep.

A couple of hours later Carl woke up, unsure at first as to where he was. The pain in his abused bottom helped make him aware of where he was and why. He sat up carefully. It hurt a bit to sit! He noticed his clothes were neatly folded and waiting for him on a side table. There were no sounds to be heard in the house. Where might Mr. Schmidt be? Should he just dress and leave? He wanted to delay putting any clothing in touch with his sore bottom, so went upstairs naked. Tentatively he called out, Daddy? Mr. Schmidt emerged from his study.

Well, son, how do you feel? he asked in a kindly manner, accompanied by another warm hug.

It hurts, Carl admitted, starting to sniffle at remembrance of what he’d suffer.

I’m sure it does. It was meant to. We both know this is not your last spanking for the summer, but I sincerely hope we do not have to repeat this one.

Yes, Daddy, Carl replied. He certainly didn’t, even from his beloved spanker.

Now, get dressed and go home. I’ll see you Tuesday.

Yes, Daddy. He was released from the hug, went downstairs to dress, and made his way home. He was relieved that his parents were out. He made his way upstairs to the bathroom, quickly removed his cutoffs and did his best to get a look at his butt in the mirror. It was red! Yet, Mr. Schmidt was so expert that he delivered the severe spanking without creating bruises or welts. In his brief experience Carl knew that this was quite an accomplishment. Inspection done he went to his room and without taking time to remove his shirt, lay face-down on the bed and cried quietly into his pillow. Not tears of pain, but a return of his sorrow at disappointing Mr. Schmidt. Fortunately his crying was done when he heard his mother returning. He managed to get loose shorts on and sit for dinner without betraying any discomfort, which was a relief.

After dinner he was on the phone to Frank, telling him everything. Frank was impressed, mixed with empathy for his friend’s plight. This sounded worse than any spanking he’d ever received. He hoped he never would.

Mr. Schmidt’s words were true – this was in no way Carl’s last spanking of the summer. However, such a spanking was not repeated. Mr. Schmidt firmly believed that such spankings were warranted but, as much as he appreciated spanking a deserving bottom, this type of spanking was not pleasant for him, either.

 
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