The following story is fiction about father/son spankings.  If this subject is offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.

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Housemates with Dad

By

YLeeCoyote@juno.com

After I finished college, I was lucky and got a great job.  Beside liking the work it was very secure which turned out to be most important when the economy took a major downturn.  I also hit the jackpot in the state lottery. Well, not that big of a pot but worth a couple of years salary.  Rather than just pay off the college debts (which had low interest rates), I decide to buy a small two bedroom house since prices were so low, expecting the value would be up when I was ready for better.  Life, for me, was very good.

I regret to say that Dad was not doing well.  The divorce took a heavy toll with Mom getting most of the assets.  Dad was managing until he lost his job when his company folded.  He had gotten way behind and was being evicted when he asked if he could move in with me.  I agreed and a couple of days later he was set up in the second bedroom.  He had provided me with food and shelter for many years and it was reasonable that I reciprocate.

The divorce was very hard on me and left me without resources.  I trudged along at my job, with most of the income going to my ex wife, living in a dump of a closet size apartment.  Then came the downturn in the economy and I was let go.  After years of working and supporting a conniving vengeful, ex-wife and even putting a son through college, I had nothing to show for it but two suitcases filled mostly with my clothes and a few important papers.  I was in a deep funk and even considered taking a sea voyage starting from the center of the big bridge.  In desperation, I called my son and asked (begged actually) to stay with him.  Russell, dutifully, agreed and I took the bus to his place and settled in.

I began to have second thoughts after a couple of months.  Dad had not been able to find another job and did little but hang about and watch cable TV.  I tried to get him to keep the place in order and he did promise to do all the chores both inside and out.  There was not that much to do and when I lived alone I had managed pretty well.  To be fair, I had hired a high school kid to do the lawn, shovel the snow off the sidewalk and other stuff while I did not mess the inside very much being out a lot.

It was when I came home and found that Dad had dropped a pizza on the rug, and not only had not picked it up but stepped on it that I realized something must change.  I knew better than that when I was not yet a teenager.  If, back then, I had done something like that even on my wooden floor, I would have gotten strapped.  I certainly would have deserved getting my jeans and briefs yanked down, ordered to bend over the bed and present my stupid tail for a hardy strapping.  Three days later I would have gotten repeat for not cleaning up.  Of course, in gym the next days the other guys would have laughed seeing my stripes which proved that I had been spanked while I would have boasted how bravely I took it, even though I had yelled and then cried.© YLeeCoyote

When I was half way through high school and turned fifteen, Dad explained the facts of life to me.  I was now expected to contribute to the household.  I had a job – school – which was of primary importance although the immediate pay was very low although there were promises of delayed compensation.  I was expected to do chores about the house and yard at least part of the time.  I was encouraged to earn some of my own spending money working for neighbors or summer jobs.  It made sense and was fair, so I followed the rules.  I think that it was good for me.

Russell was kind and gave me room and board and only asked that I do a few easy chores (some of which were because I was there).  He actually remembered the stuff I told him when he was a teenager; stuff that I thought he did not even hear and said it back to me.  Just like he did when I said it, I grunted "Yeah.".  Unfortunately, I was pretty deep in my funk and let things slip even more.  I was just hanging about the house, watching the tube and feeling sorry for myself.

I had a talk with Dad and he agreed.  Unfortunately, within a week, chaos had returned.  I searched in the storage closet for my old journals that I kept back then.  I found the agreement Dad and I had made detailing responsibilities and consequences for failure when I was fifteen.  I marveled at how well crafted it and how it was still applicable.  The only thing different was that now I was the primary money maker rather than the boy on summer vacation without a job.

It was on Friday evening that I had another discussion with Dad and showed him the agreement.  He had a choice – move out or shape up.  He did not like the idea at all.  "I'm an adult and don't get spanked." he said.

That sounded very much like what I said years ago but Dad's answer from back then still applied.  "As long as you live under my roof and eat my food, then you will follow my rules.  And failure means spankings."

Russell got on my case after a few days and read me the home version of the riot act which sounded like I had written it.  My own son, only out of school a couple of years even went so far as to threaten to spank me – his own father.  I smart mouthed back that I was too old to spank and got my own words shoved down my throat.  The same words that I heard from my father when I was fifteen and that I said to Russell when he was fifteen.  When you're fifteen, you got to accept such stuff but at forty seven one does not.  That is, if one has a job and a pad and is not dependent on his son for the necessities of life and doesn't want to be living on the street.

I let Dad sleep on it not that he had any other viable choice.  He was broke, unemployed and without any place to go to other than the street.  If he did not get a job, then I would even be able to claim him as dependant when I filed my income tax.

In the morning he was very subdued as he agreed to my conditions.  I had him start with the kitchen and bathroom.  They had gotten very messy and required a lot of effort and there was a lot of garbage to take out.  It was only after that was done, did I allow Dad to shower and dress.  Meanwhile, I did my paperwork after which we had brunch and got into another serious conversation sitting in the now respectable kitchen.  I actually lectured him (like he had lectured me) about doing the right thing and that there was a price to pay for messing up.  I told him to wait in his room and I would be in a few minutes to deal with him.  Those were exactly words that he used when I was a naughty boy and due a spanking.

In the morning, reality had gotten to me.  I saw my choices were the street or shaping up.  I agreed and started on the cleanup as Russell directed me.  It sure felt strange not only getting orders from a kid but a kid who was my son.  I hadn't realized exactly when he meant about there being a 'price for messing up' initially but then it dawned on me.  I remembered what I had required Russell to do when he was a teen which was what Dad had required me to do when I was a teenager.

I gave him thirty minutes to think about things before I went to his room.  I was pleased to see him standing a corner with his hands behind his back.  It would have been fascinating to have been able to read his thoughts.  I kicked part of the mess aside and positioned the chair in the space.  Once I sat down, I called him over and gave him another short lecture about responsibility and neatness.  "Because of the mess and failures (since you promised to change) I'm going to spank you."  He made some objections but I told him to be quiet as I opened his belt and pants.  I then lowered his pants past his knees and immediately did the same with his underpants.  A gentle pull got him over my lap.  A thrill ran through me then.  I carefully studied the large naughty boy's bottom before me.  There was something daunting because of the size and strength that a father would not have to deal with when spanking an actual boy.  I positioned Dad and got a good grip on his waist and delivered the first spank.  It was loud and very soon my hand print showed in pink on the target.  I quickly confirmed that an adult man's butt is a lot harder than that of a boy.  A dozen hard spanks left made little impression but my hand was hurting.

It was traumatic going over my son's lap with my bare butt presented for a childish spanking.  A spanking like I had not had in more than a quarter of a century.  But I immediately regressed back to the time that I was a naughty teenager over my angry father's lap.  I guess that being in that position does something to ones head.  Then came Russell's first spank.  It reverberated through my entire body not because it was so hard but because it was the first spank in ever so many years.  I knew that I was a naughty boy.  I knew that I had to change my ways.  It was enough.

But, just as when I was a boy, the spanking did not stop when I thought it should.  There were a few more spanks and then…

Fortunately, I had anticipated this complication and had brought a proper implement – a flip-flop.  This rubbery thing was like the sole of a slipper but even heavier.  A few spanks with this were most effective.  Dad's bottom was quickly turning dark red and I could feel him react to the pain of each spank.  My hand was most comfortable.  I spanked him for a good one hundred spanks over a ten minute period.  By the end he was whimpering.  Then I changed what I was doing.  I put down the flip-flop and switched to grandma's hairbrush which she had used on Dad when he was a boy.  The heavy, hard oak back still packed quite a wallop.  Dad was yelling like a little boy after just a dozen.  I was delighted and continued.  After a few minutes of heavy spanking, Dad gave into being spanked like every up ended boy does and was sobbing.  I made him actually cry for this was an object lesson.

…then something beside a hand struck me.  This really hurt.  And it happened over and over and seemed to go on forever.  I was already really spanked when there was a brief pause and the next spank was even worse (hurt a lot more).  Those continued and I started to yell like I was a little boy.  Just like I had when Mom used her hairbrush on me or Dad the strap.  A little while before I felt like a boy and now I was crying like one.  Except I was not over my father's lap but my son's lap and he was giving me 'what for'.

I spanked a bit passed when he cried and then stood him up and hugged him.  When he was just sobbing, I parked him in the corner with his hands on his head and his hot butt on display.  I left the timer on the dresser and little while after it rang I peeked to see what Dad did.  I was laying on his bed sobbing.  Just like I used to do.  I guess boys never grow up.

Russell stopped, stood me up and hugged me like Father had done and I had done with him until I calmed down and then parked me in the corner.  When the timer rang I collapsed on my bed to recover.

When he came out a few hours later, we had some coffee and I told him to clean up his room including doing the laundry and then he could revert to a normal sort of work schedule.  He got going right away and soon the washer was running as he shoveled out the rest of the mess.  I let the matter of the staining pizza wait for a day.

The next morning, Dad showed good sense by tiding up his room even before coming out for breakfast.  I praised him for that, but he was not getting away with having been so stupid and inconsiderate with the pizza.  That, I explained, rated a real strapping.  I was prepared for an argument but pleasantly surprised that I did not get one.  What I did get was a head down, soft, resigned "Yes, Sir."

The next morning I was changed.  I had been given a reality check and I did not want another one.  Unfortunately, Russell had other ideas because I had gotten so out of line.

I had dug out of storage Grandpa's old razor strop.  I know Dad had felt it in the past and I did – just once – when I had taken the car without permission nor a driver's licence.  Dad was waiting in the corner when I got to his room.  When he turned around on my call, he saw what I was carrying and turned pale.  It was most evident that he remembered what it could and had done to his butt.  "Drop 'em and assume the position.  We had already done the lecture." I snapped.  I did not want any difficulties.  I guess that was the right thing because Dad dropped his pants and bent over exposing his bare ass for me to strap.  I did not disappoint him.  I had practiced a little in the woods and knew just how to swing it.

I was not expecting that terrible razor strop that had been my dad's.  When I saw it, I remember that nova that it had lit in my tail when Dad had used it on me.  It was with great trepidation and fear that I dropped my pants and bent over.  Russell must have practiced for it hurt just like when Father had strapped me with it.

The first cut got him right across the center and he howled in pain as the first red stripe formed.  I waited until he steadied down and then gave him the seconds.  The results were the same.  When I was finished with the sixth stoke, Dad's butt was hot, deep red and swollen.  He just collapsed on the bed in great discomfort.  He stayed there all day even skipping dinner.

I stayed prone on the my bed all day.  I did not even get up for dinner.  My ass was on fire – like a nova was inside.  I was furious not at Russell but myself.  I had failed and had been reminded most forcefully.  I was even proud of my son for what he did.  He had learnt what I had wanted to teach him when he was growing up much better than I had thought.  I made resolutions – it seem most appropriate that a new era had begun.

When I got home from work on Monday, I hardly recognized the place.  The place was sparkling clean and in perfect order.  Dad had even gone shopping and was ready to nuke our dinner.  He told me he was very sorry for his misconduct and promised to be good in the future.  Dad seemed very sincere.  Over the next few weeks, things remained the same and Dad even was job hunting again.  Occasionally, he slipped but those were minor things although I took him over my lap for a spanking.  Not as extreme as those I told you about.

I was not perfect after this, but I was a changed boy.  Yes, boy at this time.  Russell, the responsible working man, was definitely the head of the household and I was very much like a teenager without a job.  I did my chores, paid more attention to my appearance and even some job hunting.  In some way it like starting over.  I'm going to speak to Russell about getting some training in an area where there might be job prospects.

I really was having a lot of doubts if I was really doing the right thing.  After all, spanking ones Dad is not the usual sort of thing, unlike caring for one parents when they get old and infirm.  Then I got a note, actually a blank card with a hand written message from Dad that completely eliminated my dilemma.

How could I refuse?

The End

© Copyright A.I.L. May 28, 2009

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