This story is fiction and deals with m/m spanking.  If such a subject is offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.

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Spanking Hurts

By

YLeeCoyote@juno.com

My dad, Joseph, and I were visiting Uncle Zak and Cousin Buck for a week.  The two of us fifteen-year-olds had gone to the-party-of-the-night.  Buck's friend's friend's parents had gone away for the weekend and their son was taking advantage of the lack of supervision.  It was sure to be a wild and wicked bash.  We were dressed to the minimum just T-shirts, cut-offs and sneakers with only a couple of condoms in our pockets.  It pays to be prepared.  The party was in full swing – the music blasting like for a rock concert, the lights low and lots of petting and groping as the frequent prelude to other activities.  We were taking a piss break at the back fence (who could wait for the puke room?).  We were very glad that we had when the police sirens drowned out the cool hot-music.  We quickly climbed the fence and made our way home feeling very lucky not to have been caught up in the raid.

We probably would have been smashed, like many others, except that my idiot cousin had gotten the time wrong and we had been very late.  In retrospect, however, we were very glad, but without wallets we had to return home rather than do anything else.  We opened the house door very quietly hoping that neither of our Dads would hear us and prevent us from going back out.  We got a major surprise instead as we listened to Uncle Zak speaking.  We both recognized what was being said for we had each heard it from our own fathers when we had messed up.  Only this time it was not directed at either of us but, surprisingly, at my own father.  Uncle was lecturing his older brother exactly the way he lectured his son, Buck, for his misconduct and poor results in school.  We were confused.  Was this some sort of practice to learn proficiency to dress down his son or what?  Buck allowed that his Dad was quite good at it already.

We listened very quietly waiting to see what would happen.  Dad was making promises that he would be good and do better and cut the grass and take out the garbage and that there was not any need for a <gulp> spanking.  By now we had moved closer to the family room where the two adults were.  Only one small lamp was on and we hid in the shadows to observe.

"That's enough, young man, not another word from you." said Uncle harshly.  We saw Dad snap to attention almost instantly.  Whatever was going on, they advanced to the next step.  As Dad stood frozen, Uncle proceeded to strip him.  Shirt, undershirt, shoes, pants, socks and, finally, underpants were pulled off until Dad was completely naked.  We both knew what surely was next as we had each been in that state ourselves.  We were surprised when Uncle picked up an item that we had never seen before.  It was less than thirty inches (seventy-five cm) long and had a handle holding a leather strip.  (We would learn later that it was called a tawse.)  Uncle barked an order and Dad jumped.  Almost instantaneously, Dad was bent over holding his tail high.  We instantly learnt what that item was used for and how.  Uncle raised up his arm and swung like he was hitting a ball.  The leather end landed on Dad's upturned butt with a loud WHACK!  It sure looked and sounded more efficient than a plain strap.

Even in the dim light we could see that it left a red strip across the target.  We each knew that it certainly must have hurt more than our fathers' hands or even their belts.  We each counted nine more hard cuts.  Buck whispered a confession that he would be screaming and bawling and I admitted that I would being doing the same.  My opinion of my father was raised.  We continued to watch what our fathers were doing in amazed silence.© YLeeCoyote

Dad stood before Uncle Zak, in a very stiff parade rest position, as he started to lecture him once again.  This time it was about how disgraceful and childish his conduct had been.  We could not tell immediately what Uncle had picked up from the table but we recognized the sound as soon as it was turned on.  It was a barber clipper like we had experienced when getting haircuts.  Uncle sat down and reached for Dad's crotch.  There was no doubt what he was doing but it was confirmed by the reflected image from the mirror.  We looked at each other, quite amazed at what was happening.  I recalled that Dad had told me that since I thought that I was a man because I had gotten a few hairs I had better act like it.  Now my father was losing his pubes.  Did that make him a boy again?

The answer must have been in the affirmative for Dad was quickly turned over Uncle's lap like a little boy is.  Neither of us had been spanked that way for several years although we each had such memories seared into our brains.  Uncle began to spank Dad with his hand.  The spanks were loud and therefore must have been hard.  Dad was showing definite signs of discomfort as the spanking progressed.  He was not holding still and he was begging and promising.  Each time he spoke the words were less distinct and his voice more strained.  We both were shocked, when he began to sob which quickly became full fledged crying.  Uncle appeared unmoved as he continued to spank very hard.

Uncle spanked past that special point where the spankee can only surrender from deep inside: when he knows that he has been spanked to his very core and no longer can resist; when he knows that he has been throughly punished through and through.  Then, the spanking stopped.  Uncle helped Dad up, wiped his tears and hugged him for a long time.  Even when the crying stopped, the hug continued.  Eventually, Dad managed to say.  "Thanks, I needed that ever so badly."

"You're welcome.  You should go to bed now before the boys get home."  We withdrew and hid in the dark as our dads made their way to their respective bedrooms without (fortunately) noticing us.  After a few minutes, we slammed the front door and made our way to Buck's bedroom.  We no longer wanted to go out but had to discuss the awesome event that we had just witnessed.  We fell asleep still confused.

Within a couple of days I thought that Father was less tense, less jumpy and more easy going.  I was not sure if it was because we were on vacation and visiting or because of the severe spanking Father had gotten from his younger brother.  It was only after that one time did we notice that Dad showed indications of a tender, i.e., well spanked butt.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was a couple of months later that I noticed that Dad was becoming more difficult to live with.  Not only did I get snapped at often but so did Mother.  Then one evening I overheard Father talking to his brother on the telephone.  It was only a snippet – just a few words – that I heard when I banged the front door shut and Father slammed his door closed blocking the sound.  They were puzzling words.  "… I need another treatment like I got when I visited you. …"

It was when I pondered this line that I recalled hearing Uncle and Dad talking a couple of days after the spanking incident.  Dad had thanked Uncle for the spanking and said it was great therapy.  I knew that it was already into the busy season for Dad's shop and that he could not get away from work to visit his brother nor vice versa.  If the spanking could come from someone else, who could be trusted with such a secret.  A secret that could easily be used to blackmail Father.  I was even afraid to talk to anyone about the issue.  There was, of course, one person that I could talk to and that was my cousin, Buck.  Just as I had been slow to realize that, Buck's suggestion was also a surprise but he said he would check with his dad first.

Uncle Zak was surprised that we both knew about his spanking his brother and wanted to talk about it with him.  Buck reported this to me.  Uncle could only help in explaining that Dad was able to overcome his guilty feelings for not being perfect by being spanked this way.  I thought about this for a long time and decided that there was only one practical solution.  I approached Father while Mother was out.  Dad was most shocked that I, his son, knew anything about this at all and was appalled at my outrageous suggestion.  I made a hasty retreat to allow Dad to think about it and perhaps even call Uncle Zak.

Dad was surprised when he talked with his brother.  My uncle pointed out that Buck and I were actually growing up, apparently knew enough not talk about private family matters, and even recognized that something needed to be done.  Dad understood that his brother was hinting at the obvious but did not actually say it.  Dad had to make the decision himself.  A couple of days later, he decided that he would let me give him what he needed so badly.

We talked a long time to understand each other.  This was not like the usual father/son man-to-man talks where the boy listens but instead was a true exchange of ideas and information.  We agreed that I would do everything that I had watched Uncle Zak do.  We had to wait a couple of days for some private time when Mother was out.  I used this delay to practice with the tawse.

I found that it was interesting to learn how to use the tawse on Dad before Dad had used it on me.  I quickly picked up the knack to be the user while having less than pleasant thoughts about being on the receiving end.  I was surprised to find that lecturing was much harder than I expected it would be.  The question that Buck and I had discussed came to mind – I decided that I would need to practice before the next time.

Undressing Dad was easy although it was strange to do. So many times Father had undressed me and this was the first time that the tables were turned.  Of course, Father was very cooperative, unlike a squirming little boy.  Once I had stripped him, Dad assumed the position and I picked up the tawse to use it the first time.  I was, as expected, nervous because the target butt belonged to my father.  I did this unpleasant task.  The whack was not anything like that I had heard when Uncle had hit the same target.  I raised my arm and took another swing.  This was much more satisfactory and there was a loud WHACK.  I saw, for the first time, the red stripe forming.  To paraphrase a gunnery officer after the ranging shots, I then swung for effect.

WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!

I paused and then repeated the set twice.  Father's bottom was like a pair of very ripe tomatoes so I decided to move on.  I sat down on the couch and turned on the clipper.  Dad stood stiffly in front of me and I carefully clipped the pubes that had to be removed.  I, at first, avoided touching Dad's stuff but then I realized that I had to in order to do the task properly.  Slowly, so I could be very careful, I ran the clipper over the area several times, leaving Dad hairless like a little boy.

We had agreed that I should sit on the couch for the overlap spanking so as to have the support of the couch rather than to have to hold Father's entire weight.  This was the strangest part of all.  I had never dreamed that I would spank my father and now I was actually doing it.  I started easily at first and quickly learnt two things: one, that spanking can hurt the spanker's hand and, two, that I could not really hit hard enough.  I had been warned about this and was prepared with a tool.  The simple, common, cheap flip-flop was very effective implement.  It protected my hand and amplified the force of my spanks.  As I wielded it over and over, I could see how each and every spank was effective.  The red deepened and I could feel that Father was affected from the way he moved.  I knew that I would have to make Father cry.  It took a long time but I prevailed.

At long last, Father gave in to the inevitable and started to sob.  I knew that now he was close but that I must complete my mission.  Over and over I raised the flip-flop and brought it down on Father's behind.  I was pleased when the sobs became crying and then bawling.  I gave him a couple of more before stopping and lifted Dad up.  We hugged each other for a long time.  It was after Father had stopped crying that I realized that I was also crying.

We were both concerned for each other and quite confused about who was the man and who was the boy.  Eventually, when we could talk, we not only forgave each other but also thanked each other.

It was the next day that I told Father why I had cried.  "For years you have told me how much spanking me hurt you.  I now understand for spanking you hurt me in a way I never anticipated."  Dad smiled at me and gave me a great big hug.  "I'm proud of you son.  You're definitely growing up."

The End

© Copyright A.I.L., June 26, 2007

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