Perpetuating the Cycle of Discipline By grjock@proton.me Copyright 2024
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction involving discipline and sexual contact between males, including father and son. The author does not endorse or condone sexual interaction with minors, or non-consensual sex acts. The author takes no responsibility for your decision to download, view, or possess this work. If you are unable to distinguish fantasy from reality, seek help from a mental health professional.
"Hi Mrs. Lassen" I call, as I approach the mailboxes at the end of our driveways.
"Oh, hello" she replies with a little wave. She's dressed in yoga pants and a tank top with a house robe over. The stereotypical image of a stressed single mother. I patiently wait for her to collect her magazines and move to the side so I can get my mail.
"How are things across the pond?" I ask. This is our little neighbor joke, in reference to the small duck pond that separates our two houses.
Mrs. Lassen cocks her head and makes a small sigh. "Oh, you know. We're getting by."
I raise an eyebrow. "Everything alright?"
"Oh, it's nothing," she pauses, as if weighing her words, "Well, you know how it is raising boys. They're just...difficult sometimes."
I smile apologetically. "Conner getting into trouble? He's probably at that rebellious age, right?"
"He got into a fight yesterday, and now his coach is threatening to kick him off the football team." She lets out the words in a rush.
I make a low whistle. "My dad whipped my butt the first time I ever got into a fight." My hand unconsciously rubs my backside. My father had tanned my hide many times, but getting into a fist fight had been the worst spanking, and one I never wanted to repeat. "He made sure it was my last fight too."
"I just don't know how to talk to him since his father left. I'm at my wits end with that boy." She reflects for a second then goes on, more hesitantly, "Will? I don't suppose you would...be willing to..."
"Talk to him?" I finish her sentence.
"Oh would you? I just can't be the father figure he needs, and I know he looks up to you. Is that too much to ask?"
"Uh, sure. It's no problem, I'd be happy to have a talk with him."
"And if you need to take him over your knee..." she makes the sign of zipping her lips and locking them. She leans in and lowers her voice, although there's no one around to hear. "I didn't always agree with it, but my ex used to spank both boys, and it sure kept them in line. I can't bear to...well...you know." She makes a hand motion, "Spare the rod and spoil the child, and all that. They've been such a handful since he moved away though."
The idea of spanking a teenaged boy tickles something in my belly. I can't imagine myself actually raising my hand to a child, but the idea of my cute neighbor boy laying over my lap is enticing.
"Well, hopefully he just needs a sympathetic ear, but I'll keep it in mind. Why don't you send him over after supper and we'll have a little man-to-man chat."
She agrees and thanks me repeatedly, then hurries back to her home.
As I tidy up the house, I can't get my mind off of Conner, and the prospect of paddling his 18 year old ass. Conner is a senior in high school, 18 years old I think, athletic and good looking.
At 30, I feel more like a big brother than a father. Or At least a cool uncle. Maybe I'm in denial about my age but I'm certainly not old enough to have an 18 year old son of my own.
While I make a simple dinner for myself, I can't help staring out the window, across the pond at Conner's house. My mind drifts back to my junior year of high school, and the worst beating my father had ever given me.
I still had a little crust of dried blood around my nostril from the bloody nose, but it had stopped bleeding an hour ago. I sat in the passenger seat of dad's Chevy pickup truck, alone, waiting in the parking lot of James Madison High.
The doors to the school opened and Jackson Curtis was frog-marched out by his father. Star quarterback, class bully, and All-American asshole. For a singular moment his eye caught mine and we were equals, both at the mercy of our angry fathers, and both destined for an unhappy night. He had hatred in his eyes, no doubt blaming me for getting him in trouble as much as I blamed him for calling me a faggot and shoving me face-first into a locker. It didn't matter. We were both in the shit now.
The doors opened again and dad strode out with a scowl on his face. Until that moment I had clung to a tiny hope that the vice-principal would get me off the hook, since I was the victim in this whole thing, but the storm clouds over my father's face said I wasn't so lucky.
He got in, slammed the door, and turned on the ignition. He started driving without putting on his seatbelt; a bad sign. Neither of us spoke until the final half mile.
"Put your things in your bedroom and then go to my office and wait there." That was the extent of my trial. No evidence, no defense, no jury, just dad's judgement. I had learned early that questioning him would only bring more punishment, so I stayed quiet.
The truck pulled into our driveway and dad turned off the engine. He waited for me to exit first. I'm not sure why, but having him wait in the truck added another layer of dread. Like he was watching me walk down Death Row towards the electric chair.
I dumped my backpack and took off my shoes in my room. I kicked off my trousers and left them. Spankings were done over underwear if I was lucky, or bare skin if I really needed to learn a lesson. Today was going to be bare assed, but there was no harm keeping them on until dad said so. My tee shirt barely reached my modest bulge, and didn't provide much modesty. I crept to dad's office and stood in front of his desk. Waiting.
I heard him come into the house and sit at the kitchen table. He took his work boots off. Glass clinked as he poured and drank a shot of whiskey, then another. The waiting was part of our ritual. Time for dad to stoke his anger, and time for me to tie my stomach into knots with dread.
"You know why you're being punished?" He asked from right behind me. I flinched. I hadn't heard him come down the hall.
"Yes sir. I got in a fight."
In point of fact, it was more accurate to say I'd been beaten up, but my father wouldn't care. Fighting was fighting. It took two to tango. He would have some reason why getting stomped by the class bully was still my fault.
Dad stood behind me, out of my line of sight, and I heard him unbutton and remove his flannel shirt. He sighed, a great deep sigh that conveyed all of his disappointment with me and filled me with guilt. Another part of our ritual. I could smell the whiskey fumes on his breath.
"Assume the position," he said in a flat voice.
I leaned forward and put my hands on the desk, sticking my ass out, with my legs spread. Dad moved next to me and his left hand took my waist and pulled me up against his hip. His right rested gently on my buttocks. The warmth of his body against mine felt oddly comforting, at odds with the cold hardness of his voice and the pain he was about to deliver. Dad stood motionless for a long time, considering his wayward son. Then his hand raised.
Crack!
The first one wasn't too bad. Just a sting to wake me up and get things started. He delivered another stroke to my other cheek, then he paused and rubbed his hand over my briefs in a circle.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
I stood there stoicly. Each new blow added a little more sting and the spanks began to build on top of one another. Soon it would become a dull burning, then an ache, and eventually a raging fire as my nerves screamed for mercy.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
My breath was getting faster as the heat picked up and I could feel my buns starting to throb between each stinging blow. Dad paused and rubbed circles around my butt.
"No son of mine is going to get into fights like a damn fool." He said.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
I whimpered as the pain really started to mount.
"I raised you better than this shit."
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
"Fighting like some white trash hick."
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
Dad continued to chastise me as he rained down blows on my poor stinging ass. Between volleys, he rubbed my backside tenderly, almost lovingly.
"Take your underpants down." He said eventually. At this point my brain was working slowly, so he had to repeat himself before I understood and complied. I peeled my white Hanes down my skinny legs and dropped them around my ankles, then I assumed the position again.
Dad's hand wrapped around my waist again and pulled me into his thigh, and then I felt his other hand on my bare bottom.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
The spanks really hurt now and I felt my body flinching at each strike, but dad's left hand held me rigidly. His right hand rubbed around my ass, working in the pain like oil on a cutting board.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
My tears came. At first they just lined my eyes, then fat wet drops flowed down my cheeks. Finally, after a particularly hard set of blows I felt a great sob shake my ribs and rattle out of me. From then on I balled openly but the beating didn't slow down.
Dad continued talking but his words were lost on me. I think he was talking more to himself anyway, since he knew I was in no state to reply.
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
The big calloused hand held my backside tenderly. My cheeks must be purple by now. I continued sobbing and sniffling.
Dad released me and stepped back. I breathed raggedly, trying to get my crying under control. Behind me, dad unbuckled his belt and pulled his blue jeans off, folding them over the back of his leather Chair.
"Get over my lap." Dad said.
On shaky legs, I turned to face him. He was sitting in his big wingback chair, in just his JC Penny jockey shorts and a white undershirt. If my mind wasn't consumed with pain and survival, I would have admired the way dad's cock made a nice round bulge in his briefs, and the way his groin and pits released a musky smell that filled the small office. I walked to the side of his chair like a robot and leaned forward. His left hand grabbed me around the waist again and eased me down until my belly rested on his thigh and my dick touched the side of his leg. I got my hands on the floor and braced myself. It was an awkward position.
SNAP!
The first blow of the belt shattered me. The pain burst like a camera flash. It faded immediately but my bruised cheeks throbbed in pain. Dad put his hand on my ass and rubbed gently.
SNAP!
The second was worse. I knew they would all be worse than the last. Blubbering had given way to a heaving sort of hyperventilation as I just tried to brace myself and endure.
SNAP!
I cried out. I knew dad hated it when I showed weakness, but it was involuntary. Three lashes from his belt was the worst I'd ever gotten, but I sensed that he was going for a new record tonight. He rubbed my ass for long moments as he evaluated his handiwork.
SNAP!!
My arms reached back trying to shield my body from more pain but I pulled them back immediately. Interfering with a punishment was a sure way to make it worse.
SNAP!!!
The last strike was the hardest yet and it compounded all of the injuries below it. I yelped out in anguish and my body writhed around on dad's lap but he held me fast. Dad's hand stroked my bottom tenderly, and I thought it must be as hot as a stove burner back there.
"You know why I punish you?" He said eventually.
"Yes sir." I mumble between sniffs.
"Tell me." His hand moved down and he ever so gently touched my scrotum between my burning thighs.
"Because you love me." I whispered the words. Another hollow part of the pageantry. I didn't believe any of it. He hurt me because he was a bastard. He did all of this because he liked to make me suffer. Because he was an asshole. A prick. Because the world was unfair and I got born to a sadist who liked torturing people weaker than him. My teen brain was awash in anger and humiliation and pain.
"That's right son. I'm sorry you make me do this to you." His big fingers were softly feeling my scrotum as he murmured the words to me. "You know I love you." For a long time he held me like this, lying over his lap with my penis pressed into his legs.
His fingers cupped my balls. He always gave me time to calm down after a beating, but as I got older dad became more comfortable touching my genitals instead of just rubbing my blistered butt. He never stroked my cock or anything, he just liked to feel the shape of me and hold my organ. I sometimes wonder if he wanted to do more, or if his fondling was meant to shame me further. It became just another weird and humiliating part of his punishment routine. At least his groping didn't leave visible marks for the boys in the locker room to see in the showers after PhysEd.
"Are you alright?" He asked. I wanted to tell him I hurt like hell and it was his fault, but he was looking for reassurance that I still loved him. The irony was rank, but I played my part and told him I was ok.
"Good boy." His hand left my sac and I heard him uncap the tube of Bengay that he kept in the sideboard. He applied cool ointment to my ass, slowly stroking it into my raw flesh in long gentle strokes. His fingers never strayed into my crack, or back to my genitals, but I would inevitably get fully aroused by this point, and that was dad's cue to stop. He never mentioned my stiffie, but I knew he felt it stabbing his leg and I'm sure it disappointed him.
Dad took my waist in both hands to help me off of his lap. I stood there, with my shameful erection at eye level for my father, while he capped the Bengay and returned it to the drawer and then stood up and put his pants back on. I couldn't help watching how his bulge caught in the fly as he pulled them up, and had to be tucked inside by hand before he zipped the jeans over his ample mound.
"Get to bed. No supper. I want you to think about what you did."
"Yes sir."
I picked up my briefs and turned to go but he stopped me at the door.
"William--I do love you."
Woodenly, I walked to my bedroom.
The doorbell clang pulls me out of my reverie. Suddenly I'm nervous. I'm not sure I can go through with this.
I answer the door and there's Conner, but the boy-next-door's easy smile has been replaced by an angsty disinterest that only teens can pull off.
Conner is wearing a light grey tee shirt with the Nike swoosh on it, and flimsy shorts that only go half way down his thighs. God bless the new generation for bringing back short shorts. In a few years, Conner will grow into one hell of a hunk, but at 18 he still has hints of boyish softness and his physique shows off his potential as much as his gains. His arms and shoulders are wiry and athletic, but not yet huge. His pecs make an attractive shape under his tee shirt, and from seeing him shirtless across the yard, I know he's hiding flat abs that taper into his trim waist with faint V-lines hinting at what dangles below. His quads are gorgeously defined, though not bulky yet, with that beautiful contour line just above the knee from thousands of squats and lunges. Even his feet have attractive little veins and graceful toes. He's a gorgeous specimen.
"Hey Conner, come on in." I invite him inside and he kicks off his sandals by the door. "I thought you could help me with a little remodeling project I'm working on."
"Sure. Whatever."
I guide Conner down to my unfinished basement, where I'm putting in a home gym and a den. Right now it's a mess of concrete dust, two-by-fours, and plastic sheeting. An ideal setting for guy talk.
"We're framing in a half-wall here," I indicate with my hands where a pony wall will extend. Conner stands there warily, like an animal who knows it's being hunted but doesn't know which direction the ambush is coming from. My plan is to get his guard down by acting casual for a while before I pivot the conversation into his discipline problems. I ask him to hold the tape while we measure out four planks, and then we work together to cut them to size.
Like generations of men before us, we bury our emotions under work, and it feels good to see something physical take shape out of our efforts. I keep the small talk light, and mainly focused on construction.
Then I make a mis-step.
"So how's the football season going? Good team this year?" It's the most benign and heterosexual question I can imagine, but it's the wrong one. I remember too late that Conner's coach had threatened to kick him off the team. I catch my mistake just as Conner's face darkens into a scowl.
"Look man, I don't know what the fuck you want with me. Can you just tell my mom you fixed me or whatever so I can get the fuck out of here?"
He seems so bitter and beaten down. I try to remember being his age; confident and invincible, and so angry at all of the senseless rules and pressure that everyone in my life heaped on me. I want to hug him tight but that isn't what he wants right now.
I stare him level in the eye, sizing him up. Maybe some hard truth would work. I toss my hammer into the tool box with a loud bang.
"I don't know the whole story, but I told your mother I would help, and if I let you off the hook I'd be doing a disservice to both of you."
"Oh fuck off! You don't know me. You think you can be my fucking dad all of the sudden?" Conner's face goes red when the words leave his tongue. This kid has some deep wounds from his parents' separation, and I realize I'm not equipped for this conversation. Conner needs a real therapist, but I'm the only person his mother reached out to.
"Hey! Calm down, and let's talk. I'm not trying to be your dad, I just thought you could use a sympathetic ear."
This isn't going how I imagined. I thought I would be the cool uncle figure, maybe give the kid a beer to earn his trust and then he'd spill his guts to me so I could fix all his issues with all the wisdom of a 30 year old bachelor. Now that he's here, pissed off and angsty, I see how stupid my plan was.
Conner glares at me and then turns on his heel to go. "Fuck this. I'm out of here."
I grab his arm and pull him back to face me. His arm felt solid and strong. "Hey! I told your mom I would talk to you so we're gonna talk! I'm not impressed by your tough guy act."
He yanks his arm away but I hold him firm. The look he gives me could burn through asbestos.
"When I talked to your mother this morning she was at the end of her rope. Did you know that? She's watching you throw your future away and she's terrified because she can't get through to you. The stress is eating her up. That's what your actions are doing to the people around you."
I hate how easy it is to stack guilt on this kid's shoulders. I recognize the same tactic my father used on me to wear me down and belittle me when my attitude needed adjusting. I promised myself I would be a better parent if I ever had kids, but I had only stuck to the high road for a few minutes before resorting to shouting and emotional manipulation.
"Fuck. You." Conner leans in and over-enunciates the words right in my face.
"I guess I was naive to think I could talk to you man-to-man. I used to get so mad at my father when he would lecture me and whip my ass, but--damnit kid, you're really not giving me any other choice."
"Bull shit. You're not gonna lay a hand on me. My mom would sue your ass."
I laugh mirthlessly. "Kid, your mom ASKED me to spank you." A flicker of terror crosses his face. I'm still holding his bicep tightly.
"Get off me! You're not doing shit!" He tries to pull free but I hold on and dig my fingers into his arm and he stops struggling. I wonder if some deep part of him craves authority from another man, now that his dad is absent. It's been over two years since the divorce; a long time for a teenage boy to go without a father. Harder still for a sixteen year old to step up and become the man of the house to his mother and little brother for all that time.
"What do you think your father would do if he were here right now?" That one hit him where it hurt. Conner's eyes go glassy as angry tears start to well up. He clenches his jaw. "Do you think he'd be proud of what you're becoming? A thug? Bully? A man who makes life harder for his mother? Is this the example you want your little brother to see?"
I feel awful saying this shit. It's all straight out of my father's playbook. Invoking sympathy with a straw-man victim. Layering shame on top of guilt, until the poor kid ties himself in knots. It makes me feel nauseous, but I don't know a better way.
"Here's what's going to happen. You're going to undress, down to your underwear, and then go up to the guest room and wait for me. I'm going to spank your ass until I'm convinced you've learned a lesson. After you learn some manners, we'll have a real talk, man to man. Understand?"
Conner stares daggers at me, but I don't care. My anger is driving now and in the back of my mind I realize that the ritual has begun. My father's ritual. I let go of his arm and wait for him to obey me.
He bites his lip, trying to find a way out of this situation but none comes. With a final huff, he grabs the hem of his tee shirt and rips it off over his head. Fuck, this kid's body is exquisite. I hadn't intended for him to take his shirt off, but I guess I did say "down to your underwear," and he takes me at my word.
Conner's back is nicely muscled, or perhaps toned is the right word, with taut bands of lean muscle wrapping up his back and shoulder blades, all separated by faint little lines that would have been filled in on a boy with more body fat. His shoulders have been seeing the benefits of football practice, and they are beginning to get round and strong above nicely turned biceps. When he turns I get a glance at those flat lean abs and pecs, not bulky, but beautifully etched into his torso.
The tee shirt is thrown angrily over the bannister of the stairs, and Conner shucks off his little black shorts. Underneath he has on red boxer briefs which cover almost as much as his shorts, but I'm able to get a clear sense of the shape of his ass now. Like the rest of him, his cheeks are slim, almost utilitarian, with dimples and a square shape to the bottom of each cheek. It's the only place where he could use some extra fat to fill out a little. I wonder if he ever wears a jockstrap under his football pads, but I guess everyone wears compression shorts these days. He'd look breathtaking in an old school Bike #10.
I get my thoughts back under control. "Go up to the second floor, first door on the left. I'll be up shortly."
Conner seems more fierce with his clothes off, and he walks up the stairs with his back rigid. I listen to him climb both flights of stairs and then go quiet, until he's presumably waiting in the guest bedroom for me to come deliver his punishment. Following tradition, I'll let him simmer for a while, but I don't know what to do with myself in the meantime. I rarely drink alcohol, but the idea of a whiskey sounds good at the moment.
I pick up Conner's shorts and shirt from the stairs. They're still warm. I can't resist taking a sniff, and savoring the complex mix of sweat and B.O., plus that unique odor of teen boy that clings to his shirt. His shorts are even better, and I sense a faint crotch smell that makes my dick stand up to attention. I fold the clothes, so I can return them after his punishment.
I stop in the kitchen for a shot of courage, just like my old man would do. I've given Conner a little over five minutes now, and I guess that's enough, so I climb the stairs and enter the guest room. I leave the shirt and shorts on the dresser in a neat stack.
"Do you know why you're being punished?" I ask. They were my father's words, but I'm apparently powerless to break this cycle which I hate so much. I wonder if my dad inherited this ritual from his father, and so forth back through history.
Conner is facing the wall but he glances at me askance. "Just do it already."
"Your mother says you were fighting at school." I wait but Conner doesn't acknowledge the crime.
"Alright, assume the position."
Conner bends at the waist and grabs his ankles. It's a different pose than my father used on me, but it will work. His dad must have a different technique than I was brought up with, I muse.
In position, Conner's ass is bent over and presented for me, while his head is down at his knees. Between his legs, I can see his balls dangling down where his boxers cling to his anatomy. I wish I could bury my nose in that crevice and nuzzle the kid's intimates.
With a deep breath, I walk up next to the boy and place my right hand on his left hip and pull his body tight against mine. He seems smaller like this, diminished, no longer a strapping football stud, now just a scared little boy. I rest my left hand on his ass. His flesh is warm and firm; Alive.
I lift my hand and slap it down. It's pitifully soft, almost limp wristed. My cheeks flush with embarrassment. I quickly raise my hand and spank it down harder this time, making a proper smack on Connor's butt. This time it's a respectable blow, but Connor doesn't react.
Smack!
He stands still, so I gently graze his rump with my hand. It feels good to touch him, but I need to be careful to keep my intrusive urges separate from the punishment.
Smack!
"You're such a bright young man."
Smack!
"You have all this potential, and that's coming from someone who barely knows you."
Smack! Smack!
"And you're throwing it all away for some stupid schoolyard fight that won't even matter a year from now."
Smack! Smack!
"You're smart enough to know how stupid that is."
Smack! Smack!
I feel like a fraud as I lecture this kid. By most measures, Connor is more successful in school than I was, so what right do I have to tell him how to live his life? Well, because his mother asked me to, I guess. And because I'm older and he's younger; the natural order, my father would say.
Smack! Smack!
I rest, letting my hand touch those red boxers and gently caress the hard glutes underneath. His buns are starting to get warm. His breathing is quicker, but he's still in control of himself.
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
My hand is starting to smart from this. I guess this really is hurting me as much as it hurts him.
Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
Conner is taking it well so far, and I hope I'm not going too easy. I have to break him down before I finish, so we've got a ways to go.
"Conner, take your underwear down to your ankles."
He hesitates and then retorts "I'm not letting you touch my naked ass." For the first time I wonder how he feels about me being queer during this whole thing. I've never explicitly come out to the neighbors, but they know I'm a bachelor and they've seen men come over and spend the night here so it's not exactly a mystery. I can't tell if Conner's words are from shyness, or if he's homophobic toward me. That thought stabs into my heart.
"Conner, take your underwear down. I won't ask again. The more you fight me on this, the worse your punishment will be."
He straightens up and his face is red. His boxer briefs are tented out, not obscenely, but he has a healthy erection started. Enough that I can tell he's circumcised. Conner opens his mouth to say something but he can't find any words. Then, with great reluctance, he hooks his thumbs into his waistband and slides the elastic down his ass, over his manhood, and all the way down his toned legs to the floor.
His dick is one of the most beautiful members I've ever seen, which is saying something. Everything about it is well proportioned. The nice mushroom head flares out over a good sized shaft, probably six or seven inches all together. A tasteful vein runs the length of it, and he has his pubic hair trimmed in a little triangle down to the root of his cock, with the rest cut short. His balls are pulled in semi-close to his body, and I imagine they make a very nice handful. As I watch, his cock throbs and the angle of his erection shifts a few degrees higher.
With Conner facing me, I unbuckle my belt and pull it free. My blood races as I unbutton my pants and lower them. Conner steals a glance down at my black boxer briefs. I'm getting undressed with a teenager; this is wrong! I suddenly wonder if my father had gotten pleasure from my spankings, when he laid me over his bare legs and pulled my ribs up against his tighty wighties. Did he think it was hot? Did he jack off in bed after spanking me, the same way I would masturbate after receiving punishment from him?
I fold my trousers and lay them on the dresser next to Conner's clothes, and then I sit down on an ottoman and spread my knees slightly. Conner stands at attention but his eyes are watching everything I do.
"Lay over my knee here."
With his jaw set, Conner steps closer to me, bringing his beautiful cock right in front of me, and then he awkwardly hinges forward and puts his weight on my thighs. His hands reach the floor and he shifts around. I can feel that hard penis touching my leg, warm and alive like a small animal. I try to control my attention so my own erection doesn't get too obvious, but I'm failing.
I put a hand around his waist again, holding him by his hip and pulling him against my body. My left hand goes to his ass and I begin to stroke him gently. Some day he might have coarse pubic hair growing out of this crack in dark swirls, but for now his buns are covered in soft golden peach fuzz.
Crack!
This time he jumps, just a little, but the pain is starting to get to him.
Crack!
When his hips jolt forward, I can feel his cock humping my thigh and it's difficult to ignore.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
As I work, his ass starts to turn darker red and his reactions to each hit get stronger.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
He's trying to hide it, but a convulsion in his chest tells me he's crying now. I let him rest for a minute while I rub his buns. When my hand gets too close to his private parts, I can see his ass clench and his dick flexes against my leg. I do it again to check, and I smile at my ability to make this stud's cock pulse.
"Conner, I'm going to give you three strokes of the belt, and then we're done. Do you understand?"
He sniffled and said, "yes sir."
I pick up my belt and double it over into a weapon. I lay the belt over his ruby red ass and get my aim right, and then...
SNAP!
Conner jerks forward and stifles a yelp. He releases a shuddering breath and his heart thunders in his chest. He allows me to reposition his body for the next blow. I can see a stripe of white across his red flesh, beginning to darken into purple. He will be bruised for at least a few days.
SNAP!
This time he makes a louder noise between a groan and a wince. I feel a smear of wetness on my leg where his precum is leaking out.
SNAP!!
He yells out loud and his hand involuntarily grabs at my leg for support as he lurches forward against me.
"Breathe son, just breathe. It's over." I drop the belt and massage his ass tenderly. Connor cries but he's trying to keep it from turning into outright sobbing. I hold him and let his mind absorb the pain.
"Do you know why I punished you?" The words came to me automatically. Dad's words. They were out of my mouth before I could think.
Conner gave a deep sniff and mastered his breathing. "Because, I got in a fight."
He was supposed to say `because you love me,' that's how this was supposed to go. Maybe Conner's father didn't have this part of the ceremony. It felt hypocritical to me, and I decided to break the script.
"I'm supposed to tell you this is all happening out of love, but...I think that's bullshit. I'm punishing you because this is the way we've always done it. This is what my dad did to me, and it's probably what your granddad did to your dad. Fathers and sons. It's a fucked up system, and I'm sorry for this." I was getting philosophical and my own trauma was starting to spill over on this poor abused naked boy on my lap.
I take some lotion from the night stand and smooth the cool cream into Conner's cheeks. I can feel his cock pulsing against my leg, and I like the feel of it. My fingers creep lower, into his taint, where the skin is velvet soft behind his balls. His sac is sandwiched between his soft creamy thighs and I let my hand run over the underside of it, feeling for the smooth little eggs inside. His boner throbs against my leg. He doesn't resist.
"Is this okay?" I whisper. A courtesy my father never gave me when he was feeling me up after a spanking. I hold Conner, barely moving, cupping his boys in my hand and enjoying the warmth of his genitals.
Conner shifts, making his legs a little wider, and I feel his abdomen tense suddenly and his ass flexes. My fingers feel his testicles draw up tight. Then I sense warmth on my leg, just below where his cock touches me. Again. He's ejaculating on my bare leg.
We both try to be still, like we're pretending it's not happening, while Conner's dick fires seven ropes of pungent teen sperm on my leg. A little grunt escapes him. The last two squirts miss my thigh and dribble down my calf instead. My cock has never been harder in my life.
"I'm sorry," Conner mumbles. The shame in his voice is palpable.
"Oh, buddy, no. Stand up, it's okay." I take my hand off of his balls, which are now tightly retracted, and I help him to his feet.
The shamed and spent boy in front of me looks pitiful with his tear stained face and his still hard dick dripping semen on the rug. I hug him, ignoring my hard cock poking his abs, and his leaving a snail trail on my boxer briefs.
"It's okay. Everything is okay." I murmur into his ear as I hold him. His neck smells good. I hate myself for passing this punishment bullshit to a new generation. "I shouldn't have put this on you. I'm sorry."
"Will," his voice is so fragile in my ear. "It's ok...I liked it. The end, I mean."
I pull back and look him in the eyes. This masculine young jock seems so fragile now, but a tiny smile lifts the corners of his mouth.
"Conner, are you saying...?"
He nods yes and I see the tears returning to his eyes.
"I didn't mean to...y'know..."
"Forget about it. Spankings can bring up intense feelings. It doesn't mean anything."
"Did you get spanked when you were a kid?"
"Yeah. Quite a bit actually."
He thinks about this for a while. Our embrace drifts apart and Conner steps back to look at me. I'm still hard.
"I bet you never...y'know...on your dad." He glances down at my bare leg where his unborn sons are dripping down my thigh.
I don't answer him, instead I pick his red boxer briefs up and wipe the semen off my leg. It takes a couple wipes, but I get most of his nut cleaned off. I offer Conner his spermy underwear back.
"Will? Do you want me to...do...you?" He nodded toward my erection, still hiding in my black trunks but not very discreetly. The idea of Conner giving me a handjob, or possibly more, was electrifying, but I knew it was wrong. I had gone too far already with him.
"No, not today. You need some time to process all of this. And to think about fighting and your future and everything."
He looks dashed. "It wasn't even a real fight. Some guys were picking on a kid and I stuck up for him. It's not like I'm bullying people or throwing the first punch or anything."
Shit, I feel even worse now for raising my hand to him. Why hadn't he explained earlier? "I wish I'd had a friend like you when I was younger." I want to say something about violence being the wrong path, but I understand his choice.
Conner steps into his boxer briefs and pulls them up, gingerly over his reddened ass. The cum stain makes a dark spot on his right hip. I hand him the shorts and shirt he'd doffed earlier and he finishes dressing. I put my pants on as well, carefully tucking my hard-on away.
"I guess you're free to go, unless you want to talk some more. I hope you know I'm always here if you need a man to talk with. You and your little brother both. I know it's hard on you guys without your dad around."
Conner looks down and then back at me. "Will? Would it be ok if we finished working on your basement? I haven't had a...male connection in a while. It was nice doing manly stuff."
"Yeah, I'd love the help." I clap him on the shoulder affectionately.
Conner's smile melts me, and I feel that ticklish thrill race through my body again. I have a vision of the future, with Conner and I engaged in a secret affair between neighbors, man and teen, with his naked body sprawled out over my work bench and my hands ravishing his lithe athletic muscles. Worshipping that flawless cock, and pillaging his tight virgin ass. Someday perhaps, but not now.
I would keep the memory of spanking Conner in my head forever, and if his ejaculation during the spanking was a sign, Conner would probably use the experience for some bate sessions of his own. For now though, I just wanted to make him feel safe and loved.
AFTERWORD Thanks for reading! This is the first story I've released to the public. The writing has a mind of its own, and I could edit and rewrite forever, but I wanted to get the work out there. This one is intended to be a one-shot, but I may explore the characters further some day if there's interest.
I appreciate any feedback about my writing. I'd be happy to hear from you if this story got you off, or if you have any similar experiences or fantasies.
Cheers! grjock@proton.me
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