Shawn was in trouble, and not just regular trouble. He stood in a courtroom in front of a judge.
This was the worst trouble he had gotten himself in after years of being grounded, detention, suspension, probation, fines, community service, and bouncing around from one distant family member to another and a string of foster homes.
Shawn's dad stood with him after being out of his life for years and never being a father for more than a few hours at a time. His dad was only a little older than Shawn when he found out he had become a father, and they didn't meet until Shawn was already walking and talking. You might think he was a big brother.
The judge finished the proceedings with "so I've decided to remand you to your father's care. We will now adjourn for a recess, and I will see the defendant and his father in my chambers." Then he hammered his gavel, the whole room was instructed to rise, he left, and a sigh of relief and doubt filled the room.
Unsure what to say, Shawn's father told him that he got lucky and that he knew how this usually went. He had his own history of getting in trouble. He patted his son's shoulder, not quite a loving hug but not quite a bullshit handshake.
Shawn felt lucky that his father was back in his life now, as it seemed to make the difference in this case, but unsure what it was going to mean. He had never lived with his father before and had basically been left to his own devices for years. He had one roof or another over his head, but that was about it.
Now Shawn and his father, each dressed up for court in a new cheap suit and tie, paraded through the echoing hall and knocked on the door to the judge's chambers. He welcomed them in, and they sat in front of him at his desk.
"You dodged a bullet here, Shawn," the judge said in as booming a baritone voice as he had in the courtroom. "I've seen cases like this before and I know that there's really only two ways for you to end up as what they call a productive member of society: either you just magically decide that you're going to turn your life around or your father puts you in your place."
The judge asked a few more questions about Shawn's past, about his father's past, and about the future they see. They tried to answer politely and be on their best behavior. The judge explained to Shawn that his father was going to lay out the rules of what is going to happen and what's not going to happen and that for once there would be consequences. He talked about this being a fresh start for both of them. Then he turned to Shawn's father.
"Good, old-fashioned discipline, do you understand me?" The judge looked Shawn's dad in the eye to see if they understood each other. When a judge decides to keep things out of the courts like this, he'll make sure it's being handled in the home.
The judge laid it out in plain language. His ruling was to leave this in Shawn's father's hands, relying on good, old-fashioned discipline.
"Shawn is well over the usual age for a spanking, but that's often the case, and I've seen it turn things around time and time again. Have you ever been spanked, boy?" the judge asked. Shawn shook his head slowly and said no.
Shawn's father had seen this opinion before, even on a ton of old TV shows. Lots of people see this as the solution to everything bad, and it seemed that the judge agreed that it was what was needed.
The judge turned to Shawn's dad again and said, "Let me be real clear here. I'm not making a suggestion or a recommendation. From here on in you're going to be a father, you're going to give this boy some stability and guidance, and if needed then you're going to give him some good, old-fashioned discipline, just like my father gave me and your father gave you. Am I right?"
Shawn's father had a look of disbelief and confusion. He was always nervous around cops and judges and anything like that. He already felt like he was just kind of pretending to be a dad, pretending like he was talking to the judge like two grown men. The judge was older and intimidating. Shawn's father just didn't know what to say or do.
The judge said, "I'm guessing you never received any discipline either. Is that right?" Shawn's father shook his head and slowly said no ...never.
"Well then," the judge said, "I suppose a lesson and a demonstration is needed."
They all just sat there for a second, taking it in. Shawn gulped. But then the judge instructed Shawn's dad to get up. He slowly did, uncertain and unbelieving.
The judge stood up and took off his robe. He hung it on a tall, brass coat-rack on the other side of the desk, and started rolling up his sleeves to reveal some muscular, hairy forearms above his large hands. He told Shawn's father to take off his jacket, which he did, holding it like a nervous schoolboy. The judge held out his hand, Shawn's dad handed him the jacket, and it was hung on a hook next to the long, black robe.
"Shawn, go lock the door, please," instructed the judge. Shawn obediently did as he was asked. He wasn't used to being asked or being held accountable for ...anything really. He sat back down, now eager to see what would happen next, and looked up at his father still standing there.
The judge sat down on his high-backed, brown leather swivel chair, pushed away from his desk. He reached down and adjusted the seat to be higher. He was a tall man, so his feet still touched the floor flat. He motioned with a pointing finger for Shawn's father to come around and stand next to him.
"For real?" he replied, kind of bashful.
The judge explained, "Yes. Now, please. I'm going to show you how it's done, and Shawn's going to see what'll happen to him if he steps out of line."
Shawn's dad slowly stepped around the desk to stand and wait next to the judge.
"Your son doesn't really care about losing privileges or losing things, being grounded or not being able to watch TV for a week. We all push on our boundaries, for our whole lives, and sometimes we just need to know that another person cares. Now drop your pants."
Shawn looked up at his dad who was making a face, almost rolling his eyes, waiting, but then begrudgingly undoing his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his slacks, and letting them fall to his ankles. Shawn looked down at them and made his way up to the calf-high black dress socks and hairy legs, up to his dad's light blue boxer shorts and the bottom of the dress shirt covering the front of them.
Then he saw the judge's thumb and fingers take hold of the boxers and barely tug a half an inch. "These too," the judge said.
Shawn's dad accepted the strangeness of the situation fully at this point, realizing it must really be happening. The word 'spanking' broke the ice in the room, and now here he was doing as the judge ordered. He found himself surprised at how little he hesitated going this next step now that he was really in the middle of it.
He took a hold of his boxers and slid them down his legs to lie around his ankles, and he stood up. This motion let his penis catch the bottom of his shirt for a second before being covered again.
Shawn had never changed clothes next to his dad or gone skinnydipping during a fishing trip. He had never taken a fishing trip at all. His dad had never taught him how to shave or ride a bike or anything. His dad never gave him the talk.
Something about seeing, just for a second, what he never thought to think about made him feel like his dad was a lot like him. Obviously they both have dicks, but he never thought about it before. Then that thought made Shawn think about the judge and how he said that he had been spanked like this over his father's lap when he was younger.
Shawn's dad was just standing there, feeling exposed under the shirt and wondering how far it covered him. As he looked down to see what was visible, he saw the judge pat his knee and reach out to take hold of an elbow and start guiding him down over his lap.
His feet were up off the ground, ankles wrapped in fabric. His body was splayed across the judge's long, wide-spread legs. His arms hung next to the judge's leg. The judge's hand slid the back tail of the shirt up off the legs, up off the butt, and up to the middle of the back.
The judge looked down at the man's ass. Shawn looked at his father, flat and bared. Shawn's father looked down at the floor and listened to what the judge had to say. He felt a feeling of intimacy with the man below him, and he also felt like a science project on display.
"This is where people get it wrong. This isn't about pain or humiliation. No belt or stick or ruler, always just the hand. Not standing or bent over something, always over the lap. Not on the back, always only on the rear end. And never in anger." He was instructing Shawn's dad but kind of speaking like a lecturer to a crowd, like giving a sermon.
The judge's hand rested on the bare leg in front of him, just under the bare butt. The feeling was strange to Shawn's father, and it reminded him of the brief period before he got kicked off the wrestling team.
One finger stroked slowly along the side of a butt cheek. The judge continued, "the skin here is not as sensitive as the skin here," and moved his fingers to where legs met the curve of ass, near the cleave. Somehow this felt suddenly very, very intimate and personal.
"Am I right?" the judge asked. He waited for a response. "Uh... yes! ..sir," the man answered.
"It's very nice to addressed so politely. Shawn, when you go home after this, you and your father are going to talk about the rules, whatever chores you'll be doing, when you're expected to be home, and if decides that you're going to address him as sir then that's what you're going to do. Am I right?"
Shawn nodded his head and slowly said "yes ...yes, sir, your honor."The judge replied, "Relax son, the trial is over and you're heading to a real home for once, with a real father, and some realgoodoldfashioneddiscipline."
Then the judge went back to his explanation. He said that people mistakenly swat one side and then the other. As he spoke, he laid his hand flat on the side of the left cheek, the side of the right cheek, back and forth without really putting any energy into it. This was the wrong way.
Then he laid his palm flat against the bottom of the bottom. Shawn's dad felt it on the sensitive skin that had been pointed out. The judge patted there, saying "this is the target, right here. You feel that? You want to smack the crack."
Then he shifted one leg up and the other down, and Shawn's father was sloped facing downward a bit more, his chest pushing down into the judge's knee and his ass up higher and kind of spread. The judge's hand was still on the man's butt, cheeks opened and flexing with a bit of the the skin between his legs on view to the judge but not to Shawn.
The judge explained that if you do that then you're really getting it right where it means business and told Shawn that he'd feel it for sure and learn what not to do. Shawn's dad wondered for a second if that was it, just a lesson in technique for the uninitiated, a little embarrassing but not really a grown man getting spanked like a little boy and in front of his son.
But then the judge shifted his position like he was ready to really do it. Shawn's father had never been spanked but he could tell he was really about to be.
The judge held one hand on the man's back, feeling his frame through the thin dress shirt and steadying him. He spoke, "now you've got to explain what's happening. You're getting a spanking because you haven't been there for your son for years and you have to handle your responsibilities. Do you understand that?"
Shawn's dad said, "Yes sir" and then he felt the judge's hand raise up off his butt and slap back down again. The noise cracked the air and stung against his skin. He tensed under it, and his feet flailed up. His face winced as the judge held him steady over his lap.
"If you had gotten this years ago, you wouldn't be in this situation now ....both of you," the judge said. Again he lifted his hand up and slapped it down. It was flat against the underside. His fingers were perpendicular to the asscrack, and his spank sent a wave through the sensitive skin and up his spine and between his legs. Two more strong ones came down with a SLAP! SLAP!
The judge's hand rested flat against the bouncy skin of the butt on display below him. The contact eased the sting. The judge noticed that his hand had warmed a little already, but it felt cool to Shawn's dad, almost like an ice pack. He found himself enjoying the feeling of a man's hand on his ass. It reminded him of how he'd get a friendly pat on the butt from his coach, before he quit the baseball team.
He felt an urge to reach back and press against the skin as it heated up, but it seemed like it'd be difficult to reach back. The judge's gentle hand eased the discomfort for a second. Shawn watched in amazement. Then he slowly tried to picture himself in that predicament and realized that if he got in trouble tomorrow, this weekend, whenever some trouble found him, he'd end up with his pants around his ankles, getting his hide tanned red.
His attention turned to his own butt, like how if you think about your feet then they start to get itchy. He wondered what it'd feel like to get a sting back there like that.
The judge said, "Are you going to get your act together?" SMACK"Yes! Yes sir, I will, from now on, I swear ...sir"
The judge asked, "You think you can do this? You gonna keep that boy in line if he breaks the rules? You gonna take him over your knee just like this?"Shawn's father breathed in a second and said, "Yes sir."
"Well, you better," he said, and laid one last SLAP down, maybe the hardest, Shawn's dad couldn't tell after the first couple. The judge rubbed his hand gently against the flesh, wiggling it and pressing his palm down to ease the sting.
As he propped the man up to stand again, the shirt fell down again and covered his sore ass but draped on top of his dick, which was stiffened a little and poking a bit out and up. The judge looked down at it, and then so did Shawn's father.
The judge quickly said, "Now, if that happens, and it does sometimes, don't ignore it and don't make it a big deal, just say that happens and it's okay. Alright? Now, go face the corner."
Shawn's dad looked down at the judge and over to Shawn, as he held his shirt out to hang down and cover it. Then he stepped, kind of waddled a foot over to stand in the corner, and he looked through some curtains down at the parking lot below.
Shawn wondered if that might happen to him. He really didn't know how common it was.
Only Shawn saw as the judge then adjusted his pants and turned to him and said, "now that's how it's going to be, you understand? Your father just got his for his mistakes, and you'll get just the same from now on for your mistakes. Am I right?"
"Yes sir," Shawn replied. The judge handed him a business card. "And if he doesn't keep his act together, give me a call and we'll make sure you two stay on the straight and narrow."
The judge looked over at Shawn's father, one hand rubbing a butt cheek, half exposed from under the shirt tail. The judge told him he could pull his pants up now. He did. The judge stood up and handed him his jacket.
As they shook hands and left to go start their new life as father and son, the judge guessed how long it'd take for Shawn to test the rules and see what he could get away with, see if his father really cared enough to even notice or bother.
The judge pictured Shawn over his father's lap.
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