The following story is fiction about strapping and a youth growing up. The story contains scenes of spanking and strapping. If these subjects are offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.
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I'm Butch. I've lived here in Noplacesuburb all of my fifteen years. Just watch any of those stupid sitcoms on the idiot box and you see exactly what my neighborhood is like. Well, almost, for it's just dirtier. Oh, it is not that bad but just like there are never any horse apples in a Hollywood western, there is never any litter or dust in a sitcom like in the real world. I'm pretty much a regular dude doing the usual shit in high school. I'm neither a geek nor a jock but I do OK. I got this nickname because I don't take shit from anyone. Well, anyone but my Dad.
Everyone, has to take shit from his Dad because that's the way life is. They start when you are smaller than a cat and make sure that you know they are in charge. I got used to it when I was a kid, then went through some pain about it before learning to accept it. Dad is not a bad sort of guy and I really and truly believe that he wants the best for me. We had some trouble as I turned from boy to man (ok, ok, youth) but we worked out that fine.
Dad seems to accept that I'm not a little kid anymore and I understand that he's still in charge and have to keep within the boundaries. Actually there are two, no three, sets of them. There the legal set which are absolute – I don't want to get hauled off to reform school. It wouldn't be any fun and I would probably get my ass kicked (or worse) by the gang guys that are in there. Then Dad has some rules which have gotten relaxed as I have gotten older. But there are actually two sets – one quite absolute and the other with a lot of give. If I'm careful I can push the boundaries. E.g., coming in past my curfew on a weekend if I'm up to date with my school work and chores. If I'm not, it's no-go. Gotta to be careful to just push and not break 'em or my ass will pay the price.
Until I was a teen, Dad spanked me just like his dad spanked him and just like in books and movies. He would take down my pants and undies, put me over his lap and whack away at my bare butt until he decided that I regretted my misconduct. With my tail glowing red he would comfort me until I stopped crying. Then we would discuss how to avoid a recurrence. Some of my friends got grounded or lost their allowances and their punishments dragged out. I preferred this way.
When I turned thirteen, I said: "Dad, I'm too old to be spanked like a little boy."
I was surprised when he agreed immediately. "Son, you are quite correct. From now on you will take your own pants down, bend over and get strapped with a heavy leather belt like a young man."
Well, that was not exactly what I expected, but it was a hell of a lot more dignified. It was only two weeks later that I learnt what it was like. It was a great day to enjoy playing in the park with my buds. Unfortunately I got home two hours late for dinner and had not done my chores. Dad was, to put it mildly, pissed.
He immediately dragged me off to my room for a three-way discussion. There was not much talk. A score of words ending with "drop your pants and bend over the bed." It was then I saw the heavy leather belt he was going to use. It was positively fearsome looking – at least two inches (five cm) wide. It fuck'en hurt when it crashed into my ass over and over. It seemed like dozens of times filling me with pain. Later Dad said it was only six cuts since it was my first time. Then he told me to get dressed when I recovered and go do my chores.
As you would expect, I felt very sorry for myself when Dad left me to recover. My ass was on fire and I rubbed a lot to try to sooth it. The strap sure as hell hurt a lot more than Dad's hand. After a bit I got dressed and tended to my chores after which Mom gave me a sandwich for dinner.
It was after I went to bed that I got to think about my first strapping. Even a few hours later my butt still hurt more than a hand spanking but I had not cried. That made me realize that I was a young man rather than just a little boy who cries over his Father's lap when spanked. I felt proud of that.
Most important, it works for me and Dad agrees. When we hear about hooliganism and petty crime, we wonder if public whippings would be a better solution than what we have.
* * * * * * * * * *
The surprise gift I got for my thirteenth birthday was a power lawn mower. It was not something that I asked for but Dad explained that it was a YOUNG MAN'S ATM from which I could get cash. At first I did not understand but Dad explained that I was now an INDEPENDENT BUSINESS MAN. There were lots of houses in the neighborhood all of them with lawns and a scarcity of teens to mow them. We were among the least affluent in the area but there were few who could afford to hire gardeners. This was the opportunity to get the extras I wanted but did not have the bread for.
There was a lot of completion for the summer jobs that I was qualified for and they generally had lousy hours and very low pay. It took me a while to see Dad's point. Then he helped me work out a fee schedule based on size and exactly what was to be done – cutting, raking and the rest. And to allow for my cost (mostly gas) and, most of all, to compensate me for my labor and time.
I practiced on our lawn a couple of times and then approached the neighbors in the block. I found that I liked being an independent business man. I had more pocket money than before (even put some into my college fund just like Dad put some his pay into his retirement fund) and it would give me stuff to do during the summer. It made me have good reason to feel like a man. Horatio Alger move over.
The first couple of months, everything went as it should. I advertised and went door-to-door to get clients. I mowed their lawns and they paid me. I repaid Dad the money for the gas advances, put some money into the bank and got some extra toys. In time I learnt that not everyone paid when the job was done as they agreed. I don't mean the people who were not at home when I did my thing for they either left the money for me or paid when I came by the next day or two. Once, a guy lost his job and was truly sorry but his kids had to eat and when he got a job he would pay me. I did not like it but a month later he got another job and not only did paid me, but gave me some extra to make amends.
If I had been more experienced, I would never have taken on Mr. Lukenbach as a customer. He lived at the end of a street in a rundown bungalow. I did not see the signs that he was a lazy good-for-nothing cheat and did his small lawn. Then he told me that he would pay me next week. The next week he had a new sob story and I was getting suspicious. Lukenbach was just a bum, he had the potbelly of a couch potato and his house was a pig sty. OTOH, he seemed to have lots of money for some things. There were heaps and heaps of bear cans and delivery pizza boxes and a giant TV. Even though he was twice my age, I figured that I could take him in a fight.
I made plans. I figured a fast surprise attack would work. I tried to collect once again and he brushed me off. As usual, he was drunk and I gave him a hard shove. That made him fall down and I pounced. I had prepared a rope with some slip knots and got loops around each of his wrists. Then I clinched everything up and soon I had his hands secured behind his back. He was yelling but I didn't care. The neighbors were far away and would not hear.
He was face down, tied and I was sitting on him. He could not get any leverage to get me off. Beside the rope all he had on were dingy gray snaggy formally tighty-whites. I told him I wanted my money and he just yelled to let him go. I pulled my wide leather garrison belt from my jeans, folded it in half and got a good tight grip on it. Then I started to spank his fat ass. Oh, boy, did he howl but I gave him a couple of dozen cuts on each cheek. That changed his tune. He stopped yelling shit like "You can't do this." and "You don't have the right." Soon he switched to "I'll pay you." and "Please stop strapping me."
"You got the cash? Where's your wallet?" I demanded.
"Yes. On the table by the door." he whined like the no good coward he was.
"Don't go away." I commanded, sarcastically, as I got up to get his wallet. I took four twenties and gave him a receipt – Lawn Mowing $60; Late charge $8; Tip $12. I did not charge him for the discussion as that was business overhead nor the strapping since that was not in the contract. I loosened the rope and left.
It felt good to have collected my money but I was sad about losing a client. But that's how business goes sometimes.
© Copyright A.I.L. January 11, 2017
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Last updated: January 11, 2017