Fourteen-year-old Scott knew he was in trouble, as he walked up the sidewalk to the front door of the house he shared with his father and his two brothers....and he knew it was the kind of trouble that was usually addressed with a severe spanking delivered in the bedroom he shared with his twin, Shawn. Dad had a long fuse; he was slow to get angry, and even slower to resort to corporal punishment, but Scott was pretty sure that the school calling his dad at the office to report that he had been caught smoking during lunch hour with his friend Tim, was something that his dad wouldn't take lightly.
He opened the door, and walked into the cool, air-conditioned house; the house felt empty, and he walked through to the kitchen, looked out the window by the kitchen table, and saw his older brother Steven mowing the lawn. Shawn, their younger brother, must be at baseball practice still.
Scott took a coke from the fridge, and sat down at the kitchen table, and sipped his coke, wondering what would happen when Dad came home from the office. In the back of his mind, he was aware of the lawn mower being shut off, and he looked up to see Steven walk into the kitchen, and go over to the fridge to get a coke for himself.
"Hi, Steve," said Scott. "What's up?"
"Hey, Scottie," said Steven, turning around and wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Dad called. He said to tell you to stay put, to not go out at all. What's happening?"
"Did he sound mad?" asked Scott.
"Not sure," said Steven. "Why? You in trouble or what?"
"Oh, man....I got caught smoking at school today with Tim out at the end of the south wing. They called Dad. What do you think he'll do?"
Steven flushed with embarrassment...just last week he had been the recipient of a severe spanking, and the whole house had known it was happening. Just thinking of it a week later still made him squirm with shame. "Don't know, buddy. You might get a spanking."
"Steve," said Scott, "I think I AM gonna get a spanking. Was it a bad one he gave you last week?"
"It was terrible," said Steven, just as the front door opened, and Mr. Robinson walked through the center hall and into the kitchen. He had been to the gym after work, and had obviously come right home from there, without taking the time to shower or change.
"Scott!" he said, his blue eyes flashing with anger in his handsome face. "You have some explaining to do to me, don't you?"
"I guess I do, Dad," said Scott, not daring to look his dad in the face. "I was....:"
"I think we'll continue this upstairs in your room," said his father. "Go upstairs, Scott. Go to your room, and take off your clothes, everything except your underpants. Then, while you're waiting for me, I want you to think about what makes a fourteen-year-old boy think he's old enough to smoke. I'll be up in a few minutes with the strap."
Scott's face turned as red as he knew his butt would soon be, and he edged past their dad and walked upstairs. He felt his brother's sympathetic eyes on his back as he rounded the corner to the stairs in the hall, and went up to the room he shared with Shawn. Nervously, trying not to cry, or gulp, he began to take off his clothes: first his teeshirt, then his jeans; then he sat down on the bed to wait for Dad.
He didn't have long to wait. The door opened, and he looked up to see Dad standing there, holding the black spanking strap that usually hung in his study downstairs, as a stern reminder to the boys.
Mr. Robinson came over and sat on the bed. "Stand up, Scott, and look at me," he said quietly. Scott stood up, and, wearing only his white briefs and his white socks, looked at his Dad sitting on the bed, with the black strap on the bed beside him.
"How often have we talked about smoking, and how I feel about it?" asked Mr. Robinson.
"Dad...I'm sorry...I wish I hadn't done it!"
"What you mean, son, is that you wish you hadn't been caught," said his Dad. "Would that be closer to the truth?"
Scott sniffed, then gulped miserably. "Yes," he said in a small voice, looking at his dad, sitting on his bed, in his tank top and gym shorts, strap lying next to his muscular thigh on the bedspread.
Son," said Mr. Robinson, "I am ashamed of you, or rather, I'm ashamed of the way you seem to feel that you can get into things like smoking, without thinking of the consequences. Are you ashamed of yourself, too?"
"Yeah, Dad, I am," said Scott miserably. "I am."
"Take off your underpants."
Scott didn't know how he could get through the next few minutes. He froze with shame. A full fifteen seconds ticked by.
"TAKE OFF YOUR UNDERPANTS!" thundered Mr. Robinson. The unhappy teenager reached for the elastic of his briefs, and slowly stepped out of them, and the shame of the spanking began to increase rapidly for him, as he exposed his _c_o_c_k_ and balls to his father. "Hand me your underpants," said his father sternly, and he reached out his hand, the hand that would soon be connecting with Scott's bare bottom, and took the white briefs, and placed them on the bed, next to the strap. "Okay, son. When you act in ways that you know will bring punishment, you can expect to be punished. Get across my knee."
Then the spanking began...slap after slap of his father's hand on first one ass cheek, then the other, alternating, covering every inch of flesh, until Scott was unable to hold back his tears any longer. The embarrassment of being naked, across his father's knee, with his bare bottom exposed, being spanked like a little boy, coupled with the sharp sting of the spanking, soon reduced him to a crying little boy.
Finally, the spanking stopped, and he felt himself being pulled up, and positioned to face his dad again. "Okay, Scott. Your bare bottom is very red just now. I want you to walk over to the mirror, and turn around, and look at it, and think of the pleasures of cigarettes while you see it. Now go!" He walked to the mirror, and, tears covering his face, did as he was told, and looked around again.
"Remember that," said his Dad. Now, lie down on the bed, and spread your legs, Scott. You're going to get the strap."
"Dad, Dad...." he sobbed. "Please. I'm really sorry. Do I have to have the strap?"
In answer, Mr. Robinson took him by the hand, and positioned him face down on the bed, ignoring his son's sobs. "Spread your legs, son," he said. And move your penis and testicles out of the way of the strap." When Scott appeared frozen with fear, he reached under him, and gently tucked his son's genitals away from the line of fire.
Then the strapping began, and the strap deepened the fierce blush already on his buttocks, and Mr. Robinson applied the strap to his son's upper and inner thighs, as well. Scott could only try not to sob too loudly, and found he was focusing not so much on the shame of his dad seeing his hole and rosebud now, but on the sharp blows of the punishment strap, as it fell again and again on his red sore behind.
Finally, it was over, and Mr. Robinson laid down the strap on the bed, and picked his son up. "Look at me, Scott," he said. Tearfully Scott looked at his dad.
"I don't like doing this to you any more than you like getting it," said Mr. Robinson. "But I need you to know that all actions have consequences." Scott could only nod miserably.
Then his Dad put his arms around Scott, and pulled him to his chest, and Scott collapsed against his dad, as his dad pulled him gently down onto the bed, and hugged him again. "Okay, son," he said softly. "It's over now. You're going to have to stay in your room for the rest of the evening, and you're not allowed to get dressed. If you need to go the bathroom, you'll have to go naked like that, and hope that Steven and Shawn don't see your red sore bottom. If you don't want Shawn to see it, you'll have to be in bed when he comes to bed."
Tearfully, Scott nodded, and hugged his dad again, burrowing his face into his chest, and breathing in the smell of his deodorant.
"I'm tempted to have you put the strap away yourself, right now," said Mr. Robinson, "but I think you've had enough for one day. Next time, I will make you do that, too."
"Thanks, Dad," spluttered Scott.
Then his dad picked up the strap from the bed, and left the room, closing the door behind him.
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