Doing My Chores When I'm Told

by Jake Teneby <>

It's been quite some time since I've been able to write down the details of my disciplining here as an Adult Child. I have a great daddy here where I live who has helped me know I am very safe and very much in his charge. It helps immensely, because of just how uncertain the world is these days. In search of safety and discipline in this world I turn to my daddy, Don.

One of the key things in my life now is chores. I always do my chores at Daddy Don's house. But it wasn't always like that.

See, I would often visit with my Daddy here in town. He is Daddy Don, an older man who keeps me in line primarily with his strict verbal admonishments, corporal punishment, corner time and alternatively, all of the wonderful freedom that lets me play and play while being able to be on the edge of getting into trouble all day long.

Then there was the day when he had decided I was a big enough boy to be able to be on my own for a few hours. One Saturday morning, about an hour afternoon breakfast, he sat me down and talked about getting the chores done around the house. I had offerred to do the living room, because if I did my chores he wouldn't make me go to the carwash that day. (He doesn't have a hose on the outside of his condo complex that I could use to wash it myself.) He's concerned about me being out of his sight, but he knows if my hands are busy doing my chores, I won't get into mischief.

Well, going thru that _d_a_m_n_ed carwash is the most boring thing ever, so I told him how happy I would be to sit at home and clean the living room. Convinced that I wasn't going to just sit and watch TV -- which I'm not allowed to do on weekends anyway (except for the morning shows on Saturday) -- he decided he was going to get the car done and pick up lunch for us. Afterwards, we'd get to go to the waterpark which is near his house.

This park is great fun, becuase he offers to pay for everything and I love those slides. It's crazy, yelling fun! While all the people around probably do wonder why a boy my age is playing like a boy of 11, and what this older man is doing watching me, I don't care. Again, I feel like Daddy Don is just watching to make sure that I don't get hurt and just have a great time. Tiring myself out, so I build an appetite for dinner -- and at the same time, it makes me a good sleeper at night.

Well, all those plans kinda fell apart. They just didn't happen. He'd been gone for about 1 1 2 hours maybe more, and when he got in, I was in the bathroom with the door locked. I'm not supposed to do that, the bathroom door is supposed to be opened at least a crack so he knows what I'm doing at all times. But I was scared he might notice that the living room was just not touched.

I heard his voice from all the way at the other end of the house, as he walked from the front door to the living room. He was just calling my name, calling and calling. Then he must have got to the living room. Well, then I really heard his voice. He went straight to my room, but there was no me. Took him a while, but I had to squeek my little voice up and uplock the bathroom door off his bedroom.

After bawling me out in the entryway to his bedroom for expressly disobeying the orders to clean the living room, he grabbed me by the upper arm and pulled me into the living room. I had to show him what I'd done (which was nothing). I was tearing up, because I kept tripping up on my fibs, and was trying to tidy up as we went.

It didn't pan out. The food was getting cold on the sink counter and it was Mexican, my favorite. But his forehead was getting bright red. He decided he needed to turn some of that energy into a lesson or two.

I had been just hanging around the house in my sporty shorts, socks and a t-shirt. Those shors have a slick feel to them. Their "Softee" running shorts, for playing around and they're great for the waterslide too! You don't even need a swim suit. You can just go in those and your briefs. It's great cuz they dry out nicely in the sun and so you don't have those mesh netting inserts like you do in other bathing suits.

Well, since I'm not allowed to wear shoes in the house, because I have a tendency to track dirt in, I was only in my socks. Daddy said that I was to sit down in the living room and think about the mess that hadn't been cleared up from the night before. There was the pizza box, the napkins will oil on them, some crumbs on the carpet and the newspapers that he'd read which were in a pile that I was supposed to go downstairs and recycle.

I hadn't done these little things. I hadn't vacuumed. Daddy was in the other room, and he was fuming. Our day was totally interrupted and the work still had to be done. He was going to do the kitchen when he got home, and we'd have been gone right after lunch. But I knew now that there were only a few ways he handled these disobedience hiccups.

I was not surprised, but nonetheless, I began to cry in a panic, because he came out of the back of the house with his hairbrush. He prefers to keep me in line with the threat of getting an old fashioned hairbrush spanking, even if it's not used always required. He's good about warning -- sending a shot across the bow -- so long as the infraction is not too bad.

But Don really wanted to go to the water park instead. He felt there was no way that going out was the right thing to do, given my total lack of disregard for my jobs at the house. He's not real demanding, and while it has to be clean, I don't get a whippin' like other boys do for not being crazy clean and neat. I just get a good talking to, some spankings or sent to my room and friends sent home if there are others around. This time wasn't one of those times.

He walked sternly towards me and asked me, "What am I supposed to do with you, now? Huh?"

I was ready, tho. I shot back, "I'll clean up right now and lunch won't even get cold!"

"Huh? You don't have any answers that are going to work this time, do you, Jake? This is about you not holding up your end of the bargain. Again, I have to hold up your end. Again, I'm tired of that. Your end .....well, you're going to have to hold up your end today...."

And then, in one fell swoop, by the upper arm which he was holding me with, he pulled me right over his knee. The hairbrush clunked to the floor, rattling out of his hand. And an open hand smacking went on and on spanking every square inch of my cheeks, my upper thighs and the sit-down part of my fanny.

I had on my shorts and all, but the protection just didn't seem like much, because he's got quite a paddle where most people just have a hand. His swift strokes made it impossible to just get away. I do squirm like a guinea pig, though, and at one point, I cannot recall how, he just made it to the sofa, and we landed "thud" on the sofa.

That's when he started pulling my shorts upward, exposing my fanny cheeks for his hand. What red I'd seen on his forehead was now on my behind. It was at this point that things got a little crazy. I got really vocal, crying that he was spanking my bare bottom by doing that. It wasn't fair.

"Is it fair that I should come home and do your chores, Jake?"

"You don't have to, sir, I'll do my own chores, you'll see....I will...."

Daddy Don became just furious at one point because my foot had swung up and concked him in the head. At this point, though, he just stopped dead in his tracks.

He made me go sit in the punishment chair -- a hard wood, flat seat and backed chair that he sometimes puts me in when he doesn't think cornertime is going to work.

He made me sit still until he came back. I couldn't sit still. My rumpus was flaming from his hand and my emotions were escalating right off the charts.

I wasn't ready for his next step. He could tell that this squirming was not stopping and no amount of spanking was going to do the trick. I just wasn't going to behave like a proper young man, and so I wasn't going to be treated like one. In the past, he'd tried, "Assume the position" and "Bend over, yound man," and it never worked. I always tried to run out of his grip. So, history told him to try something out of the ordinary.

He came in with a thermometer. I wasn't sick, so I didn't have any idea what was going to happening. His plan was to stop all that squirming. He had me stand up, turn around and hold onto the seat of the chair over which I had to bend. With my rump up in the air, he grabbed my shorts down firmly, with one hand on my lower back and the other on my waistband. He then took a tube of greasy Vaseline, made the thermometer sticky, and stuck the thermometer right in my fanny. Right there, in the middle of the living room that I hadn't cleaned up.

I was too nervous having a glass tube in there to move around much. I simmered down immediately, kinda grossed out by the whole thing.

In a diary entry I'd written earlier I notice that I wrote that "As a grown boy now, my underpants serve as a big part of my scene, because I remember them serving as "spanking pants" whenever I got my paddlings as a child. I was such a little brat that if my dad yanked down my pants and ended up pulling my underpants down with them by accident or intentionally, I'd just go ballistic. He often would say, "OK, OK, OK, but the pants are staying down!" My loud cries for mercy drove him beserk. Just to shut me up and not make himself seem like an ogre, I'd get to keep my underpants up.

As an adult child, the level that that lack of control brings me too is terrifically overwhelming.

There is a very real shock now about having my briefs pulled down back below my buttocks or just yanked off down to my ankles. Often if my daddy tells me to pull down my pants, I just won't do it. What is the greatest is when he knows this and understands what is going on and doesn't let me get away with it. Having to have my underpants yanked down creates a level of total joy and abandon that comes from being completely unable to control the situation, but knowing that the daddy is in total charge of my behavior.

Well, he noticed I was calmer now, and pulled the thermometer out. He stood and looked at me. He noticed me pulling up my pants.

"I do not recall telling you to do that, Mister."

"But daddy, I'm settled down now."

"Yes you are. And you're going to stay that way. However, I'm not threw with you yet."

And in a very serious tone, putting one hand on my shoulder and the other on theback of my shorts waistband, he tugged my softee shorts down. In my briefs, he saw something he didn't like.

"Get over there and hand me that hairbrush."

Daddy Don has this thing where instead of just yanking down my briefs, he rips them open in the back, if they're ratty or have holes in them. I'm supposed to wear new underpants or ask him to buy me new ones -- if there are holes. This requires spending time looking at my underpants and shirts and socks and making sure they're always in good shape. This time they were not, and well, today was not the day for such minor infractions. If I don't ask to have new undergear, he gets frustrated, because he feels I don't have enough confidence to speak up.

So in the middle of this spanking, he just stuck his fingers in one of the holes he found and tore that seat right open. Then it's became a bare bottom spanking that I couldn't get away from. I kept reaching back to cover up my heinie. I could not pull up my shorts, so I was really stuck.

My squirming got out of hand. So, he immediately pulled me up, laid me on the sofa and put me in a whole new situation I wasn't familiar with. Since I was making it so difficult for him, he returned the favor. He's now taken to lifting my legs up with one hand and dangling me upside down with my behind bared for him to have full access to -- and then he paddled me that way.

Well, it really works.

He paddled my heinie to within an inch of my life, it felt. But the worst thing was knowing the chores still weren't done. Down I went, crying as I quickly flipped over on my belly, rubbing my rump.

That's when he stepped away for a few moments and let me cry. He went away until my belly aching died back enough to have a discussion with me.

"OK, young man, it's time to get up and finish what you never started." Here's the vacuum. I need this carpet completely vacuumed, the papers straightened and recycled, and the food from last night tidied up. You know where the trash is, so it's time to use it."

"Yes, sir," I wept. I proceeded to peel myself off the sofa.

"First, go get the brush on the bathroom door."

"No, please daddy, no more spanking, I'll behave."

"March! You are not to sass me back. March."

Covering my private parts with the little that was left of my jockeys, I ran down the hallway to the front door and retrieved the bath bat that is a scrubber he has for guests. When I got back, I had to hand it to him.

"This will be used, only as needed." Time for you to get to work.

I had to use the hand vacuum and vacuum every inch of the floor as Daddy Don stood over me with his spanking stick. I was repeatedly punished while I hand vacuumed on all fours for 20 minutes or more.

"Is this going to happen again, young man?" The spanking stick cracked down twice on my upturned fanny as I crawled around the carpet with the vacuum in hand.

"Aaaaaaaaaaugh, no daddy, I woooooon't do it again." Blubbering like a crybaby. The vacuum whirred full blast, drowning out my cries.

"Won't do what again, Mister?" he questioned, raising his bath bat across my fanny firmly on the "what" midway through his thought.

"I will always clean up and do my chooooooores, ow," I pleaded, "Sir, when I'm -- ouch -- told to." The stick was swinging over and over again in rapid succession. The speed of his spanking was burning my rumpus. I couldn't concentrate, with the blinding tears and had to get off my knees which were burning as much as my behind.

"Daddy, can I get up now?" I asked hopefully, knowing he was just watching at that point just to make sure every bit of carpet was completely attended to. "I'm done with the carpet."

"Yes, get up now. I want the floor under that rug cleaned too, Mister." I'd just added an entire afternoon of work to my Saturday which had been a roster that had been full of fun but ended up full of making up for bad behavior.

"You're going to do the kitchen floors too, so just get in there, fill up the bucket and get the orange soap out."

"Oh, please, I'll do the floors when we get back from the waterslide. Please, sir."

But Daddy Don wasn't going to even discuss it. "I want to see gloves on your hands. So, get some gloves on right now."

It seemed that floor never got clean enough for him. I wasn't able to get on some real clothes or anything. I had to clean the kitchen and the living room in just my seat-torn underpants, while he warmed my fanny as we went.

By the end, though, he never got any more willful disobedience on the chores front. He made me eat the burritos and beans and rice cold, as he warmed up his own meal. I had to eat standing up at the table, because he wanted to see his handiwork and because, well because frankly the punishment chair was mine for the rest of the week, and since he offered, I was going to stand at attention rather than feel that wood against my flaming red rumpus.

So anyways, like I was saying, I always do my chores at Daddy Don's house.

More stories by Jake Teneby