Please, Don't Make Me


by CS <Cbseaborn@yahoo.com>

"I'm sorry," I pleaded with my step-mother.

"The problem is, Phillip, you always say you're sorry and then you do something else. You're nearly fourteen now and too old for game playing."

That afternoon my bike, my new bike, had been stolen from school. Someone had managed to break the chain.

"I locked it up. I swear."

"There you go with that lying again. How can someone steal a bike that is locked up. You are just too stupid to take care of your things," she said.

I hated her. I had hated her from the moment she first had come into our house over a year ago.

"You have a choice. Either I will spank you or your father will handle this when he gets home."

Well I certainly was not going to let her touch me. I walked out of the room, to my bedroom, slaming the door behind me.

"That attitude will only make it worse on you," she yelled. "I suggest you strip down to your underwear now. Your father will be home soon."

She could go to hell, I thought, sitting on the edge of my bed. Dad had never laid a hand on me. Oh he had threatened but I didn't take it seriously anymore. I was basically a good kid.

About an hour later I heard the front door open. All of a sudden I heard Ruth (my step-mother) in the front room crying. Slowly I opened my door to hear what was going on downstairs.

"Ruth? What is it?" I heard my father say.

"That boy of yours treats me like dirt. He called me the most foul names."

What a lie. I had not called her anything. I might have thought it but I didn't say it.

"Calm down. Now what's the problem?"

"He...he had his new bike stolen at school."

"The one I just paid eighty dollars for?" I could hear dad's voice rising in anger.

"Yes. Then he tried to lie about it. When I confronted him he told me to _f_u_c_k_ off and he said...he said he wished I was dead."

I didn't.

"I'm not sure what I should do," dad said.

"He's your son and I am not going to tell you how to raise him," she said.

"No. What do you think I should do?"

"I think he needs a whipping," she said. I could hear the delight in her voice as she suggested it. "I know you don't believe in physical punishment but we just can't go on this way."

"Where is he now?"

"In his room."

"Get me a drink, please," dad said.

Alcohol and my dad did not mix well together and I was sure that the two together would mean serious consequences for me.

"I told him that he should strip to his underwear and go to bed," she said, bringing him the triple shot of Jack Daniels.

"Phillip! Phil. Get your ass down here, son."

Slowly I came down the stairs, still dressed in my school clothes. I was on the last step as I watched dad gulp down the last of the whiskey.

"What are you doing in your clothes? Your mother told you to strip to your underwear."

I looked at her. I wanted to kill her.

"She's not my mother!"

"She's the only mother you've got boy."

"See," she said, standing there feeling powerful, "See how he treats me." Again she started with the tears.

"First you lose your bike because you didn't lock it up, then you lie about it, then you call your mother names. What is wrong with you?"

"Everything she is saying is a lie," I yelled back.

"Don't you raise your voice to me," he came over and for the first time in my life he slapped me across the face.

"You need to be punished and you need to be punished so you'll never forget it."

"What...what are you going to do?" I said, somewhat scared.

"Come over here. Here. In the middle of the room."

Slowly I walked over to the middle of the living room. The drapes were wide open. The neighborhood kids were playing outside.

"Take off your clothes," he said.

"What? Here in the middle of the room? There are people outside, dad. She's in here," refering to this creature called my step-mother.

"That's right. Everyone is going to see you get punished. Now get your shoes and socks off."

I flipped off my tennis shoes without even untying the laces. Next went the socks.

"The shirt," he said, "take off the shirt."

I slowly obeyed as he, to my dismay, poured himself some more whiskey. My step-mother surveyed my hairless teenage chest.

"Ruth, undo his pants and pull them down."

I moved back as she approached.

"No," I said.

"You move again and you won't be sitting down for a month of Sundays, boy."

She came over. Standing directly in front of me, she unbuckled my pants. She said nothing but the look in her eye said: "I told you." Next she pulled the zipper down and slowly lowered my pants to the ground. Every ounce of my body became tense.

"Alright, step out of them."

As I did I could see the neighbor kids start looking through out front window.

"Dad, can't we close the curtains at least," I begged.

Dad totally ignored my request, in fact moving to one side so the neighbor kids could get a better view.

"Ruth, pull down his underwear."

"Naked?" I protested.

She put her fingers at the waistband of my white briefs.

"That's right. Naked. Totally naked," she almost whispered.

Slowly she lowered the top part of my underwear down my abdoman. I could feel the top of my buttocks becoming exposed. She continued to lower them ever so slowly. In the year she'd been here I had never been naked in front of her. Next my penis was coming out and finally my testicles. She continued to lower them all the way to the ground. Then she moved to one side, giving all the neighbor kids a perfect view.

"Step out of them and come here," dad ordered.

He pulled up a chair right in front of the window and sat down.

"Over my knees," he ordered.

Reluctantly I did.

I felt his big hand placed on my naked bottom. He then lifted it and it came down and came down hard. I twitched.

"You'd better just stay still," he ordered.

He then proceeded to spank me, and quite hard, twenty times. Each time his hand came down I kept on feeling this strange sentation in my penis which was resting against my father's thighs. When he was done with the spanking I was ordered to stand up. My penis was quite hard, quite erect. Ruth looked at it and laughed. I wanted to run to my room and never see her or my father again.

"I think," she said, "he needs to be masturbated to help get that down."

"Good idea," dad said. "You do it."

She moved to the side of me and started rubbing my penis in her hands. She kept building faster and faster until finally I exploded my semen all over the living room.

"Go take a shower and go to bed," my father ordered. "We had better never have to do this again."

Grabbing my clothes, I headed upstairs.


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