Spraypaint


by Klinger <Klinger41@hotmail.com>

Brandon was an 11-year-old scout in my local pack. I got to know him quite well as the son of a friend of mine, friend of my son, Eric, as well as being in the troop in which I was a leader. He was a smart kid, good looking and polite, the all-American Boy Scout type.

Our troop was scheduled to go on an extended campout at the scout campground not far from our homes, in just three days. All of the boys had been preparing for this trip for sometime, and the excitement at Wednesday night's meeting was palpable. The boys were restless and chatty, and everyone was checking over their equipment and getting ready for the adventure that soon awaited us.

Brandon and I were very close, and I considered him to be one of my favourites. He and I had a trust bond between us, like I had only with two other boys-- my own sons. Brandon knew that he could talk to me about just about anything and we often did chat when he played over at my home, before meetings and as I gave him a ride home.

It was that almost parent bond between us that would prove to be an enigma this particular night. As we talked in the car on the way home, young Brandon brought up something which I sensed was clearly troubling him. I started out by asking him what was on his mind. His response, at first, was to say "Oh, nothing. I'm just – it's just...." and his voice trailed off.

"Hey, I can see something is bugging you, Brandon. Talk to me if you want." I said.

For a moment he said nothing, then he reached into the pocket of his jeans and produced a note from the school. He held it for a minute and then softly said, "I think I might be grounded this weekend." He slowly uncrumpled the note before handing it to me. I pulled over to the roadside and took it from him. It read:

"Dear Mr. or Mrs. ~~~~:" This is to inform you that Brandon will be serving a three-day in-school suspension commencing on his return Tuesday. The reason for this suspension is an act of vandalism in which Brandon and three others were involved where a school bulletin board was spray painted, ruining the posters and memos attached to it....." I skipped to the end of the note, where it said: " Your signature is required at the bottom of this note to acknowledge receipt." . "Oh-oh", I said. "What did you guys do?"

Brandon meekly replied that he was hanging with three guys who decided to spray paint over the staff photo and put moustaches on the lady principal—typical harmless kid stuff. But he hadn't shown the note to his parents yet, and he was sure they would ground him for the weekend for getting suspended at school. He was afraid he would have to miss the camping trip, and he wanted my advice.

Now, as I said, the bond that we had would prove to be a challenge. I recognized Brandon was afraid of the consequences at home when his parents found out. But I also realized that silly kid stuff or not, Brandon was going to have to be punished for being irresponsible. I sensed he knew that, too, so I decided to ask him about it.

"Brandon, what exactly am I supposed to say? You are going to have to show this note to your mom and dad, buddy. They are probably not going to be pleased."

"I know, Brad. I did something dumb, and its okay that I am serving three days of detention in school for it. But if I'm grounded....." His voice trailed off.

" You'll miss the campout, right? I know", I said, "But I am still not sure why you are telling me all this."

He looked at me and without a trace of hesitation asked me if I would phone the school the next day and sign the note.

For a second he looked hopeful, but his face fell when I suppose he saw the look on my face. Frankly, I was a bit taken aback-- he was, after all, my friend's son. What he was asking me to do was help him lie to him. I sat and thought about things for a second. It was true that the suspension seemed punishment enough for such a silly thing. But knowing his parents I also knew that they had little tolerance for misbehaviour, and he WOULD probably have to miss the campout, at the very least. At the same time there was that little voice in my head that said this isn't right. He needs to be punished; yet his wet eyes as we drove home told me he was sorry already. What point is there in rubbing it in with his mom and dad finding out? And I very much would miss my little buddy on the weekend. I pondered what I could do or say to them that might make things smoother when Brandon and I got there. I decided that he should maybe show them the note while I was in the house with him. I just sat, stumped, and quietly wondered if there was some other compromise to be made. As if reading my mind and sensing my discomfort, Brandon suddenly piped up.

"Hey, I know I am asking you to lie for me, Brad. I'm sorry. Its just that I didn't know who else to ask", and he sniffled and wiped away a few tears. "But maybe YOU can punish me instead of my dad? I know I did something wrong and I should be punished by my folks, but.... I mean, like maybe tell my parents on Monday night when we get back from the trip, but in the meantime, you sign the note for me so that I can still go."

"Punish you like how?" I asked. "And what do you think your dad would say if I told him I signed it for you instead of him?"

"Then don't tell him, please. Just punish me instead."

"But how am I supposed to do that?" I asked. "The only way I could punish you NOW before we get to your place is ...."

" Is SPANK me, right?" he interrupted. "Okay. Then spank me as punishment for being irresponsible and vandalising, and for asking you to lie, but please, please just sign the note so I can go camping...." and his voice broke down.

I was struck with pity for him. He wanted to go, bad, but he felt truly stuck. So he was asking to get a spanking from a grown-up other than his parents rather than face the music at home. And I knew that it was unlikely they would spank him for this. Ground him, yes, but spank him no. I on the other hand DID spank my sons for certain things. Brandon had seen Eric spanked once when he stayed over with us for the weekend. Brandon's dad had given me authority to spank him when he stayed over.... Yes, that would be a simple solution to this dilemma. Brandon would get a good spanking from me and with the suspension that would be AMPLE punishment. Whether I could still face his dad afterwards I didn't know, but I decided I would sign the note. I drew the line at calling the school, though--Brandon would have to take his chances that the school would phone home instead.

"Okay, I guess you really don't want to be grounded do you little fella?" I stated. All right. I'll sign the note for you and you can take it back tomorrow. You'd better hope the school believes the both of us or else your dad will probably not let you see us anymore, Eric either, and they'll still find out about what happened, but all right. I must be crazy for agreeing to this...."

Brandon nearly leaped out of his seat when I told him I would do it. I wondered if he knew what a spanking from me was going to be like, and thought maybe he should have a chance to reconsider.

" Look, Brandon, IF I do this, it means you get a spanking, on your bare bottom, just like if you were Eric or Sean. It's going to hurt, you will cry, but when its over I will forget this ever happened. On the other hand, there are other trips down the road or maybe you WON'T be grounded after all....I'm still not sure about this, but...."

Brandon cut me off mid-sentence. " I know, he said " But please, give me a good spanking instead? I don't care, on the bare butt, with the belt or a paddle or what, just do it --punish me yourself, please?"

I finally gave in. "Okay. You asked for it, you'll get it. In exchange for me signing the note, and in place of your parents finding out about your troubles, you will pull your pants down and receive a spanking from me, PLUS you're doing MY dishes this weekend at camp. I want you to know how serious this is—you are being punished, not given a break from it. And if you are not on your absolute best behaviour at camp this weekend I will personally take your pants down and whip your bare little ass with a switch in front of the whole troop, got it?"

"Got it." Brandon was practically smiling now. I shook my head in wonder.

"Okay, then I guess we better stop off at my place", I said, " And get this over with. Hope you like sleeping on your tummy, Brand. You won't want to sit down tonight and maybe even tomorrow."

" Let's just do it, okay? It's been bugging me all day since I got the note."

We drove to my place in silence, me, frankly, turned on by the prospect of spanking that cute bubble butt of Brandon's; him, I suppose, scared and relieved all at the same time. When we got home I noticed with some relief that my sons and wife were still at the movie. Brandon followed me through the door and then stood looking at me as if waiting for instruction. I realized it was unfair to make him wait for this, but I wasn't prepared to spank him just like that. I needed to decide what to spank him with—my belt? Nah, welts the next day. I didn't have a paddle, since I broke it over Eric two weeks back. Then it dawned on me that I had a bath brush, like a HUGE hairbrush, with a flexible plastic head. Perfect for warming an errant boy's bum, not to mention leaving a glowing impression (a red one). I went to get it. As I left the room I told Brandon to get ready. " Take off your jacket and put your stuff down there. Then come and meet me in the den upstairs."

I waited for only a moment when in strode Brandon. His eyes widened when he saw the brush in my hand.

" Okay, buddy, this is going to be a spanking I don't know that you'll forget for a while—I know I won't. I am going to start with my hand and when your butt is nice and red from THAT then I am going to give you 25 swats with this" I said, as I waived the brush.

I think the reality hit Brandon right about that time. He looked at the brush, looked at me and unconsciously I saw his hands moving behind his back as if to cover his bottom. He was having second thoughts, I knew. Better ask him one more time.

" Do we have a deal, still?"

He looked at me, voice trembling, and once again asked me to spank him as punishment. I told him there was no turning back, now. I pulled a chair into the center of the room and sat down. Placing the brush on the ground beside me, I motioned for Brandon to come to me. He never hesitated, but being a real trooper, walked to my side. I reached for and undid the belt he was wearing and I could feel him trembling in fear. His snap and zipper on the jeans were next, which I tugged open, revealing the front of his light blue briefs. I noticed a slight but definite bulge in the front—Brandon was becoming a young man very quickly, I thought.

As I slid his jeans down to his ankles, I recalled my own experiences in that position. Standing beside a parent as they undressed me, feeling the cool air of the room on my bare legs, a wave of shame as I felt my underwear pulled down to join my pants. More cool air wafting across my buttocks and groin, now perfectly naked and vulnerable. Then I would feel the hands of mom or dad pull me over their lap and my heart would pound as I laid there waiting for the first spank.....

I slid down Brandon's briefs but he showed no emotion to being naked before me like that. Still, I wanted this to be over with as much as he did. I pulled him to my right side and turned him over my knee. He struggled to find a position of balance and I shifted my legs a bit so he was well centred. I looked down on his young body, stretched over my lap, his butt whiter than the rest of him from being covered from the sun. A cute one, too-- hairless and smooth, firm and round, a bubble-butt if I ever saw one. I put my hand on the small of his back to hold him in position. His arms lay draped at his sides but I knew they could shoot up to cover his bum in an instant. I believe in total submission in spanking-any resistance aside from wriggling and we start over. So I told him that.

" Brandon, I am going to spank you now, for getting into trouble and being irresponsible. If you fight me, we are going to start all over again from swat number one. Put your right arm at your side and leave the other over your head."

I pinioned the arm to his body with my hand and gripped him firmly. I placed my hand lightly on his bare white bottom and he stiffened from my touch.

" Ready?" I asked him. He barely nodded and whimpered: "Uh-huh".

I flattened my palm out and brought my hand up high above my chest, then sharply –"SMACK"- brought it down onto his quivering behind, on the left cheek near the thigh. Then the other cheek. Then the center. Back and forth, all around his bottom. I felt the sting in my hand and heard the sharp sounds of smacks as my hand made contact with his bum:

"SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! " "SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! "

At first Brandon made no sound, but merely stiffened his legs a bit. Then after about the 8th spank, he clenched his bottom slightly and began to moan. His moan became a yelp, then a cry, and finally a howl of "Owwie! Owwie! OOOH, Oh, owwie!" punctuated by the sounds of spanks interrupting him like hiccups. After twenty, he was doing his best not to bawl, but he finally broke and let out a long rising shriek and began sobbing as his bottom grew more and more pink. Now he clenched his bottom between spanks, and his wriggling grew more violent:

"SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! " "SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! "

By the time I had given him the planned 50 swats with my hand, his entire backside was reddened and warm to the touch. His cries were continuous, now, not the pity-me kind of all boys when they feel the first few sharp smacks, just real pained ones. But I had promised him a thorough punishment spanking, and that's what he was going to get. We were only halfway done. I picked up the brush from beside me.

I knew this thing was going to hurt, so I readjusted the crying Brandon on my lap and tightened my grip. I took a few practice swats in the air and heard the swish as the flexible plastic handle gave way back and forth as I swung. Then, I swatted Brandon with the brush right on the center of his blazing red bottom:

"FWHACK! FWHACK! FWHACK! FWHACK! FWHACK!"

Brandon shrieked anew, and his legs began kicking violently after the first swat. Bright oval spots of crimson overlaid the redness in his bottom already, and where the flat brush hit, the skin would blanch for a second before coming back the angry red.

"FWHACK! FWHACK! FWHACK! FWHACK! FWHACK!" "FWHACK! FWHACK! FWHACK! FWHACK! FWHACK!" "FWHACK! FWHACK! FWHACK! FWHACK! FWHACK!"

I had to struggle to hold him as his 85 Lb. body writhed and twisted and plunged against me. His bottom wriggled furiously, clenching and unclenching as his legs continued to kick. His cries were the agonized shrieks of one who has just sat in a bed of glowing embers and he bobbed his head up to yelp afresh with each swat.

"FWHACK! FWHACK! FWHACK! FWHACK! FWHACK!"

25 swats. Finished. All over but the crying, as they say. And he cried. Lots. Brandon lay there sobbing long after I let him go. I gently rubbed his bottom with some cold cream and he startled at the touch on the hot stinging skin. I helped him to his feet and his hands shot back to rub out the fire in his behind, ineffectively. He stood before me naked, but too exhausted and pained to care. After two or so minutes I helped him into his briefs and jeans again and told him I would wait downstairs for him to compose himself. He appeared some 5 minutes later, red-eyed and still sobbing quietly. I embraced him in a big hug, even kissed his forehead lightly and told him it was all over now. I got out a pen, asked him for the note and swallowing my guilt, signed his dad's name. We got into my car and drove to Dairy Queen, where I bought him a sundae. Strangely, he said nothing to me until we got there, when he turned to me and said, simply, "Thank you." I drove him home and we went in to see his parents, who were blissfully unaware of what just transpired.

Oh, yeah: The camping trip was great, by the way.


More stories by Klinger