Jason Here

By J. Stone

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.

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Synopsis: a bright kid (thirteen-year-old Jason) tells his friend that he would like to know what it felt like to be spanked (and, therefore, loved). His wish comes true on his thirteenth birthday at the hands of his family, his teachers, and his friends.

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JASON HERE
By J. Stone
© 2011

Jason here. Thirteen, five-two, one hundred-five (or thereabouts). Honor roll student (seventh grade) into soccer and swimming. I think I’m pretty much like any other kid my age, but from time to time I overhear people telling my folks such things as, “You’ve got a really good looking son there,” or “He’s turning into a handsome young man.” I admit, I’m a bit of a narcissist.

Whatever, I’ve gotta tell you about what happened to me last week.

Showering after P.E. one Monday, I noticed that my best friend Jack had a very red (brown-green-bruised) posterior. When I asked him what happened, he told me he had been spanked. “Tell me about it,” said I.

“Yeah, well my Dad caught me smoking.”

“So?”

“He told Mom, and Mom spanked me.”

“Good God, she must have done that on your bare bottom.”

“Oh yeah. It was really embarrassing. She made me take off my clothes in front of everyone – my father, my sister.”

“Jeez! Did you get a hard-on?”

“Well, Duh!”

“Do you get spanked often?”

“Not much. Just two other times. Once, when I was about nine, I got caught trying to steal a candy bar at the Seven-Eleven. Mom pulled down my pants and whupped me right there, in front of everybody. Then, last year, I hit my sister, and Dad spanked me. That one really hurt.”

“Gosh, you must hate your parents!”

Jack thought about it a bit, then replied: “No. I deserved what I got, and I know they really love me, or they wouldn’t bother with me.”

I thought about that for a while, then said: “You know, Jack, I have never in my life been spanked. I’d kind’a like to know what it feels like.”

The following Thursday, at breakfast with the family (Mom, Dad, my sixteen year-old sister), Mom said, “Jason, I hear tell you need to be punished.”

“What?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Who told you?” As if I didn’t know.

“A little bird.” Right, more like a rat.

“We’ll do it a week from Saturday, on your birthday. That will give you some time to think about everything you’ve done to deserve your punishment.”

“But …”

“No ‘buts,’ end of discussion.”

I didn’t give it much thought until the following Monday, when Jack said, “So You’re going to get spanked Saturday.” Then, along about Wednesday, Mrs. Easter, my English teacher (and a family friend) said (in a whisper as I was leaving her class), “I hear tell you’re in for a whooping!” And Friday the P.E. teacher, Mr. Lamson, wagged his finger and winked at me when I came out of the shower.

My God, I guess it’s really going to happen. How embarrassing! Anticipation. Anxiety. Unwanted boners just thinking about it. The worst part of it was knowing that other people, including my teachers, knew about it. And were kidding me about it. What’s wrong with me?

Thinking about what I might have done to deserve punishment. Nothing! Would I have to make something up? That would be telling a lie, and then I really would deserve to be punished. Help!

Saturday morning. Breakfast – Pancakes! Mom, Dad, even my sister wished me a happy birthday. After breakfast, Dad took me to the garage to give me my birthday present, the three-speed Raleigh I had wanted ever since Carl got his. I wanted to take it for a spin. Dad gave his permission, but told me to get back to the house at 11:00: “You gotta get ready for your birthday spanking,” he said, with a grin and a wink.

Got back to the house about a quarter after. “You’re late,” said Mom.

“Sorry. It took me longer to get back than I thought it would.”

“Okeh, We’ll have lunch about 1:00. Meanwhile, I want you to go up to your room and write down all the things you have done to deserve punishment.”

“Since when?”

“Since forever.”

Making the list of my sins was hard work. I decided not to include jacking-off. That would be just too embarrassing.

“Lunch time,” shouted Mom. I went to the kitchen. My father, mother, and sister all had sandwiches. There was a tall glass of juice at my place.

“Don’t I get a sandwich?”

“Not now,” said Mom. “We want you to have a good appetite for dinner. It is your birthday.”

Juice. Apple juice. Kind of cloudy. Tasted bitter. I complained. “Drink it,” said Mom. “It’ll be good for you.”

So I drank my juice; everyone else ate the sandwiches. Then, Dad and my sister left the kitchen, leaving me alone with Mother. Mom handed me a strange, brown, somewhat greasy thing. Looked a bit like a very large bullet.

“What’s this?”

“A suppository”

“What am I supposed to do with it, and what’s it for?”

“You push it into your rectum, as far as you can, through your butt-hole. After about an hour, it will make you poop. That way, we won’t have any accidents when we spank you.”

“But…”

“No ‘buts,’ as your father would say. Just do it. Hold it in as long as you can, and then a few minutes more. When you can’t stand it any more, go to the toilet. Then take a bath. I’ll be up to get you about three. You can work on your list, if you have any spare time.”

In my bedroom, I lowered my pants and undies, and bending a bit, legs spread, I pushed the suppository into my rectum. I expected it to hurt, but it slid right in. I pushed it in as far as it would go, pulled my pants back up, and sat down to review my list. Couldn’t think of anything to add other than lately pushing my finger into my asshole. But that couldn’t really be a punishable offence, if my Mom ordered it, could it?

Anyway, after about half an hour, my stomach began to cramp. I waited about ten minutes more, and then, when I couldn’t stand it any more, I ran off to the bathroom. A flood of smelly liquid brown matter filled the toilet. I flushed. The cramping mostly stopped, but I stayed on the toilet. A minute or two later, another spurt from my butt hole. Mostly clear. No more cramping.

Filled the tub, stripped, and climbed in. Washed and dried myself, put my clothes back on, and returned to my room. Laid down on my bed, feeling very empty. It was almost three. Shortly, a knock on my door. “Come in.” It was my mother. She sat on my desk chair.

“Did you go to the potty?”

“Yeah”

“Did you have a bath?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Good.”

Nothing more happened, or was said, then, for ten or fifteen minutes. Anticipation. Finally, said I: “Mom, if something is going to happen, you’ll have to do it.”

Said she: “Patience, Jason. We need time to set everything up.”

Another ten minutes. The bedroom door opened. It was my Dad. “We’re ready,” he said, then left, closing the door behind him.

“Okeh, Jason, take off your clothes”

“What?” Not that I hadn’t expected to be naked.

“You don’t have anything that I haven’t seen before.”

Not exactly true. Mom hadn’t seen me naked since she stopped bathing me, when I was about seven, when I had just a tiny little (circumcised) penis and not a bit of hair. Now, I was considerably larger down under, and had begun to sprout what promised to be a very nice bush (unlike most of my classmates who were still mostly hairless).

“But, Mom!”

“Just do it, now.”

I got off the bed, turned my back to my mother, and took off my clothes. How embarrassing! I felt the beginning of an erection. Doubly embarrassing! I cupped my hands over my privates.

“Get your list.”

I grabbed the sheet of paper from my desk, and held it in front of me, strategically, to hide my state of excitement. Mom got up from the chair, put her two hands on my shoulders, turned me toward the door and said: “It’s time, let’s go downstairs.”

Mom guided me down the stairs and into the family room. The place was full of people: my father, my sister, my friend Jack, his sister, and his parents, Mrs. Easter and her husband, Mr. Lamson and his wife, and Mrs. Langlois, my Social Studies teacher. They all applauded when I arrived. “Happy Birthday, Jason, Happy Birthday to you,” etc. Everyone was standing in a semi-circle facing a straight-back chair conveniently placed in the center of the room.

You’d think, under these circumstances, that my penis would shrink and retreat into my body. It didn’t.

“Okeh, Jason,” said Dad, “read us your list of things you have done to deserve a spanking.”

Moment of truth; raising the list in both hands to read it, I no longer had anything to hide my boner. I think I heard a chuckle or two. Anyway…

I read my list:

1.  One day Last October, Jack and I sneaked out of school after homeroom to go to the junk yard. [Pay-back time, Jack!].

2.  Once, when I was angry, I called my sister a “stupid bitch.”

3.  I swore and used the “G” word one day when I couldn’t get my locker open.

4.  I got a hard-on during the Sex Ed class this year.

5.  I was fifteen minutes late getting back to the house this morning.


“Oooh,” said Dad. “Such terrible sins, certainly deserving the most severe punishment.”

He had a smile on his face, and I thought I heard yet another chuckle or two. “Now, little boys who need to be punished don’t need hair. Any volunteers to shave him?”

“Me, Me!” shouted Jack.

“I’ll be happy to shave the twerp,” said my sister.

Dad gave my sister a safety razor and a can of shaving cream.

I didn’t have much hair. Just a few wisps – but very healthy wisps - at the base of my penis. They were soon gone. How humiliating! Worse yet, my little tail, nearly six inches long, was as long and hard as it had ever been. I think my sister said something about it, but I was too embarrassed to remember just what she said.

“Is he ready now for his spanking?”

“Yes,” said Dad. “I’m sure.”

“Well,” Mom continued, “Getting a hard-on during Sex-Ed class is clearly his worst infraction. I think you should be first,” addressing Mr. Lamson. “How about a dozen, bare handed.”

“Delighted,” said Mr. Lamson. He sat on the chair and motioned me to approach. I came to his side. He took me, two hands on my hips, and positioned me between his legs, just outside his left knee. “Okeh, lay across my knee,” he said, “and grab a leg” [meaning the rear leg of the chair]. And so, I found myself a bit at an angle lying upon my coach’s left leg, my hard penis pressing downward against his thigh. He wrapped his right leg around my left, and pulled back, ankle to ankle, to spread my legs. The assembled audience moved around to view my backside and my rock-hard cock nestled between my legs, beneath a nice package of fuzz-coated balls.

Coach Spencer delivered twelve of his best. They stung, but were not so forceful as to cause me appreciable pain. More like a birthday spanking than a punishment spanking. When done, he reached between my legs, wrapped my balls in his hand, squeezed them gently, said “Happy birthday, Jason,” and lifted me off his lap.

“Next?” asked Dad.

”I think calling his sister a ‘stupid bitch’ deserves some payback,” said Mom. “Arlene, half a dozen of your best.”

Lamson ceded the chair to my sister. She positioned me between her legs, as Spencer had done. I expected soon to feel her wrath. Instead, I felt her well-appointed, sharpened fingernail at the base of my ball-sac. It moved upward, then, to my anus. A couple of gentle circular rubs on that tender orifice, and then slight pressure on the opening, and I felt her finger slip in. “Mom!”

“Shut up, asshole. You’re getting what you deserve!” Arlene withdrew her finger (a bit of a plot sound) and delivered six of her best – considerably more painful than Coach Lamson’s, but again not enough to make me cry.

“What’s next?” asked Dad.

“Well,” said Mom, “he took the Lord’s name in vane when he couldn’t open the locker, and he skipped out of school with Jack after home room. Not only that, but he ratted on Jack. So, I think he needs half a dozen each from Jack, Mrs. Easter, and Mrs. Langlois.

I laid myself across the knee of each, in turn. “I’m sorry,” said Jack. “Okeh,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll get yours.” He delivered his six.

But the worst of the punishment came – at least so I thought – when I laid, bare assed and rock hard, across the knees of my two favorite teachers, Mrs. Easter and Mrs. Langlois. However much their blows stung my butt, it was nothing compared to the sting I felt to my pride.

Mrs. Langlois whispered, as I laid myself on her knee, “I’m sorry Jason. I know you don’t deserve this, but I can’t resist. You have such a cute butt!” She put her hand on my left thigh, just above the knee, drew it up on the inside of my thigh toward my butt, and ended with a swap, with just a bit of sting, where my leg joined my torso. She repeated this routine, from side to side, until she finished her allotted six swats. When done, I stood up. She wrapped her hand around my very hard penis, and gave it a squeeze and a bit of a jerk. “You’ll always be my favorite pupil,” she said. I swear I almost came.

I looked at my Dad, wondering what might be next. He held, in his hand, a strange instrument – black handle, rounded at one end, bulging in the middle, then tapering down toward the other end, to which were attached five or six black (apparently leather) straps, each about two feet long, about half an inch in width. He approached the chair, along with my Mom. “What’s that?” I asked. It looked really wicked, like it really could hurt.

“A tawse,” he replied, as he sat in the chair only recently occupied by my favorite teacher. He spread his legs, and I positioned myself at the end of his left knee, as I had every other time. He gave a gentle push on my back and I lowered myself onto his leg, expecting the worst. But instead of a lashing of my butt, I felt a finger, my mother’s finger, rubbing a cool gel-like substance on the surface of my butt-hole, then pushing inside and all around. Had to have been a minute, maybe two, moving about like it was looking for something. Must have found it, ‘cause it settled down in a small circular motion on something at the front side of my rectum that just about drove me off the edge. The finger came out; then, just a few seconds later I felt something else, something harder, pressing against me. Must have been the handle of the tawse. The tapered point went in easily enough. Then, as the larger bulbous part pressed into me, I began to experience a bit of pain. “Oww.” I’m sure everyone in the room heard me. With a bit of a plop, the pain eased, and I felt my butt close down around the narrower shaft at the shank of the handle.

With a bit of a nudge on my shoulder, Dad pushed me off his knee. “Time to get you dressed for the party,” he said.

“What!?”

Here I am, standing naked, hard, hairless (down there), with this thing in my ass and several leather straps hanging between my legs, and Dad’s talking about a party!

“What do we have?” asked Dad,

“A big bow tie,” answered Mom: “French cuffs, and this lovely French maid’s apron. But what do we do about that?” Her hand, palm up, pointed toward my midriff.

“Yup,” said Dad. “Looks like his spanking really excited him!”

“Ha!” shouted Jack. “He was hard right from the beginning, and the spanking didn’t even make him cry.” You’ll get yours, Jack!

“Whatever,” said Dad, “I guess we’ll have to do something about it. Do you want to do it yourself, Jason, or do you want your Mother to do it for you?”

What a predicament! Mega-embarrassment. If I did it to myself, everybody would know that I knew how to jack myself off, and would probably think that I was doing it all the time. I weighed this thought against a recurring masturbation fantasy: Mother comes into my bedroom, lowers the sheet, pulls off my underpants, and strokes my cock till I come, saying Dad said I needed relief.

A few seconds passed, before I responded. The response was barely audible:

“M-mom, I g-guess.”

“What did you say? We didn’t hear you,” said Dad.

Louder: “I [pause], I want M-mom [pause] to d-do it. I [pause] d-don’t know how.” What a lie! – well, not about Mom doing it, but about not knowing how!

“Alright,” said Mom. “Come lay down on the coffee table.”

I made my way to the coffee table, past Mr. Lamson and Mrs. Langlois. Mr. Lamson gave me a gentle pat on the butt. I lowered myself over the middle of the coffee table, intending to pivot when seated and so to lay prostrate along its length parallel to the couch. The tawse handle hit the surface of the table first, not at all comfortably. I stood right up. I guess Dad recognized the problem.

“Come over here, to the end of the table, sit on the edge, then lower yourself onto your back.”

I did it, winding up with my butt off the edge of the table, my feet flat on the floor. Mom sat at the end of the Sofa, facing my cock. Mr. Spencer and Mrs. Langlois occupied the other two places on the sofa. Everyone else crowded around. Mom had a bottle of oil. While she removed the cap, Dad pushed my knees apart.

“Arlene, I need your help”

My sister crouched down near my Dad.

“Kneel here, between his legs, and while your mother does him, move this thing [referring to the end of the tawse handle] just a bit from side to side, and up and down. And while you are doing that, scratch – gently, please – this area of skin between his butt hole and his balls.

Mom poured a liberal amount of oil on the end of my cock, and into her hand.

I had never used oil to masturbate. I normally just wrapped my hand around my cock and brought myself to a climax with just a few strokes – maybe a dozen or two.

Mom, turns out, was a pro. I guess I really did have something to learn about jacking off.

She squeezed my cock between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand, and pulled the skin down tight toward my balls. Then, with the thumb and first two fingers of her right hand, she gently caressed, squeezed, rubbed, fondled, whatever, the head of my cock. I thought I was going to come. My legs began to tremble. She stopped, and though Arlene continued to manipulate the tawse handle, my need to spurt subsided, and my legs stopped trembling.

Mom started again, same routine. Then stopped. I needed to come. I reached for my penis; she pushed my hand away.

“Please, Mom, I need to come.”

“Okeh, now.”

She poured more oil on my cock, wrapped her fingers around the end, gave it two stiff strokes, and I spurted, all over my chest, and on Mrs. Langlois’s leg. Everyone applauded.

Took me a couple of minutes to recover. Mom wiped the semen from my chest and penis with a damp cloth and Dad helped me up from the table. Mom put the tie on me, the French cuffs, and the apron, tying a large frilly bow at the back.

“Time for the party,” said Dad. Everyone else filed out of the family room, through the living room, onto the patio. Dad taking me by the hand, followed along at the rear.

Got to the patio. The grill was smoking. There was a bar, with a bar tender, and a whole bunch of people – my best friends from school – half a dozen boys and maybe a dozen girls, and their parents. The minute I appeared, they all cheered and broke out in a rendition of “Happy Birthday!” How humiliating!

I couldn’t sit down, because of this thing in my butt. I tried to retire to a dark corner, but my mother found me and told me I had to mingle, because it was my birthday. I protested, but she said, “Nonsense! It’s your birthday; talk to your friends, they like you, enjoy!”

I got a hard-on two or three times that night, but nobody said anything about it but Emily, who wrapped her hand around my cock (through the apron) and said, “I’m really glad you like me!”

At the end of the party, when everyone had gone home and the bar tender was busy packing his wares, Dad pulled the tawse from my ass, used it to give me a final swat, and sent me off to bed.

I took off the apron and laid down on top of the sheets wearing nothing but the tie and the cuffs. I wrapped the fingers of my right hand around my penis, and the fingers of my left hand around my balls, closed my eyes and, thinking about all the girls in my class who had seen my naked butt, and probably a whole lot more, got another hard-on. I got pretty close to coming – Again! – when there was a knock on my door. The door opened. It was Dad.

I guess I should have scrambled to get under the sheet, or do something else to hide, but it just didn’t seem to matter anymore.

Mom appeared at the doorway and sidled past Dad into the room. She sat on the edge of the bed. She put her left hand on my right pec. “I just came in to say good night,” she said. She leaned forward and planted a kiss on my cheek. Sitting upright again, her left hand slid down my side to my hip.

“So, did you enjoy your thirteenth birthday?”

“Yeah, Mom,” I replied, and then after a bit of a pause, added: “But what are you going to do for my fourteenth?”

She smiled. Her left hand slid across my thigh and landed between my legs atop the hand in which I cradled my balls. She gave it a gentle squeeze, then got up and left the room

“Good night,” said Dad, as he closed the door. “And pleasant dreams!”

(The End)