Jason Here
By J. Stone
notunrestricted@gmail.com
Copyright 2011 by J. Stone,
all rights reserved
*
* * * *
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.
* * * * *
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.
Comments and critiques to
notunrestricted@gmail.com
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)