Message-ID: <1884eli$9707031018@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/1884.txt> From: "Y. Lee Coyote (YLeeCoyote-at-Juno com)" <bogus@do.not.use> X-Good-Line-Length: yes Subject: Duty (M/M, spanking, cons) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <01bc8705$ed19ab80$8e2e74cf@6unique6name6> The following story is fiction. It contains scenes of spanking. If such a subject is offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now. This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission. Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice. The author would appreciate your comments -- pro and con, including constructive criticism, and suggestions. E-mail to: YLeeCoyote@juno.com DUTY by Y. Lee Coyote Sam Jr. and his father, Sam, just had each other. The woman who had been loving wife and mother has passed on -- greatly missed. Now both were studying hard to achieve their high school diplomas; not just for their own sakes but to please her. One was a senior in the local high school by day and the other by night having made the mistake of dropping out when he was just a youth. It was a few days after midterms and, because of a local holiday, they were both home when the bell rang twice followed by the thump of the mail on the floor after it was pushed though the mail slot. Mixed in with the bills, appeals, ads and magazines was the letter that they were both dreading might/would come. It was in a crisp white #10 envelope with a neatly typed address and the equally simple return address of the high school. It was ominous in its traditional simplicity as the reverse of last leaf of the bible marked with a black spot was in "Treasure Island." They let it sit on the table, unopened, for some time. The address was ambiguous: Mr. Sam Smith. They both thought back to the weekend before midterms. Each knew that he (and the other one) should have been studying full-time, but they had both gone out with their friends and neglected their studies. It was against THE RULES. The strict rules that they had devised for themselves so that they would both reach their goals. It was their own sacred covenant. It was not the going out that was punishable; that was not prohibited. It was not failing that was the violation; that was its own punishment. It was poor judgment and neglect of responsibility that were the infractions; the punishment was clearly defined in THE RULES. THE RULES that they both knew well. THE RULES called for a traditional trip to the woodshed. His only uncle had told him tales of how effective this was when Grandpa Zak did it. Their woodshed was actually the garage. It was over the car the transgressor would go. He would be bent over -- naked. Then he would be strapped -- hard. It had happened a couple of times already. Neither liked it but knew that it was the right thing. Alas, a necessary thing. They were both thinking about the last time THE RULES had come into effect like this. Sam had cut a class and there had been a letter from The Principal. They went to the garage and the youth stripped, handed his father his wide, thick, leather garrison belt, bent over the car and (with more fear and trepidation in his voice than he would ever admit) said: "Do your duty." Sam paused as he looked at the smooth muscular butt of his almost fully grown son. But he knew what he must do. He raised the folded belt and brought it down on the waiting target with a resounding WHACK for the first time. Immediately, a red strip appeared clearly marking exactly where the leather had kissed the flesh of his only and most beloved son. Again the belt flew down caressing the waiting behind just below the first strip. WHACK and the second strip appeared -- just as red as the first. Eight more times he raised the belt and brought it down hard. Emotionally he hurt more than did his son. The youth's butt was a deep red and very hot when he finished. They hugged. Words were not necessary. It was never discussed. It was all clear in THE RULES. Together, they opened the letter and read it. It was as they had feared. Two failed midterm exams. There was an admission (confession?). It was apparent that poor judgment and negligence had occurred. The punishment was defined in THE RULES. Discussion was redundant. They went to the garage. Just as was previously described, Sam stripped and bent over the car. The belt was raised and then swiftly lowered to the upturned backside. WHACK! The strip appeared. Again WHACK! and again WHACK! the belt contacted the target -- hard -- very hard until the prescribed count of thirty was reached. He had done his duty but he did not like it. THE RULES had been followed. The grip on the belt was relaxed and it felled to the floor. The youth ran to his room. Tears were streaming down his checks. He fell down on his bed still crying. A few minutes later his father came and held him -- tightly, lovingly and caringly. After while the youth asked his father the question that had been bothering him for a long, long time and now was uppermost in his thoughts. "Dad, why didn't Grandpa Robert spank you so you would have finished high school like you should have when you were a kid? It was his duty not mine." © Copyright A.I.L., July 1, 1997 My valid return address is: YLeeCoyote@Juno.com -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/> .../assm/faq.html> /