Roger & Mike

[email protected] (tbfyb)
[email protected] (Eric Blyton)

I am strongly opposed to the spanking of RL children and believe that spanking children is wrong. There are better ways to guide a child and better lessons to be taught by caring parents than though hitting. I believe that real-life, non-consensual spanking is both debilitating to the child's physical and psychological well-being and debilitating to the child-parent relationship. The potential for permanent psychological hurt cannot be overlooked. Still, I am a spankophile and while I am opposed to the RL spanking of children I nonetheless find the fictional account of such stories, and some remembrances of my own and other's RL experiences, very arousing. If such stories and remembrances do not interest you, move on. tbfyb: [email protected]

This story was sent to me by tbfyb, who had written about half of what you see here, but he was not happy with the way he had concluded it. He asked me if I would be interested in trying to finish it. I was quite flattered by his request and wound up doubling the size of the story. Hope everyone likes it. It was quite fun collaborating with someone else. Let us both know what you think. Eric Blyton: [email protected]


Roger Springer was late for little league practice. His homeroom teacher, Mr. Ryan, who also taught history, had made him stay after school because he had (for the third day this week) disturbed the class with his constant chatter. Now it was already 4:30, he'd never make it to practice on time.

As Roger exited the school he noticed an old bike sitting all alone in the bike rack -- he decided to walk by, just to make sure the bike was locked (it wasn't). His own bike, a ten-speed, had a flat tire and was at home in the family's garage. Since he was late, and this bike wasn't locked, Roger decided to "borrow" it. He'd ride it until he was a short distance from the playing field, and then dump it in some bushes. Hell, when the practice was over he might even pretend to find the stupid bike and be a hero. But then, who'd want a crummy old bike like this anyway, it was a pile of junk, all rusted. Nothing like his ten speed at home. Besides, Roger thought to himself, any one who left their bike unlocked deserved to have it stolen.

* * *

Michael Shaw was new to the neighborhood. Bad enough he'd had to say good-bye to all his old friends in Chicago, but everyone at this new school seemed so aloof. They had already formed long-lasting relationships and didn't seem very interested in making any new friends.

Mike's father just started working for a new company. This company had paid to have the whole family move from Chicago to Orlando. Mike's father had been unemployed for the past four months so this new job was a Godsend. At least that's what his mother said.

Now they could pay the bills and maybe have a little money left over. What little money they seemed to have now had been spent buying new school clothes, a used bike, and food for the family. But things were looking up. Just last week his father thanked him for helping out around the house, and promised to see what could be done about starting up a regular allowance. In the meantime his father and mother both wanted him to concentrate on school work and getting good grades.

Well, thought Mike, not having any friends had at least one advantage, it allowed him to get all his school work done at the library before he went home.

Just then, Mrs. Johnson, the school librarian, walked over.

"Aren't you the busy one," commented Mrs. Johnson. "I wish more of the other students would drop by and do their homework like this, Lord knows some of your fellow students need to spend a lot more time doing their homework and a lot less time playing games and watching TV. You know, you're the only boy who's bothered to drop by the library all afternoon."

"Well Mrs. Johnson, we don't have a TV at our house and I promised my mom and dad that I'd work extra hard this year to get good grades." Mike looked up at the library clock (4:40). "I better head on home now, Mrs. Johnson." He gathered his books together. He'd put them back in his locker, and then hurry home to help his mom get everything ready for supper.

Mike slammed his locker shut and ran down the hall towards the exit. No need to worry about running in the hallway at this time of day. He pushed the double doors open and headed down the stairs toward the bike racks.

Suddenly he stopped, as if in mid-stride, the bike racks were empty. Where was his bike? He'd left the house a little late this morning and hadn't taken the time to lock the bike. He'd promised his father that he would always remember to lock the bike "no matter what!" This was the first time he'd failed to do it, and sure enough, the bike was gone. What was he going to tell his dad? What would his dad say?

When he got home it was already well past five. His mother was in the kitchen.

"Mike, is that you? Where have you been? You're father will be home any moment. Hurry up and set the table. I thought I told you to be home by no later than 5:00."

"I'm sorry," answered Mike, "someone stole my bike and I had to walk home."

"Stole your bike. How'd that happen? Wasn't it locked?"

"I was late getting to school this morning and I guess I didn't take the time to lock it properly."

"Well, you'll have to explain that to your father when he gets home. You promised him that you'd remember to keep that bike locked at all times. You know we don't have the money to buy you another bike -- we didn't really have the money to buy you that one. I wouldn't be too surprised if your dad decides to give you a spanking."

Mike's stomach turned a flip. He hadn't thought about that. His father hadn't spanked him in almost a year, not since he'd turned 13 anyway. But Mike could clearly remember some of the spankings he'd been given in Chicago. Dad didn't spank often, but when he did spank, it was something you remembered for a long time.

Mike finished setting the table and asked his mom if there was anything else she wanted done. He would have asked anyway, but with even the slightest chance of a spanking in his future, he wanted to muster all the good will he could; while he still had the chance.

* * *

Roger peddled his "borrowed" bike as fast as he could. Even so, the going was hard and he'd be a little late for practice. Next time, I'll have to "borrow" a faster bike, Roger jokingly thought to himself. Anyway, so far no one had seemed to notice him and that was good. When the ballpark was about a block and a half away, Roger hopped off the bike and dropped it next to the curb. Then he ran the rest of the way to the field.

"About time you made it," chided Mr. Browning, the little league coach.

"I had to stay late after school," Roger replied truthfully, "I ran all the way here as fast as I could." Well, truth had its limits, besides riding that old bike was almost like running.

As Roger headed to the dugout he noticed his father sitting in the bleachers. He must have gotten off work early, thought Roger. His dad went to all the Saturday games and sometimes, like today, he'd get off work early and walk over from the house to watch his son's practice.

Practice went well. Roger, who played center field, caught two fly balls and, when it was his turn to hit, knocked several balls deep into the outfield. Not a bad showing, Roger thought to himself, even if I do say so myself.

After the coach finished talking to all the boys, Roger walked over to his dad.

"Did you see me catch those fly balls?" Roger bragged to his Dad.

"Yeah, and you're not bad with a bat either," replied Mr. Springer with obvious pride in his son's performance. "I thought for awhile there you weren't going to show up. Why were you so late?"

Roger didn't want his dad to find out that he'd been kept after school but he'd already told the coach that he had to stay late. "I went to the library to look up a few things for my science project," Roger lied (well, his Science class had gone to the library earlier that morning, so it wasn't a total lie) "I guess I just lost track of the time."

Wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible, Roger continued, "You know you've got to give me some money so I can get my bike over to the shop and have that flat tire fixed. I had to run all the way from school."

"Humph," responded Mr. Springer, "when I was a boy I had a repair kit and fixed any flats I got myself. Had to buy that repair kit with my own money too! Kids these days are just too spoiled I guess."

Roger and his dad left the field and headed up the street, towards their house. As they walked up the sidewalk together, Mr. Springer spotted the bike Roger had abandoned at the curb.

"Now there's a perfect example of what I'm talking about," Mr. Springer continued. "Just look at that bike lying there. Kid's just don't take care of things like they used to when I was a boy."

Mr. Springer stopped and looked around, trying to see if he could spot the owner of this bike, but there was no one in sight.

"Hell, if we leave the bike lying like that, someone's likely to drive over it, or it will get stolen. Pick it up and we'll take it home. I'll drop it off at the police station after dinner."

* * *

Mike's father was late getting home. As they sat at the supper table eating he explained how the car wouldn't start when he got off work. One of his fellow workers gave him a jump start, but it was clear that the battery was just old and would have to be replaced soon; another expense.

"Speaking of expenses," said Mrs. Shaw, "I think Mike has something he wants to tell you."

Without looking up directly at his dad, Mike explained how his bike had been stolen at school. This news, following so quickly the bad news about the car battery, didn't bode well for avoiding a spanking.

"You promised me, if I bought you that bike, that you'd take care of it, and keep it locked at all times. Don't your promises mean anything?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"But nothing! You didn't lock the bike and now its been stolen. I can't afford to buy you another." After pausing for several seconds, Mr. Shaw continued. "You know its been a long time since I've spanked you, but I don't think you've given me much choice. Do you?"

Mike looked down at the table and shook his head. "No sir."

"All right then, when you've finished eating, and finished helping your mother clear the table, I'll be waiting for you in the living room."

The rest of the supper passed without conversation. Mike had long since lost his appetite but knew he'd better finish his supper. Besides, he wouldn't be excused until everyone had finished eating and then it would be time to help clear off the table.

When Mr. Shaw finished eating, he excused himself from the table and decided to call the police station, on the off chance that someone had reported finding a lost bike. The police told him that no one had called in to report finding a bike today, then added that they seldom ever got calls like that. "Once a bike's been stolen, it's usually gone forever."

Mr. Shaw hung up the phone and went to his room to retrieve the razor strop that had once belonged to his own father. He hadn't had much occasion to use it lately but guessed it was about time to bring it out of retirement. Then he went to the living room to relax for a moment and wait for Mike to finish clearing off the table.

After a few minutes Mike entered the living room, his eyes spotted the razor strop lying on the floor next to the chair his father occupied. He started to cry. He told his father that he was sorry.

"I'm sorry. I know you work hard to make money and that you warned me about leaving the bike unlocked. I didn't forget on purpose. I locked it every day. It's just that today I was late and got in a hurry and must have forgotten. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Mike. But sorry doesn't bring back the bike, and sorry doesn't excuse your breaking your promise to me. Now I know you've been helpful around the house and I'll take that into consideration when I spank you. But you need to learn a lesson here. You need to understand that a promise is a promise, and that keeping a promise one day and forgetting it the next is not acceptable behavior. You think about that while I'm spanking you, and you think about that while you do your corner time. Do you understand me."

"Yes sir."

Mr. Shaw reached down to pick up the razor strop and stood up. Mike walked up to the side of the chair, and started to unbuckle his belt.

"Go ahead and take off your shoes and socks first," said Mr. Shaw, "then just take off your pants. That will be easier than pulling them down around your ankles. Besides, it's getting late and you won't be wearing your pants for the rest of the evening."

Mike sat down on the floor and did as he was told, remembering to take off his underpants too (without being asked). Then he stood up and placed his hands along one arm of the chair.

CRRAAACK went the strop as it wrapped itself around Mike's bottom. The pain took his breath away but Mike knew that this was only the start. His father was usually good for a baker's dozen at least. CRRAAACK his upper legs felt like they had been set on fire.

Mr. Shaw delivered six strokes, each stroke cutting cleanly across Mike's bottom and upper legs. Then he stopped and put the belt down.

"I think that's enough. Your mom says you've been very helpful around the house and I know how difficult this move has been on everyone. But that doesn't excuse your forgetting to lock your bike or failing to keep your promise. Now, go stand in the corner and think about what I've told you."

Mike's bottom and upper legs were ablaze. Strangely, the shorter spanking seemed to sting more than the longer spankings he had received in the past. Nonetheless, he was grateful that the spanking had ended when it did. He'd fully expected to hear and feel that razor strop tear across his backside at least a dozen times more than it had. Now he'd just have to wait out the corner time before going to bed.

* * *

Conversation at the Springer's dinner table was more upbeat. Roger told his mom all about his sterling performance at little league practice.

When they finished eating, Roger went to the living room to watch TV. Mr. Springer went to the kitchen and used the phone to call the police station. The officer on duty took a description of the abandoned bike and then asked Mr. Springer to hold on the line for a moment. He seemed to remember someone having taken a call earlier that evening; a bike that had been stolen from the Junior High school. The description of the bike found by Mr. Springer seemed to match that contained in the earlier report.

When he returned to the phone, the officer said that the address of the person who had reported the stolen bike was in the same general neighborhood. The bike's owner had declined to file an official stolen bike complaint, but he had left an address and telephone number. The officer said that he couldn't give Mr. Springer this information on the phone, but if he had no objections, the officer could call Mr. Shaw at his home and then have him call Mr. Springer direct. Mr. Springer agreed, hung up the phone, and turned to help his wife finish the dishes. After about 10 minutes the phone rang. It was Mr. Shaw, the father of the boy whose bike had been stolen from school. It was clearly the same bike. Mr. Shaw lived about five blocks over. Mr. Springer said that he owned a pickup truck and that it would be no trouble for him to bring the bike over right now.

Roger was still camped out in front of the TV when Mr. Springer finished talking to Mr. Shaw. Something wasn't right. Roger's father decided to leave Roger in front of the TV and return the bike to the Shaw's house on his own.

* * *

Mike was still standing in the corner when the doorbell rang. His father, who'd been talking to someone on the phone earlier, answered the door.

"Mr. Springer?"

"Yes, but please call me Bob. I think I've got your son's bike out here in my truck."

Mike's father left the house.

Mike's interest was peaked. What was that about having his bike out in some truck?

A few minutes later Mike's father and Mr. Springer returned, both entering the house. Mike's mother, who had just finished in the kitchen, joined her husband in the foyer which was adjacent to the living room.

"Come in Bob. This here's my wife, Gale, and please call me Ed."

"Yes, please do sit down," said Mrs. Shaw, ushering their guest into the living room. "Please take a seat. May I get you something?"

"No thank you, Gale, I just finished supper."

Mike stood perfectly quiet in the far corner of the living room. He hoped that the dim lighting might shield his presence. His father always kept him in the corner at least 30 minutes following a spanking, sometimes longer.

Mike had considered himself lucky to have escaped with only six swats from his father's razor strop, but it was clear now that in exchange for that leniency, corner time had been, and would be extended. Mike also knew that one of the hazards of corner time was the unexpected visitor.

He remembered once, when he was ten or so, having been made to stand in the corner of the entry hall at their old home when suddenly, out of no where, the paperboy and his kid sister stopped by to collect. It was raining outside so his father let the two in, so they could keep dry, while he went to look for his wallet.

The paperboy couldn't have been any older than Mike was now, and his kid sister was in the fifth grade, the same grade as Mike at the time, but in a different classroom. Talk about awkward moments, the three of them standing there alone. They, with their raincoats dripping, and Mike with his nose in the corner, his pants and underpants pulled down about his ankles, and his bottom and upper legs glowing like Rudolph's nose.

"So where'd you find our son's bike," asked Mr. Shaw? "You said you had some questions you wanted to clear up"

"Yes," replied Mr. Springer, "I feel kind of awkward about this, I really don't have any hard evidence about how your son's bike ended up so near our house but I do have this unsettling feeling. You know, when things just don't seem right, or just don't seem to add up."

"My son's in little league. I go to all his games and try to attend his practices when I can. He was late to practice this afternoon; said he was working at the library on some science project and lost track of the time. Anyway, after practice we found your son's bike abandoned about half way between the ballpark and our house. The bike was just lying there, sort of half in the street and half on the sidewalk. I looked around, but didn't see anyone who looked like they belonged to the bike, so I had Roger, that's my son, walk it home."

"Well, we sure thank you Bob. I can tell you that we're all relieved to have our son's bicycle back. We just moved here from up north and money's still a bit tight," said Gale. "We certainly would not have been able to replace the bike any time soon."

"Mike is supposed to keep his bike locked at all times," continued Ed, "but it seems he forgot to lock it today and, wouldn't you know it, someone takes the bike for a joyride."

"That's just it Ed, I have a strange feeling about that. Roger's bike has a flat tire so it's sitting in our garage waiting to be fixed. Now Roger loves baseball, I can't imagine him being late for practice. He claims he stayed after school to work on his science project, but that just doesn't ring true. Roger's never gone to the library on his own, without prodding. I can't imagine him doing it on a practice day."

"Our son does his homework in the library after school almost every day," said Gale, "if your son was there, maybe he saw him."

"I must tell you Bob," continued Ed, "that's our son in the corner over there (pointing). Mike earned himself a spanking when I got home. Not because the bike was stolen mind you, but because he had promised me that he would keep the bike locked at all times and he broke that promise. Mike, come over here."

Mike had been listening to the conversation with great interest. But the last thing he wanted to do was walk over, without his pants on, to answer a bunch of questions from a perfect stranger. Nonetheless, the very, very last thing he wanted to do was get his dad mad at him again, so he had little choice but to do as he'd been told.

Mike came over, obviously embarrassed, letting his hands drop down in front of himself.

"Tell you what Bob," continued Ed, "if you don't mind waiting a few moments I think Mike has already learned his lesson about locking bikes, I'm sure he'd feel more at ease if I let him put on his pajama's."

Mr. Springer had noticed the welts, strangely highlighted in the dim light of the corner, when Mr. Shaw had first pointed to his son. Now that he was standing in front of him he could see just how red the back of his legs were.

"Yes," replied Mr. Springer, "I'm sure he would, me too for that matter."

Mike's father nodded his head. Mike didn't have to be told twice, he quickly dashed out of the living room and headed towards his bedroom. He put on his PJ's, and returned to the living room in record time.

"Mike, do you know my son Roger?" queried Mr. Springer.

"No sir," replied Mike very politely, wishing to make certain that his father would have no complaint as to his deportment; a word Mrs. Johnson, the school librarian, was fond of using.

"Hmmm, that makes it tough. Roger told me he'd gone to the library to work on his science project when school let out, but if you don't know him, I'm not sure how we can determine whether he was there or not."

"Oh, that's easy," Mike replied quickly, "he wasn't there. I mean, the library was almost empty and Mrs. Johnson, she's our librarian, she told me that I was the only boy who had been in the library all afternoon. You can ask her if you want."

"I might just do that. What time did you leave the library? I mean, when did you notice your bicycle was gone?"

"About quarter to five. I left the library at 4:40, dropped my books off in my locker, and went straight to the bike racks. It was gone. I spent about 10 minutes hunting for it, then hurried home. I'm supposed to be home before five so I can help my mom out in the kitchen. Of course I didn't make it today."

"Thank you Mike, you've been very helpful."

Mr. Springer turned to Mike's dad and continued to talk. "You've got a fine son there Ed, very polite. I want to check out some of the things Mike talked about with the school, but I have a bad feeling about this. If Roger's not telling the truth about working at the library he must be trying to hide something. I'm not saying that he had anything to do with your son's bike being stolen, but he was late to practice and your son's bike was found near the ballpark. I'll keep in touch."

"Thank you Bob," replied Ed. "Mike's always a good kid after he's been spanked but in truth, he's a pretty good kid most of the time. This move's been hard on everyone and Mike hasn't made a lot of friends yet. I want to thank you for bringing Mike's bike over, I'm sure he appreciates having it back. Isn't that right Mike?"

"Yes sir!" replied Mike with enthusiasm, "and I promise I'll never forget to lock it again."

"Be careful what you promise!," Mr. Shaw cautioned in a lighthearted fashion, obviously trying to lessen the tension that had spoiled the earlier evening.

"Okay Dad," said Mike smiling for the first time since he'd discovered his bike missing.

Ed and Gale saw Mr. Springer to the door. Then Mike left for his room, not wanting to spoil the moment by pushing his luck.

* * *

When Mr. Springer returned home, Roger was still camped in front of the TV.

"Do you have your homework done?" asked Mr. Springer.

"Don't have any homework," replied Roger, "just the science project, and I finished that at the library."

* * *


Mr. Springer leaned back in his chair, while his secretary, Miss Jones, placed a call to Roger's school. He'd called earlier and talked to the librarian, Mrs. Johnson. She confirmed that Roger had not been at the library yesterday afternoon. She knew Roger very well, too well it seemed. Roger had been to the library earlier that morning, along with his whole class, but had done little other than talk and disturb those who were trying to work.

"I suggest you talk to Roger's homeroom teacher about his poor deportment."

Mrs. Johnson transferred the call back to the front office. They said Mr. Ryan was unavailable at the moment and suggested that he call back sometime between 1:00 and 2:00, when Mr. Ryan had a free period.

"I've got Mr. Ryan on the line," announced Miss Jones.

"Ah, Mr. Springer, I've actually been meaning to give you a call. Roger's behavior at school is beginning to cause problems. I understand from some of Roger's other teacher's that he's behind on his homework. I know he's missing several history assignments. But more than that, he just doesn't sit still, and is always talking. This is a problem that lots of 7th graders have, adjusting to Junior High school. I have Roger in my 7th period history class. Did he tell you that I kept him late after school yesterday?"

"No, he didn't. Roger didn't say anything about being kept after school. Exactly what time did you let him go?"

"I'm not surprised that Roger didn't say anything. I don't suppose many kids are going to rush home and tell their parents that they were kept late after school. I kept Roger a full hour, Mr. Springer, that is until 4:30 exactly."

Mr. Springer could see it all clearly now. There's no way his son could have made it to little league practice, as early as he did, if he'd been kept after school until 4:30. Roger must have left Mr. Ryan's class, spotted the unlocked bike and, knowing that he'd miss baseball practice if he walked to the field, had decided to help himself to a free ride. Leaving poor Mike to pay the consequences.

After finishing his conversation with Mr. Ryan, Mr. Springer found it hard to control his temper. Roger was behind on his homework in a number of his classes, couldn't stop talking in class, had lied to him on at least two occasions about staying after school to work on his science project and, to top it off, had stolen a classmate's bike. A classmate who had obviously paid dearly for the theft. Mr. Shaw had said that Mike was punished for leaving his bike unlocked, but if Roger hadn't stolen the bike in the first place, Mike would almost certainly not have received a spanking.

The more Mr. Springer thought about his son's behavior the angrier he got. Yesterday, at the ballpark, Roger had as much as ordered him to get his bike repaired. He didn't deserve that bike. If he needed a bike so bad he'd have used his allowance money to have it repaired. And that was another thing. Mr. Springer gave Roger $5.00 a week allowance, and for what? So his son could sit around and watch TV all day. Mr. Springer couldn't remember the last time Roger had helped out around the house.

He started to contrast his son's behavior with that of Mr. Shaw's boy. Hadn't Mike said something about getting home before five so he could help his mom out in the kitchen. When was the last time, hell, when was the first time Roger helped out anywhere? The only thing Roger had done lately was to help himself to Mike's bike. Mike was polite too, yes sir this, and yes sir that. When was the last time Roger showed either him, or his mother a little respect? I've been too easy on the boy, thought Mr. Springer.

Then, Bob remembered that he'd told Ed that he'd drop by to let him know what, if anything, he'd found out about his son's bike. Mr. Springer thought that he might just use this opportunity to have a long talk with Mr. Shaw about discipline.

* * *

Mr. Springer had just finished telling Ed what he'd learned about his son's behavior at school.

"You know Ed, I feel bad about your son getting spanked for something that Roger's to blame for. I'd like to make it up, I'd like Mike to have Roger's 10 speed, if that's okay with you."

"As I told you yesterday, Bob, Mike was spanked because he broke his promise to me about keeping the bike locked. I can't and won't let him accept your son's bike as a reward for breaking his promise to me; it's just not right."

"I understand what you're saying. But Roger needs to be taught a lesson. Maybe if he had some understanding of what Mike went through as a consequence of this theft."

"If you really want your son to appreciate what Mike went through, perhaps you ought to consider giving the boy a spanking?"

"That's something I've actually thought about, Ed, but I'm going to have to talk my wife into that. We've never spanked Roger before, but perhaps that's been a mistake. My main concern is that having never dealt with him that way, I'm not at all sure how he will react or even how severe to be with him. If it were your son in Roger's position how would you deal with him? The same way you did yesterday?

"Not really, Bob. Mike got a spanking for failing to lock his bike. Roger would be getting a spanking for stealing -- that's not exactly the same thing. I put a razor strop across Mike's bare bottom six times yesterday for what he did. I'd have given him more but I know he'd learned his lesson and was truly sorry. Furthermore, Mike has been very helpful around the house since we've moved. From what you tell me about Roger, there sure don't seem to be any extenuating circumstances that would warrant letting him off easy. If I spanked Mike for all that, he'd have a hard time sitting down when I was through, if you know what I mean. Not that he'd be doing much sitting anyway, I'd have him standing up in a corner most of the weekend."

"That seems logical enough to me. Roger needs to be taught a lesson. Missing his Little League game and standing in the corner would give him something to think about. As for not being able to sit down, that might be just what the doctor ordered."

"Keep something in mind, Bob. Spanking is a parenting tool just like any other. If it's not done property, there's no point to it. When you were at my house last night you said I had a fine son and were impressed by his good manners. Well, let me tell you something. Those manners didn't spring up over night; they were cultivated. There were times, when that boy was eight or nine years old, when I'd have traded him in for a mule and, having done so, would have considered myself to have gotten the better end of the bargain. Let me tell you that boy was stubborn! Mike probably spent more hours standing in the corner with his jeans wrapped around his ankles than your son spends watching TV."

"Are you saying that it's too late?," asked Mr. Springer.

"No, not at all. But you are getting a late start. More than that, if you embark on this line of discipline now, you're going to have to follow through. This isn't something that you start tonight and finish tomorrow or next week."

"I don't want to hurt your feelings Bob, but your son isn't completely to blame for his behavior. It seems to me that you've let him take advantage of you. You've tolerated his idleness and accepted his disrespect for thirteen years. You and your wife are going to have work together if you expect your son to master his impulses and not be their slave. That doesn't mean your wife has to spank the boy, but she does have to back you up. When the boy misbehaves, she has to let him know, in no uncertain terms, that he will be spanked. I'm sure Roger's a good and decent boy, but right now he lacks self discipline. He's like a two year old colt that hasn't been ridden, he's got the makings of a good stallion, but you've got your work cut out for you. If you hope to turn him around, you're going to have to gain his respect. "

Mr. Springer could have done without the horse analogy, but he got the point. Clearly things would have to change and this was the most direct way he could think to get Roger's attention. He thanked Mr. Shaw and asked if he could borrow the razor strop for the evening.

* * *

Conversation at the Springer's dinner table went much as usual. Roger said he was glad it was Friday and that school was over for another week. He just couldn't wait for his Little League game tomorrow afternoon; he'd show Mr. Browning what a good hitter he was. Mr. Springer made a mental note to have Roger call Mr. Browning later (from his corner) to fess up for what he had done, and apologize for letting down the team.

Prior to sitting down to eat, Mr. Springer had had a long conversation with his wife Dorothy. He told her what all Roger had been up to and what he wanted to do about it. She had objected at first, but he backed up his arguments with logic and was able to get her to reluctantly agree. He would have put his foot down if it had been necessary, but he was very glad that it was not. He and Dorothy almost never overrode each others' objections about matters in their life.

After dinner Mrs. Springer went and started washing the dishes. Roger plunked himself in front of the TV and turned some silly sitcom up to a high volume. Mr. Springer shook his head to himself and went to his study. He really must not have been paying attention these last few years. How had he let Roger become such a lazy brat? Sitting behind his desk, he opened the drawer and looked at the razor strop. That thing was going to really hurt his son. But it was better now than later. Roger would not make it far in life with his current attitude.

"Roger, would you come in here for a minute, please," he called out.

"Aw, Dad, can't it wait until the commercial?" Roger replied.

"No, it can't. I want you in here now."

"All right, just a minute."

Mr. Springer listened, but he could hear no sign that Roger had gotten up. This boy really did need a lesson in respect.

"Now, Roger!" he barked, raising his voice for the first time.

"All right, geez!" He heard Roger get up from the couch and walk slowly towards the study. As he came in the door, he was looking backwards at the TV.

"Close the door and sit down, Roger."

"But then I won't be able to hear the TV," Roger complained.

"I don't want you to hear the damn TV, I want you to listen to me!" Mr. Springer snapped. Roger promptly closed the door and sat in the chair in front of the desk. When his dad swore, it meant that he was quite pissed off. He sat there silently while Mr. Springer regained his calm state.

"Roger, I wanted to ask you something. Is there anything more you know about how that Shaw boy's bicycle wound up by the road yesterday?"

"What's to know, Dad? Somebody stole it and left it there. Did they find out who?"

"You know Roger, I'm glad you used the word 'stole' and not 'borrowed' just now. And, to answer your question, Yes, as a matter of fact. I do know who stole Mike's bicycle from the school, just as you do."

Roger was taken by surprise and suddenly wished he hadn't asked that question. But what could Dad know? And, just as important, what could he prove?

"I'm not going to beat around the bush with you Roger. I know the truth. What I'd like you to do right now is think about that for a moment. Then, in your own words, tell me how Mike's bike ended up where it did. Remember Roger, I want the truth."

Everything was quiet for a few moments as Roger looked at his dad.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"That's too bad Roger, I was hoping that you would start telling the truth. But I guess you're not ready for the truth yet. But you will be, I promise you that," Mr. Springer said. He leaned forward on the desk and looked his son right in the eye.

"Roger, I know that you stole Mike's from the bicycle racks at school yesterday. I talked to your home room teacher this afternoon. I know that you were kept after school yesterday and that you did not leave Mr. Ryan's classroom until 4:30. When you left you knew you were late for Little League practice. When you found Mike's bike unlocked you decided to steal the bike and ride it to the ball park. Isn't that what happened?"

Roger sat there silently, trying to think of a way out. This wasn't a bluff, his dad clearly knew the truth.

"It's your fault you know! If you'd taken my ten speed to the repair shop, and got that flat tire fixed, I wouldn't have had to borrow Mike's bike."

"You didn't borrow Mike's bicycle Roger; you stole it."

"So what! It's his fault too. If he'd kept his bike locked I wouldn't have been able to steal it. He deserved to have it stolen; to teach him a lesson about locking bikes."

"Mike learned a lesson about locking his bike, Roger. When he got home his father gave him a spanking. But I don't think that leaving his bike unlocked justifies your stealing. Do you?"

"Maybe not," replied Roger, who was having second thoughts about the wisdom of his arguments. Maybe it was time to adopt a more conciliatory approach. 'Let's face it,' thought Roger to himself, 'I've been caught red handed. If I don't 'lighten up Dad might take away my TV privileges for a week, and I wouldn't want that!'

"I think it's time that you were taught a lesson," announced his father. In fact I think it's way past time that you were taught a number of things. Mike was given a spanking for leaving his bike unlocked. I think its only fair that you also be given a spanking."

"No way! I'm too big to be spanked. You're not going to spank me."

"You're not too big to spank. You're too big to be stealing, Roger. You're certainly old enough to know better. But since you've chosen to behave like a little boy, a boy who doesn't know right from wrong, you're going to be treated like a little boy. You're going to spanked the way you should have been spanked when you were little. I'm sorry your mother and I didn't spank you when you were a little boy. If we had, you probably wouldn't be getting a spanking tonight."

"Look, I'll go and apologize to Mike. I'll go to bed early, without watching TV. How's that?"

"No Roger," said Dad, "You're right about not watching TV. You're TV days are over until I say otherwise. But you are going to be spanked, and with your pants pulled down."

Roger couldn't believe his ears. He was not going to be spanked. He certainly wasn't going to have his pants pulled down for a spanking. Roger got up and started to walk out of the room, he'd didn't have to listen to all this nonsense.

"SIT DOWN!" Mr. Springer commanded.

The sound of his Dad's firm voice telling him to sit down sent shivers down his spine. Without meaning to, Roger sat down.

Just as Roger sat, Mr. Springer pulled the razor strop from out of the drawer and laid it on the desk. Roger had never seen a razor strop outside of a barbers office. He found it hard to take his eyes off the thing. The strop must have been at least 2 feet long, 3 inches wide and as thick as his little finger. The leather was squared off at the free end, and looped, then sewn, around a large metal ring at the other end.

"You're not going to spank me with that," remarked Roger with little conviction.

"You're about to get a rude shock if you think that," Mr. Springer said as he stood up and came from behind his desk.

This chair will do quite nicely," he said, putting his hand on the well padded arm rest of the chair his son was sitting in. "Roger, I want you to stand right here and do what I tell you."

Again, without knowing why, Roger stood up just as he'd been instructed.

"I want you to put your hands right here ...that's right ... and hold on to that padding just as tight as you can. Do you understand me."

"Yeah," mumbled Roger.

"When you address me you will say 'Yes Sir' and 'No Sir,' and when you address your mother you will say 'Yes ma'am' and 'No Ma'am,' is that understood."

"Yeah, I mean Yes sir."

Roger couldn't understand why he was doing everything he was told. More than anything he wanted to bolt out of the study (the house) and run away. But for some unknown reason he stood there, frozen. His whole body felt strange, kind of nervous, cold, and edgy; all at the same time.

"You're going to be spanked Roger. I've never spanked you before. That's too bad. It would help if you had some idea of just how painful this spanking is going to be. But you'll find out all about that soon enough. I just want to tell you something. No matter how much it hurts, I want you to keep holding on to the padding on the side of this chair. Don't let go for any reason. Keeping your hands on that arm rest will give you something to focus on and will, at the same time, keep your hands out of the way, so they won't get struck by the strop. If you feel that you must let go for some reason, you tell me, and I'll let you rest for a few seconds. Do you understand?"

"Yes ... ... ... I mean Yes sir."

"Now I want you to undo your belt and pull your pants down around your ankles."

"Do we have to do this? Can't you spank me with my pants on?"

"I could, but I'm not going to. I think this spanking will mean more to you, and you will remember it a lot better, if your pants are pulled down. Now do what I told you."

Almost as though he were under a spell, Roger loosened his belt, undid the snap at the top of his pants, opened the zipper and pushed his tight fitting blue jeans down as far as he could get them. When he was through the jeans acted as handcuffs keeping his legs both apart and together at the same time.

"Now I want you to pull your underpants down just as far as you can get them."

This seemed to bring Roger back to his senses.

"No way Dad, you're not going to spank me like that. I'm going to get Mom and she'll tell you that you can't do that to me."

"I've already discussed this in detail with your mother, Roger," said Mr. Springer. "Going begging to Mommy isn't going to get you out of this. I don't want to hear any more argument. Get those underpants pulled down NOW."

Slowly, Roger grabbed the elastic waste band of his jockey shorts and pulled them down to an area just above his shoes. Returning his hands to the side of the chair when finished.

With that, Mr. Springer picked the razor strop up from off the desk.

CRRAAACK went the strop as it wrapped itself around Roger's bottom. Roger wasn't prepared for such pain. He let go of the arm rest and, because he was trying to move about with his legs shackled by his blue jeans, he nearly fell to the floor.

"Oh God, please stop, no more please. I'm sorry."

"I know this is difficult for you Roger. My father spanked me as a boy. I know how much it hurts, but you're going to have to bear it and keep your hands on the chair as I've instructed. Now put your hands back where they belong, and don't let go again."

"I can't help it. Please stop. I'll do anything you say but please no more spanking."

"Put your hands back NOW, I'm not going to ask you again."

Roger slowly put his hands back, he was still trying to move his feet, shifting his weight from one foot to the other."

CRRAAACK!!! This time the strop cut cleanly across his upper legs."

Again Roger let go of the chair. "NO MORE, PLEASE, I'M SORRY. I'M SORRY. I'M SORRY. PLEASE STOP."

"I don't want to remind you again Roger. Put your hands back on the chair. Squeeze the armrest as tight as you can but don't let go. The more you let go the longer this is going to take."

Roger put his hands back.

CRRAAACK!!! Again, the strop cut across his upper legs, overlapping the previous stoke by an inch or so.

"GOD IT HURTS! ... Please stop, I'll do anything you want," said Roger. But this time, his hands remained on the chair. His hands gripped the armrest so tightly that his knuckles appeared to have been bled white.

CRRAAACK, the strop once again wrapped itself around Roger's bottom. By now, those areas struck by the belt had risen up about an eighth of an inch above the normal surface of his legs and bottom. These rises had already turned a bright shade of pink.

"NO MORE. PLEASE STOP!," Roger blubbered.

CRRAAACK, the strop returned to the area of his upper legs.

"I gotta let go. Please may I let go for a minute. It hurts so bad!!"

"Okay Roger, you may let go for while. I'll tell you when to put your hands back."

Roger had only received five strokes so far, but he was already sobbing. Mr. Springer fully intended to give Roger a lot more strokes before this would be over.

"Okay son, put your hands back on the chair."

Roger quickly complied.

CRRAAACK, again the strop wrapped itself around Roger's bottom overlapping the same area struck earlier by the first stroke.

CRRAAACK, the strop cut across his legs, just above his knees.



Mr. Springer continued to spank Roger. When he had issued 14 strokes he stopped and allowed Roger to let go of the chair. Roger's bottom was bright pink from an area just above his knees to an area just below his waist. He was sobbing and nearly hyperventilating.

"Grab hold of the chair again, Roger."

"Pl.. pl.. ease .. .. no .. no .. no more."

Before continuing his son's spanking, Mr. Springer allowed Roger several minutes respite. He did this to give his son a chance to calm down, control his breathing, and because Mr. Springer wanted to talk to Roger and knew that, in his current state, he could hardly be expected to listen.

"It pains me to have to do this Roger .. but your attitude and poor conduct have really left me no other choice. You've stolen. You've lied. You've fallen behind on your school work. You're disrespectful; demanding. You treat your mother and me as though we were your personal slaves and not your parents."

"I've had enough, more than enough really. I expect a change, and I'm damn sure going to get one. If I have to, I'll spank you like this everyday. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes .. .. .. .. .. yes sir."

"I hope so, for your sake. I'm going to finish spanking you now, and then we'll talk some more."

"No, please. No more. I'm sorry. I can't take any more."







"PLEASE! No more. I'm sorry. I'll do anything. I'll do anything you say. I promise."

Mr. Sprinter put the strop down.

"Okay Roger. Pull your underwear and pants up, not all the way, just past your knees, and follow me."

Mr. Springer directed Roger to an area in the living room, situated just to the left of their fireplace.

"Okay, now I want you to pull your pants and underwear back down to where they were, just as far down as far as you can get them."

"I should give you another spanking, just like this, tomorrow . . ."

"NO, PLEASE . . ."

"Keep quiet and don't interrupt me again. I don't want you to speak, unless I ask you a question. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Now as I was saying, I should give you another spanking tomorrow. You certainly earned everything you've gotten so far. But, if you behave yourself, and do exactly what I tell you to do, I'll consider the slate wiped clean."

"I can tell you one thing. There are going to be some major changes around here."

"I'm going to give you a note book. Your going to take that note book to school and have your teachers write me a short note each day on your behavior in their class. I'm going to ask your teachers to give me a list of those assignments you've failed to turn in. You're going to make up those assignments and turn them in. I don't care if your teachers give you credit for turning the work in late, it will get turned in."

"I want you to stay after school and work on your homework at the library. I'm going to ask Mrs. Johnson to sign your notebook each day before you leave. I'm going to have her write down what time you arrive at the library, what time you leave to go home, and give me a status report on your 'demeanor'. If there are any negative reports in that notebook, or you forget to bring the book home, or fail to have any of your teachers sign the book, there will be a spanking."

"You are also going to start doing chores. You're going to help your mother around the house, and you will be assigned week-end chores that must be finished before you go out to play. Also, before you go anywhere, you will keep either your mother or me informed of your whereabouts."

You are grounded for the rest of this weekend. You will not play baseball tomorrow. When you see Mr. Browning, you will explain to him, in detail, why you missed the game. You will tell him what you did, how you were punished, and apologize to him for letting the team down. When I see Mr. Browning I'm going to ask him about this, so you better make sure you tell him everything. If you get your work done, and behave yourself at school, you may continue to participate in Little League. If not, then your Little League days are over."

"Now, I want you to turn around and stay turned around until I tell you to move. You keep your eyes glued to that wall. If I see you turn around, we'll go back to the chair for another spanking. You can move your arms around if you want, but those pants and underwear stay right where they are until I give you permission to pull them up. I want you to stand there and think about everything I've said."

Mr. Springer walked out of the living room into the kitchen to join his wife. As he walked out he gave Roger a quick going over with his eyes. His hands were now busy rubbing his inflamed buttocks and upper legs, both of which were now colored a deep red and marked with numerous welts.

Roger remained standing in the corner until 8:30 that evening. Then he took a warm bath, put on his light weight PJ's,. He sat at his desk and started working on his homework. He did not complain, even once.


Mr. Springer woke Roger up early the next morning and told him that he was to mow the lawn right after breakfast. Roger hated the smell of cut grass, but was in no position to argue. When he was done with that, he had to clean out the garage. That took him until lunch and then it was back to the books. Around four O'clock his father came up to his room with the razor strop in his hand. Seeing it, Roger panicked.

"No, Dad, please!" he said, "I did everything you wanted! Please don't spank me again."

"No, I'm not planning to spank you again, Roger," Mr. Springer said. "I'm pleased with your work today. I kept this just in case I needed it again this weekend, but now I don't think I will. I want you to return it to Mr. Shaw."

"Please, Dad, can't you take it back yourself?" Roger asked. It seemed an awfully embarrassing thing to have to do. Mr. Springer's eyes hardened.

"Roger, when I tell you to do something, I don't want a debate. If you aren't ready to take this back to Mr. Shaw, it must mean you're ready for me to use it on you again. Is that it?"

"No, Dad, please don't. I'll take it back!"

"Wise decision. Make sure you thank Mr. Shaw for loaning it to us and then come right back."

Roger didn't really appreciate the irony of having to thank Mr. Shaw, but figured he'd better do it. His dad gave him the address and he started to walk over there. He carried the strop under his shirt just in case anybody he knew saw him and asked what this was all about. Following his father's instructions, he covered the distance and made it to the Shaw house. Roger noted the number on the mailbox and walked up to the door. With some hesitation, he rang the doorbell. He heard footsteps and then the door opened. He saw a boy his own age standing in front of him. Now that he saw him, he recognized Mike as one of the newer kids in school.

"Hi, I'm Roger Springer" he said awkwardly.

"I'm Mike Shaw" the other boy replied just as awkwardly.

"I'm supposed to return this to your father" Roger continued, holding out the dreaded razor strop.

"My folks aren't home" Mike announced as he gingerly took the thing and tossed it on a small table. There was an uncomfortably long pause. Roger had been told to return the strop to Mr. Shaw himself, and didn't want to get into further trouble.

"Look, do you want to come in?" Mike asked, to break the silence.

"Um, sure" Roger said. He was glad not to be standing in the doorway like a dummy. He stepped inside and Mike closed the door behind him.

"Do you want a soda or something?" Mike asked his guest as he went to the kitchen.

"I guess a Root Beer if you have it. Or else a Coke, please" Roger responded.

"We have Root Beer" Mike said as he took two cans out of the fridge. "It's my favorite." He handed Roger one of the sodas and gave him a shy grin.

"Mine too" Roger answered returning the smile with one of his own.

"You want to go up to my room?" Mike invited as he popped open the soda.

"O.K." Roger said as he turned to follow the other boy. They made their way up the stairs to Mike's room and went inside. As Mike closed the door, Roger noticed a large poster of Ken Griffey, Jr. on the back of it.

"You like baseball?" he asked pointing at the poster.

"Yea, the White Sox are actually my favorite team, but I have the Griffey poster up because I think he's so cool."

Finding a common interest, Roger began to relax. "I like the Marlins myself, but I think Griffey's cool, too."

The two boys spent the next few minutes discussing the current fortunes of their favorite teams and sharing opinions of different players. After a while, Roger told Mike that he played Little League.

"Yea, I know" Mike replied. Roger blushed when he realized the source of Mike's knowledge, but he made no comment.

"I used to play Little League back in Chicago, but I didn't sign up this year because I knew that we had to move soon" Mike said, to keep the conversation going.

"Oh? What position did you play?" Roger asked, grateful for the other boy's tact.

"Third Base." Mike answered "I really liked it, too."

"You know Mike, our third baseman is kind of lousy. I'm sure if you wanted to, you could join our team. The coach wouldn't start you right away, but if you're any good at all, you'd get some playing time."

"I don't know, Roger." Mike said wistfully "I don't even have a glove or cleats right now, and there's no way my Dad will buy me some at the moment. I'd like to do it, but I don't see how."

"This is not a problem, Mike. First of all, I've got a spare glove. And stick out your foot."

Mike did so and Roger put out his foot and compared sizes.

"Your foot looks just a bit smaller than mine. I've got a pair of cleats that I just grew out of, but they should fit you. And I know the coach has spare uniforms, so you'd be set!" Roger was getting excited about this now. He'd wanted to do something to make up for stealing the other boy's bike, and this looked like it might be it.

Mike was also getting excited. It seemed as if he might be finally making a friend, and if he got into Little League, he'd make more. He knew there was no way his Dad could afford to buy him new equipment this year, but if Roger loaned it to him, he'd be straight.

"You think your coach will really let me on the team half way through the season?" Mike asked

"Sure! Coach Browning is a nice guy and doesn't take things too seriously. He just wants everyone to have fun; he wont care if you start late."

"Well, great! I'd love to try and join. What should I do?"

"I'll bring my extra glove and cleats to school tomorrow and you can make sure they fit. Then we go to practice a few minutes early and talk to Coach."

"I have to do my homework after class, though. Will there be enough time?"

"Oh. I guess I do to" said Roger suddenly remembering. He blushed again. "Well, if we do some during lunch and between periods, we should be able to get it done."

"Yea, I guess we can. That'll be fine then."

"Look. Mike, it's been fun, but I have to leave. My Dad told me to come straight home" Roger said as he stood up.

"All right, I'll walk you out"

The boys went back downstairs and Roger opened the front door. Mike grabbed his arm as he went to leave.

"Roger, um, thanks for asking me to join your team. I haven't had anybody to hang out with since we moved."

Roger blushed and looked at the ground. "It's the least I could do, Mike. I mean, I did kind of pinch your bike and all..." he said as his voice trailed off. There was another long pause.

"Well, thanks anyway. I'll see you tomorrow." Mike said.

"Yea, tomorrow" Roger said as he turned and walked down to the sidewalk.

Roger looked at his watch and realized that it had been more than an hour since he had left home. And his dad had told him to come right back! He sprinted the five blocks and was out of breath when he reached his house. No sooner was he in the door when his father stopped him.

"I told you to come right home, young man! Where have you been for the past hour?" Mr. Springer demanded.

"You told me to give the strap back to Mr. Shaw, but he wasn't there" Roger said in his defense. "I waited with Mike to see if he came back, but when he didn't, I figured I should just leave it and come home."

Mr. Springer glared at his son, who cast his eyes downward and hoped that this was a reasonable excuse. After a long moment, his dad spoke again.

"Well you should have called. Now get back up to your room. I still need to see two history assignments and one book report from you."

Roger released the breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding and dashed up the steps to his room. Mr. Springer went back to his study and reflected on how quickly his son had jumped to his command. That was a marked improvement.


Roger got to school half an hour early. He had a speech to give to his teachers, and he would just as soon give it before other students got there. He went and found Mr. Ryan and gave him his overdue homework.

"Mr. Ryan, I'm sorry I've been a problem in class" he recited. "My dad wanted you to know that he spanked me for it. Here's all the assignments I missed."

Mr. Ryan was kind enough to take the papers and not give Roger too much of a lecture. Then Roger hurried to his next teacher to repeat the process. By the time he was done, other students were beginning to arrive, but Roger was glad none of them had overheard him. He went to his locker to get out his first period textbooks.

"Hey, Roger!" he heard somebody shout and he turned and saw Mike striding towards him.

"Oh, hi Mike" he said as the other boy reached him. "Here's the glove and cleats. Why don't you try them on to make sure they fit?"

Mike took the equipment and kicked off his shoes. The glove was no problem of course, and the cleats fit just right.

"Great!" Roger said. "You're all set, then." The boys compared their schedules and realized that they had two classes together, but first period was not one of them, so they split up and went their separate ways.

At lunch time they met up and went to an empty table in the corner of the cafeteria. They wolfed down their food and then broke out their books. Before too long, a lanky redheaded boy came and sat next to Roger.

"Springer! Where have you been? You weren't there on Saturday and we got our butts kicked" the boy said.

"Hello, Ace" Roger said to him. "This is Mike Shaw. Mike this is Charles O'Malley, but the few of us who pretend to like him call him Ace." Mike shook hands with the boy.

"So what's the deal with the books, Springer?" Ace asked him with a wave of his hand.

"I'm behind on my homework, you dope. My dad grounded me for the weekend over it and so I have to have it done before I practice this afternoon."

"Oh" Ace said flatly. He turned towards Mike. "You behind too?"

"No, and I don't want to be, either." Mike firmly replied.

"Mike's with me" Roger cut in. "He plays third base. I'm taking him along to practice to see if Coach will let him on the team. Mike, Ace here wants to be a pitcher, but he sucks at it, so Coach makes him play Right Field instead."

The other boy flushed at that comment, but Roger didn't honestly care. Ace could be rude to people and Roger didn't want him to bother his new friend. After a few moments of silence, Ace spoke again.

"Anyway, I'll see you guys at practice then. Nice meeting you Mike. I hope you're good, because we could use the help." With that he stood up and moved on.

"Don't worry about Ace" Roger said to Mike. "He's annoying, but after a while, you'll get to like him." Mike just nodded as both boys went back to their books. He was very glad he had met Roger, even under the circumstances, because otherwise it would have taken forever to make friends in this school.

Lunch ended and the boys went to their respective classes. After class, they met at the library. Mrs. Johnston gave Roger a funny look, but he sat down next to Mike and she left them alone. Having done more than half of their work during lunch, it only took them 20 minutes to finish. They scurried down the hallway and threw their books in their lockers. Roger followed Mike to the bike racks as the other boy unlocked his bike.

"I really need to get my bike fixed" Roger said in frustration. "I'll just trot alongside you."

"No need for that, Roger. Just hop on the seat and I'll tow you." Roger gave the bike and boy a doubtful look.

"Don't worry. It's not pretty, but it'll get us there."

With some misgivings, Roger climbed on the seat behind Mike. The other boy stood up on the pedals and kicked the bike into motion. Soon they were cruising down the street. Roger had his hands on Mike's waist for balance; he wasn't used to being towed. They reached to field intact and Roger led Mike over to Coach Browning.

"Roger, good to see you back," Coach Browning said as the two boys approached him, "We could have used you on Saturday."

"I know Coach, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, I've already forgotten about it. Taking care of things at home is more important. But I don't guess you'll be wanting to slide into any bases this week."

Roger flushed as he realized what the Coach meant. He didn't think it funny, but didn't want to be a poor sport either, so he gave the man a small grin.

"Coach, this is Mike Shaw," he said as he waved his hand towards his friend. He just moved into town. He used to play third base back in Chicago and I told him that you might be able to let him on the team."

The man looked Mike up and down and then nodded.

"All right. I can see you've got all the gear you need. I'll find a uniform in your size before next Saturday's game. You two get changed for practice, then. Great to have you on the team, Mike" He walked away making notes on his clipboard.

"Wow, that was easy," Mike said.

"Yea, Coach is casual about things like that. Told you so! Anyway, let's get changed."

They went into the locker room and switched from their school clothes to a casual set. Mike couldn't help but notice the red welts on Roger's legs as he striped down to his underwear.

"Wow, your Dad sure did a number on you," he remarked.

Roger wasn't very pleased with his friend for bringing it up, but ignoring him made him feel more uncomfortable than responding.

"Yea, I guess he did," Roger said. After a short pause he added, "Your Dad do you like that?"

"Well, not recently, but I've been keeping out of trouble lately. I mean, other know. A couple of years ago I used to get it bad a lot."

"Look, Mike, I don't think I said it, but, um, I'm sorry I stole your bike and I'm sorry you got spanked for it, O.K.?"

Now it was Mike's turn to feel uncomfortable.

"It's cool Roger," he said, "Don't worry about it anymore."

Having the air cleared on this subject helped both boys to relax. They went out of the field to practice. It didn't take Roger long to realize that his friend was not exaggerating his skills; Mike had lightning fast reflexes and was a good sprinter. If he had a weak point, it was throwing the ball, but that could be worked on. The other boys arrived in small groups and the coach gave them all a good workout. Roger introduced Mike to everyone, and he was careful not to leave the other boy alone among strangers too long. When practice ended, Mike was quite comfortable with the group. He offered Roger a tow home and this time the other boy accepted without hesitation.

The ride only took a few minutes and then they were in front of the Springer's garage.

"Look, Roger, if the only thing wrong with your bike is a flat, I can help you fix it," Mike offered.

"Really? That'd be great. I guess I should have learned how to do it myself, but it just seemed easier taking it to the repair shop."

"I have a repair kit at home. If you don't mind getting up a bit early, I'll come over tomorrow morning before school."

"All right, see you then," Roger said, as he turned to go inside. As he got inside and closed the door, his first instinct was to plunk himself down in front of the TV, but his father had other plans. He presented him with a list of chores he wanted done and told him that they must be done before supper. Roger suppressed a groan and got to work.


The next morning, Roger was at the breakfast table when Mike came to the door. Roger was not an early riser, more often than not his parents had to drag him out of bed, but he had made a point to be up on time. He was hoping to score some much needed points with his Dad and this seemed like a good way.

Mike declined Mrs. Springer's offer of breakfast and Roger joined him outside, munching on a piece of toast. Mike told him what tools he needed and Roger provided them from his Dad's tool set, after (at Mike's suggestion) asking permission. In no time, Mike had the rear wheel off and removed the inner tube. He showed Roger how to look for a leak and then patched it. Roger was a bit surprised at how easy it was. In no time at all his bike was fixed and ready to go.

"Thanks a lot Mike," he said with a cheerful grin as he tried it out, "This makes my life easier."

"No problem," Mike replied. He was pleased to be of service to his friend. It kind of amazed him that a boy wouldn't know how to fix a flat on his own bike, but made no comment. He was also impressed by Mr. Springer's collection of tools and told Roger so.

"He doesn't use them very much," Roger told him, "But he likes to have every tool known to man just in case he needs something."

"Boy, I could fix up my bike good with all this stuff," Mike observed.

"Well, if you want, you can come by Thursday afternoon. We don't have practice that day and I'm sure my Dad won't mind."

The two boys peddled off the school and just managed to beat the bell. During the week they became even closer. Mike was happy to have any friend at all and even though Roger's rather undisciplined attitude surprised him sometimes, he found he liked the golden haired boy very much. Roger in turn was used to superficial friendships; he'd never met someone as sincere as Mike and found himself sharing things he'd never said to anybody. They spent Thursday afternoon working on Mike's bike. Roger loaned him a few bucks to buy some spray paint, and so when they were done it looked as good as new. Saturday there was a baseball game scheduled and even though Mike wasn't starting yet, he was sure to get plenty of playing time.


The day was perfect for baseball. The sun was out, but there was still enough cool air in the Florida spring that it wasn't too hot. Both the Springers and the Shaws were there to watch their sons play. It was sure to be a good game; the team they were playing, the Orange Crush, were one of their main rivals. Roger started at center field and played well through the scoreless first three innings and then Mike came in to relieve the third baseman. It wasn't until the sixth inning that there was a score; Roger drove both Ace and Mike home when he hit a double. After that the game started to turn nasty. The Orange Crush had a reputation for playing a very physical game and it started to show. Twice their pitcher nailed batters with the ball and a runner spiked the second baseman while sliding into the base. But the score held and they reached the bottom of the ninth inning with their opponents trying desperately to score. They got a man on first and second, but they had two outs. When the batter hit a grounder towards the left field, Mike easily scooped it up and threw it to the second baseman to end the game. However, the runner at second was not happy about the way the game turned out and continued charging toward third, and in clear view of everybody, deliberately ran Mike down.

There was a roar of disapproval from the stands and the rest of the team and Coach Browning ran over to where Mike was laying on the ground, writhing in pain. He was trying very hard not to cry, but it was an uphill struggle. Coach made sure there was nothing broken and then helped him up. The other team left the field; not surprisingly there was no shaking of hands at the end of this game. The umpire made a point to warn the other coach about his teams' conduct, but that was all. Roger and Mike joined their parents who congratulated them on a game well played. After that, the whole team went to Pizza Hut for an after game meal.

Over pizza, Roger's mind began to brew. He was not the sort of boy to let things slide. The other team's poor sportsmanship had pissed him off, and that big lout running down Mike had been the final straw. He wanted revenge and wouldn't be happy until he got it. He asked Mike to come over to his house tomorrow morning and the other boy agreed.


The next morning when Mike pulled up, he was surprised to find Roger on his own bike. At the other boy's urging, they rode off toward the south side of the city. Mike had no idea where they were going; he still was trying to figure out the layout of the city, but he trusted Roger to take him somewhere interesting. They rode for over half an hour and then arrived at a ballfield much like their own.

"This is the Orange Crush's home field," Roger informed him.

"What are we doing here?" Mike asked.

"Do you want revenge on those suckers for the way they played and on that shithead who knocked you down?"

Mike thought about it. Revenge wasn't one of his big things, but being knocked down like that had quite upset him. On the other hand, whatever Roger had in mind was surely something that they could get in trouble for. But what made up his mind was the realization that Roger was doing this because of him; after all, it wasn't Roger who had been knocked down. If his friend thought enough of him to defend his honor, how could he not go along?

"Whatever you have in mind, let's do it," Mike said with a grin.

Hiding their bikes, they climbed over the fence and approached the building. Roger found a window he could force and they made their way inside.

"All right," Roger said as they reached the locker room, "This is our target." Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out two cans of spray paint and handed one to Mike. The dark haired boy sort of looked at the can as Roger started to spray rude words and slogans on the wall. Throwing caution to the wind, Mike joined him. After writing a number of nasty things, they started throwing open the lockers and spilling liquid soap on the uniforms. For a finishing touch, Roger got a fire extinguisher and spewed foam everywhere. They were heading back to the window when they spotted a security guard. The two boys ran and Roger was able to scramble out the window, but Mike found himself caught by the burly man. He expected Roger to keep running and was surprised when the other boy came back.

"So, you little vandals," the security guard said, "Been up to no good, have you?"

Mike was too scared to say anything and Roger didn't know what to say. The man dragged them down to a small office and sat them down.

"Now we can do this two ways," he told them, "I can call the cops or I can call your parents. Your choice."

The two boys looked at each other. Being arrested would make this more of a disaster than it was already. Roger gave the man his father's name and number.

"Hello. Mr. Springer?" he said into the phone, "I'm the security guard here at Andrew Field on Colonial Drive and I have two boys here who just vandalized the place. One of them claims to be your son and I'd rather not involve the police in this. Could you come down and pick them up and discuss the damages?"

There was a bit more discussion and the guard gave the address and then handed the phone to Roger.

"He wants to talk to you," he said. Somewhat reluctantly, Roger took the phone.

"Hi, Dad," he said.

"Don't you 'Hi, Dad' me, young man. Is Mike there with you?"

"Yea, he is."

"I'm going to go get his father and we'll both be coming over. I hope you know how much trouble you're in."

Roger didn't know what to say to that and so the line just hummed for a few moments.

"I'm too angry right now to figure out what all your punishment will be, but I can assure you that you are going to be severely spanked and I imagine so will Mike."

Mr. Springer hung up the phone and Roger handed it back to the guard. The man got up and locked them in the office while he walked around the grounds.

"What did he say?" Mike asked.

"He said that among other things I'm going to be spanked. He also said that he's going to get your Dad and figured that you would get spanked, too."

"I'm sure he's right about that," Mike said in a low voice. For a few minutes there was silence as both boys contemplated their impending doom. Neither of them had thought that this escapade might end up with a spanking. Roger hadn't expected to get caught and Mike just hadn't thought at all. Mike knew how angry his father would be and guessed this would be the worst spanking he had ever gotten. He hoped he wouldn't be made to quit the team. Trying to take his mind off it, he brought up something else.

"Why did you come back?" he suddenly asked Roger. The other boy looked at him in a slightly startled way.

"Well, because you got caught," he said.

"But you could have still gotten away. I wouldn't have told on you."

"I wouldn't just leave you. What kind of a friend would I be if I did that? Especially since I got you into this."

"Well, thanks for coming back," Mike said after a short pause.

"It's O.K.." Roger replied, " But I guess we're in real trouble."

"Yea, we are."

While they waited they discussed the various things they had gotten in trouble for in their lives. Both agreed that this was the worst thing they'd ever been caught doing. It was a morbid conversation, but Roger asked Mike how hard his father usually spanked him for different infractions, trying to get an idea of what was in store for them. All too soon, hey saw their fathers approaching through the small window. The guard met them and led them to the office.

"I can assure you," Mr. Shaw was saying, "The boys will be back to clean up the mess they've made."

"No, don't bother," the guard said, "That will just complicate things. There was no permanent damage and I'm sure you will take care of things properly. Just don't let me catch them here again."

"Oh, I'm sure you won't," Mr. Shaw said in a low voice that was filled with anger. He glared at Mike and the boy withered under his stare.

"Come along, you two," Mr. Springer said, "We have some business to take care of."

The two boys silently got up and left. Neither of the men were saying anything and this made them even more nervous.

"Where are your bikes?" Mr. Springer asked curtly as they got outside.

"Over there by the fence," Roger told him.

"Go get them and put them in the trunk," his father ordered. They got them and carefully loaded them into Mr. Springer's car and then climbed into the back seat. Mr. Springer was driving and Mr. Shaw was in the passenger seat.

"You boys have anything you want to say?" Mr. Springer said as he looked into the rear view mirror.

"I wanted to get back at those guys for the way they played," Roger mumbled. "It didn't seem fair that they could get away with it."

"I'm sure you know that that's a lousy excuse. The fact that you won the game wasn't enough for you?"

"No," Roger muttered.

"Say 'No, Sir!', boy," Mr. Springer angrily snapped. "I'm tired of your mouth. You are in serious trouble and you'd better act like it!"

Roger fell silent, unnerved by his dad's outburst. Then Mr. Shaw turned around and started in on Mike.

"And here I thought you were acting so well since we moved," he said. "Instead you pull the biggest stunt of your life. I don't care if you were influenced, you still did it."

Mike didn't care at all for this implied criticism of Roger and for the first time in his life he snapped back at his father.

"I wasn't influenced!" he said, "Don't you go trying to blame it on Roger. I was the one who got knocked down, remember?"

Mr. Shaw was taken back by his son's outburst, and didn't at all care for the tone. He had been thinking the other boy was a bad influence, but perhaps he'd better not say it. Roger's father was there after all.

"Very well," he said, "You'll get your fair share of the punishment, don't worry. And you'll get a little extra for that little outburst. Don't you ever take that tone of voice with me again!"

Mike fell silent, cowed by his Dad, but he didn't regret standing up for his friend. His dad had no right to say something like that.

"We talked things over on the way over here to pick you up," Mr. Springer said. "We are going to take you both over to Mike's house. There you will both receive a very hard spanking. After that, you will stand in the corner for the rest of the afternoon. Mr. Shaw felt that you both should be made to quit Little League, but I talked him out of that. Instead, every free moment you have for the next two weeks will be taken up with chores and other assignments that we will lay out for you."

While Mike was relieved to know he could still be on the team, as they got closer to his house, his dread grew. His stomach felt sick and he had to hold his hands together to keep them from trembling. Neither he or Roger looked at each other. All too soon, they were there and getting out of the car.

"Don't bother with your bikes," Mr. Springer said, "You can worry about them later."

Everyone went inside. Roger was more than a little upset to find Mrs. Shaw was home. On top of everything else, he was going to get spanked in front of a lady who he had only met once or twice. Mr. Shaw quickly filled his wife in on the details and she gave the two boys a disapproving frown. Fortunately, she stayed behind as the two boys were led into the living room

"You two take off your clothes," Mr. Shaw said as he went up to his room to get the razor strop.

Mike quickly complied. He was a little embarrassed at being naked in front or Mr. Springer, but the man had already seen him with his pants off and he knew better than to cross his father any more. Roger was slower. He was in someone else's home after all, and he wasn't used to this.

"Hurry up, Roger," Mr. Springer said. "If you aren't naked when Mr. Shaw gets down here, you'll get more than you've already earned."

Roger could hear Mr. Shaw returning, so he fairly tore the rest of his clothes off. Uncertainly, he stood there next to Mike hoping like mad that Mrs. Springer wouldn't come in and see him naked. He sensed that it would only annoy his father further if he covered himself with his hands and so he left them at his sides. He shivered as he caught sight of the thick leather strop in Mr. Shaw's hand.

"All right then, who's first?" Mr. Shaw asked.

"Regardless of what Mike said, I'm sure this was Roger's idea," Mr. Springer said, "Let Mike go first and let Roger have the extra time to anticipate his punishment."

"Fine," Mr. Shaw said, "Mike, what are you waiting for? Grab hold of the chair and bend over."

Mike got into position. He was hoping that it wouldn't be too bad, but he knew it would be.

"Mike, I can't tell you how disappointed I am," his father lectured him, "What you did was a crime. No matter how provoked you were, that was a serious thing you did. You could have been arrested and had to go to court. You were lucky the security guard let you off so lightly, but you're going to pay extra for it, now. I suggest you hold on tight, because you are really going to get it."

Mike tightened his grip until his knuckles were almost white as he prepared himself for the first blow.

CRRAAACK! went the first lick as the leather strap tore across Mike's bare bottom. He howled in pain. His dad wasn't holding anything back, CRRAAACK!!

Roger watched in horrid fascination as Mr. Shaw strapped his son's backside. He'd never witnessed anything like this, and even though he had been the recipient of a similar spanking last week, he'd never given a thought to what it looked like. He could see the angry blush of hot blood where the strap landed. Mike's pale white skin was rapidly turning into a fiery red. He was yelping and crying and Roger tried to feel sorry for his friend, but most of his mind was occupied by the thought that he was going to be next.

Mike was teetering on the edge of loosing his self control. He was pleading to his Dad for it to be over, but this was having no effect. Again and again the strap went CRRAAACK across his burning rear and thighs. At last he noticed that it had stopped.

"I hope you remember this for a long time, Mike," his father was saying, "I don't ever want to hear about you doing anything like this again. Go and stand in the corner and keep your hands to your sides. Think about the pain for as long as it lasts and let it teach you a lesson."

He turned toward Mr. Springer and handed him the razor strop.

"Your turn," he said.

"All right, Roger. You know the drill. Get over that chair."

This was the moment that Roger had been dreading. The time before, he had had no idea of how bad a spanking would be. Now he did, and furthermore, he knew that it was going to be far worse this time than last.

"Please, not to hard, Dad," he begged as he bent over the chair.

"You're going to be spanked just as hard as Mike, if not harder, boy," Mr. Springer said. "I expected that I would have to deal with some backsliding from you, but I didn't expect that you would do something as harebrained and serious as this. Breaking and Entering and Vandalism are major crimes and I'm going to see to it that you that you you'll never even think of doing something like this again. Get ready, because this is going to hurt."

Roger closed his eyes and tightened his muscles. He heard his father draw his arm back and then heard the strap whistle on its way down, CRRAAACK!

His eyes flew open as he cried out in pain. It was worse than he remembered, CRRAAACK! CRRAAACK! CRRAAACK!!

The strap dug deeply into the bare skin of his bottom. He threw his head back and yelped with each new blow, CRRAAACK!! CRRAAACK!! CRRAAACK!! CRRAAACK!!!

By now the entire area of his bottom and upper thighs had been hit at least once. As the strap landed on already welted areas, the pain doubled and redoubled. Tears of pain and regret flowed from his eyes like twin rivers. Over and over, his father spanked him, each time Roger hoped for the end but again the strap would come stinging down on his battered cheeks. Twice he nearly let go of the chair; the only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that Mike had been able to take it. Roger wanted to be able to take it too; plus he knew his Dad would likely give him extra.

When the blows stopped, Roger was about to get up, but his father's voice stopped him.

"Roger, I'm sorry to have to do this to you, but I'm convinced it's necessary. I'm going to finish now. When I'm done, you will go and join Mike in the other corner. You will not rub your behind and you will not speak. You will stand there until I tell you to move, and that will not be for some time."

Again Mr. Springer drew back and the crying boy gritted his teeth.







At last it was over. With weak legs, Roger stood up. His eyesight was blurry from tears and he didn't know if he was allowed to wipe them or not, so he didn't. He shuffled over to the corner, trying not to move his legs too much. Each step sent new daggers of pain through his buttocks. Reaching the sanctuary of the corner, he pressed himself up against the wall and tried not to think about the horrible pain. He heard the two adults leave the room, but it was several more minutes before he could get himself under any kind of control and stop crying. It wasn't wise, but he could hear that his dad and Mr. Shaw were in the back yard, so he risked a glance toward Mike.

The other boy was looking back at him. They each stared at the other boy's blazing buns and then looked up. Mike gave Roger a small grin, and Roger returned it. They heard their father's returning and quickly shoved their faces back into the corners.

They were made to stand that way for four hours. When the sun began to sink, they were allowed to get dressed. Mr. Shaw put Mike to work right away and Mr. Springer took his son right home and did the same. The two boys met up at school and commiserated in the cafeteria. Neither of them was sitting all that comfortably. Ace came over and asked them if they knew who trashed the Orange Crushes' locker room, but both of them feigned ignorance. They had a hard two weeks trying to keep their fathers happy, but it was easier than it might have been because they were in it together. Neither of them said it, but they preferred having company when they were spanked. It made them feel like brothers and both boys had always wanted a brother.

The days passed and things went back to normal. It wasn't the last time they were spanked, not even the last time they were spanked together.. But having Mike around caused Roger to pull his socks up and become more respectable. Their parents became friends too, even if they were never as close as the boys. Mr. Shaw's job worked out well and they never had to move again. The boys never forgot that spanking and they never got in as much trouble again -- well, almost never! Roger and Mike remained best friends all through High School and when they graduated, they attended the same university -- where they pledged Beta Alpha Sigma, but that's another story.

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