Hot Daddies

There’s been a lot going on here in the backwoods of Wisconsin. As you may have heard, this summer Eric and I finally moved into a new place—together.

I know, I know, after five years, it’s about damn time. I admit that most of the holding out was my own doing. It’s not just the age thing, though with me being twenty years older, sometimes I feel like his dad even when I’m not being his Dad, if you know what I mean. I swear, some days he’s twenty-six going on thirteen. But we’ve worked out the age difference part pretty well.

Eric’s just so damned irresponsible with his finances. He makes enough. In case you don’t remember, he’s got a college degree. He does computer programming for a company in town. He just doesn’t know how to manage his money. Half the time he doesn’t record his debits, though I paddle his butt every time an overdraft notice comes in. It really pisses me off. I’ve never bounced a check in my life. Personally, I think that’s because when I was a kid, I got turned over my pop’s knee whenever I screwed up. Eric had never been disciplined a day in his life until he met me.

The week after we moved out here, Eric’s car died and he needed another one to get back and forth to work. His credit is so bad that the bank wouldn’t finance him. Can’t say as I blame them. When I finally agreed to cosign for the loan, I made it clear it was one thing for him to screw up his own credit, but he was not going to mess with mine. I was real blunt about it. I told him if he was so much as one day late on a payment, just one day, I’d take a switch to him. He agreed. I thought this time he’d manage to be responsible. After five years together, I suppose I should have known better.

Things went along pretty well for a couple of months. The new place is everything we’ve always wanted: out in the country, the upstairs half of an old farmhouse; no neighbors to speak of, except for the Pulaskis, a retired couple—our landlords—who live downstairs. We’ll be watching the place for them in the winter while they’re in Florida. Hell, there’s even room for my vegetable garden. I have to admit, I’ve been feeling pretty damned domestic.

Then last Friday afternoon, Eric pulled into the driveway just as I was getting out of my car. Usually he gets home a half hour or so after me, so I figured something was up. He sounded real nonchalant when we walked in the door. That made me suspicious, especially after he hurried up the driveway ahead of me so he’d be the one getting the mail.

I pretended to be busy while he sorted through the day’s delivery, mostly junk, but out of the corner of my eye I saw one of those yellow Insufficient Funds envelopes I’d learned to recognize from his earlier exploits. Eric paled and put the envelope in his pocket, but he didn’t say anything, just went back to the bedroom to get out of his work clothes. I could feel myself starting to get hot. I knew his car payment had been due that week, but I decided to wait and see what he’d do. I’d changed and was reheating the spaghetti sauce for dinner when Eric finally came back into the kitchen. He leaned up against the counter next to me.

“Uh, Steve?” He was looking really nervous and tried to cover it by fiddling with the salt shaker. “Um, I had a little problem with the bank today. Nothing serious,” he said quickly, like he was trying to reassure me. “I took care of it already. But I figured I’d better tell you. You’re busy. We can talk about it later.”

Eric was nodding a lot as he talked. As he finished he turned like he was going to walk back into the other room. He froze in midstep when I turned the sauce off and said, “I’m not busy at all. What’s up?”

I think he recognized the chill in my voice. I was trying to keep my temper under control, even though I was relieved he was being man enough to admit having screwed up. Honesty is important to me, especially now that we have a home life together. But damn, I was mad at that boy. The week before he’d bought another fancy new video game. I was willing to bet money he hadn’t recorded the transaction, at least until it was too late.

Eric hemmed and hawed around the topic, but he finally confessed to writing a bad check for the car payment because—you guessed it—he hadn’t recorded the other debit and a couple more besides. He’d suddenly remembered that morning, but by then it was too late.

“I transferred the money from savings though,” he said, still nodding vigorously. “The bank said the payment is credited as of today, so it’s all taken care of. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Then there’s something else we need to take care of,” I said sternly. “What did I tell you would happen if you were late?”

“Now Steve, th-there’s no cause to be hasty,” he stammered. His eyes were big as an owl’s. I could tell he was nervous, but I wasn’t in the mood to put up with any of his guff. Times like this, I really wish his father had done his job.

“I’m not being hasty, boy,” I said. “I’m angry. And you’re going to get what’s coming to you. Go downstairs and get a switch from the poplar tree.”

“Yes, it is.” I said coldly. “One that you purchased using my credit, and now I’ve got a late payment on my record. I warned you, Eric. I told you what I’d do if this happened, but you didn’t pay one lick of attention. Now you go downstairs and get a switch, or so help me, boy, if I have get it myself, I’ll break it over your butt!”

He argued a bit more, a one-sided conversation that I didn’t bother to join in. When I’d finally had enough and started for the door, Eric stormed past me and stomped off down the stairs, muttering under his breath. But he went. You see, it isn’t just a matter of getting a switch. The poplar tree belongs to our landlords. He had to ask permission to cut it.

I stood out on the balcony and listened to him knocking at their door. Old man Pulaski answered. He’s almost deaf so you really have to yell when you’re talking to him, and most of the time he doesn’t bother to wear his hearing aid. That’s one of the things we really liked about the house: lots of privacy.

Eric was trying to be quiet, mumbling about wanting to cut a branch from the tree. Finally, I got tired of Mr. P’s “huhs?” and “whats?” as Eric danced around the topic. I leaned over the balcony and hollered, “Eric wants to cut a switch from your poplar tree because he needs to get his ass whipped.”

Suddenly a cane swung out and whapped Eric on the thigh. “It sure as hell is serious, boy! You young fellas need to learn to be responsible.”

“Ouch!” Eric yelped, jumping back and rubbing his thigh. He frowned up at me even harder, like it was my fault he’d gotten hit.

He nodded his approval. “Good for you. That poplar tree helped me raise five boys and they all turned out just fine. I think a whipping is just what this young pup needs.”

Mr. Pulaski turned around and swatted Eric again with his cane. “You come with me. I’ll help you pick out a good switch, boy, one that’ll get the job done proper so you’re not out here cutting another one next week.”

If I hadn’t still been so mad, I would have burst out laughing at the look on Eric’s face. Mr. Pulaski took out his pocketknife and hobbled over to the tree, telling Eric exactly which branch to cut and where. Eric sure didn’t look very happy. He cut a long, sturdy switch, probably a good deal thicker than he would have chosen on his own and full of twiggy branches. When Mr. Pulaski took it from him and swung it once against Eric’s thigh to test it, Eric yelped and jumped back a good three feet. The look of surprise on his face let me know that he was just figuring out how much that switch was going to sting.

Mr. Pulaski shoved the switch back into Eric’s hands and turned him toward the steps, giving him a running commentary on how lucky he was to have someone who cared enough about him to whip him when he needed it. The look on Eric’s face told me he didn’t share the old man’s opinion. He was muttering under his breath again as he started up the stairs.

Mr. Pulaski was almost to his own porch when he looked up at me and said, “Steve, since I’m letting you use one of my switches, you be sure you do it right. A whuppin’ over clothes never did anybody a lick of good. You make him take down his pants and you whip his ass bare. You hear me?” He pointed his cane up at me. “I’m gonna put my hearing aid in and I expect to be able to hear that switch doing its job. If that boy ain’t yelling his head off, you’re not doing it right!”

“Now wait a minute, Steve,” Eric protested as he finished climbing the stairs. I jerked my head at him and he reluctantly walked in the door. “You’re not really going to do what he said, are you?” He was shaking his head, trying to laugh it off. “Damn. He really is a crazy old coot.”

“No, Eric. I’m not going to make you take your pants down,” I snapped. He stopped dead in his tracks at the tone of my voice. I think he was finally realizing just how pissed off I was. “I’m going to make you take your pants off. In fact, you’re going to take everything off. Do it, now!”

As I spoke, I jerked one of the kitchen chairs over into the living room, right into the open space by the screen door where the sound would carry out and down the stairs.

“Now wait a minute!” Eric was trying to sound angry though he sounded more scared than anything. His hands were shaking as I yanked the switch from them.

For a moment we stood, staring each other down. Then I said very quietly, “After all the money problems you’ve had, you know I had real reservations about giving you another chance, especially one that affected my credit history. But as part of my commitment to our home life, I agreed to cosign that loan for you. You agreed to make the payments on time and to take the consequences if you made a payment late. Are you going back on your word to me now?”

Eric looked at me, shifting from foot to foot like he was trying to find some sort of magic answer to pull out of the air. We both knew there was a lot at stake between us. Finally he blew out a long breath and looked away, shaking his head. “No, sir. I’m not going back on my word. I screwed up. I’ll take the whipping.”

He looked back at me and smiled weakly. “I’m just a little nervous, okay? I mean, I’ve never been whipped before, and that thing looks like it’ll really sting!” As he spoke, he unconsciously rubbed the spot on his thigh where Mr. Pulaski had swatted him.

I have to admit, I was relieved. Eric really is a good kid, in spite of how mad he makes me sometimes. I settled down to business.

“Eric,” I said as I took him firmly by the shoulder and steered him to the chair, “this switch isn’t just going to sting. It’s going to burn pure fire over every inch of your bare butt!” He looked up at me, startled. His eyes got even bigger as I stepped back and motioned for him to get ready. “By the time I’m done with you, you’re going to be yelling so loudly Mr. Pulaski will probably be able to hear you without his hearing aid, and you’ll be ready to beg that bank to take your payments early so that you never have to go through this again. Now strip! And I mean everything off but your socks, boy! Move it!”

Eric’s hands were shaking and he was as pale as I’ve ever seen him, but he nodded and started unbuttoning his fly. As I watched, he shoved his jeans down over his hips, kicked off his shoes and worked his jeans over his feet. A minute later, his crisp white jockeys and his T-shirt were also folded in a neat pile on the kitchen table. He stood shivering as I finished peeling the excess leaves off the switch.

He looked really nervous, but I have to give him credit. Scared as he was, Eric followed my directions, and a minute later, he was in position, his butt in the air and his privates pulled up out of the way so I had a clear shot at his ass.

I did take a minute to admire the view. Eric has a gorgeous ass, full and cream-colored and naturally as smooth as a baby’s behind. But I was determined not to let my interest in his assets distract me. Eric was depending on me to give him the discipline he needed. I was determined to paint his pretty little butt with that switch until he’d learned his lesson.

He suddenly lifted his head up and looked back over his shoulder at me, licking his lips as he stammered out, “Uh, Steve? How m-many are you going to give me?”

I wasn’t going to play that game. “As many as you need,” I said firmly, stepping into position in back of him. “That’ll sure as hell be long after Mr. Pulaski gets tired of hearing you howling.”

With that, I drew back my arm and swung. The branch hissed through the air, landing against that creamy skin with the distinctive swish crack! of a really good switch. I felt the vibration travel up my arm at the contact.

Eric gasped. A second later, a red line appeared on that pale skin and the secondary burn settled in. He let out a startled, “Yeowch!” and straightened up fast, grabbing his butt with both hands.

I nodded my agreement. “You’re damn right it did. And it’s going to hurt a whole lot more before I’m done. Get back into position, unless you need me to tie you down.”

Eric stood there for the longest time, just looking at me. Then he took a deep shaky breath and said, “No, sir. You don’t need to tie me. I’ll h-hold still.”

With that, he took another deep breath, tucked up his privates again, and bent back over the chair. I was really proud of that boy. This time, he knew what was coming, and he was still man enough to take his punishment.

I waited between strokes, letting the first sharp burn then the blaze of the after sting sear into his butt, so that he felt the full effect of each one.

“Oh, please, Steve, please no more!” he cried out after the fourth stroke , twisting against the chair as he stiffened up onto his toes, but he didn’t try to get up again. “Damn, that hurts!”

I could hear the tears starting in his voice. But I was determined to make enough of an impression on him that I wouldn’t have to whip him like that ever again.

“You will be responsible!” I snapped. “Do you hear me, Eric?” Swish crack! “You will make your car payments on time,” Swish crack!! “And you will be responsible with your finances!” Swish crack!!!

Each stroke raised a long, dark welt, the edges deeply defined and surrounded by a spiderweb of thin pink lines from the outer twigs. Eric howled with each stroke, his entire butt quickly flushing bright red as I blistered him from the top of his firm young ass to the tender skin where his thighs met his lower cheeks.

Eric was hollering at the top of his lungs by then, pleading he’d had enough and promising he’d never do it again. He was being so loud I’d be surprised if Mr. Pulaski didn’t have to turn his hearing aid off. I knew how much that switch burned. Like I said, my pop made sure I got it when I needed it. But I still whipped that boy’s butt at least a dozen times more. By the time I was done, every inch of Eric’s backside glowed beet-red and looked like it was laced with bee stings. Eric was bawling his eyes out. But he really needed that whipping, and I damn well gave it to him.

Eric didn’t even try to put his clothes on the rest of that night. He walked around naked, snuffling every once in a while and needing lots of hugs and reassurances of my affection. And when he went to bed right after dinner, I jerked him off while I rubbed some cream into his sore, hot butt and told him the matter was over, so he understood the discipline is part of how much I love him.

The next day, Eric apologized again, this time sincerely, for the late payment. He sealed the deal with a blow job that damn near knocked me flat. Monday morning, he set up an automatic payroll deduction to take care of his car payment, though he said he plans to check it each month, just in case. Not the way I do things, but he finally appears to be learning to manage his finances in a way that works for him.

Mr. Pulaski, well, he’s given us his permanent permission to cut as many switches as we need for me to keep my boy in line. Eric even thanked him, though he stood back out of the way of that cane when he did it. But they were both smiling. Like I said, Eric’s a good kid, he just needs his Dad to make sure he doesn’t step out of line.