A New Spanking Implement

A New Spanking Implement A New Spanking Implement

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Another public spanking, with a brand new implement.

Summary

Another public spanking, with a brand new implement.

Content

Submitted: July 04, 2016

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Content

Submitted: July 04, 2016

A A A

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Last Saturday started out nice, relaxing, and unremarkable—me and Daddy spent the morning running errands, had lunch, and then went out for a walk. Daddy had promised me that when we got home we could have a bath together, which he knew I loved, so I was in a bit of a hurry on the walk home . . . maybe too much of a hurry, as it turned out.

"Don't run too far ahead," Daddy called after me, as I rounded the corner almost a block in front of him.

I turned to nod and grin back at him, before running a little farther ahead, out of his sight. I wasn't worried. I had been behaving myself really well lately, so much that I hadn't even had a spanking in over two weeks.

I stopped and waited for Daddy to catch up before running another block ahead, and rounding another corner—but what I saw there made me stop again, with an impatient groan.

Construction! We hadn't taken this route home in a week or so, and now the street and sidewalk were all torn up—we'd have to go around it. It would only add another ten minutes or so to the walk home, but I was looking forward to our bath and didn't want to wait.

I walked over to the edge of the construction zone and looked down at the small, black and white sign propped up on a sawhorse. 'Detour', it said, with an arrow pointing off to the left, down another street. I looked up at the construction workers; they were all busy off to one side, digging up the street. The rest of the construction zone was mostly clear, and if it weren't for this stupid sign, I could just walk right through and they would probably never even notice.

I glanced over my shoulder, hesitated a moment, then turned the sign around so the arrow was pointing straight into the construction zone. No one would ever know the difference.

Daddy rounded the corner a second later, and I tugged at his sleeve before charging on forward. "Come on, Daddy, there's a detour through here!"

He started to say something, but I was already off.

I made it about halfway down the torn-up sidewalk, dodging potholes and loose equipment, before a shout stopped me: "Hey, you! Where are you going? This is a construction zone!"

I turned to see the half-dozen construction workers all looking at me, and their foreman striding towards me. Uh-oh.

"Uh," I started to say, "the sign—"

"Hey," another worker interrupted, "the sign's been moved!"

For an instant I thought I might be able to pass it off as a misunderstanding, except that just then, Daddy caught up to me and grabbed my arm. "Did you move that sign?" he asked.

"Uh." I swallowed, and looked down at the ground. How did he always know?

I started to shake my head 'no', then thought better of it; Daddy also always knows when I'm lying, and I knew that whatever punishment I got would be worse if I tried it now. I scuffed my shoes on the ground, then finally, nodded. "Yes," I mumbled.

The foreman scowled at me, shaking his head disapprovingly. He was as big as Daddy and had a moustache, sprinkled with just a bit of grey, that curled forbiddingly around the corners of his mouth—even though I knew Daddy was angry with me, I still thought about trying to hide behind him.

But Daddy had already turned away and was speaking to the foreman: "I'm really sorry about this, sir," he was saying. "I know you're trying to work here, and don't need this kind of interruption."

"Damn straight," the foreman replied, with a bit of a growl. "I've got heavy equipment and my crew to keep in order, and the last thing I need is some young idiot running through and getting himself hurt."

"I was being careful—" I started to say, then instantly shut up as Daddy turned to give me a look. I went back to staring at the ground.

"Well, sir," Daddy continued, turning back to the foreman, "I can assure you it won't happen again."

"Oh, right." The foreman snorted impatiently. "I'll believe that when I see it—this younger generation needs discipline, that's what, and there just isn't anyone giving it to them."

"Actually, that exactly what I intend to do." Daddy took me by the arm again and pulled me closer. "I'm going to give this naughty boy a good, hard spanking this very minute. Would you like to watch, to see that it's severe enough?"

"Daddy!" My eyes had gone wide with horror, and I tried pulling away. "No, no, we're almost home, I promise I'll be good, and you can do whatever you want then, but don't spank me here, please . . ."

"Hmm," the foreman said, stroking his moustache. "I see what you mean—a good hiding might be just what this young man needs."

"No!" I shrieked, trying—and failing—to escape from Daddy's firm hold.

"Yes," Daddy said, still speaking to the foreman. "He's definitely overdue for a barebottom spanking. Where would you like me to do it?"

"Well . . ." The foreman, still stroking his moustache, glanced over at the other workemen, who had been watching all this with interest. "I tell you what—we were just about to go on our lunch break, over on that little hillside with the picnic bench and all. Why don't you join us over there?"

"I'd be glad to."

I knew I was doomed by this point, so I followed along without fighting as Daddy marched me over to the grassy slope that the foreman had pointed out. Within a few minutes, all the other construction workers were seated at the picnic table with their lunches, and Daddy was sitting on a spare toolbox with me over his knee. He unceremoniously pulled my pants down and began spanking me.

I looked at the ground and tried not to squirm too much; maybe if I held still it would be just a short reminder spanking, and I could get the rest of my punishment at home. It didn't seem likely, though—Daddy was spanking me really hard, and my bottom was already starting to turn bright red and hot. I could tell I wasn't going to get off easy.

But suddenly, the spanking stopped. I started to breathe a sigh of relief . . . until Daddy called the foreman over.

"What do you think, sir?" Daddy asked, patting my sore, spanked bottom. "Do you think I'm spanking him hard enough?"

"Hmm . . ." The foreman walked a little closer, and leaned down to inspect my reddened cheeks. I felt myself flush with embarrassment, and kept looking at the ground.

"Well," the foreman said after a moment, "it's a good start. But for a boy as naughty as you've got there, I wouldn't just use my hand."

"Yes, I agree. What sort of implement would you recommend using?"

"Well." The foreman looked around the construction site, stroking his moustache. He abruptly walked away, but was back in a few seconds—holding the detour sign that I had moved.

"I think the punishment should fit the crime," he went on, wrapping one giant hand around the sign and tapping his thigh with it. "And it would really drive the lesson home if this boy was spanked with the very thing he used to misbehave." He patted the stiff piece of metal. "Plus, this sign would make a very good paddle."

I had been listening to all this in horror, and really, really hoped Daddy would say no—the sign was so big! And to be spanked with it, in front of all the workers, would be so embarrassing . . .

“Well—” Daddy began, but I interrupted:

“No!” I said, squirming more now than when he had been actually spanking me. “No, please don't spank me with the sign! I don't want—”

Daddy silenced me with one more hard spank, then abruptly lifted me to my feet. I stood there for a moment with my pants pulled down to my ankles, and my cock and bare bottom on display, before quickly reaching down to cover myself. By this point, all the workers had pushed their lunches aside entirely and were just sitting there watching.

“I think you're right,” Daddy was saying to the foreman now. “My naughty boy definitely needs a long, hard spanking with that sign. But you're the one that he inconvenienced the most—how would you like to do the honours?”

The foreman grinned. “Well! I'd be glad to.”

I was already shaking my head no, and trying to back away. “No! No, Daddy, I don't want to—”

“Then you should have thought of that before misbehaving in public,” Daddy interrupted sternly, taking hold of my arm again. “Bad little boys get punished, and they don't get a say in what that punishment is. Your bare bottom is going to be soundly paddled, and if you even think of trying to fight it, I'll take you back to this same spot and spank you here every day for a week. Understand?”

I gulped. “Yes, Daddy.”

The foreman sat down on the toolbox then, and I, slowly and blushing very red, bent over his lap. He adjusted me forward so that my bare bottom was high in the air, waiting helplessly to be spanked. He rested the sign on my already warm cheeks, the cool metal soothing against my reddened skin . . . then he lifted the sign and brought it down in a hard, sharp spank that covered both cheeks at once.

I yelped, and kicked out of reflex.

“Squirming already?” the foreman murmured, as he lifted the sign again. “Well, we'll just have to see how you're doing when I've really hit my stride.”

He brought the sign down again, and I yelped again, before clenching my teeth in preparation for the next spank—the sign stung like crazy, and after just a few swats, my bottom already felt like it was on fire.

It didn't help that all the other workers had gathered around to watch me getting my spanking. Daddy was right there too, nodding approvingly.

“That sign was a good idea,” he said to the foreman, over my yelping and squirming. “I might have to get one to keep around the house.”

“We might have a spare one I could give you,” the foreman replied, spanking away. “You'd probably get more use out of it than we do.”

“Mm-hm.”

The hard, fast spanks kept on coming, and I was bucking my hips forward in a futile attempt to avoid them. The foreman kept having to adjust me on his lap so that I wouldn't fall off, and after a minute or so of this, he spread his legs apart a bit to provide more surface space. I bucked forward again—and my cock slipped in between his legs.

I was so preoccupied with getting my bottom lit on fire that I barely noticed where my cock was. Except that as the spanking continued . . . and I kept bucking forward with every swat . . . I was rubbing against the rough fabric of his work trousers . . . and I realised that even this painful, public spanking was getting me really turned on.

I felt my face turn red as I was very aware of all the workmen standing around watching me, and I tried to stop moving my hips. But each spank seemed to propel me forward, and I just couldn't stop. The spanks kept coming faster and faster, and I was bucking faster and faster, and it just felt so good . . .

I just didn't care anymore. I kept moving my hips up and down, and a moan escaped my lips . . . I knew everyone was watching, I knew they could all see me fucking the foreman's thighs with my ass in the air, getting soundly spanked . . . but I didn't care. It felt so good.

Then all of a sudden it stopped. I was breathing heavily, red-faced and red-bottomed, but I realised Daddy was there, telling the foreman that was enough for now, and he'd finish dealing with me himself. He lifted me up and I was left standing there, with my hard cock on display.

The foreman stood and handed the sign over to Daddy. Daddy sat down on the toolbox then, and pulled me over his lap. He brought the sign up and spanked me once, hard.

Then he stopped and rubbed my sore, burning cheeks.

“Do you realise what a bad boy you've been today?” he asked.

“Yes, Daddy,” I mumbled, already starting to move my hips again.

He spanked me again, then reached around and began stroking my cock with his hand. I moaned.

“Do you know what a spectacle you're making of yourself?” he asked, spanking me once more.

“Yes, Daddy.” I bucked my hips, thrusting into his hand.

“I think I haven't been spanking you enough lately.” He emphasised each word with another spank. “I'll have to remedy that.”

“Yes, Daddy . . . oo-oohh . . .

“When we get home,” he continued, spanking and stroking away, “we're going to have our bath as I promised, but then you're going right back over my lap for a long, slow hand spanking, to remind you of what happens to bad boys who can't behave.”

“Y-Yes, Daddy . . .” I moaned again, thrusting in time with the spanks.

“And then I'm going to put you straight to bed with a sore, spanked bottom to think about. Maybe then you'll behave. But if I hear so much as one word of complaint, then you're getting another spanking first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Ooh . . . Yes . . . Daddy . . .”

“And it'll be out in public too. If you even think about misbehaving, I'll march you right outside to the street corner, and spank your naughty bottom in front of anyone who—”

Oo-oh!

Before Daddy could even finish his sentence, I came—all the heat from my red, spanked bottom seemed to come rushing out of me, as I gasped and moaned, while Daddy spanked me twice more and then stopped. He set aside the sign that he had just finished paddling me with, and rubbed my bright-red bottom.

“Do you think you've learned a lesson today?” he asked.

“Y-Yes, Daddy.”

My knees felt weak, so he helped me up, and pulled my pants back up for me. I leaned against him, while he turned back to the foreman.

“So, sir? Do you think that was an acceptable punishment?”

The foreman nodded, smiling. “I have to say, I'm impressed. If you ever have a mind to come back, I'm sure me and the boys here would look forward to it.”

The other workers nodded eagerly.

Daddy smiled at them. “Well, we might do that. But for now . . .” He patted my bottom, still red-hot from the paddling. “For now, we have a bath and another spanking to get to. I'll let you gentlemen get back to work.”

Then he took my hand, and began leading me back towards home.


© Copyright 2017 Stefan Dreaming. All rights reserved.

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