Tough Papa Jack, as the salt-and-pepper-haired, fiftyish gentleman was known in the scene, owned two “slaves,” fair-haired, boyish looking young gay men who willingly submitted to his sexual advances and took his discipline when they “misbehaved.” They also enjoyed the benefit of their “daddy's” monthly monetary stipend, part of which came from the settlement Jack had reached with his own father when it became apparent he wouldn’t be designated to inherit the cattle ranch.
As the phone rang in his Lower Haight Ashbury flat, Papa Jack wielded a wide leader strap mounted on a wooden handle to spank Timothy, one of his “boys,” who had recently proved a bit petulant. Buck naked and fastened with Velcro cuffs and metal hooks to a padded spanking bench, Timothy obediently counted aloud the savage blows that were turning his buttocks various shades of purple and raising mean-looking blood blisters. Meanwhile, young Tim’s throbbing, turgid cock anticipated the reward it would receive if he took his spanking like a big boy.
Aaron, the other twentyish little cutie, was downstairs fixing a gourmet breakfast while his “brother” was being disciplined. A couple of weekends ago, it had been his turn to have his butt blistered, and he knew that if the crapes and omelets turned out just right, he also might be lucky enough to have daddy satisfy his punishment fetish today. That would also mean a heftier monthly bonus. Judge Maynard paid well to blister young flesh and suck young cock.
“Dad,” Aaron called upstairs, “it’s Mr. Pendergast from Montana.”
“Shit,” Jackson Maynard exclaimed, “this better be good.” Harve was the only member of the Montana legal community, and most likely the only person in the state, who knew about Jack’s double life—which gave him a bit of an advantage over opposing counsel in a tough case before Judge Maynard’s bench. Certainly, Harve was the only one who knew where the judge could be reached when he went out of town on legal business—which was very convenient for a lawyer seeking an emergency continuance.
* * *
The Red Lion Hotel, Seattle . . .
Once again, Drew put his cell phone on speaker, allowing Alex and Joey to follow the constantly changing narrative. Harve said the judge was still disposed to grant the adoption, provided that the two horny young adolescents’ sexual history didn’t become a matter of public record.
But given the volatile nature of the burgeoning news story, the judge readily granted a one-month continuance. Judge Maynard wanted to avoid the limelight that a court appearance would generate while Alex and Joey were media stars. Also, it would be politically unwise to grant an adoption if it became public knowledge that the girl were living in the same home with the boy who almost impregnated her. Maynard usually faced only token electoral challenge from Montana’s impotent Democratic Party, but why take an unnecessary political risk? If the story died down quickly, they’d go back into court in a matter of weeks and finalize the adoption.
“But tell Joey to keep his dick out of Alexis, understand?” admonished Harve as the cell phone connection dropped off line.
Alex blushed and Joey, once again, turned red with embarrassment. Drew looked at both of them with that kind of stare that penetrated their eyeballs and went straight to the back of their heads. Comeuppance time had arrived.
“So," Drew began, “How much trouble are each of you in?”
That was the question they feared but had hoped to postpone as long as possible.
“A shitload of trouble,” a gloomy Joey offered.
“Alex,” Drew ordered, “get a piece of hotel stationary from the desk drawer and use that fancy ballpoint pen they provide. You’re the scribe.
“Now, we’ll list sins you committed over the past 36 hours in one column. Then, in the next column, we’ll list how many paddle swats you’ve got coming for each of them. On the other side of the paper, make the same table for Joey.”
“Dad!” Alex protested in character. She knew she had promised to take her punishment without complaint, but it wouldn’t have been in her DNA to submit to a spanking without an argument.
Drew ignored her. “Now, who instigated the sex; wasn’t it you?” he asked his daughter.
“Yes,” she admitted sheepishly. She had gone into Joey’s room intent on rubbing his spanked butt, knowing full and well where it would lead.
“Okay,” Drew continued, “list ‘sex’ as the first category and give yourself twice as many swats as Joey is going to get. Now, how many?”
“Fuck, Dad,” Alex protested. “I never have to volunteer how many licks I’m going to get. “This is torture.”
“Yeah, well it’s not a lot of fun for me, either,” Drew countered.
“How about ten for me and five for Joey,” Alex suggested, “since I went into his room and he tried to discourage the sex in the beginning?”
“How about 20 for you and 10 for Joey?” Drew countered.
“Damn!” Alex exclaimed, as she wrote down the numbers on both sides of the paper. “”I’m not going to have a behind left when this little exercise is over!”
“You’ll be okay, baby,” Drew counseled. “You’re my daughter. You’re tough.”
“Now, Joey,” Drew continued, “Who provided the defective condom?”
“I guess that would be me,” the boy replied sheepishly.
“Tell me more about this condom,” Drew grilled.
Red-faced with embarrassment, Joey described how he had purchased a new supply of condoms but couldn’t find them. So, in the passion of the moment, he relied on his “show” rubber, the one he had carried around in his wallet to "show" the other boys that he, too, was sexually active. He had been so promiscuous that he sat his sweaty butt on the same condom for more than a year.
“Not too smart, don’t you think, son?”
“No, Dad,” Joey responded in shame. “ So, I guess I get the 20 licks for this one, right?”
“That would sound reasonable,” Drew said, “but Alex gets 10, because it’s also up to her to insure her partner uses reliable contraception. After all, it's the girl who can get pregnant. Right, Alex?”
Alex just seethed and said nothing.
“Okay, so how many do we have now?” Drew asked rhetorically, knowing the answer.
“That’s 30 for each of us, so far,” Alex responded dejectedly. “And that’s just for Friday night.”
“Okay, let’s start with Saturday morning,” Drew continued. “I was really impressed with your honesty, both of you, and the way you handled the situation when you came in to see us. You fessed up to what you did and dealt with the reality that you can’t go on having sex as brother and sister. So, I’m going to knock off ten swats for each of you. You now are down to 20 licks each."
Both teenagers beamed. They’d never before been given “credit” for good behavior when it came time for discipline.
“But,” Drew continued, “there’s the little matter of what happened at the breakfast table. Remember, Alex?”
“I guess it wasn’t so smart to tell you that when I go to college, I’m going to major in business but minor in boys.” Alex tried to stifle a sheepish grin as remembered her own humor. Yes, it got her in trouble, but she still thought it was funny.
“No, Alex, no father wants to hear about how his daughter is going to hop from dormitory bed to dormitory bed. Can you understand?”
Alex hung her head in shame and nodded silently. There was no longer a need to suppress a smirk.
“Unfortunately, “ Drew continued, “there’s still a double standard. If Joey went off to college and slept around, many fathers would say he’s just being a horny young man. But we don’t want to think of our daughters behaving that way, when reality tells us they will.
“Put down ‘minoring in boys’ on your list and add five swats beside it,” Drew instructed.
Alex nodded. She had to admit that was a fair punishment. She shouldn’t have been so cocky just an hour after turning her parents’ life upside down. But if she didn't have so many other swats to endure, she'd probably have elected a five-lick spanking just for the pleasure of getting such a rise out of her protective father. Some indiscretions were worth the consequences.
“What’s next?” Drew asked. When his query provoked no response, Drew prompted: “What about the Missoula airport?”
Joey couldn’t contain a smirk.
“Shut up, geek boy,” Alex scolded. “I thought all propeller airplanes were left over from World War II.”
“It doesn’t matter what you thought,” Drew scolded. “You had no business making a loud remark about ‘goddamn propellers’ in front of that ticket agent and her customers. You sounded like a spoiled brat. You embarrassed our family in public.
“Ten swats,” Drew added. Put that down beside ‘propellers’ on you list.
“Joey, you’re not innocent here either,” the father continued. “You just couldn’t stop fanning the flames with you encyclopedic pronouncements about that aircraft. You were trying to add to your sister’s humiliation after the ticket agent put her in her place, weren’t you?
“Yes, sir,” Joey admitted.
“Alex, on Joey’s side of the paper, put down a football reference: ‘piling on’ and list five swats next to it. How many are we up to?”
“That’s 35 for me and 25 for Joey,” Alex moaned, “and we’re not out of Montana yet.”
Joey thought his prediction that each of them would get at least a hundred paddle swats was right on the mark. He reached back and rubbed his bottom, still sore from Friday’s belt whipping, and wondered how he would keep his composure.
He knew he was wrong and was willing to take his punishment, but he wanted to be a man about it also. He didn’t want to break down and cry like a little kid, as he had when Drew wore him out for speeding Friday afternoon.
It seemed as if Drew was reading Joey’s mind.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Drew pronounced. “You can’t possibly endure all the swats in one session you’ve got coming for this little caper. So you’re going to repent of Friday’s and Saturday morning’s sins here and now. We’ll deal with what happened at the clinic and afterward, plus what this little excursion is going to cost me, once your tender little bottoms have healed up in a few days.”
The Jackson teens had never received discipline on the installment plan, but both Alex and Joey breathed a sigh of relief. Several dozen licks with the paddle would leave them bruised, blistered, and emotionally wrecked, but they’d walk away from it.
“Joey,” Drew instructed, “go over to my suitcase and unzip the front pouch.”
The penitent 16-year-old complied and withdrew the feared maple paddle. Alex let out a deep breath of exasperation, as she resigned herself to a painful punishment that, deep down in her heart, she knew she merited.
Joey just closed his eyes and wished he could fast forward his life past the coming chastisement that he, too, knew he damn well had coming. Even at a time like this, he remained eternally grateful that Drew had rescued him from the slums after his mother passed away. His hands shook in fear has he handed the fearsome instrument to Drew, but there remained a warm spot in his heart for the man who would soon set his bottom ablaze.
Without being told, Alex and Joey let down their pajama bottoms, slipped their under garments down to their ankles, and stepped out of them with bare feet. For just an instant, while preparing to bend over the back of the hotel suite’s large leather couch, their eyes met. As Alex and Joey gazed into each other’s worried countenance, fleeting smiles crossed their lips. This was going to be a hellacious ordeal, perhaps the most painful series of spankings they’d ever received, but they’d get through it together.
Were they finally brother and sister or still lovers? They weren’t really sure, but Alex and Joey were certain of one thing. Despite their incessant bickering and one-upmanship, they had each other's back, on in this case, each other's backside. And they had grown to love each other unconditionally, in whatever form their relationship was destined to take.