Date: Mon, 14 May 2018 09:17:52 -0500 From: MC VT Subject: Bi-incest,The Battoir Part 1 (Revised) The Battoir - Part 1 ©2017 MCVT August 17, 2017 mcvt2017@gmail.com Exceptional and taboo relationship brings a parent to make a very difficult choice... Your relationship with Asstr.org depends on a donation. Please contribute to one of the only places where you can enjoy the stories you like! *** When I was in fourth grade the economy in our area collapsed. Dad had to sell his big rig, and Mom started working on the swing shift in a glove manufacturing plant. We were on welfare, like most everyone else. But things weren't bad, because we had land. Our parents had bought thirty acres of good land before they married and rented out the old house until they finished their military service. Instead of wedding gifts, they asked everyone in the family to contribute a mortgage payment instead of wedding gifts. Mom wasn't shy about asking for a mortgage payment for an anniversary either! Mom was smart, and they paid the house down fast while they were in the service and we own the place now. We lived in the old four-room farmhouse where Dad installed solar panels and a special fireplace grate - lots of things to make us independent. Things looked patch-worked, and we were comfortable and warm. Douglas Bluefeather, my dad, loved all of us fiercely. He taught us we all had to help to keep the family together and build our future on the farm. Secretly, Mom made our family strong. She seemed to make changes easily to help all of us get through the toughest times - she said dad was too proud and hardheaded, but they didn't fight about it. Rod wasn't cut any slack with chores because he was the youngest - he was seven and I was "Junior," though I hated the name "Junie." I was nine now, and wanted to be called "Doug." Dad was proud of us. I looked a lot like him already - lean with a head full of dark, wavy hair and the Bluefeather dimples. Yeah, I was his favorite, and I knew it. He wasn't the kind of Dad who was embarassed to kiss or hug. Of course, Mom gave us affection all the time and called my brother and me her "baby-men." Sheesh! We weren't babies! *** Mom stayed home when we were young, and she kept a big garden where Rod and I played while she weeded and watered. Since it was just us on the land, when it was warm outside, Rod and I ran naked all over the place. Mom sang to us all the time, and taught us about worms and bugs. Sometimes we lay on a blanket naked and napped in the sun while she tied up the tomato vines and whistled to the birds. Rod and I had a blast before we had to go to school. Then, one day Dad drove us by the old brick building in town and showed us where we would go every day and behave ourselves and show that the Bluefeather men were gentlemen and not wags or riff-raff. Dad was very strict about our behavior. *** When the depression hit, Dad stayed home with us. Chores don't have genders; they only had to be done, so Dad and I learned how to make stuffed zucchini, and spaghetti. We even made hoecakes one night and a real pie! Then we had to eat it. If something was on the internet, Dad would study it till he understood, then we'd try it. But oatmeal or scrambled eggs were what he made best. His grits were always lumpy. I made the best toast. Everyday he gave us our chores and worked on our home and in the garden. The house wasn't so neat like when Mom kept it, but Rod and I got to clean the floors. That was fun, especially when we got soapy water all over the kitchen floor and slid around on it! "Hard times don't last forever." Dad told us as he cleaned; repaired our appliances and made my lunch for school. We painted the house and planted little pine trees along the driveway after digging them up by the stream. Our farm was everything - and it was all we really had. We had to keep it strong and make it the best. Rod and I helped with every part of it! We had a big garden, and we froze our crops or sold them at the market. We'd pack our lunch every Saturday morning, and fill a big jug of water for the market trip. Rod and I only had to say our last names and people smiled and meandered to our table to ask Dad what he was doing and check out the produce. Dad was clever and some people might say he was a little miserly, but we never went without and we were always clean and healthy. *** The major influence in our early years was Dad's battoir. Rod and I were always respectful of Dad, and tried to follow all his rules because he would bring out his battoir if we didn't. He used physical punishment - same as his father - to keep us in line. Dad's memory chips must have forgotten the pain and humiliation - or maybe he was so perfect, he never got swats. That didn't matter; Dad's battoir ruled our decisions and our rear ends. His battoir was a piece from some old equipment that had long since rotted away, but he kept the paddle-shaped piece of wood to "burn a lesson" into our butts. He had this whole routine that went along with a paddling. Scared the heck out of me the first time I was punished. Didn't bring any animals in the house again, no matter how small they were! *** Mom was working at night and sleeping most of the day, so Dad ruled in all the "Mom departments," like vaccination visits and teacher meetings. When the school called Dad to come pick me up because I was sick, he showed up immediately. "Looks like a stomach problem." My teacher told him and fanned the air with a file folder. We went to the clinic immediately. The doctor was nice; I liked her. But I was on the exam table in my stitched-up briefs, somewhat embarassed, while my father watched from my side. Couldn't help it - I farted, a few long, high-pitched notes and covered my eyes when she poked and probed my tight belly. Some places she pressed made me yelp. "Hmmm." She said and asked me to take off my briefs. I looked at Dad for help. He shot one eyebrow up telling me to stay quiet and let her work. Very carefully, she pulled out a small thermometer and put some grease on it. After taking my briefs off, she pressed my knees to my chest, and slid the thermometer right into my anus! Looking back at Dad, I could see he was trying not to smile as he looked at the floor. She asked me when I had my last bowel movement. "Uhhh." No one ever asked me that before. "I don't know." After she checked my temperature, she took me to another room and they took a picture of my belly with a big machine. Finally, the doctor came back in the exam room where we were waiting. "Constipation, thank goodness - nothing too serious. Seems like he's eaten something that caused a severe blockage and some, and - well, gaseous distress - as we've heard. "Usually high-fiber foods keep people cleaned out. Until then, I'll give you a prescription for some suppositories. Lots of fluids and here's information with some other things to do." Dad nodded his head, looking over the brochure. "There are a lot of ways to stimulate a bowel movement." She told him. "I remember making syrup of fig for my grandmother. Plenty of old folk remedies for being bound up. Cheese pizzas are out for the next week!" She looked at me with a smile and a wink. I looked at Dad; we never had cheese pizzas. "Is this chronic?" Dad asked. "Some people suffer all of their lives. This seems like just an occasional thing - nothing else in his history about intestinal issues or colon problems. If it gets worse call the emergency number and I'll meet you here or at the hospital." "It can get that bad?" Dad asked. "We don't want him to get an impaction - that would require digital removal. Very uncomfortable - may require sedation or restraint. He needs to move his bowels today." She handed him the prescription, "One of these when you go home and another one an hour later if you haven't gotten any results." Dad took a deep breath and looked at the prescription then at me. "You're going to be fine, Junie. I'll make sure." We stopped in the drugstore; Dad came out without anything in his hands. I wasn't about to ask about the prescription; he didn't have the money for it, but he didn't look upset about it either. *** At home, Dad woke Mom and they talked for while as I went to take a bath, and waited bathroom like I was told. Dad came in. "Gotta make you poop today. Come here." He got right to business filling a cup of water and put the bar of soap in it and sat down on the toilet seat. I nodded, but I didn't understand what was going to happen. He told me to lean over his knees, but I didn't like the looks of this and got scared and stalled. "C'mon, Junie, the faster we get this in you, the sooner you'll poop. Can't miss another day of school." This was humiliating. My eyes started burning and my body tensed. "Get over here, now!" His voice was very serious. I started crying - I was nauseated, scared and humiliated. I covered my eyes with my hands and then I farted again - one big, loud pop. "If I don't see some cooperation, I'm going to have to bring out the battoir." He told me. Wincing and frowning, I went to his lap and leaned over quickly. "Hold your butt open." His voice was low and serious. I did, in a hurry, and felt the cold slippery gel from the damp bar of soap smeared along the cleft of my rear. Dad's finger started pushing against my anus, but I kept myself tightly closed. Trying another defensive ploy, "Dad, I'm don't think I need any help. I feel better now." That's when I felt a hard swat burning my thigh. Then, three more! Thwack - thwack - thwack - thwack! Relaxing my ass became my only task in that moment. I held my cheeks apart as far as I could and felt him push his big, rough finger inside me quickly with the slippery fluid. His finger hurt, stretching my tiny, kid-sized muscles, and the stinging started! I moaned and tried to wiggle away. "Be still, we're going to stay here till we get some action." He told me, keeping his finger deep inside me. "Dad, that's burning." "Yeah, well get used to it or poop." He shot back. I farted again while his finger was deep inside me pushing the soap further. I thought I felt him chuckling, but I was afraid to look. I may have blown a fart-bubble around his finger. *** Maybe because he got tired of working the slimy soap gel into me, he grabbed the bar and stuck the rounded corner of the bar of soap into my butt hard. Then he twisted it. A newer, stronger burn started. He took the soap out and stuck his finger back inside me, working the burn deep and leaving me feeling completely helpless. My tears kept coming as it felt this would never end. My stomach was still tight, I was still nauseated. I was naked, humiliated, and burning inside my butt. No comfort. No way out of this horrible situation. He must have noticed, because after a few moments, he pulled his finger out and let me stand up. To complete my humiliation, my penis was sticking straight out. Although my penis was shorter than Dad's little finger, I was embarassed - these were my privates. He saw it and reached over to flick my foreskin with his finger, "Fine little erection you got there. You like me fingering your butt?" I blushed, and stood still - doubly humiliated. "It's alright, most men like that. I know you're saving that cock for the right pair of pink panties. After you get out of college, you hear me? After college!" I nodded, not really understanding what all this had to do with pooping. "Now we're going to work this soap into the right place - get you cleaned out." He took me on his lap, straddling his legs and pressed me against his chest while his hands rubbed my stomach, and it felt good. He was warm and gentle and smelled like soap and a bit of sweat. "Can't for the life of me figure out why your belly would be so blocked-up." He said. "You and Rod sneaking off to old Mr. Grubb's place for some treats?" "No." I chirped. Sneaking off or going to Mr. Grubb's house was against the rules. "Okay." He rubbed his fingertips against my belly and kissed my hair. "Turn over again. Your belly's as tight as a drum. Let's try again." After all I'd been through, I was exhausted. My body was limp and Dad just continued working the burning soap gel inside me. *** All of a sudden my muscles began cramping, and I needed to go. "Hurry, Dad. Get up! I need to go!" "That's my boy!" He got up and washed his hands while I sat on the toilet and started pushing. A little came out. My father leaned me over on my lap and gave the toilet a quick look. "Need more than a little pea gravel. Let's keep trying." He flushed the toilet and closed the lid, sat down and patted his thigh. Back to the burning soap and rough treatment. While he worked the soap in, though, he talked to me about driving long distances hauling different kinds of loads to places like Seattle, and Phoenix and Biloxi. Through the rest of the morning, the soap finally caused enough irritation to get my blockage unstuck, and I wasn't so nauseated anymore. By the time Mom left for work, I was in bed taking a nap, much more comfortable. I heard Dad telling her I'd made a movement. "We'll try again later so the boy doesn't have an impaction. Can't afford a hospital visit." *** At dinner that night, Rod and I waited for Dad to bring our plates. Rod saw my red, swollen eyes and knew I'd had a bad day, but I felt better after I napped so I smiled at him. Rod got a funny look on his face. He was getting skittery. You gotta understand that Rod was the weak spot in my defense against the battoir. He was some kind of crazy, loose cannon of confessions. He'd admit to anything, then start crying and beg for mercy before the battoir came out when he could have just kept his mouth shut. He confessed to stuff he didn't do, sometimes. Definitely not my genius brother. He'd snitched on me several times till I learned not to tell him anything important. *** Dad simplified everything, especially in the kitchen. No food pyramids or any nutritional monuments in our pantry! "Two vegetables, one carb and one protein for dinner. One small glass of milk and one of water." Was his rule and we had to ask for more if we were still hungry. At the dinner table that night, Dad began gathering "blockage" evidence. "Can't figure out what went wrong with your stomach, Junie. You missed a day of school, and I lost a half a day of work being in the bathroom with you." He started, as we ate. "Rod, is your stomach okay? Did you poop today?" "Yeah." He said, stuffing his mouth with fried squash. "Hmmm." Dad knew Rod an easy squeeze for information. "Must have been something you had on Saturday or Sunday. Rod, have you two been to Mr. Grubb's garden?" Rod thought about it for a moment. "No. We don't go there." Dad let Rod's conscious work on him for a few minutes while I blushed, my stomach tightening. "You boys haven't been trapping some rabbits and cooking them up in the woods, have you?" I chuckled and told him we weren't, and playing with matches and knives was against the rules. "Did you find some of those green crabapples down by the creek and help yourselves?" I shook my head. Rod was watching, but his lower lip was quivering. Bad sign for me. He was about to blast a confession - I could feel it coming. "Rod, have you boys been exploring some of the other farms, find something in their gardens to eat? We have plenty of food here. You don't need to go off stealing or scrounging." Rod's eyes filled with tears, he stood and went to Dad, and hugged his neck kissing him. "I love you Daddy." "Hmmm. Well, let's finish our dinner and bring out the battoir to unravel this mystery. I figured something was going on I needed to know about." Rod and I silently finished dinner and took our plates to the sink, then went straight to our bedroom and undressed, awaiting the battoir to clarify our weekend foraging. *** A lesson from Dad's battoir included a complete confession, followed by stinging blows for each infraction, plus some more if he felt we needed it. When he'd finished with the swats, he'd sit in the old straight-backed chair so we could hug his neck and kiss him after we'd thanked him for teaching us a lesson - and we had to repeat each lesson we'd learned. The trick was to remember every infraction that had caused the swats. If you couldn't remember why you got the swats, you'd get some more until you did! If we kissed Dad's neck, sometimes he'd stroke the red places he'd raised on our rumps and maybe we'd get a little kiss from him. All this was accomplished bare-skinned, except for Dad who usually waited till night to mete out punishment while Mom was gone; he was in his boxers and tee shirt. *** After dinner, Rod and I sat on the bed beside each other, naked and listening for Dad to come into our room with the dreaded battoir. I was thinking I could steal the battoir and bury it, but he'd probably find something else. Had to wonder if his belt or his hand would be better or worse... Finally, we heard his footsteps nearing our bedroom door. Rod's eyes started leaking and I noticed his little penis was hiding inside his groin almost looking like a second belly button. He was scared and looked very small and shaky, but I couldn't do anything about it. Not allowed by the battoir. Dad pulled the chair out to the middle of our room. "Rod, get over here." Rod's knees were wobbly but he went to Dad and stood between his legs. "Are you ready to tell me what happened this weekend?" "Sunday we went to the creek." He hesitated, considering his options. That wasn't forbidden. "Then we followed it down to the pond." Rod whimpered. That was forbidden - it was off our property but he didn't have to say that. "Did you boys go swimming?" He lifted Rod's chin and gave him a mean look. "No. We looked for crawdads and minnows." But he went on to explain that we'd found wild blackberry vines growing on the fence between Mr. Grubb's place and ours. "The vines had a lot of berries and we ate them. They're good." That was the information Dad was looking for. He paused for a moment glancing at me. I stared at the floor. "Do you know your brother had to go to the clinic because he ate so many?" Rod covered his eyes with his fat, little hands. "Did you go onto the Grubb place?" "No, we only saw it over the fence." Came out of Rod's lips very softly. Dad glanced at me. "For going down to the pond, and because you were partly responsible for your brother being sick and missing school - seven swats. You're not supposed to eat anything you find growing - could be poisonous. "Do you understand that brothers protect each other? Who's going to watch you when I'm not around? You boys are big enough to think things through." He was staring straight at Rod; Rod's lips began quivering. "Standing or over my knee?" By this time Rod was a wet, wiggly mess, but he leaned over Dad's knee. I had to close my eyes and stick my fingers in my ears during those swats. It seemed like it took Dad forever with Rod screaming and gasping for air as he sobbed. Dad really lit into Rod's rear end; it was bright red when he put the battoir down. Rod stood and went back between Dad's legs and put his arms around his neck, still crying and trying to tell him he loved him for teaching him not to eat anything we saw growing out in the woods, then that he was responsible for protecting his brother. "Remember going to the pond." I thought, hoping Rod could read my mind. Finally, after a lot of moans and tears, Rod kissed Dad's neck and thanked him for teaching him not to go to the pond. Then, Dad's hands went to Rod's butt and he pulled the little naked body against him and kissed his hair and whispered to him to calm down. "Sound's like you learned something tonight. Remember, this battoir doesn't like teaching the same lesson twice - it doubles your swats. Get in bed." *** I stepped toward Dad. "Junie, tomorrow we're going to check out the berries you ate, but for now, you're going to tell me the lessons you need to learn." Standing between his knees, "I took Rod by the pond, I didn't ask you about the blackberries, and I got sick and missed school. I wasn't responsible for Rod and I didn't cooperate in the bathroom this morning." "How many swats do you think that deserves?" His eyes gave me a mean look. "Zero" came to mind, but I said, "Six. I already got four this morning." He looked at me for a moment considering my math. "Okay." Immediately I leaned over his knee and gritted my teeth waiting for the whoosh of air before the blazing moment of contact. "Pond, berries, school, Rod and cooperation." I repeated in my mind while he applied the stinging battoir six times. Still gasping with the pain, and with my face wet with tears, I stood and went between my father's legs and began kissing his neck. "I love you Dad, thank you for teaching me to not go to the pond." My breath jerked and his hands came to my butt cheeks to rub lightly. "Is that all?" He whispered. "I love you for teaching me to be to be responsible about my brother, and to watch him and protect him when you're not around." I was still sobbing, but I kissed his neck. "And I'm sorry I ate those berries and got sick and missed school." I felt his hand on my head, pressing me closer to him. "What else?" "I didn't cooperate this morning when you were trying to help me." "Your belly feeling better now?" He asked. "Yes." I whimpered. Dad kissed my cheek, "Back to the bathroom, son. Let's see if we can't clear this up tonight." *** He marched me down the hall and wet the bar of soap on the sink. Sitting on the toilet, he patted his thigh. I surrendered; tired and upset, remembering the battoir was in the bedroom if I balked. This time Dad pulled out his pocketknife and sliced off a cigar-sized slice from the bar of soap. He wet it under the faucet and told me to hold myself open. The cold nub of the slice of soap touched my ass and I froze. "Are you going to cooperate?" He asked, but that was really a warning. I lifted my hips and pushed as if I needed to poop. The soap slipped in and began burning. He twisted it and pulled and pushed it in and out of my anus. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. My butt burned, and my rectum burned. My anus was raw from his fingers after the workout it had gotten in the morning. A wave of nausea washed through my entire torso as Dad continued pushing and pulling and twisting. My belly cramped. "Dad, I have to go." He pulled the soap out and pushed his finger deep inside me. "Yep. It's time." He pulled his finger out and stood up to wash his hands. There was a spot of poop on his fingertip. I grunted and pushed feeling more relief while Dad got out a washcloth and petroleum jelly. When I finished, I was smiling, feeling much better, though it seemed to take a long time to poop. When Dad saw me smile, he dampened the washcloth and sat on the side of the tub. "Come here, Junie, your little ass has been through the ringer today." He faced me away from him and slipped the washcloth between my cheeks and it felt good. Then, he began rubbing the grease over my ass. His other hand went to my groin, covering my penis and scrotum. Then, his fingers felt around on my penis. "Son, does your foreskin move back?" He asked. "I don't know." I told him. "Mom said not to touch ourselves." "Let's see." His big fingers on my penis felt good and warm. He held the tip of my penis and pushed the foreskin back until it almost hurt. "Seems alright." When his hand went to my scrotum, I stood very still. He gently rolled my testicles between his fingers. "Dad, that's my privates." "You aren't having any problems down here, are you? Pain, soreness - anything hurt when you're running around playing? You feel a pull or a jerk inside your muscles?" "No." "Okay." He stared at my body for a long time then slipped his hand between my legs to feel around for a long time. As he rubbed the petroleum jelly on my ass he saw my penis become erect. "Nice erection, son. Be careful around those pink panties." I still didn't understand what that meant, I was waiting for the moment I could get into my pajamas and get in bed. The next day I went to school feeling much better. I even thanked Dad and kissed his neck before I left for the bus with Rod. Except for the battoir's lessons, I felt great! *** After school Rod and I had to take Dad over to the berry vines and show him so he could see if they were poisonous. He inspected them closely while the wild birds made a racket wanting to get back to the fruit. "Yep, they're black raspberries. These vines don't have any thorns, no wonder you ate so many. Must have thought you found free candy!" He tasted them and started picking and eating the big, juicy black ones. Although I liked the tart, red ones, he told me that they were the ones that made me so sick. We took a bucketful back to the house and cleaned them for the freezer. Things settled down in the house after Dad put the battoir away.