Date: Thu, 7 Jul 2011 21:19:45 +0200 From: "Jeryn@libertysurf.fr" Subject: "Idjicayting" the Old Man (incest, authoritarian) The Old Man stood naked in the barn. His hands were tied behind his back. His ankles were tied together. He had a black leather collar around his neck, tied by a length of rope to a metal ring in the wall. Another length of rope was fastened to the back of the collar - it held his tied hands halfway up his back. He was gagged with a piece of cloth that had been tied into a ball, shoved in his mouth and then fastened tightly behind his neck. The Old Man was shivering, but not for cold. He was about to receive his punishment. That was part of his "idjicayshun". How long had he been standing there, in the barn? An hour? Two? Three, maybe? He couldn't tell. Shore felt like a long time. And he couldn't move around, not safely, his feet being tied. He had to stand up, facing the wall, like a punished schoolboy. And he, a man in his fifties. How humiliating it was. That was part of his "idjicayshun" too. How long would he have to stand here, yet? He wasn't in too much of a hurry to find out. `Cause standing here naked and tied up like an animal was only part of the punishment. He knew that. The Old Man knew his son was going to come and give him a good whupping. What had he done, this time? He couldn't even remember. He must have been drunk. That, of course, according to the new house rules, was a big no- no. But old habits die hard. The Old Man had been doing as he pleased for so long. He was the master of the house, after all. He was entitled to do as he pleased. Well, he used to. There were new rules, now. It must be high noon, the Old Man thought. The air was hot and dry, even in the barn. Beads of sweat were dripping along the Old Man's brow. His thick mat of graying hair and big bushy grey moustache were getting wet with hot sweat. He wanted a drink so bad. Even water would've done jus'fine. But the Old Man knew there was no water coming. That was also part of his "idjicayshun". He must've staggered home dead drunk, last night. All he could remember was going to town. That was his weekly day out, according to the new rules. He could go out on town once a week. And he had a little spending money. Not a lot. Just enough to buy hisself some t'baccy and a few drinks. Not enough to get drunk on, his son made sure about that. His son said he'd spent enough of their money on booze and whores. What did the little punk know about booze and whores, anyway? Call him an old drunk, did he? He'd show him! Yes, he'd show him. Well, he'd tried to show him. But his son, his little boy, had become a young man. A strapping young man. Strong enough not to take any more s--t from his Old Man, he said. The Old Man needed a firm hand, he said. The Old Man needed discipline. That's when his "idjicayshun" had begun. New rules. No more whoring, no more boozing. No coming home drunk at all hours. He could go to town once a week, and on a limited budget. "Fuck those rules", the Old Man had thought. I do as I please. I've always done as I please. He'd gone to town anyway, on a day he wasn't supposed to. With some money he wasn't supposed to have. That was a couple of months ago. When he'd come home, his son was waiting for him. "Where have you been?" he'd asked. "None of your goddam' business!" the Old Man had blurted out. And then his son had knocked him out. With one blow. He'd woken up in his room. Stark nekkid on his bed, flat on his face. He'd realized his hands and feet were tied to the four bed posts. He'd struggled a bit, tried to free hisself, but no dice. He'd had to spend the whole night like that, tied to the bed. And then, in the morning, his son had come into the room. He'd started reading him the riot act. To him, his Old Man, the master of the house. The Old Man had tried to protest, but his son had gagged him with one of his hankies. One of the Old Man's own big white handkerchiefs, from his very own drawer, too. Was there no respect left for your elders? His son had told him he was a bad father and a disgrace to the family's name. Said his poor dead mother would have been ashamed to see her husband carry on like that. Said he'd told him there would be no more whoring and boozing, and that HE would make dam' sure there wuzn't. Added that since the Old Man couldn't be trusted to change his ways, his "idjycayshun" would have to be stricter. To prevent his whoring, the Old Man would have to wear a chastity device. That's when the Old Man had noticed the nasty old thing on his pecker and balls. What the f--k was that s--t ? That was to keep the old dawg from going after the bitches, his son had explained. But that was only part of his punishment. The other part was a good whupping. And then the unthinkable had happened. His son, his own son, his little boy now grown up, had climbed on the bed, kneeled next to him and given him a good spanking. To HIM. His Old Man. With the flat of his big strappin' right hand. Boy, it had hurt! If not for the gag in his mouth, the Old Man would have yelled like anything. The whupping seemed to last for hours, even though it probably only lasted a few minutes. By the end, the Old Man was in tears, his bottom red hot and throbbing with pain. Then his son had untied him from the bed, taken off the gag and hugged him. He'd spoken softly to him, told him it hurt him to have to be stern with his Old Man, but that it was for his own good. "Dad, you've been drinking too much for too long. You're holding up pretty well so far, but at the rate you're going, you'll end up being a complete wreck in a few years' time. It's gotta stop. You're my father, I love and respect you, but I can't let you kill yourself dead. Mom wouldn't have wanted me to. Will you be good from now on?" The Old Man hadn't answered. He was sobbing in his son's arms. It was all too much. The hangover, the night tied to the bed, the punishment. Finally, he'd promised he'd be good. And he'd tried, honest injun'! For two months, he'd managed to keep away from all the bad things in his life. The chastity thing was a pain at first but now he hardly noticed it, except when he felt horny. The Old Man had asked his son how long he was to keep the damn thing but his son's answer had been evasive. This had given the Old Man a funny feeling. Once a week, the Old Man had been allowed in town. He had just enough money for a few drinks and a couple packets o'cigarettes. His old drinking buddies couldn't understand what had come over him. They tried to get him to drink more than he should, but the memory of the spanking he'd got kept him in line. For a while. Until last night. Last night was a daze. He must have got drunk. Got home in a state. Boy! Must his son have been mad, then! When he'd woken up the next morning, heck, this morning, the Old Man knew at once he was in deep s--t. He was nekkid again, but not on his bed, not even in his room. He was in the barn. On the rough dirt floor. With both hands tied behind his back. He was wearing some kind o'dog collar, tied to a stake in the ground by a long metal chain that rattled when he moved. Jis' like a dawg. A dawg in a kennel. Then his son had come and it had got worse. He'd told him he was a lazy old bum and couldn't be trusted. That he obviously needed more discipline to get properly "idjicayted". That this time, he'd get a good whupping on his ass, but with a leather belt. Once again, the Old Man had tried to protest, to explain it wasn't his fault. But his son had said he was through listening to his lies. He'd taken him to a corner of the barn, tied him up, gagged him and told him he'd leave him to stand in a corner for a couple of hours, just to think of all the bad things he'd done. And so there he was! How long had he been standing there, in the barn? An hour? Two? Three, maybe? He couldn't tell. Sure felt like a long time. And he couldn't move around, not safely, his feet being tied. He had to stand up, facing the wall, like a punished schoolboy. And he, a grown man. An old man. His son's Old Man. How humiliating. How much longer would he have to stand here? Oh, he was in no hurry to find out, nossir! The Old Man knew his son was going to come and punish him. And he knew it would hurt like hail. He was that mad at him. He'd said he'd go after his ass with a leather belt. If a hand whupping had hurt so bad, what would a leather belt feel like? Then, all of a sudden, it happened. He heard footsteps. It was his son. He was coming. "Hey, dad, how `you doin'?" "Mmmmpffff!" "Ah yes, I forgot you are bound and gagged. SoÉ" He was now by his side, holding the Old Man's chin and turning his face towards him. "You been thinkin' `bout all the bad things you've done?" "Mmmmmpff !" the Old Man nodded as hard as he could. Damn that gag! He knew what was coming next. "You ready to take your punishment like a man?" "Mmmmmmpffff! Mmmmmmmmpffff!" The Old Man shook his head with all the energy he had left. Damn that f----ing gag! He knew that if he could speak, he could maybe plead with his son and get hisself off the hook. But no way. Only muffled sounds came out of his mouth. Thick droplets of sweat ran along the sides of his face. His son stepped back. He heard him taking his belt off. His big leather belt. His big thick leather belt. The Old Man braced hisself for what was coming. Swizzz ! Whack ! Swizzz ! Whack ! The blows fell on the Old Man's helpless buttocks like a nest of damn hornets. It stung like hell! Was it really his little boy handing out such harsh punishment? The Old Man had forgotten Ð the boy was now a strapping young man. Swizzz ! Whack ! Swizzz ! Whack ! The Old Man mmmpffed in his gag. It was all he could do. He was tied up like a dawg. And in his own barn, yet! Being given the whip like an errant child. It was all too much. He would've yelled like a coyote if he could. But he couldn't. All he could do was squirm. Try to get away from the blows. Fat chance! All he could do was squirm. For all the good it did him. Swizzz ! Whack ! Swizzz ! Whack ! He could feel his ass getting hotter. Hot as hell. And still the blows fell. Regular like clockwork. Swizzz ! Whack ! Swizzz ! Whack ! This was all too much. How could he have fallen so low? Getting his ass whupped by his own son, in his own house. The Old Man felt lower than s--t. But he also felt the pain. The awful, awful pain. The pain that made him want to yell as loud as he could. But he couldn't. All he could do was squirm. This was all part of his "idjicashun", he had been told. No more booze, no more whoring. He couldn't leave the house, and he had to wear that damn chastity thing all the time. Where did his son get the notion to do such nasty things to his Old Man? He'd always been such a good boy. Swizzz ! Whack ! Swizzz ! Whack ! Swizzz ! Whack ! Swizzz ! Whack ! Ow! Damn! It hurt so bad! His ass felt like it was on fire! Was it never going to stop? He wanted it to stop. He tried to yell in his gag "Stop it! Stop it!" But only a muffled sound came out. Swizzz ! Whack ! Swizzz ! Whack ! All he could do was squirm. He was being "idjicayted". There was to be a stop to all the drinkin' and whorin' he'd been told. Not fucking likely, he'd said. A man does as he pleases in his own house. Swizzz ! Whack ! Swizzz ! Whack ! Except it wasn't his own house any more. It was his son's. His son had taken over. The Old Man had been dethroned. His son was the Boss, now. He was the one meting out the blows. The punishment. His "idjicayshun". The Old Man was being "idjicaytid". And it hurt like hail. Swizzz ! Whack ! Swizzz ! Whack ! The Old Man jumped up and down. He jumped up and down as much as he could, being as he was tied like a dawg. He couldn't jump very high as his ankles were tied. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it to stop. The pain. HE WANTED IT TO STOP. But he couldn't do anything about it. Not. One. Damn. Thing. He had to take it. Swizzz ! Whack ! Swizzz ! Whack ! Owww! It hurt! It hurt so bad! Make it stop! Have pity, son! Have pity on your poor Old Man. He never meant any harm. He'll be good, now. He won't go a- drinkin' and a-whorin'. Swizzz ! Whack ! Swizzz ! Whack ! Swizzz ! Whack ! Swizzz ! Whack ! Swizzz ! Whack ! Swizzz ! Whack ! And on it went, and on it went. The Old Man was no longer thinking, now. He was past thinking. He was just a thing of pain, screaming in his gag as loud as he could. "Mmmmmmmmmmpffffffffff! Mmmmmmmmmmppffffffffffffff!" His ass was throbbing. Hot flashes of searing pain lashed out from it, sending waves through his entire body. His head was resting on the wall in front of him. Sweat was pouring freely from his brow, mixing with the tears from his eyes. Rivulets of sweat and tears running down the wall and down from his chin. He was clenching his teeth on the sweat-drenched gag in his mouth. "Mmmmmnnnnn! Mmmmmmnnnnnn!" Then he realized it was over. The Old Man was in a daze. His heart was pounding in his chest. He felt strong hands untying his feet, then his hands, getting the gag out of his mouth, using it to mop his brow. He couldn't open his eyes. He felt himself being led by the collar, like a dawg on a leash, out of the barn, in the sun- drenched yard, then mercifully in the cool shade of the house. A strong, gentle young man was taking him to the bathroom, taking off the collar, softly telling him to step into the shower. It was his son. Such a good boy. The Old Man felt the warm water start washing away the sweat and tears. It felt so good. His bum still ached, but the water was soothing the pain. He felt his son very gently showering him, going over his whole body and face. Then the old but still strong body was dried carefully with a big fluffy towel. And then the Old Man felt some kind of cream being carefully applied on his throbbing bottom by the same strong, gentle hands. It relieved the worst of the pain. His son was being so good to him. Such a good boy. He'd always being such a good boy. And him, his Old Man, had caused him such grief. Suddenly, the Old Man felt tears swelling from his eyes and his whole body was wracked with heavy sobbing. "It's all right, Dad," his son comforted him. "The pain will go away." "I'm sorry, son," the Old Man blubbered. "Oh, God, I'm sorry." His son cradled him in his strong arms, rocking him gently. "C'mon, Dad. Let's get you to bed. It's about time you had some rest." The Old Man allowed himself to be taken by the hand, like a little boy. His sobs were subsiding now. He stepped in the nice, cool bed, enjoying the feel of the fresh linen on his naked skin. He had to lie on his stomach, for his ass was still too sore for him to lie on his back. His son tucked him in. "You know what, son?" "What, Dad?" "I really feel I do need that "idjicayshun", after all." "You're darn right you do, you ol' coyote." He paused. "I won't let you down, Dad." Then his son stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door. Before he knew it, the Old Man fell blissfully asleep.