My Daddy "The Fonz"

Chapter 8/Part 4: Difficulties and Discipline (TW: spanking)

Bobby sits at the very farthest corner opposite me and Mr. C. He tries to hide his eyes by facing the tent instead of us, but Mr. C scolds him for it, making him stare straight ahead.

"It'll be okay, Bobs," I encourage. "I promise you that after this, I'm gonna be the best dad I could ever be. Trust me." I can see Bobby's chin tremble again and more tears appear, but he nods in understanding. I think the hardest part of this whole thing will be having to see poor Bobs watch it all go down. Although, I don't think it would be fair if I hid my eyes when he's not allowed to hide his, so instead I hold my gaze on his in hopes that it would calm him a little. "This is for you, Bobby," I half-whisper.

And with that, the first strip of searing pain is unleashed on my right cheek, making me gasp. I grunt to hold back the cuss words I wanna shout. This pain is much worse than I thought it would be. "Um...not to cramp your style, Mr. C, but how many of these are left?"

"For every question you ask, I'll add another, how does that sound?"

Before I could even try saying anything else, another lick lands, striking my thighs. "Geez La-hoo-WEEZ," I shout as I arch my back. This is so intense. I'm never gonna take a turn in the riptide again. Never. Again.

After about eight more, my hands want to come off the table and guard my tender areas.

"Arthur Fonzarelli, get your hands back to where they were," Mr. C growls. "Or there'll be another five."

"C'mon!" I can't help but whine.

"Alright, five more to your total then."

Crap. Five more? Does it even matter? I don't even know how much there was in the first place. This is gonna take forever. Instead of complaining more, I decide to try the good ol' military response. "Yes-sir."

"That's better," Mr. C says. "I hope you know I won't be stopping until Every. Bit. of your bottom is a glowing red. That way if you planned on going streaking through the town sometime within this week, people would mistake you for a stop sign."

I shake my head at his stupid remark and grit my teeth at the thought of THAT much more pain awaiting me. A huge breath escapes my lips just before the next bout of pain comes down. THWACK. "Ah-ha-ha-ha-how!" Hold it together, Fonzie. Stop being a baby. Be strong for Bobby.

Be strong for Bobby.

Speaking of Bobby, I've forgotten after the third blow that he was even in the same tent as us. I try to smile at him, but I can't bear it when I see him whimpering for my sake. Those tears grip me, and suddenly I find myself choking on my own tears. They taste a lot like the ocean. I put my head down between my arms and rest my forehead on the table as I allow the rest of the blows to crash onto my legs and ass.

It's so tiring to try and keep it together–to keep from defending myself. It would be so easy to just kick Mr. C and take him down, but what kind of example would that show? Not a very good one.

There's a couple blows right under my butt cheeks that really sting, so much so that it takes every inch of me to keep from exploding into pathetic sobs. No one has ever seen me cry. No one, and I'd like to keep it that way. Tears are one thing, but total break down? Not happening.

"Please, Mr. Cunningham, I can't take this no more. You gonna make me cry in front of Bobby?"

"If that's what it takes to teach you a lesson, then I will, Fonzie. I still have a few more to go. I can still see normal-looking skin. I'm sorry. This is what you signed up for."

Yeah right...You ain't sorry. You're probably enjoying this whole "giving me a taste of my own medicine" thing. Sweet revenge, as they say.

Be. Strong. I can do this.