Original story by Bob Wingate – Updated 2022
I grew up on a small farm in Minnesota during
the sixties and early seventies as the only child of deeply religious parents
who were pillars of the local Swedish Lutheran Church. Their philosophy of
parenting is best illustrated by the well-used length of heavy cowhide which
hung from a hook on the back porch, over which was tacked a little
hand-lettered, cardboard sign reading: “HE WHO SPARES THE ROD HATES HIS SON.
BUT HE WHO LOVES HIM IS CAREFUL TO DISCIPLINE HIM.” — Proverbs 13:24. The one
thing my father will never be accused of is “sparing the rod.”
As I was growing up, although my parents often
punished me by “grounding” me, assigning me extra chores, washing out my mouth
with soap, or sending me to my room without any supper, the one punishment I
could always count on, in addition to all of the others, would be a trip to the
utility shed for a whipping. To make it even worse, rather than taking me out
there right away and punishing me on the spot, my father would often make me
sweat out a whole day or more with the threat of a beating hanging over my
head.
I was in the seventh grade when my father
decided that I was old enough to graduate from over-the-knee-spankings in his
bedroom to real, man-sized whippings in the shed. Since he had grown tired of
my kicking and squirming and trying to protect my ass during spankings, he
decided it would be better for me, as well as more manly, if I had no control
over what was happening to me. Consequently, from then on, I was to be tied
over a sawhorse for my whippings. To make the whole thing even worse, my father
gave me the job of installing the leather harness straps on the legs of the
sawhorse so that my wrists and ankles could be secured quickly and easily.
The ritual for my punishment sessions never varied very much. When the hour of reckoning finally arrived, I would have to go get the strap from the back porch and bring it to the shed where I would lay it over one end of the sawhorse. If the weather was really cold my next job would be to light the portable heater. Then I would have to go and stand with my face pressed into the one empty corner of the shed and think about what I had done wrong and about how much my ass was going to smart for it. I could always count on its being at least an hour before I would hear my father’s heavy footsteps coming up the path. After entering and seating himself on a high wooden stool, he would order me to come over and stand in front of him. Then he would make me look him straight in the eye while he gave me a long lecture about what I had done to piss him off and just why it was that I needed this whipping. After this came the really humiliating part. He would make me take off all my clothes before bending me over the sawhorse. Then I had to spreadeagle my arms and legs so they could be tied with the leather straps to the legs of the horse.
As soon as I was secured over the horse, my
father would pick up the strap and go to work on my ass. The blows would land
hard and in rapid succession which cause a hell of a lot of pain to build up in
a hurry and was aggravated by the fact that he kept all his licks aimed only at
my butt-cheeks. After our first couple sessions in the shed I actually began to
believe my father was doing me a favor by tying me down. If I had to be
whipped, being restrained was the only possible way I could have taken a
thrashing this bad.
By the time I was in tenth grade this whole
situation had become really embarrassing since none of my friends were still
being whipped by their fathers. The one time I worked up enough courage to
mention this to my father, I was told grimly that every one of them would still
be getting the strap if he had anything to say about it.
~~~~~ ∞ж∞ ~~~~~
During the late spring of my sophomore year in
high school, my mother’s brother offered my parents a way to get out from under
the burden of our farm which was, by then, going steadily down the tubes. My
uncle, who was rapidly becoming a very successful rancher in southwest Texas,
offered my father a good job and a house to live in, He also put me to work as
a hand full-time during the summer and part-time during the school year. Even
though my father never whipped me again after we moved to Texas, my next
experience with ass beating was to begin shortly. It happened when I decided to
go out for Young Ropers, a rodeo club for young men ages sixteen up to
twenty-one.
Our initiation took place over a weekend in mid-August when the entire group members, would-be members and sponsors all saddled up their horses and rode off for a campout on property owned by the father of one of the club members. I learned later that this location was always chosen because of its God-forsaken remoteness. This was to guarantee that the club would be able to initiate its new members without any danger of being observed. Complete privacy was an important consideration given the kind of hazing the Ropers liked to do. Even though it only lasted forty-eight hours, it was the longest forty-eight hours I had ever experienced in my whole fucking life. In spite of all the participants being sworn to secrecy every year, the Ropers had a kind of ominous reputation which kept all but the toughest most macho boys from joining.
In addition to the eleven adult sponsors of the
group, all of whom were former club members, we also had with us two honorary
sponsors who had arranged to take the weekend off. One of these was the local
Lutheran minister, a large, muscular, good-looking former college football jock
in his late twenties who served as the club’s chaplain. The other man was a
doctor and the father of one of the club members. Feeling the need to bring a
doctor along says volumes about Young Roper initiations.
In preparation for the weekend, we had been
forbidden to bring any clothing except what we would be wearing. We were told
to wear hats, boots, leather work gloves and bandannas around our necks. Our
jeans were to be Wranglers, which happened to be the “official” pants of the
Ropers. We were not to bring any toiletries, not even razors or tooth brushes.
We were to bring only a sleeping bag and a paper grocery sack with our name
printed on it which was to contain a roll of toilet paper and six spring-loaded
clothespins. We had also been ordered to show up at the meeting place Friday
afternoon wearing quarter inch crew cuts. The worst part was that we had also
been warned not to appear under any circumstances unless the rest of our bodies
were completely hairless: even our armpits, cocks and balls. Any hair found on
us would be pulled out with tweezers.
What made this so bad for me was that I had
hair in places I couldn’t reach. Finally, after giving the matter a lot of
thought, I swallowed my pride and asked Garth, one of my best friends, if he
would help me out. Garth, who was also being initiated into the Ropers said he
had the same identical problem. This being the case, we decided to trade
shaves. Even though both of us got hard as rocks while having our crotches
shaved, we just laughed it off as something caused by the necessary handling
and nothing more. You can bet your ass that all this shaving was done over at
Garth’s house and not mine. My father would have had a shit hemorrhage if he’d
caught us in the act.
~~~~~ ∞ж∞ ~~~~~
On Friday of that fateful weekend, after a two-hour
ride on horseback, we arrived at the campsite in the late afternoon and pitched
the tents. Those of us being initiated were given a lecture by the club
president which was carefully calculated to scare the shit out of us. He said
that for the next two days we would be lowly jackasses without speech and with
no rights. We were the sole property of the club members who could do with us
as they damn well pleased. We would obey all commands instantly. Any
disobedience, or sounds, other than whimpering when hurt, would be punished in
a manner easily understood by any jackass: in other words, with a whip. The
bottom line was that, for the remainder of the weekend, the eight of us would
be totally at the mercy of two dozen young cowboys who, as we would soon
discover, had a real talent for doing painful things with whips, paddles, hot
shots and a few yards of rope.
After our situation had been explained to us,
each jackass was assigned to his three “mule skinners” who were the club members
who would have direct charge over him. I was remanded to the custody of Craig,
Justin and Troy who would, later on, become three of my best friends. This
would be an interesting transformation given the fact that, during that
weekend, I had more than a little proof that they were all total assholes as
well as my worst enemies.
The first thing the mule skinners did was to
get the eight of us stripped naked. Except for our socks and boots, we wouldn’t
see our clothes again until late Sunday afternoon when we were getting ready to
ride back to town. As soon as I had been relieved of my boots and socks, Justin
started popping the buttons on my shirt while Craig ripped off my jeans. While
those two guys were busy stuffing my clothes into my grocery sack, Troy ambled
over and, grasping the leg bands of my cotton jockeys whispered, “Okay, big
jack, it’s time to see what these little white fuckers are hiding.” As he slid
my shorts down my legs, I felt a tingling in my crotch and knew that I was
getting hard. Since I had always thought of myself as super-straight, I was
struggling with a lot of confusion as to just why the hell I was getting so
fucking turned on having my underpants taken off by a goddam boy. What made it
even worse was that Troy, instead of ignoring my problem, gave my stiffening
cock a couple real hard squeezes and whistled “Goddam!” under his breath. Then
he hollered, “Hey y’all! Come over here and take a gander at what this fuckin’
donkey’s got hangin’ on him. We oughter hire ‘im out for stud service! Let’s
get us a mare and we’ll make us some goddam mules!”
~~~~~ ∞ж∞ ~~~~~
By now it was supper time. We were made to eat
all our meals kneeling on the ground with our hands still tied behind us.
Anybody who has ever tried to eat this way knows how hard it is to keep from
falling face-first into your dish. Our food consisted entirely of cold baked
beans which had been laced with castor oil, the amount of which was designed to
give us the runs for the entire weekend. An even worse torture was that, while
we were eating this shit, we were forced to smell the food the members were
cooking for themselves: grilled steaks, chicken and ribs, as well as potatoes
and sweet corn which had been roasted in the coals of the fire.
As soon as supper was finished, all eight of us
jackasses were strung up to overhead branches with our feet tied to stakes
after they had been spread as far apart as our mule skinners could kick them.
Another stake was pounded into the ground six or eight feet in front of us to
which our cocks and balls were roped so tightly that there was always an
uncomfortable tugging sensation. After we had been gagged with bits, they
blindfolded us with our own bandannas. The mule skinners then used our bodies
to hone their whipping skills. In theory, the object of the exercise was to
flick lightly whatever part of the anatomy was targeted. In reality, however,
most of these guys weren’t all that good with a whip, which left the eight of
us pretty well striped and covered with welts. All in all, my ass was the part
of me hardest hit. Because of all the whipping and paddling they put us through
that weekend, I was still oozing small amounts of blood into my underwear three
days later. In order to fight infection, the doc insisted that we have rubbing
alcohol daubed into our wounds several times each day which also, of course,
provided some pretty good torture all by itself.
We were made to spend our nights naked,
imprisoned inside our zipped-up sleeping bags with our ankles and knees tied
and our wrists bound behind our backs. In addition to all the other painful
crap being done to us, we also had to put up with the cramping caused by the
castor oil which was constantly tearing up our guts. We were only allowed to
dump just before bedtime, so any boy who couldn’t hold his shit until reveille
had no other choice but to go in his sleeping bag and sleep with both it and
the stench for the rest of the weekend.
~~~~~ ∞ж∞ ~~~~~
As all of us rookies were struggling to sleep
bound and in our sleeping bags and hoping we didn’t shit in our bags, we heard
the boots and spurs of the mule skinners coming into our camping area. My three mule skinners kicked my bag. I was unzipped and quickly blindfolded and
lead away into the woods. I could hear
yelling and realized that all of us jackasses were being taken into the
woods. Quickly I could tell that each of
us was being taken away from the others as their sounds and groans quickly
faded away.
Craig, Justin and Troy led me into a clearing where my wrists and ankles were tied in a spread-eagle fashion to a couple of posts in the ground. There was a small fire already going in the clearing. My three mule skinners had a cooler and each popped some cans of beer and started drinking. The whip came out and they started taking turns whipping my ass and back again. I yelled and was quickly gagged. I heard other far away yells and cracks of whips. We were all definitely going through the same experience.
After they finished their first beers and each
hit me a couple of times with the whip, they each grabbed a second beer. Craig came up to me and started to grab my
cock with his leathered gloved hand.
“Well Jack, let’s see what our donkey has
tonight. Fuck… you’ve got a damn big
cock. How ‘bout we see how many times we
can jack you off tonight…. I’ll start”,
said Craig.
The other boys started laughing as Craig started jerking my cock. As much as I wanted to be the straight stud, my dick had a mind of its own. Damn, his hand felt so good as he worked my cock. Before long I was shooting my jizz in Craig’s glove.
I was hoping Craig would stop once I came, but
he kept jacking my now sensitive dick and Craig just smeared my cum on cock as
he continued to stroke me hard. He was
laughing as he knew the pain, he was causing me. I was whimpering into my gag.
Finally, Justin told Craig, “Craig, let’s get
this boy working our dicks. I’m horny
and need to unload.”
I was trying to process what Justin just said
as thankfully Craig let go of my dick.
Craig said, “I was just letting our donkey feel
some pain. Fuck, we do need to put Jack out
for stud service.”
Justin and Troy untied me from the posts and
then forced me to kneel where my hands and arms were tied behind me and my
ankles tied together. The blindfold on
my eyes was left in place but the gag from my mouth was removed.
Justin said, “Okay jackass, here’s the
game. You have to figure out who’s cock
is in your mouth. If you screw up, well,
you’ll get the shit kicked out of your ass.
If you get it right, you take our load.”
The guys laughed while I tried to process what
they said. Suddenly Justin shoved his
cock into my mouth. I was stunned and
started to gag. Justin forced himself in
harder. Someone stood behind me so I
couldn’t lean back.
“Ah fuck yeah, jackass. Your mouth is so fucking hot on my dick. This is going to be a real fun game”, said
Justin.
Suddenly Justin pulled his dick out of my mouth
and another dick was inserted. I heard
Troy’s voice say, “Fuck yeah. Justin you
are so right. This fucker’s mouth will
be fun to get a nice blow job tonight.”
Troy pulled out and a third dick was
inserted. It was Craig’s. “You like my manhood dickhead? We are going to enjoy having you service your
mule skinners tonight. Sucking us off
will help us sleep good tonight. Fuck
yeah, shit you take cock good boy. Maybe
you have experience before?”
All three laughed. Craig pulled out.
Now I realized that I hadn’t really paid
attention to anything about these dicks I could remember. Shit, I was in trouble with this game.
I was told that as soon as a cock was inserted
in my mouth, I had 15-seconds to guess who’s it was. I would not be prompted for a response.
A cock was inserted in my mouth. I had no clue who it was. I tried to figure it out. I felt spurs on my ass and I blurted out
“Craig”.
“Wrong shithead”, I heard Justin say. Suddenly I felt all three cowboys laid a few well-placed boot kicks that knocked me to the ground. I was up righted again.
Another cock was inserted in my mouth. Again, I desperately tried to determine who’s
it was. When I felt the spurs, I said
“Troy”.
“Wrong motherfucker. You’re not very good at this game”, said
Craig. Again, I was given several hard
boot kicks.
Another cock was inserted in my mouth. I realized that I thought this was
Justin’s. When I felt the spurs, I said
“Justin”.
“Good job jackass”, said Justin. “Now, you can suck my dry boy for getting it
right. I’m gonna drain my fucking nuts
down your throat.”
Justin went to work giving me a face fuck. He kept pressing in harder and deeper with
his thrusts. After a few minutes, he
started unleashing a load of cum in my mouth and throat. I kept trying to gag but Justin wouldn’t let
me and kept pressing his cock deep in my mouth until he was drained.
“Damn good blow job donkey boy. Now boys, let’s see if he can guess again.”
A cock was inserted in my mouth. I wrongly guessed “Troy” and received boot
kicks that knocked me down. I was up
righted again.
The next cock I guessed was Troy’s. Like Justin, he proceeded to give me a face
fuck and drain his cock in my mouth.
Lastly, Craig had me suck him dry.
The boys seemed to enjoy their party. They finished their beers and led me back to
camp where I was again bound and zipped into my sleeping bag. I had to shit, but they just laughed and told
me to hold it until morning. The rules
hadn’t changed.
I tried to hold it as long as I could before I
felt my bowels unleashed the castor oil inspired dump of shit in my bag. By the smell, I could tell I wasn’t the only
jackass to unload as well.
We later learned that these night time hazing
sessions were recently added by a horny sadistic group of senior guys who
recently graduated out of the Young Ropers.
The latest seniors decided to keep the new night time hazing activities and
the adult leaders didn’t seem to know about them, or at least they looked the
other way.
Just before sunup, Derek was brought back to
camp and zipped in his sleeping bag. We
tried to get him to talk, but he didn’t say anything.
~~~~~ ∞ж∞ ~~~~~
Conclusion (Next Week) - Young Ropers - Part 2
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