You’ve Gotta Hand it To Him: Spanked By a Trump Supporter

 You’ve Gotta Hand it To Him: Spanked By a Trump Supporter

By Yu May and Redd

[Content warning: This story depicts the non-consensual spanking of an adult male. This fictional story is not an endorsement of any actions depicted, nor any beliefs expressed by the characters.]

Redd O’Hare had only been in the rural town of Walthill for a few weeks when the trouble started. He’d moved there for the quiet and the cheap rent, freelancing as a writer and journalist while working remotely from a tidy, minimal single-bedroom apartment that still smelled faintly of fresh paint and cardboard boxes. A single poster of Anderson Cooper hung near his desk, and a handful of potted plants lined the windowsill in various stages of survival. The rest was sparse: a neatly made bed, and not much else. 

Redd scowled as he browsed his Facebook feed. The neighborhood watch group had welcomed him politely enough. Most of the members were older, the kind of people who still used all-capitalized words in texts. When the group admin posted a poorly edited meme asking everyone to pray for President Trump and J.D. Vance, Redd (feeling clever and a little homesick for life in a blue state) typed a snappy reply: “I’ll pray they realize it’s not too late to resign. They can just say they were joking the whole time!”

A few laughs, a few dislikes, a couple of puzzled comments asking if he wasn’t happy for the president. Then Mike Handler weighed in.

Mike was the tall, broad-shouldered neighbor who had welcomed Redd to the street with a firm handshake and an invitation to the local gun club. Six-foot-five, barrel-chested, cowboy hat, flannel, overalls. His comment was curt: “Hey now, praying for the president is nothing to joke about, son. Think about what you write on the Internet.”

Redd rolled his eyes at the screen and fired back: “Well good thing I won’t be praying for him, period.”

He felt righteous for about three hours. Long enough to do some work, water the half-dead plants, and forget the exchange entirely.

Then came the heavy, insistent knocking at the front door.

Through the bedroom doorway Redd could see the tall silhouette on the porch. He opened the door just enough to poke his head out, raising an eyebrow. “Howdy neighbor. Need something?”

Mike tipped his hat, then casually set it on a coat hook, as if making himself at home. But his face was stern. “Morning, Mister O’Hare. May I come in? I’d like a moment of your time, please.”

Redd’s manners won. “Come on in. I wasn’t expecting company, so sorry for the mess.” Redd added a hint of sarcasm to the last comment. The house was nearly spotless.

Mike stepped inside, and folded his arms across his wide chest. “It’s about your comments on the Neighborhood Watch Facebook group. Karen was mighty hurt by what you wrote. We take prayer requests mighty serious, and what you said was disrespectful.”

Redd’s face stayed neutral, almost amused. “Oh, well it’s a public platform. Free speech and all that. You’re a big proponent of our First Amendment after all.”

Mike didn’t smile. “It ain’t about the Constitution. It’s about right and wrong. We’re your neighbors. We knew you were a—ahem, a Democrat—from your posts. We pray for all our elected officials, Republican and Democrat. You really think it’s a good idea to mock that?”

Redd felt his cheeks warm. He hadn’t realized the prayers were meant to be bipartisan. “Er… I really wasn’t trying to mock anyone’s religious beliefs.”

Redd paused, then put his hands in his pockets. “I can take down the comment if you want.”

Mike’s expression softened slightly. “That would be a step in the right direction. I gotta say, when I was your age, if I spoke that way to one of my neighbors, my Pa would’ve hauled me to the woodshed. Folks back then had the right idea.”

Redd rolled his eyes. “Well thank goodness it’s not the 1800s.”

Mike’s eyes narrowed. 

Slowly, Redd fetched his laptop, and brought up the offending post. As Redd hovered the mouse over the trash can icon, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. “Seriously, what is this guy’s deal?” thought Redd.

The moment Redd clicked delete, he felt a surge of relief. “There, I deleted the comment.”

Mike nodded curtly, and reached for his cowboy hat.

But as Redd bit his lip, he decided he couldn’t resist getting a last word in. “You know, thoughts and prayers are great and all, but it might be a bit more effective if you Trumpsters actually…did something about it, other than complaining.”

Mike’s hand froze, and he turned to fix Redd with a withering glare, his voice low. “You mean like work for a living?” 

Mike strode up to the table, looking down at Redd. “I put in my time at John Deere for thirty years. What was it you do? Computers?”

“Yes, Mike, I work with computers,” Redd said dryly. “Just like you work with tractors. Now is that all you came in for? Because if so I’ve got a lot of computers to do.”

Mike stepped closer. “See, this is what I mean. You apologized, you took down the post, but you’re not really sorry at all. Cuz you’re part of the generation that never got spanked growing up, and it shows. Then all those spoiled brats who never got spanked grew up to be spoiled brats with cushy government jobs. At least til Trump got elected, anyway. See? This is why we won.”

Redd’s temper flared. “Oh yes, because it’s always my generation’s fault. Lazy and spoiled and we don’t understand how the real world works. Or maybe we’re just tired of you…you ‘lead-paint-stare’ boomers treating us like crap! You think Trump gives a damn about you?! Just wait, because once he’s done violating every civil right we’ve ever earned, he’s coming for your veteran benefits next.”

Mike’s hand closed around Redd’s wrist like a vise. “You know what…” He pulled Redd toward the bedroom. “I’m gonna give you something your dad should have given you a long time ago.”

Redd tugged back. “What the fuck?! Let go of me!”

“Language.” Mike sat on the edge of the bed and yanked Redd forward. Before Redd could fully process it, he was stumbling across Mike’s left knee. Mike’s left arm clamped around Redd’s waist; his right leg pinned Redd’s thighs. 

Redd felt his grey t-shirt being brushed up against his back. “Let me go, you bastard!” 

Redd twisted, and caught a glimpse of his own backside propped in the air behind him. His skinny jeans were all that stood between him and what came next.

Mike landed the first swat with shocking force across the seat of Redd’s pants. Redd gasped; the heat bloomed instantly, dense and angry beneath the fabric. Mike growled again, but this time there was a dangerous edge to his voice. “…Language, boy.” 

Redd’s hand flew back. “What are you doing?! Stop that!”

Mike ignored Redd’s struggles, and cracked his palm down on Redd’s left butt cheek—once, twice—then settled into a slow, deliberate rhythm, concentrating on the left buttock alone. “Giving you the hiding you have coming, of course.”

“Mike, can we–Ow!–talk about this? Ah! Just stop!” Redd jumped in place as he felt another smack, only to feel himself being held securely in place. The slow and steady pace gave Redd plenty of time to feel each and every swat sinking in, like a hot iron.

The way the jeans strained tight against the flesh only seemed to make it worse. Redd yelped and squirmed, but Mike’s grip was iron.

As he carried on spanking briskly, still focused on Redd’s left buttock, Mike’s voice was calm. “We already ARE talking about this, son. Move your hand outta the way, right now.”

Redd’s protests were cut off by another spank, and he gasped. “This is NOT talking—Ah-haoooww!”

Mike slowed the spanking slightly, delivering a swat to punctuate each sentence as he lectured. “You have an attitude problem. You disrespected my neighbors. You disrespected my president. You disrespected me. Back in the good old days, this is what we called an attitude adjustment. Move your hand, buster.”

The asymmetrical burn was torture. Finally, desperate, Redd pulled his right hand away, only to quickly twist and cover his tingling left buttock with his left hand. “I said–Ah!–that I was sorry! This is assault!”

Instantly, Mike switched to spanking Redd’s right buttock, without skipping a beat. “You’re not sorry yet. But you’re gonna’ be.” 

Redd pursed his lips as he felt the head slowly rise across his right buttock. “Shit! Aaww! This is not how rational adults–”

Mike cut Redd off with a ferocious, resounding blow. “This whuppin’ ain’t over til you quit struggling. You call yourself a man? Get your hands out the way, and take your licks.”

At the sound of the words, Redd’s brain activated, and he pulled his hand away from his right buttock, overriding his instincts. “Okay! Okay! Just–”

Immediately, Mike rewarded Redd’s obedience by switching to spanking the right butt cheek once. Then, he settled into a brisk left-right rhythm. Redd beat his feet uselessly against the floor, and felt the fabric of his jeans chafing against his flesh as he strained. “Mike, come on—Ow! Don’t do this…this isn’t right!”

Mike paused, delivered one hard swat to the center of Redd’s rear, then resumed by concentrating the spanking on the right cheek at full strength, slow and punishing. “What you said to me wasn’t right. It was mighty hurtful. I’m learning you to mind your mouth.”

Redd’s voice cracked. He felt like he was sitting bare-assed on the hood of a hotrod on a scorching summer day. “P-please, I’m sorry! I won’t post stuff like that again, I swear! Ah! It hurts!”

Mike stopped. “That’s more like it. Stand up, hand me your belt, and drop your jeans. Then get back across my knee.”

Redd’s stomach dropped. “What?! Absolutely not!”

Mike sighed, stood Redd up, and unbuckled the belt himself. “Can’t even take your licks. Well, fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

The leather hissed through the loops. Redd’s hands scrabbled uselessly as Mike popped the button and yanked the jeans to his knees. Redd felt his cheeks burning hot, to match his butt cheeks. “Mike, please—”

Too late. Redd saw his jeans bunched around his knees, and his cartoony Scooby-Doo briefs on full display. Redd twisted, tripping as he tried to pull away, but Mike simply caught him by the waist, picked him up like a child, and repositioned him—this time not over the knee but angled forward over the bed’s edge, legs dangling, hips tilted high. Mike’s arm locked around Redd’s waist, lifting his bottom into the perfect position for punishment. Redd’s briefs rode up his crack, exposing the tender sit spots, beneath the illustrated slogan, “Scooby-Doo, Where Are You?”

Mike shook his head as he patted Redd across the seat of the taut underpants, then raised his hefty hand high. “Good grief, what are these? Cartoons? How old are you? And you can’t even take your spanking without acting like a sissy boy.”

Mike’s palm cracked down hard across the lower curves below Redd’s glutes, before the spanking returned to the trusty left-right-left-right pattern. Redd cried out, face burning with shame as much as pain. The thin cotton offered almost no protection; each swat drove the heat deeper into Redd’s meaty glutes, while the rough wedgie seemed to sharpen the sting.

Mike kept it up for a solid minute—hard, unrelenting swats that painted Redd’s entire backside mottled red. Redd’s eyes watered as he resisted the urge to sob. Finally, it was over. Mike paused the spanking, and examined his work. Redd whimpered with blessed relief, before he heard Mike’s stern voice. “Good start, but you’ve got to learn to take your licks better than that. Stand up and put your hands on your head.”

Redd staggered upright, shaking, hands clasped on his head. As his t-shirt rode up, he felt absurdly small and exposed. “...M-Mike? P-p-please!”

Mike retrieved the belt, folded it, snapped it once. “First off, it’s not ‘Mike’ to you. You may call me ‘Mr. Handler’ or ‘Sir’ until I say otherwise. Is that understood?”

Redd nodded weakly, his voice small. “Yes…sir.”

Mike stood up, towering over Redd. “Tell me what you did wrong. Why are you in the fix you’re in?”

Feeling his blazing bottom burning behind him, Redd hung his head. “I…um…I was posting things online that I shouldn’t have?”

“So you understand exactly why you are being spanked?”

As he heard the final word, Redd felt his eyes stinging as the reality crashed down on him. “Yes, sir…I’m being…spanked…because I was rude.”

Mike nodded. “That’s right. See? That wasn’t so hard. Next question: how old are you?”

Redd scrunched his eyes shut tight. “Twenty-six…sir.”

“Twenty-six, and still watching cartoons?” Mike shook his head. “Well, normally I’d haul you out to the woodshed for a real beat-down. But since this is your first time, I’ll let you off a bit easier. You’re only gonna get one lick of the belt for every year you’ve lived. Which reminds me…”

Before Redd could react, Mike yanked the Scooby-Doo briefs to his ankles. With a squeal, Redd tried to cover his privates, but Mike simply pinned him under his arm, and held Redd tight against his waist. “...You’re way too old for these fool britches.”

Redd danced on the balls of his feet as he felt Mike easily supporting his weight. With a grumble of disapproval, Mike landed three quick swats with his open palm, then paused to scoop up the belt. “Good grief. Quit bucking. We’re nearly done.”

Then, Redd felt the first belt stroke landing with a heavy crack, ripping diagonally across both his butt cheeks. The sting was immediate and vicious, building like waves of pain, washing over him. Redd screamed like a girl, and squirmed, kicking his legs wildly in the air behind him. Mike easily supported Redd’s weight as he continued administering the belt whipping with precise aim and timing.

Mike delivered the first five slowly, mostly targeting the lower right cheek and thigh. Redd gasped and pleaded between strokes, his jeans tumbling free from one of his feet as he kicked. Then Mike picked up the speed: eight more in quick succession, aimed closer to the left buttock. Redd shouted, “FUCK!” as a searing lash cut across his thigh.

Mike paused. “I already warned you about language. That just earned you some extra licks. And if you cuss again, I’m starting your spanking over from the beginning. Let’s finish up your birthday spanking first.”

Redd spluttered before he felt the belt lash across his upper bottom, covering both cheeks. Without further ado, Mike expertly aimed another 13 strokes, one after the other, so that each fresh belt mark slightly overlapped the previous rising welt. Redd hissed, barely restraining the urge to drop another F-bomb. Instead, he screeched a long, shuddering cry, until he was forced to gag for air, and finally hung limply under Mike’s arm.

Redd’s breath faltered as he heaved for air, between racking sobs. “P-please, sir…I c-can’t take any m-m-more sp-spa-spanking—”

Mike rested the surface of the belt across Redd’s exposed rump, brushing it gently across the boy’s blazing, burning, butt-flesh. “Too bad. Your mouth done signed the check, now this ass has gotta cash it. You’re gonna take your licks like a man.”

Redd blubbered, his nose clogging as fresh tears, snot, and drool dribbled along his upside-down face. “Buh…but I’m not a man! I’m…I’m weak! Please, don’t spank me, sir…I’m just so…I’m sowwy! Aaaahaw–ah–hoo–bawwaaah!”

As the world started to fade into nothingness around him, Redd felt dizzy, before he strangely found himself tottering on his feet. He looked up to find Mike thumbing away his tears with a thumb, then patted his shoulder with his free hand. “No, Redd, don’t sell yourself short. You apologized, and you’ve taken quite a whoopin’. You may be a bit of a milksop now, but I fully believe you have what it takes to make something of yourself.”

Redd sniffled, his tongue heavy. “Huh? Ruh-rea’wee? You don’t hate me?”

Mike pulled Redd into a close hug. Redd accepted the embrace gladly, then shivered when he felt Mike reaching around to pat Redd’s bright red bottom. Mike’s voice was soothing “Of course not, son. But we’ve gotta finish what we started. Here, rest your hands and elbows on the bed and straighten your legs to stick out your rear.”

Whining softly, Redd obeyed, acting on autopilot, and felt his skinny jeans drop free from his foot as he stepped toward the bed. His Scooby-Doo briefs still dangled from one ankle, but he had a sinking feeling they wouldn’t be there for long.

As he raised his bottom high, Redd’s felt his knees knocking, until Mike stroked him gently across the small of his back, then patted the inside of his thighs. “Spread your feet a bit, son. It’ll help steady your center of gravity…There we go. There’s nothing better if you want to learn how to ‘stick it out.’ Heh! Get it?”

As he felt his ‘manhood’ fully exposed, Redd answered with a soft moan, his voice practically dripping with humiliation. 

Mike folded the belt and snapped it, before brushing it across Redd’s behind. Redd shook as he prepared for further torture, but stangely, Mike’s voice was oddly comforting. “Good. Just like that. Now, if you feel like you can’t take anymore, just grit your teeth and think, ‘I can take it!’ Let me hear you say it out loud. ‘I can take it!’”

Redd felt his lip quivering. For the first time in a long time, it was as if he had someone in his corner, like a coach, rooting for him. Redd pursed his lips against the soft comforter. “Um…I can take it?”

Redd found his own voice less than convincing.

Without warning, the next lash of the belt struck fully across both buttocks. Pursing his lips to suppress a scream, Redd was too preoccupied to notice that Mike had switched his grip on the belt, switching to his left hand to cover previously unmarked territory. Mike’s voice boomed. “Louder, son. You. Can. Take it!”

As Redd felt the tip of the belt strike the far side of his left buttock, he winced, keeping his eyes shut tight. Rasping, he managed a strained cry. “Aah! I—I can take it!”

The second lash tore across the center of Redd’s left buttock. It was almost as if Redd’s right buttock was grateful to finally be out of the frying pan, even if it meant its twin was now in the fire. Mike barked like a Drill Sargeant. “Again! You can take it!”

Wheezing for air, Redd bellowed. “I can take it!” 

For a moment, Redd actually believed it. But then the belt tore across the sensitive undercurve of his lower buttocks. As Redd’s eyes popped open, he blinked through a mist of tears, and knew that the dam was starting to break.

“Good.” Mike landed the fourth stroke a bit faster, without repeating his instructions. “Now…TAKE IT!” 

Redd clenched his jaw, afraid he’d bite his tongue if he screamed. He dimly remembered how Mike liked to start spanking slowly at first, then gradually build the tempo. Sure enough, the fifth stroke came even faster, without leaving Redd time to repeat the ritual. Clutching tight to the blanket, Redd pressed his face into his bed, slightly muffling the guttural scream which he felt burning deep in his lungs. Still terrified of the threat that the spanking might be repeated from the beginning, Redd willed himself to keep his bottom sticking out, only for the sixth sizzling stroke to break his will. Redd flopped forward onto the bed, bawling, clawing to escape, only to discover all the fight had been spanked out of him long ago.

As Redd’s final kick sent his cartoon briefs flying across the room, Mike ignored them and continued belting until he saw that Redd had a set of 26 fresh welts across his left buttock and thighs, to match the first set on his right side.

Setting down the belt, Mike patted Redd’s bottom, and guided him forward to lie down onto the bed. Redd buried his tear-stained face in a pillow and proceeded to cry his eyes out.

A few minutes later, Redd looked up from his pillow to see Mike gently stroking his behind. “Good job, son. You took your licks pretty well, toward the end at least.”

Redd’s throat felt hoarse. His dry eyes stinging, Redd turned his face away from Mike, too afraid to look at the state of his sorry backside. Exhausted, Redd lay his head on his pillow, wanting to cry despite having no tears left. Then, Mike pulled something from his overalls, and set it on Redd’s bedside table: a tube of Working Man’s brand hand lotion. 

The bedsprings creaked as Mike stood up. “That’s for you. If you plan on doing any sitting down today for computer work, it’ll help. Now, you’ve been pretty unneighborly, but I’m sure folks around here will be willing to give you another chance. We’re happy to see young folks like you move into the neighborhood. But mark my words, if I see you being rude to the folks around here, whether or not it’s on the Facebook or in real life, I’m hauling you to my own woodshed, tanning your hide for real, then hauling you back here in your birthday suit. And you can bet all the folks in town who see will say you had it coming.” 

Then, Mike bent over and patted Redd’s upturned hindquarters a few times, his voice grave. “Do I make myself clear, sonny?”

Redd hunched his shoulders, then twisted to look up at his tormentor. As he felt the lingering burn, Redd knew that he had behaved badly, and had suffered the consequences for it. Finally, Redd felt two straggling tears wetting his dry eyes. He murmured. “I…I’m sorry, sir.”

Mike smiled, and gave Redd one final swat, harder than before, but strangely encouraging. “Attta’ boy!”

Then, almost casually, Mike added. “Say, me and the old guys are doing skeet shooting on Friday. I’ll bring you along. You own a shotgun, right?”

Suddenly aware again of his nakedness again, Redd muttered. “Er…I’ll get back to you on that?” 

As he eased off the bed, Redd quickly covered his front. But before he could reach his clothes, Mike pulled him into a firm bear hug. “Don’t have one, do ya? Well, if you need one, you can borrow one of mine. Ya know I’m a certified gun range safety instructor? Now, one last thing.” 

Mike held Redd gently by the back of the head, and guided the sorrowful, repentant, well-spanked Never-Trumper to stand in the corner. As Redd faced his Anderson Cooper poster, he finally dared to glance back as his heinie, and found it to be blazing as bright as the most red-blooded American Republican Presidential power tie. Redd could almost see the stars and stripes of Old Glory, completing the picture.

Looking askance at the image of the CNN news anchor, Mike pointed a warning finger. “Keep that nose in the corner. Right up against that Clinton News Network poster of yours. You’re in time out for the next thirty minutes, buster…Trust me, it’ll help you calm down and let the message sink in.”

Redd quickly pressed his nose flat against the CNN logo. After a few moments, he heard Mike sigh. “Now, do you need me to stay here to keep an eye on you in timeout? Or would you prefer to be left alone to think? If you say you won’t cheat on your corner time, I’ll take you at your word.”

Redd shifted awkwardly on his feet, and whispered. “You, um…you could stay?”

“All right. But not a peep. If you leave time out, you know exactly what you’re getting, right?”

Redd hissed as he felt his gluteus maximus twinge. “Yessir! I get a spanking, Mr. Handler, sir!”

“Good boy. Hang on, lemme’ set a timer for ya. I’ll let you know when you’re out of time out.” Redd heard Mike moving a chair behind him, and knew that Mike had taken a seat right behind him. As Redd stood, bottom throbbing, he could make out the distinct sound of Mike scrolling on his phone, chuckling under his breath.

Something about hearing the phrase “time out” had put an odd feeling in Redd’s stomach. It was as if he belonged in this place.

Wondering if he was being photographed, Redd dared to risk taking a peep from the corner of his eye. Feeling guilty, Redd wondered if he’d just earned himself another spanking today, for his defiance.

Fortunately, Mike was turned at an angle, facing the window. Redd caught a glimpse of a Facebook feed on Mike’s feed, and distinctly saw Mike chuckling at a meme featuring the Minions from Illumination’s hit franchise, Despicable Me. It looked like it had been edited in Microsoft Paint. Mike hit the laughing emoji, and continued scrolling, revealing what looked like an AI generated image of Shrek dressed as a Hell’s Angels biker dude, with the lovely Mrs. Shrek dressed as trad-wife wojak. “...Baby Boomers,” thought Redd.

Suddenly, Mike’s phone’s alarm buzzed. Redd quickly turned his face back to the wall, praying to #TheScience he hadn’t been spotted.

Redd heard Mike stomping up behind him, and felt his backside clenching in anticipation. Finally, Mike tapped Redd’s shoulder, and guided him out of timeout. “That will do! Your spanking is officially over.”

Redd paled as he covered his nudity, but as he turned, he noticed Mike had neatly folded his lost clothing on the chair. Mike turned Redd to face him, clapping him across the back, his voice jovial. “I hope this has been a valuable learning experience, Redd. Oh, and before I forget…”

Grinning, Mike slapped Redd playfully across his still-smarting rump. “…Welcome to the neighborhood!” 

Redd took a sharp breath. “...Um, thanks?” 

Covering his crotch, Redd shuffled forward to collect his clothes, and started to dress. His head was swimming as he considered the implications of today’s events, but right now, all Redd wanted was to lay down and nap. But before Redd could collapse into bed, Mike hooked an arm gently around Redd’s shoulder and guided him out of the bedroom, into the kitchen.

“Don’t mention it, kid! …Oh, and by the way, earlier, I believe you referred to me as a…boomer?”

Redd froze. Had Mike read his mind? Was “boomer” considered an insensitive slur, worthy of a spanking for disrespect?

Mike waved a finger playfully at Redd’s nose. “I’ll have you know, I’m technically Gen X. I’m at the older tail end of it, so still probably old enough to be your father, but still—can’t have you disparaging me as a baby boomer, can I?” 

Redd bowed his head. “I apologize for misjudging you. It won’t happen again…sir.”

Mike reached around, cupping both of Redd’s buttocks roughly in his calloused hands. Finally, Mike petted Redd’s sore bottom, with surprising gentleness. “You’re forgiven, son. Take care of yourself.”

With that, Mike broke off the hug, fetched his hat, and closed the door behind him. Redd stood in the middle of his kitchen, with his blazing bare-bottom still hanging out, and sighed with relief. 

It seemed that life in rural, red-state America would require him to make some adjustments.

There was confusion, shame, exhaustion—and also the strange, reluctant comfort of being seen, corrected, and unexpectedly held close. Redd suspected this was only the beginning.

[The End?]