***Unwanted Dog finished 3rd in the July 2017 Book of the Month Contest. Thanks to everyone who made this possible!***

WARNING:

I feel I should caution my readers that I wrote this chapter in graphic detail. I did not color the text, King Tubbo did enough of that for all of us. Therefore, the violence in this part of my autobiography may not, probably more correctly stated is not, suitable for all FanStorians. I will understand if you prefer to not read this depiction of my encounter with King Tubbo's vaunted prized strap, but stop at the end of this WARNING. If you are going to write your autobiography, the unfortunate truth is that you must simply tell the story as it occurred.



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Rebel as I may, I was no physical match for the henchmen. I felt myself being dragged an inch at a time to King Tubbo's desk. Once there, they forced the palms of my hands flat down in the middle of his desk and my feet slightly apart. My bare back was fully exposed to King Tubbo's pleasure. For the first time, I felt a tinge of nerves.

"What have I gotten myself into?" I silently asked myself.

"Hold him down, Mr. Tobias," King Tubbo instructed his cohort. Then, to the other he asked, "Mr. Muskey, will you do the honors of lowering his jeans all the way to the floor?"

It was a good thing I had put on clean white undies that morning after returning to Hermitage Hall.

Those tasks accomplished by his henchmen, King Tubbo informed me in an even tone of voice, "Now that I have your undivided attention, Brett, we shall commence the administration of your comeuppance. We will cease the session upon your reception of the tenth stroke."

I attempted to force the frightened anticipation of intense pain out of my mind. The pale canvas that was my nether regions would soon display King Tubbo's masterpiece. I guess he thought he was Rembrandt.

Nothing could prepare me for the burning sensation that flew down my legs with the deliverance of the first sizzling lash. Bull's-eye! The stroke landed exactly where King Tubbo intended for it to and was something like I'd never felt before. I heard his strap snap as it whacked my bare skin with a loud crack! My body involuntarily jumped as the welt the strap left leaped off my flesh.

The top of my keester burned like a raging wildfire from the lash. It's cousin, Lash Number Two, joined in the procession. That throb was felt just below the area the first attacker mugged me. My Muckluck slippers danced a jig in place. A flaming hot weal appeared. I still had eight more wallops to receive ... somehow!

Lash Number Three turned my behind bright red as blood was drawn up under the skin. Unlike other boys I'd previously heard endured King Tubbo's wrath, I refused to wail out or allow him the satisfaction of knowing he'd subdued me. I was battered and bruised, but not broken. That, I determined, would not happen no matter what I suffered. My inner strength had seen me through many obstacles in my young life.

With the henchmen restraining me, I had no option but to remain under the tutelage of King Tubbo's prized strap. I fought back the ocean of tears that wanted to burst forth and clung to what little bit of my pride remained.

Lashes four, five and six were delivered with rapid succession that took my breath away.. King Tubbo could not believe I had not uttered a single sound since my chastening began. Not as much as one little whimper. He grew more frustrated with my continued silence and was bent on making me yelp, loudly. This cookie wasn't about to crumble though. I drew a deep breath and tried to brace for Lash Number Seven.

In a concerted effort to extol a verbal response from me, Lash Number Seven and Lash Number Eight were applied with increased intensity. None came. Battered and bruised, I somehow managed to withstand them, although I still attempted to free myself from the clutches the henchmen had on me. To no avail. The more I struggled against them the tighter they held on to my wrists.

Lash Number Nine and Lash Number Ten were administered to the back of my upper legs. They hurt worst of all. I would not sit for a few days. That much was certain. A multi-colored massive array of greens and blues and yellows and purples and blacks covered my welted, swollen, nether regions. By far, this was the worst punishment I ever endured.

King Tubbo hung his strap back up on the wall and I was released by the henchmen. Immediately, I rubbed my wounds then slowly pulled my undies and jeans back up. The pain was so severe I almost could not tolerate having them on

"Do not be summoned to my office again for a repeat performance!" King Tubbo sternly warned me promising, "I will increase the number of lashes delivered with each appearance."

I painfully departed King Tubbo's office, barely able to even walk in slow, baby steps. I heard him ask his henchmen, "Do you know how much I hate boys?"

"About as much as they despise you, Gail," Edmund Muskey responded.

King Tubbo laughed heartily and stated, "You are so right, Edmund. All any boy has ever been good for is whipping. That I extract great pleasure in."

The three of them drank a toast of chardonnay exclaiming, "Here! Here! I will definitely drink to that."

There was only one other time I tasted King Tubbo's vicious strap. That was the afternoon of the day Dusty West bought me an Egg McMuffin for lunch. But, that's placing the cart in front of the horse. True to his vow, on that rare occasion, I received fifteen strokes from King Tubbo.

This brings us up to the parking lot of a certain Wal-Mart where I first encountered Dusty West.
I appreciate all of you who have followed my autobiography up to this point and hope you have enjoyed reading what I have written. I will leave the continuance of this story up to your decision. If it is something you would like me to keep displaying I will.