You Won't Be Able To Sit Down For A Week
|by Bob Y|
Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 11 Feb 2007
The biggest threat growing up was always 'you'll get whipped til you can't sit down for
a week!' Pop never carried out exactly that threat, but he did not hesitate to apply the shiny
black leather razor strop to my bare butt when he thought I neededcorrection, or to be punished.
After a session with the strap, sitting was uncom —
fortable alright, but I could still sit down, and the soreness only lasted a day or two.
So, as I finished my second year at community college, I hadn't thought about having to
drop my pants for a whipping in a couple years. Pop still threatened, but I figured I was too
grown up to have to worry about the razor strop any more. Besides, Pop never carried through
on 'the worst whipping' or 'you won't be able
to sit down for a week' threats, so why should he now?
As I sat thinking about punishment, I found myself getting aroused by the thought of Pop
leathering my tail. I had been caught cheating on an exam. It was a dumb thing to do, and I
felt really dumb for ever thinking I could get away with such a deed. I was twenty, so I wasn't
sure how Pop would react when I told him. He
hadn't whipped me in a couple years, but that's exactly what I needed, and the area between my legs was sending strong agreement.
I had left the notice of suspension for the rest of the semester on Pop's desk so he'd see
it along with his mail when he got home. I was at my desk looking out and watched Pop's car
come up the driveway and park. I felt like a sixteen year old as I tried to see if he was in
a good mood. During my teen years, that mood
business determined how bad I was going to get whipped. I could already imagine that leather strap sizzling across my butt. This was a whipping offense! I knew it, and I knew I deserved a good whipping. Now it was only a matter of time.
I was just wearing khakis and a white T-shirt, so I wasn't surprised that my room felt cold. Or perhaps it was an instinctual fear that made me shiver. As I waited for Pop to order me to his den, I remembered almost each and every other time I'd sat here at my desk at the same time of day, just waiting for Pop to yell for me. It wasn't a fond memory, but a smile crossed my lips for a brief moment.
I almost jumped as I heard the words I'd dreaded all my life; "Tim!" Pop bellowed.
"Get down here to my office immediately!"
"Coming Pop." I replied loud, but still respectfully.
I had a short second or two of wanting to run away, but that passed and I stood and walked down the stairs and sort of knocked at the door. "Yes Pop?" I asked from the doorway.
Pop looked up from his desk and glared at me. "Tim I can't believe what I just read!" He held the letter from my college up almost shaking it at me. "What the hell's the matter with you?" "I didn't raise a son to shame me by cheating, did I?"
"No sir!" I looked at the floor.
"I thought we'd finished with the strap, Tim, but the only thing I can think of to do is tan your hide!" "In fact, this time for sure, you will never forget the whipping you're going to get!. "Now get in here and pull the chair into position!"
I walked over to the big leather arm chair that I'd been bent over since I was big enough to reach over the arms, and then as I got older, over the back. I pulled the chair out to the middle of the room and turned it sideways, just like I'd done so many times throughout my boyhood.
I turned and watched as Pop removed his suit coat and placed it over his desk chair, then watched as he rolled up his sleeves. "Get the razor strop, Tim and hand it to me!" Pop ordered.
I walked to the office closet door and opened it. There on the back of the oak door, hanging
from a shiny brass hook, was the leather strop. No handle, just the nhard ware for the ring
from which it hung. Just a three inch wide, two and a half foot long leather strap. I was almost
erect just looking at the strop. I'd never gotten excited by a whipping befor, so I was getting
embarrassed as well. If I got a hard on, Pop would see. No way tohide it if you wear boxer
shorts! I took the strap with my right hand. Damn, that
thing was heavier than I remembered. I walked over to Pop and held the leather strap out to him. He glared at me. This was not a good sign.
"Go over to the chair, drop you pants and bend over!" Pop ordered me.
I obeyed. At this point fear took over from the arousal, and my only thoughtswere concerned with how badly this was going to hurt. I unbuckeld my belt, unbottoned and unzipped my khakis and let them slip down around my sneakers. I bent forward over the back of the chair.
The lecture began. Pop was so disappointed, how could I do such a thing? And then "When I get finished with your rear end, you won't be able to sit down for a week!" Somehow, this time I think he really meant it!
Pop stepped around behind me, laid the leather strap across the back of the chair, making sure I could see it, the put a thumb in on both sides of the waistband of my white boxers and slipped them down below my knees. I watched as he picked up the strap, then turned my head to face the seat cushion.
There was a whirring noise as the razor strop sliced the quiet air thenlanded with a loud snap right across both butt cheeks. I was taken completely by surprise, I'd forgotten how much the first lick stung. I didn't get much time to think about it befor another lick landed part way across the first and part way searing a new stripe. I grunted on the third lick, and was getting ready to yell by number ten. My whole butt was on fire! Each crack of leather across my rump brought an intense sting.
Pop showed now sign of slowing down. That leather strap blazed across my bare fanny like a swarm of wasps. I was shouting apologies loudly by the twentieth lick. By thirty, I was nearly in tears and began yelping as the strap snapped my hide. I let go as Pop laid the fortieth lick across the tops of the backs of my legs and started crying. I knew better than to come out of the position, years of training had taught me that if I jumped up, no matter how bad it hurt, we'd start all over again.
As the tears flowed, I trembled with each new lick of leather. I lost count somewhere around
sixty five. Oddly the pain was giving way to more of a glow. I'd read about people being tortured
and that there is a point where pain turns to pleasure. I was aware of each lash, but my endorfins
must have kicked in or something. I was still bawling like a baby, but I could feel a definate
erection occuring. I couldn't help it. And Pop kept up with the strap in evenly timed licks.
I found myself sinkig into the rhythym and ac —
tually thrusting forward into the back of the chair. I couldn't believe it! Befor I knew what was happening, I was cumming. A searing sting across my butt, and a forward thrust, and I felt like I was shooting huge gobs from my penis!
Pop must have seen me, or I stopped yelling. I don't remember as I had crossed into another world. The whipping had stopped, but I was still thrusting forward as though the leather was still landing. Pop put a hand on the small of my back, and I stopped.
"Pull up your pants Tim and go to your room!" "We'll talk later aboutwhat to do next!"
I pushed myself up slowly and stood hanging on to the chair. I was in extreme pain. I caught
sight of Pop hanging up the strap, and he left the room. I stood for a minute or two, unsure
of what to do. I wanted to rub my hind end, but everytime I put a hand back there, a wave of
firey pain swept through me. I bent down to pull up my shorts and khakis. That also sent a
jolt of pain through me. I also noticed my jizm dripping down the back of the chair so I pulled
my boxers and pants up quickly. The elastic felt like sand paper as it slip up my butt. With
my shorts and pants back up, the heat from
my wounded rump was kept in.
I grabbed a tissue from the desk and sopped up my drippings. I'd never been whipped this bad befor! My whole body ached now, and climbing the stairs to my room was an excercise in pain management. I threw myself across the bed, face down, of course, and lay as quietly as I could. As thoughts crossed my mind, I remembered the threat "You won't be ableto sit down for a week!" I think Pop made good on that threat!
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