Asking for It
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: 07 Jun 2011
Asking for it.
“That boy needs someone to pull down his pants and blister his butt for him!”
My stepfather was right: if ever there was a boy in need of a spanking, this kid was it. He was jumping up and down and crying in the middle of Walmart, apparently because his mother would not buy the toy that he wanted. But still it made me nervous when my stepfather talked like that as he often did. But I was not nervous for the reason you might think.
With butterflies in my stomach, I decided it was time to discuss the subject with my stepfather. “Uhm, Dad, can I ask you a question?” I asked.
“Sure son,” he said, “you know you can talk to me about anything. What's on your mind?”
“Well, I was kind of wondering, well, you know, how you are always talking about boys needing spankings and how you got them growing up and how they did you a lot of good?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Well, you obviously believe in spanking, right?” I asked.
“Yes, I think it would do most boys today a world of good to get their pants pulled down and their butts thoroughly tanned when they act up,” he said.
“Well, then, I was kind of wondering, why didn't you ever spank me?” I asked.
“Well son,” he said, “if it had been up to me, there have been many times that we would have spent some quality father-son time with you bent across my knees having a discussion with a paddle, a strap, or a hairbrush and there would have been many nights that you would have had to sleep on your stomach, but your mother doesn't believe in physical punishment and she made it very clear that I was never to hit you, ever. So you should thank your mother for saving your butt—literally, and for you having made it to seventeen without ever getting spanked.”
I swallowed hard and screwed up my courage, getting ready for the big question. “Well, that's just it, Dad,” I said, “I am almost eighteen and I have never been spanked. I kind of wondered what it would be like.”
“Son, you should just count yourself lucky that your mom was there to stop me because you definitely would not like the way I spank,” he said, “You see, I think a spanking is meant to be an intense, painful, behavior-changing event. There is no point in doing it, if you are not going to do it right. You shouldn't put someone you love through pain if it is not going to change their behavior. So I think every spanking should be long and hard and push the boy past his limits of coping; that's were real change happens. In my book a spanking doesn't start until the boy feels like he can't take any more and goes on for quite a while beyond that. That was how I was raised and that's the way I would do it. But believe me, even though I think it would have done you a world of good, you should feel lucky that you haven't had to experience that.”
“Most of my friends got spanked by their fathers,” I said, “and when they would talk about it I was kind of jealous and I felt like I missed an important part of growing up.”
“Son,” he asked, “are you trying to tell me that you want me to spank you?”
“Err, uhm, well, yeah, Dad,” I said, trying to get the words out, “I think I need it. Would you spank me?”
“First of all, Michael, your mother would have my visitation privileges revoked,” he said.
“She would never have to know,” I said, “I promise I won't tell her.”
“And you're a pretty good kid,” he said, “You haven't done anything lately to deserve a spanking—at least not that I know of.”
“But you said there was all of these times when I was a kid that I got away with stuff that I should have been spanked for,” I said, “we could just consider it a make-up session for those.”
“Wow, you are really serious about this,” he said, “You really want me to spank you.”
“Yeah, Dad, I do,” I said, “Well, not really want, but it is something I need to experience.”
“Alright,” he said, “but if we are going to do this, were going to do it right. I need something to spank you with. Let's go over here to cosmetics.”
I was a little confused by that. What does cosmetics have to do with it? But I followed him as we walked briskly over to the cosmetics department. Dad knew exactly what he was doing and we ended up in front of a display of flat-backed bath brushes. He took one down and slapped it against his palm several times
“Yep, this will do just fine. Here,” he said, handing me the brush, “feel this, it is something like a paddle, but it is easier to use with you across my knees and it concentrates all of the sting into one small area. It will be quite effective. Are you sure you want that coming down hard and fast on your bare butt?”
I took the brush and slapped it against my hand and just nodded in response. I could hardly believe this was really happening and I started to get a little scared. I knew from his stories of getting it as a kid that the brush was the worst thing to get spanked with, though it was hard for me to envision this being worse than one of those big frat paddles, but I knew he knew what he was doing.
“Alright then,” he said, “let's get home and get that butt blistered for you.”
We road home mostly in silence. The tension was thick in the air. I had butterflies in my stomach and I just couldn't believe that I was finally going to get spanked. I felt a mixture of excitement and dread. I had been wanting this experience for a long time, but now that it was almost about to happen, I was feeling scared.
When we were almost home you turned to me and said, “When we get home I want you to go to the bedroom, find a corner and put your nose in it, pull your jeans down to your ankles, but leave your boxers on, I'll take them down for you once you are across my lap. And don't you dare move or you'll be getting two spankings today.”
Again, I just nodded my assent.
“Did you hear me, boy?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
Once we got in the door, he said, “Alright, Michael. Get in the bedroom and get ready. I'll be in to tan you in a minute.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, and headed for the bedroom.
I did as I was told: into the bedroom, dropped my pants to my ankles and put my nose in the corner. I felt really childish and stupid standing there like that. But those emotions quickly were overwhelmed by my growing fear, excitement, and anticipation.
I probably was standing there for a half an hour when my stepdad finally came in with the bath brush and sat down on the bed.
“Okay, son. Come over here and stand between my legs,” he said.
It was hard to walk with my pants around my ankles, but I did my best to waddle over quickly.
With two sharp slaps to his knee he said, “Now bend over my left leg.”
Once I lowered myself into position, he clamped his right leg over both my legs so that I couldn't move them. Then I felt his fingers inside the waistband of my boxer as he slowly pulled them down to my knees. The air felt cold on my butt and made me acutely aware of my position. This was it. It was really happening. What had I gotten myself into?
He rested the bath brush against my naked butt; it felt cool and smooth.
“Okay, Michael,” he said “I want to be very clear about what is going to happen here, because this is your last chance to back out. Once I start I will not stop until I have totally worn your ass out. You can cry and beg all you want—and believe me you will—but I will just keep on going. By the time I am done your ass will be blistered RAW. I won't stop until you have been genuinely crying for a good long while, probably five to ten minutes AFTER the waterworks start. Your ass will be dark red to purple all over and you will be a quivering mass of snot and tears. I promise you that after we are done, you won't feel like you missed out on anything. You are going to get the deluxe treatment and this will be a beating you can be proud of. Do you understand what is about to happen?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“And your sure you want to go through with it?” he asked.
I gulped hard. No turning back now.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Then let's get started,” he said, “You're long overdue for this. Now give me your right hand.”
I did and he pinned it to the small of my back. Then I felt the brush lift up and a second later it came smashing down on my bare ass. Wow, it really hurt a lot more than I expect. The swats came hard and fast right from the start without any warm up at all. What had I gotten myself into? There was no way I would be able to make it through this. But I had asked for it, so I tried to hold out.
After about a minute of continuous swats reigning fire down on my defenseless butt, I decided I had had enough.
“Ouch. Okay Dad. Ow. Stop. Eeiii. Now I know what—ow—a spanking feels like, you can stop now,” I pleaded.
“Oh no, Son. I promised to blister your ass raw and that is exactly what I am going to do. And we have a long way to go. Brace yourself; we are just getting started!”
With that he picked up the pace and intensity. Over and over the brush slammed into my ass. I was squirming mightily to try to get away from the brush, but he had me pinned and there was no relief. This wouldn't be over until he decided. But I didn't know how much more I could take. As the tanning went on and on, my ass was getting sorer and sorer. And the brush just kept coming down hard on my ass. I was squirming and crying out with each blow and begging him to stop, but he just kept beating my ass hard and fast with that damned brush.
After about five minutes it happened. I reach the point where I didn't think I could take any more. I was desperate and panicked. Tears started to well up in my eyes. Now I could hardly form intelligible words to plead for him to stop. Soon I was flat out bawling like a little kid. Snot and tears were running down my face.
“Any son of mine that asks for a spanking is going to get his butt blistered raw,” he said, continuing the onslaught. “And I'll tell you another thing...You wanted to know what it was like to have a dad that spanks. Well now you got one. And you better be on your best behavior from now on, or you'll find yourself in this position on a regular basis for repeat performances. You can count on it. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, yes,” I managed to choke out, “just please stop... PLEASE!”
“Not yet, son,” he said, “We are only about halfway done. Remember, you asked for this.” Then he began bringing up times from my childhood when I had gotten in trouble, but more or less got away with it. Asking me if I thought I deserved a spanking for them. All I could do is shake my head frantically in agreement.
He redoubled his efforts and brought the brush crashing down even harder and faster. I was completely beside myself. There was nothing I could do but lay there and get my ass blistered. He was keeping his promise. My ass was truly raw. I can't believe I asked for this.
On and on it went. It seemed like forever, but it was probably only fifteen minutes total. Then, suddenly, it stopped. He let go of my hand.
“Well, son,” he said, “I think we are done for today. Do you feel like you got what you needed or do you need more?”
At first I couldn't respond; I was still trying to catch my breath. Then he brought the brush back down on my sore ass.
“I asked you a question,” he said. Five more swats landed in quick succession.
“No, no more, please,” I managed to cry out.
“Alright,” he said, “now stand up, pull up your pants, and pull yourself together. You can come out to the living room when you are ready.
“Yes, sir,” I said as I got up and carefully pulled up underwear and pants. I made the mistake of trying to sit down on the bed, but it was just too painful. I almost started crying again. I definitely wasn't going to sit comfortably for a week. Then it dawned on me, he said I would be getting it again if I acted up. At this point the last thing in the world I wanted was another spanking like that one, but it seemed like there would be more to come in my future. This was definitely a lot more than I bargained for.
To be continued.