|by Lyle Johnson|
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 1999
Dad had blistered my bottom many times for many reasons, but he was always fair. He was always reasonable in doling out discipline. However, there was one thing that Dad simply would not tolerate, and that was misbehaving in class.
So when I was paddled at school for disrupting class, I wasn't sure what to expect when I got home. I had never been paddled before, but I'd always wanted to feel the paddle against my backside just once before I left junior high school.
I got 12 hard swats from my math teacher for talking and disrupting class. After the paddling, the teacher, Mr. Porter, sat down and scribbled out a note to my parents. The note had to be signed by my father and returned to school the next day to be placed in my permanent school records.
I carried the note around in my pocket the rest of the day, trying to think of a way to break the news to my dad gently. I knew he would be furious. I could hardly concentrate on my studies for the remainder of the day, wondering how Dad would react.
After what seemed like one of the longest days of my life, the bell rang. I knew my father wouldn't be home for another hour and an half, but I hurried home anyway.
My mom was the only one home when I arrived. As usual, she asked me about my day. We talked for a few minutes while I got a snack out of the refrigerator. I wanted to tell her about the paddling first. She was more lenient than Dad, and I thought she might have mercy on me and help me when Dad arrived.
Finally, I took the note out of my pocket and gave it to her. Mom sat for what seemed like hours reading the note.
"Oh son," she said finally. "How could you do something like this? Your father is going to be absolutely furious when he reads this!"
I was speechless. I couldn't say anything because I knew she was right. Dad was going to be outraged.
"Well, I think you just better go on to your room and stay there until your father gets home," Mom said.
"Yes, ma'am," I replied. I quickly gathered up my books and went into my room to await my father's arrival. My mother preferred to let Dad handle all the disciplinarian action. She would just tell me to go to my room and wait for him. Sometimes, waiting was worse than the actual punishment.
Time seemed to come to a standstill as I waited for Dad to get home. I was petrified, knowing that I'd soon be getting my second spanking of the day. My bottom was still soar from the earlier paddling. As I waited for Dad, I just lay on the bed and rubbed my soar behind.
At last, I heard Dad's truck pull up in front of the house. My heart began beating wildly, and my blood pressure began to rise. It was the nervous anticipation I always felt just before a spanking.
I was straining to try to hear my parents' conversation after Dad came in. I was sure that Mom would tell him about the note.
A few minutes later, I heard Dad coming around the corner. He just looked at me as he walked in the room.
"Well, let's have it," he said.
I took the note out and handed it to him. I watched cautiously as he unfolded the letter and read it. He face started turning as red as a beet, a sign of his rising anger.
"Haven't I told you what would happen if you brought home a note like this?" he asked after several seconds of strained silence.
"Yes sir," I replied.
"Then what do you have to say about this?"
There was nothing I could say. Nothing to change his mind about wearing me out. So I didn't say anything. Besides, I had really brought on the paddling myself. I wanted to be paddled.
Dad stood motionless for what seemed liked an eternity ‹ as if he was planning how he was going to punish me.
"You know I'm going to have to spank you, don't you?" he said finally.
"I . . . guess so," I said nervously.
"Right now, though, I am too angry to spank you. I would beat you bloody if I spanked you now."
I gulped. Dad had never delayed a spanking. It had always been immediate.
"I want you to get your butt in the bathtub and take a long bath and think about your behavior today," Dad continued. "Then in exactly one hour, I want you to get out and come straight into the living room. Maybe by that time, I'll have cooled off enough so I don't kill you. And don't bother getting dressed. You won't need your clothes for the rest of the evening."
I got up and quickly began to make my way down the hall to the bathroom. As I started to run my bath, I began to undress. I could almost feel tears coming to my eyes.
After I had stripped, I stood and admired my bottom in the mirror. It was still bright red from my paddling.
I climbed into the bathtub and sank into the cool water. I had purposely filled the tub with cold water. The cool water felt good on my burning bottom. Even though it had been hours since the paddle had touched my buttocks, my bottom still burned.
As I sat and soaked in the tub, I began to wonder if it was really worth risking a beating from my dad just to get a taste of the board. My dad was angrier than I'd ever seen him.
I soaked for a long time before I picked up the bar soap and began to bathe. I scrubbed every part of my body thoroughly, giving particular attention to my buttocks. The soapy water felt good between my cheeks.
I was beginning to look like a wrinkled prune before I climbed out of the tub. I figured an hour was nearly up, and I didn't dare keep Dad waiting so I stood up and began to dry off.
I made my way down the hallway toward the living room, clad only in a bath towel. Both my mom and dad were waiting in the living room.
Dad was standing next to the sofa with two instruments in front of him. One was the old leather belt that he used every time he spanked me, and the other was my mom's wooden hairbrush.
Dad didn't say a word as I came into the room. Instead, he immediately reached down and grabbed the belt and came charging toward me in a fit of anger.
He grabbed me by the arm and spun me around, causing the towel to fall onto the floor. Then, he raised the doubled-up belt with his other hand and smacked me across the bottom with it.
WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . He struck me with the belt again and again.
I struggled to break loose, staggering across the room as Dad continued to spank me. He kept a firm grip on my arm with his left hand and swung the belt with his right. One after another, stripes were laid across my bare bottom.
WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK!
I fought to get free and finally broke his hold, collapsing onto the floor. Dad continued to thrash my backside as I laid crumpled on the floor.
WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK! . . . WHACK!
After about 25 lashes, the pain was so intense that I couldn't keep the tears from my eyes. Dad always spanked me until I cried, and then he gave me a few more lashes.
Finally, after another dozen or more licks, he stopped. Just when I thought it was over, Dad grabbed my arm again and pulled me to my feet. Then, he began dragging me over to the sofa. He sat down on the sofa and pulled me across his lap.
He picked up mom's hairbrush and laid into me again. He had never spanked me with the brush before. It was always with the belt.
With the first swat across my already red bottom, I was crying again. The hairbrush was almost as painful as the paddle that had been used on me earlier in school. It sent a tingling sensation up my spine. Dad began to lecture me as he beat my bottom.
"I told you . . ." SMACK! "you better never . . ." SMACK! "bring home a note . . ." SMACK! "like this!" SMACK! "I told you . . ." SMACK! . . . SMACK! "that I would wear you out . . ." SMACK! "if you got in trouble at school." SMACK! . . . SMACK!
"Now you better never . . ." SMACK! "ever . . ." SMACK! "do anything . . ." SMACK! "to get another whipping at school . . ." SMACK! SMACK! "or I will . . ." SMACK! "blister your bottom . . ." SMACK! . . . SMACK! "so hard . . ." SMACK! "you won't be able to sit . . ." SMACK! . . . SMACK! "for a week!"
Dad spanked me for 10 solid minutes ‹ longer than any spanking I'd ever had. I was kicking and screaming for him to stop. He was unfazed. He just kept swatting my bottom.
SMACK! . . . SMACK! . . . SMACK! . . . SMACK! . . . SMACK! . . . SMACK! . . . SMACK! . . . SMACK! . . . SMACK! . . . SMACK! . . . SMACK! . . . SMACK! . . . SMACK! . . . SMACK! . . .
Finally, he stopped and allowed me to get up. I immediately fell into a heap on the floor, still bawling like a baby. Dad told me I could just stay there until I could quit crying.
Later that night, when I took the note to my dad to ask him to sign it, he refused. I told him if he didn't sign it, I'd get another paddling at school. He wouldn't sign, though. He just told me to get back to my room.
I went to bed that night almost certain to face another date with the paddle in the morning.
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