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It Can Always Get Worse

by Red Sore Teen Bottom

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: 09 Feb 2018

Jason Smith was feeling so terribly miserable as he sat at the kitchen table, trying with little luck to concentrate on his homework on a beautiful March afternoon in 1968. The seventh grader felt more inclined to be laying on his bed and crying into his pillow than he did conjugating verbs. He really felt physically ill as his mother watched him doing his work.

Mom, I really REALLY do feel SO SICK! I think I might throw UP! Jase whined through a glistening of tears that ran down his face. My mouth is all dry and my stomach keeps doing flip flops. He didn’t mention that it was hard to concentrate when his bottom was twitching so horribly.

Honey, I would be feeling that way too if I had to be thinking about getting punished in a few hours, his mother responded. Now, once you finish your homework, you and I can talk about it.

Why was Jason in this position of having to think about the different punishments that might be awaiting him?

An hour earlier, his mother had received a call from The Big Apple grocery store manager, telling her that her thirteen year old son had been caught stealing soft drink bottles from the loading dock in the back of the store and then, bringing those bottles into the front of the store to collect the deposits. So, the store was paying multiple times for the same bottles. The manager had noticed the same black haired, blue eyed boy, dressed in blue jeans, a light blue Izod shirt, blue socks and white Keds, three times in a forty five minute period. He had sent a stock boy out back to watch the stacks of cases of empty bottles, and he had caught the seventh grader grabbing another two cartons. The stock boy, about sixteen years old, had grabbed the culprit by the collar and marched the kid into the manager’s office.

Mr. McCall, the store manager, had then given the scared boy a choice, Son, I can either call your parents or the police. Which shall it be?

Grudgingly, eyes squinting at the manager, Jason tried to play tough, I don’t give a damn WHO you call!

Okay, then I’ll call the police and maybe a few weeks at the child treatment center will do you some good, the manager said in an upbeat voice as he grabbed the phone and started dialing.

Jase jumped out of his seat, holding his right hand up. NO! PLEASE CALL MY MOM INSTEAD! Here’s her number! He then started crying for the first time that day as he wrote down his home telephone number.

He sat in the chair across from the manager’s desk and listened woefully to his end of the conversation with his mother.

Mrs. Smith, this is Phillip McCall, and I am the manager of The Big Apple and I have your son, Jason sitting in my office. He seems to have a hard time understanding that we don’t need to pay extra refunds on soft drink bottles that we have already made refunds on.


Well, Ma’am, we caught him snatching bottles off of our loading dock and bringing them back into the store.


Yes, I agree with you that it is a hard age to parent. I certainly agree. I have a son, Christopher, who is going through the disease of fourteenitis and I spend more time than I would like having to give him the only medicine that I have found that seems to work for a week or two.


Oh, it absolutely works for a week or two between doses. Mr. McCall smiled at Jason. I highly recommend it! I call it, Chris’s Age, and it involves taking Christopher to the basement where he has to lower both his jeans and underpants to below his knees and then bend over the washing machine so that my belt can have a conversation with his butt.


Oh, yes, you should consider it with your husband because the way that your son is going, he will be headed to the juvenile jail.


Yes, it would be fine if your other son picks him up.


Thank you. He’ll be waiting in the interview room. Then, he hung up. Looking squarely at my eyes, still teared up, he said, Jason, I hope you’re learning something from this experience. Your mother seems very worried about the way that you are behaving. She wants some answers about why you would do something like this, and I’m telling you, same as I told Christopher, If you don’t decide to behave, your life will get much more difficult. Do you understand?

Yes, Sir.

Now, your older brother is coming to get you, so come with me.

Jason got up, and Mr. McCall took him to a little room with just two chairs and a table and told him to sit and wait. He waited and thought about what Mr. McCall had said to him and to his mother, and all of a sudden, some things that he had said hit Jason like a Mack truck in their suggested severity........and with that realization, his stomach started hurting and his mouth got really dry and then, his bottom began to twitch.

When Robbie got there after Jase had waited a half hour, he whispered to Jason as they walked to the car, Jesus, Jase, Mom is really pissed off at you. Your ass is grass!

Yeah, I know. I think I am really in for it. The thirteen year old got into the passenger seat of the car, and as his sixteen year old brother was turning the key, he asked him, Robby, has Dad ever, you know, made you, you know, pull your pants down before he whipped you with a belt?

Hell NO! Why? Do you think that he might do that to you? Robby asked in an incredulous tone of voice.

Mr. McCall told Mom that that’s what he does to his kid and that if Mom and Dad don’t start doing that to me, I’m gonna end up in Reform School! He was crying again. I don’t wanna have to go to Reform School!

First, I would bet you ten to one that Dad IS GOING TO take off his belt tonight for you. But, I would also bet that he’s going to let you leave your pants up.....or, at least your underpants, not that they buffer a Hell of a lot of the pain. Your butt is probably going to hurt badly, but I don’t think Dad will hit hard enough to leave any stripes.

Jason started to blubber as he told his brother, Robby, I don’t WANT a hurting bottom!

Jason, that’s kind of tough at this point, you know? No kid ever WANTS a sore butt. That’s never made any difference to parents. I think you just have to accept that you’re going to probably have to GET a sore butt.

The rest of the way home, about a ten minute drive, Jason just sat there moping, on the verge of bawling.

When they got home, Jason wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeves and with his bottom noticeably tingling, he went into the house through the kitchen door, and his Mom angrily told him to sit down at the kitchen table and do his homework.

About thirty minutes later, his mother asked, Are you finished with your homework, young man?

Yes, he mumbled. I am real, real sorry. Please don’t tell Dad because he might decide to whip me, and I don’t want a whipping.

You should have thought about that before, Jason Michael Smith. I have already called your father, and he’s on his way home. And yes, he promised me that he will be giving you the whipping of your life when he gets here.

But, MO-OM! Jason desperately yelled, You don’t know how bad Dad’s belt HURTS! I don’t want that! PLEASE! Jason became a scared five year old rather than a thirteen year old who would be going to eighth grade, HIGH SCHOOL in less than six months. He wanted out of this horrible position.

At that moment, the kitchen door opened and his father came into the house and his face clouded over in an angry mask as he said, Are you finished with your homework?

Yes, it’s all done, Jason responded apprehensively, the physical feeling of illness multiplied by ten as he saw the intense anger on his father’s face and heard it in his voice.

Then you march your butt up to your room. I will be up to talk to you after I talk to your mother. Now get upstairs!

But, I said that I was sorry! Please don’t whip me!


Whimpering, Jase ran to the stairs and up. Then going to his room, He jumped onto his bed, laying face down as his roommate and younger brother looked up from his homework. Eleven year old Brian asked, Is Dad going to whip you, Jase?

Yes, Jason cried into his pillow. I’m going to get it bad, and I feel like throwing up.

Yeah........I know that feeling. I’m real sorry.

I am real sorry, too, Jason said, rolling over onto his side so that he could see Brian. I just wish that Mom and Dad would listen to me when I told them that. I HATE getting whippings.

I do too, but, if we be real good, then we don’t.

Yeah, but I know some kids in my class whose parents don’t whip.

The door opened, and Mom and Dad were standing there with stern looks. Dad asked, Brian, are you finished with your homework?

Yeah, Dad. I just got finished right before Jason came in.

We need to talk to your brother for a few minutes. Could you go downstairs so that we can do that?

Sure, Dad. Can I watch TV?

Yes, up until dinner.

Jason nervously witnessed this exchange as Billy hurriedly left our room, then his mother sat on Brian’s bed while his father pulled out the desk chair.

His dad then began the short conversation. Jason, Do you have anything to say for yourself?

The teen began to again cry, this time with tears blinding him and running down his ever reddening face while He sat terrified on his bed. I’m sorry, Please, I am real, real sorry and I won’t do it again. Please, I’m SO SORRY!

Then, you understand that you were stealing?

Yes, Jase shuddered as his father stood up from the chair and began to unbuckle his belt. Please, don’t make this happen, I said that I’m sorry.

Stand up and come over here, Jason .

The boy blindly stumbled over to the chair as his father pulled the belt out of their loops. Once the belt was out, he grabbed his crying son and pulled him into position so that he was facing the chair, tears dripping down onto the seat.

Jason, your mother and I have decided that you need an extra rude awakening to improve your attitude of the last couple of months, and while I think that you and your brothers will probably have to get more punishments in the next few years, I hope that this will be the only time that we need to be so severe.

He then gave the command that Jason had worried about since sitting in Mr. McCall’s office. You’re going to have to take your pants down.

BUT DAD! I SAID I’M SORRY! PLEASE, I’LL NEVER DO IT AGAIN! Jase was even a little embarrassed by the desperate terror in his voice. I SAID THAT I AM SORRY!

His mother, still sitting on his brother’s bed said in a menacing voice, You heard your father, young man. PULL.....YOUR.....PANTS.....DOWN.....RIGHT.....THIS.....MINUTE! At the same time, his father laid the belt firmly across his right calf.

OWWWW! Jason yelped as he reached down to rub the stripe. Even through his Rangler’s denim, the lash had raised a red welt.

This time from his father, Get them down right now.

Oh, God, I can’t believe this is happening, Jason whined while loosening his own belt and then fumbling with the button and zipper with shaking fingers. Then, he let the blue denim fall to the floor and pile around his ankles.

Now, your underpants, Jason. All the way down.

BUT, DAD! ROBBIE SAID YOU WOULDN’T....OWWWWWW! The belt had hit his right bare thigh this time. Jason started rubbing that red stripe as he tried to dance and turn around, but his father grabbed his upper arm and turned him back to where the boy was facing the chair.

He reluctantly resigned himself to the inevitability of receiving a bare bottomed belting as he stuck his thumbs inside the waist band of his Fruit of the Loom Boys Briefs and pulled them to join his blue jeans around his ankles. Then Jason stood back up, now really bawling. His legs were now bare, vividly displaying the red stripe that had been placed directly on the skin of his thigh while just displaying a red blotch where his calf had felt the lash through his jeans. The lower part of his bottom was enjoying the last few seconds that it would be unmarked while his alligator shirt fell down over the upper half of his bottom. That would change quickly soon. By that point, Jason’s whole body was glistening with sweat, more from the anticipation of impending intense pain. He was holding his hands in front of his balls and penis, angry about this attack on his humility. A thirteen year old boy shouldn’t have to stand naked in front of his mother. His face was red and tear streaked as well as covered with the sweat that had also matted down his black hair. He was truly one sorry, angry, bawling and scared thirteen year old boy.

Then came the sentence which increased the volume of his crying.

Jason, you are going to feel the belt at least twenty times.....more if you don’t stay still. Now, Spread your legs and put your elbows on the seat of this chair, look straight ahead and stay that way UNTIL I tell you to stand up.

Jason slowly complied, sticking his buttocks back to receive the lashes. Then, he felt his shirt being moved off of his squirming butt cheeks and halfway up his back.

Then, it was only about three seconds before he heard the whir of the belt cutting the air followed immediately by the lash of leather on bare skin, but even worse than the sound was the feel! It felt like a hundred yellow jackets had landed and simultaneously planted their stingers in a straight line on those two bubbles of flab and muscle.


The second lash fell, just as hard as the first, but Jason couldn’t hear it for his own blubbering tantrum.


He slightly jumped as the third lash crossed his now smoldering behind. OH GOD! OH GOD! PLEASE IT HURTS! I’M GONNA DIE!

The fourth lash was laid across his now aching as well as stinging ass. It was causing his muscles to throb.


Before he knew it, four more times, the cowhide made contact with boyhide, all in the same spot, the crevice where buttocks meet thighs.

OW! OW! OW! OW! Jason had to fight to stay in position, being blinded by the combination of tears, now stinging his eyes as well as the aching pain that was existing throughout his body, radiating from the now intense pain and burn coming from his squirming buttocks. He wanted so badly to reach back and rub that rapidly reddening skin. But he knew that to do so would just increase the number of lashes that would be vigorously placed on his already overly severely punished hide.

OH GOD! PLEASE NO MORE, DAD! I WON’T BE ABLE TO SIT DOWN FOR A WEEK! Jason was thinking about a friend who had had a horrible time sitting down recently–slowly and carefully placing his bottom in his seat while scrunching up his face. Jase had felt lucky because while I did get whipped from time to time, my whippings had never left me like Trey–consisting of only five to seven lashes on a fully clothed bottom–and that was bad enough! But that relative luck had been a thing of the past.

After what had been a short break, the belt started to rain down again, once every few seconds, Jason felt the lashes as they seemed to be getting laid on horizontally from the top of his bottom down to that painful tender skin in the crevice sit spot that holds all of the boy’s weight when he sits in a seventh grade desk at Brighton Hills Elementary School. He was now blubbering and coughing so hard that he couldn’t even yelp, much less speak.

The only sound coming from his room was hard crying and coughing that just got more intense and high pitched after each lash of the leather. In about a minute, twelve more harsh belt lashes had stung his raw butt cheeks.

Alright, Jason, You can get up and pull your pants up now, his father wearily said as he threaded his belt back through the loops.

Jason was still crying hard, his red face wet with tears, sweat and snot as he was trying to rub away the damage and pain to now swollen, hot, red striped and aching buttocks when he had straightened up and faced his father. I really am real, real sorry, Mom and Dad. I guess that I do need to behave myself.

Jase, I am proud of the way that you stayed still for that beating, but I hope that you NEVER EVER give me cause to have to do that again. Do you understand me?

Me too, Dad, and I really am gonna try to behave.

Then, he told Jason that it would be a good idea for him to write an apology to Mr. McCall and assure him that he had been punished.

So, after his parents had left my room, Jason laid down on his stomach on the bed–his bottom in too much pain to sit at the desk–even hurting too much to pull his pants or underpants up, and he wrote:

Dear Mr. McCall,

I am writing to apologize for stealing Coke bottles. I promise that I have gotten severely punished. In fact, right now, I am lying on my stomach on my bed with my pants and underpants off. I got twenty real hard lashes with the belt on my naked bottom, and it is still burning like a bad sunburn.

I was real real bad and I am sorry.

I hope I never do anything like that again because I don’t want to steal and I sure don’t want to get the belt like that again!


Jason Smith

When he was called down to dinner at 7:30, he put on his loosest sweat pants without any tight underpants and took his pillow off of the bed, and getting down to the table, he asked his parents if he could sit with it on his chair. Even with the pillow, there was still a lot of squirming in that chair that night, and he took a shower rather than his regular bath that night as well as sleeping on his stomach.

Sadly, there were not only a few more bare bottom beltings in Jason’s future, but also he would be later introduced to the razor strop less than two years later.

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