Terry must have thought I was joking when I said I would spank his backside if he continued to leave the bathroom in a mess: because he did it again.
I was hurrying to get ready in the morning, the way you do, and had to step in puddles of water on the bathroom floor, the tub hadn’t been wiped and there was a squeezed toothpaste tube in the hand basin. I was livid. Terry knows I can’t stand it when he is slovenly like this and I have scolded him about it often enough.
Right, if that’s the way he wants to behave it’s time to take this to another level. I picked up the bath brush and went into the bedroom.
Terry was startled when I banged my way through the door brandishing the brush; he’s a smart lad, he knew exactly what was about to happen.
“What have I told you about leaving the bathroom in a state?” It wasn’t the kind of question that needed an answer, but I still wanted Terry to acknowledge his misbehaviour.
Instead, all I got was sullenness. No words, just a slump of the shoulders and a pout. He hadn’t flipped me the bird, but it meant the same thing.
That did it; no more warnings, it’s a spanking for you my lad.
I sat on the bed, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward me. “You’re never too old for this.”
With that I pulled him across my lap so that his head and chest rested on the bed, his bottom was over my knees and his legs stretched behind him. I moved my own right leg and pinned his feet so there was no escape.
Usually, I have a great deal of affection for Terry, but he had been getting on my nerves recently. Our relationship was changing; he was becoming defiant and he no longer wanted to accept me as an authority figure; in the kind of way that adolescents often did.
I took hold of the waist of his pyjama bottoms and slowly lowered them, exposing his buttocks for the severe spanking I intended to inflict.
This jerked him into action and he tried to struggle free, but with his legs restrained there was little he could do, but holler, “No daddy, please! No! Please, daddy!”
I looked down upon his quivering naked butt over my lap waiting for me to spank it. “You’ve had this coming for a long time Terence.” I always called him Terence when I was annoyed with him.
Then without further ado, I raised the brush high and whacked it into his left buttock and then the right. I kept up a steady rhythm, like the beating of a big bass drum. The outline of the brush was clearly imprinted in both buttocks after only three or four whacks.
He howled like a banshee and pummelled his fists into the bed. I had spanked him many times before and I knew he was acting up. “Stop squirming, it’s just a spanking.”
Then I hit my stride and now it really did hurt him. Each new swat felt like a flame searing his inner and outer buttocks, inner and outer thighs, and the sit-spots. It took me less than three minutes to break him. Terry’s wails and screams of protest threatened to lift off the roof but, almost machine like, I continued whacking every square inch of his buttocks.
I could see his eyes widen with shock, and his head jerked backwards, as the jolt of each swat radiated into his brain from the intensifying fire I was creating in his bottom.
He kept wriggling and pleading, but I held him tightly. He was going nowhere.
I was in complete control, I would teach the surly brat to obey me in future. I kept peppering his bare, and by now badly bruised, reddish-purple butt with the brush.
“I’m sorry, daddy. Really! Please stop, daddy, I’ll clean up the bathroom, honestly I will.”
He had no resistance left, he screamed and bawled, genuinely now, as he tried to thrash around on my leg to escape his punishment, but it was no use, of course.
He tried to reach back with his right arm, to cover his bottom, but I released my hold on his waist, and simply yanked his arm up into the middle of his back, lifting his pyjama jacket with it.
I am not a brute, my intention was to teach him a lesson and I had succeeded. I stopped spanking and put the brush on the bed beside me, but I wasn’t ready to set him free just yet.
As his crying began to subside to whimpers, I inspected his well-blistered buttocks and thighs; they were red, looked like raw hamburger and were bleeding a bit from dozens of little cuts where the brush bit really hard.
I lifted him up by his waist and stood me on his feet in front of me. “I spanked your bare bottom! I did it because I love you son and I need to teach you how to behave. And, I’ll spank you again if you deserve it, but nothing will ever change my love for you.”
He was jumping up and down in agony, I could see my spanking had left him very sore and he would have difficultly sitting down all day. He said nothing, but gave me a stare that exuded defiance. I could tell this would not be the last time I would have to take him across my knee.
Later in the car I could tell Terry’s butt was still terribly sore as he kept moving from one buttock cheek to the other to try to avoid sitting on a tender spot. He was sulking and not talking to me, but when I dropped him off at his office I knew that during the day he would calm down and that tonight he would find many exciting ways to tell me he still loved me.
More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
Charles Hamilton the Second