“Alright Charlie, this is the second time in two or three weeks that you have been caught drinking alcohol and you got a spanking the last time and obviously it was not enough.”
We were in the kitchen and dad was mad as hell. In his hand he held a wooden paddle.
“So, this time it’s time you got a GOOD spanking.”
It was a hot humid morning in summer and I had been hanging around the house since I got out of bed dressed in nothing except some skimpy running shorts.
I stood upright as dad went through his routine.
“I’m not going to put up with that. Come here.”
Dad sat down on a kitchen chair and I obediently walked to a spot about a foot from him.
While he continued to scold me, he placed the paddle on his lap and using his two hands he gently tugged at both sides of my shorts lowering them to the floor.
I was completely naked, but I didn’t feel embarrassment or shame. Dad always spanked on the bare so he had seen me in my glory many times before. Indeed, you might say that over the years he had an unusual way of monitoring my growth to manhood.
He continued recapping my misbehaviour. Some friends and I had managed to get hold of a few six packs of beer and we’d taken them to Johnny’s home. His parents were away for the day, so we knew the coast was clear. But, they returned home unexpectedly early and we got caught. In this state it’s illegal to drink alcohol until you’re twenty-one, so not only had we done something our parents disapproved of, at eighteen, we’d broken the law.
Johnny’s parents made a few telephone calls and I reckon in this part of town there are five other guys also having confrontations with their fathers. Butts will be blistered, for sure. We live in that sort of community.
“You’re too old for this kind of thing,” dad said, as he sat back in his chair and lifted the paddle from his lap and waved it at me.
It was a homemade paddle, about a foot or so long and a couple of inches wide. I don’t know if dad had made the paddle himself, it had been around the house for as long as I could remember. If he did make it, it was probably the only bit of carpentry he had ever done in his life.
“You should know better, and I think it’s time you and the Board of Education had a little discussion about this drinking business. Now, get across my knee.”
I did as I was instructed without question. I was totally naked. I’m probably about the same height as dad, but much leaner and lighter. I stretched my hands in front of me and placed my hands palm down on the floor. My bare bottom was raised above his left knee and my legs, were bent slightly so that my toes rested on the floor tiles behind me.
Dad put his right arm across my back the better to hold me in position across his knees.
“This is something you have deserved for a long time. It’s time you got your little bottom blistered.”
Six slaps hit me squarely in the middle of my ass, hitting both cheeks equally. They weren’t vicious swipes, but they hit home. I let out a quiet groan as each whack! struck the target.
I wanted to take my punishment without fuss, but with each blow I found myself wriggling across dad’s knee.
He carried on whacking me in the centre of my buttocks. He kept up a steady rhythm with the strikes. After about ten or twelve hits I was beginning to lose a little control. I was writhing across his legs and my legs kicked out behind me.
Dad was undeterred. Whack! Whack! One every three seconds or so. Whack! Whack! Whack!
I wasn’t in tears but the pain was getting to me. I kept my palms flat on the floor, but my shoulders and back were writhing with the blows.
“Keep still.” Whack! Whack! Whack!
“You’re getting what you deserve.”
Dad was right. I did deserve my spanking. I had disobeyed him about drinking. I’d been caught before with beer and I’d got a sound hand spanking them. I’d promised never to drink alcohol again, but I’d gone back on my word.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
Dad was not impressed. He just carried on with the rhythmic blows. I was losing my breath as each successive blow winded me just a little bit more.
His next dozen or so whacks were a little harder than those that went before. The pain was growing in my ass, and travelling down my legs. I struggled harder to break free, but dad just held me tighter around my body closer to his knees to make sure I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Ouch! Aaah!” I couldn’t help it. I just had to let out the cries of pain.
“You’ve needed this for a long time.”
“I’m sorry. Ouch! Owww!”
The blows came harder still and I was losing some control. “Owwwwwwwww! I”m sorry.”
But, dad had heard it all before. Last time he spanked me for drinking beer, I’d said exactly the same thing. I’d probably meant it too: at least at the time.
Another six whacks: some on the left cheek; some on the right.
“OK, OK, Please. Sorry.” I was still struggling to break free but dad was winning that little battle.
“Have you learned something from this experience?”
“Are you going to drink alcohol again?”
“Are you sure?”
But, dad couldn’t have been convinced because he just kept on whacking my bare bottom with that goddam paddle.
“You’d – better – not,” he carried on talking while still whacking, one blow falling in time to every word he spoke.
His blows were harder and my “ouchs!” were louder. I still tried to free myself. Later, looking back on my spanking I was a bit ashamed of this. I knew I deserved the spanking I was getting and I should have taken my licking like a man. But, I tried to console myself my bucking over dad’s knee was probably a reflex action by my body to the pain that was being inflicted on me.
“Alright. Stand up.” I didn’t need telling twice I was on my feet in a heartbeat. My ass was on fire. I knew it. Dad knew it. That’s what a spanking is supposed to do: make the naughty boy very sore, so that he learns his lesson and he will think twice if he feels like breaking the rules again.
I turned around to inspect the damage: my bottom was red raw.
“Get dressed.” I found my shorts which I had kicked off during the spanking and pulled them on. The nylon felt cool against my raw flesh.
“OK, go to your room. And no more beer.”
OK, dad, I thought, I won’t drink again. And I meant it, of course – until the next time.
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
Charles Hamilton the Second