“C’mon dad, is this really necessary?”
Matthew’s query only got a grunt from dad as he continued to unbuckle and remove his brown leather belt.
“I’m way too old for this dad.”
“What do you expect? You come home drunk in the middle of the night waking the whole neighbourhood.”
“I didn’t wake the neighbours.”
“Don’t answer me back.”
Dad had doubled up his heavy wide belt and was ready to inflict the whipping he knew his son deserved.
Matthew was sweating a little, partly through fear, but he also had a humdinger of a hangover from the night before.
He tried one more time to reason with his dad, “I’m eighteen dad, way too old for this.”
“You’re not too old, you’re still at school. Do you think that if rolled up drunk at that school of yours your headmaster wouldn’t put his cane across your backside?”
“It’s not the same dad.”
Matthew’s father was losing his patience. “You live in my house, you obey my rules. It’s not unreasonable to ask you not to come home drunk.”
His son had no answer to that. It was true he was plastered last night, he couldn’t even remember getting home. Had one of his pals dropped him off? Yes, he was out of order, he knew that, but that didn’t mean he should get a spanking. He wasn’t the only one plastered at the party, he couldn’t believe any of his friends were having similar conversations with their dads, and were about to being taken across their knees for a bare-bottom spanking.
Matthew’s dad was fairly large; a standard working man. His face was covered with brown stubble and most of the rest of his body was covered in thick hair. He worked in the post office and still wore his uniform which consisted of a blue shirt, dark grey trousers and stout black shoes. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal his massive forearms, covered in thick hair, and on his left arm was a fading tattoo, from his military days.
Matthew knew from experience he should not try to argue with his dad. He was of the “old school,” he was the man of the house – the head of the household – and he expected to be obeyed: by his wife and by his children. Failure in this regard would lead to the direst sanctions: he was not afraid to use corporal punishment.
Matthew and his son were at a stand-off. Matthew had not yet accepted he should be belt whipped and his father had to decide his next move.
“Take down your jeans and pants and bend over the back of the couch.”
Matthew stood frozen. He supposed he had two options: one was to meekly do as his father ordered; and two was to run like the wind from the house.
The eighteen-year-old took too long deciding so his father made up his mind for him. He tucked the belt under his left arm and approached his son. Suddenly, the belt holding up Matthew’s jeans was being unbuckled by his dad. The denims were yanked down unceremoniously, followed shortly after by the boy’s tight yellow briefs. Tears of shame were forming in the son’s eyes.
Then, his dad grabbed a hunk of Matthew’s hair, pulled him round so he was facing the couch and shoved the boy’s shoulders so that he fell across its back and his face landed in the cushion.
“I’ve had it with your backtalk. I’ve had it with your contempt for my authority. I’ve had it with your refusal to obey our rules. From now on, every time you step out of line, this is what you’re going to get. Each and every single time. Do you understand me, boy?”
Matthew was defeated; he knew resistance was futile; he would have to submit to this spanking. He wriggled his waist a little to make himself more comfortable. It was a huge soft leather couch and his stomach sank into the padding. He stretched his arms ahead of him and held tightly onto the front of the soft seat cushion. In this position his face was buried deep into the cushion and he could smell a combination of leather and sweat.
Matthew barely believed what was about to happen, here he was in the sitting room jeans and briefs round his ankles, his body bent almost double across the couch while behind him he heard dad preparing to lash his heavy leather belt into his naked buttocks. The teenager braced himself for what he knew was going to be a very intense session with the belt.
Dad was in no hurry. He was satisfied that his son was now submissive. He had opposed him earlier and refused to take his hiding: and he would pay for that with extra lashes; but now he meekly offered up his bare bum for his father to do with as he wished.
Now, Matthew heard a soft clinking noise behind him. He twisted his head around and saw that his father was folding up his belt. Dad doubled it in half for control and precision, and stepped forward. Matthew turned his head again – he couldn’t look. Instead, he waited with his exposed buttocks pointing up in the air while that long, agonizing moment of preparation passed. He tried to steel himself so that he wouldn’t cry.
Matthew heard a whistle before the belt SPLATTED down across his naked bum, almost immediately he felt the fire in his arse begin to build, number two came from nowhere and made the lad yell.
Matthew had willed himself not to move. He stayed bent over, holding his backside in place so that his dad could lash his buttocks over and over. And his father did so, swinging the belt down hard across the lower edge of the vulnerable and naked bottom.
Matthew’s resistance crumbled all at once, and with a mournful wail, the tears poured forth. He bawled like a five-year-old kid, but the pain didn’t lessen and the belt didn’t stop; it continued to strike his teenage bottom. Over and over these lashes were repeated, quickly joined by Matthew’s cries and wails of pain. The once-smooth skin of his buttocks was raw and blistered, covered with dozens of overlapping crimson rectangles.
For a full five minutes dad methodically brought the strop lashing across his son’s naked backside, sparing not a single inch of his buttocks and hips and even a considerable portion of the backs and sides of his legs leaving the entire area a molten, seething, well of red hot agony.
Matthew’s body shuddered as he sobbed non-stop during the last few blows.
“I hope you’ve learned your lesson.” Dad finished his spanking with three extra-hard licks. When he let Matthew up, he’d forgotten about being too old for a spanking. He hopped around like a little boy, his penis flopping, while he tried to rub the sting out of his bare behind that had just been roasted to 350-degrees Fahrenheit.
The teenager’s bottom looked hideous; a mass of magenta welts and burgundy bruises. Some of the bruises were growing dark, almost brown.
Later, in the privacy of his bedroom, once he had calmed down, he went to inspect the damage done to his bottom in the mirror. His cheeks were dark red and the welts from the strap were prominent, the heat coming from his bum would be enough to warm a small room. Slowly he walked back to his bed and lay face down to allow the tears to fall, tears of pain and humiliation. How much longer would he be subject to this type of punishment? Only dad knew the answer to that.
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
Charles Hamilton the Second