(Fiction written by Ricky Scarma)
"The whipping word"
I remember how anxious I was that night, laying in my bed knowing it was a mere few minutes before my dad would be home from work and how very in trouble I was. The night was still and quiet except the peaceful snorings of my two younger brothers and an occassional clang of activity from my mother in the living room. My chest was heavy with fear and the anxiety had crawled up into my throat making it impossible to breath easily, let alone sleep.
I recalled my mothers words before I had been sent to bed, her eyes boring deep into my eleven year old soul as if she could scorch the life out of me.
"You just wait till your father comes home little mister!" She had spat, punctuating the threat by slamming her hand against the table, her eyes growing a deeper shade of anger.
I had stood trembling just then, knowing what the pronouncement meant and I could have swore my butt clenched as I made my way to my room to ready for bed, following the jab of my mothers angry finger.
It had been a simple word to me and I didn't know what it meant exactly, not then. I only knew that I had heard my friend say it and it seemed harmless enough. When I spoke the word it was in response to dropping a dish to the floor, dumping my dinner across the carpet. I didn't think a thing of it when I reached to pick up the plate, but when I had straightened up my mothers glare was on me and my younger brothers and sisters could sense my impending doom.
Now, a mere few seconds before my dad was due to arrive home from work, that doom was immenent. I rolled over in my bed and stared at the dark wall, hoping beyond hope that my mother had cooled down or had forgotten and I wouldn't have to face my dad when he came home. But a part of my mind just shook its dissapproval to my hope.
The door swung open from the living room and my body responded as if I had been suddenly frozen in time. I held my breath and listened. The mumbling exchanged from my parents gave no clues to what would happen, but when my fathers footsteps crossed the kitchen towards the bedroom, I knew I was in deep.
"You have ten seconds to get your little butt into the living room!" My dad growled, "I know your awake so get out here."
I crawled from beneath the blankets, trembling even though it was mid fall. I could feel my throat tighten and my eyes were watering. I stepped from the bedroom in nothing but briefs, wishing I would have been allowed to put on some pants, but also knowing that it would do no good. My butt would be bare in a few moments anyway.
When I reached the living room my dad already had the belt in his hand, his face much angrier then my mothers had been earlier. My dad was a man of few words and I suddenly realized I wouldn't have a chance to explain anything. He just pointed the belt towards the end of the couch.
"Pull your shorts down and bend over the couch." I started bawling softly, my eyes on my mother for a brief moment before bending over the couch. She acted as if she wasn't interested in the scene, tapping on the edge of the side table while I slipped my briefs down and bent across the end of the couch.
The belt sliced across my flesh within seconds of my bodies contact with the rough material of the couch. It produced a curdling screach from my throat, my body lurching against the pain as it burned both halves of my small bared buttocks.
"Don't wake your brothers and sisters or you'll get more!" My mother spoke up as my dad swung the belt at my butt again.
The belt slapped my left cheek with such fierceness I felt my eyes exploding with tears, my face straining while my teeth gnawed into the couch. My legs danced against the burn and I felt my underpants slip to my ankles.
"Where'd you learn such language!?" My dad snarled, swinging the belt. It exploded across both cheeks, digging deep in my soft flesh. I clawed my fingers into the couch and straigtened, howling behind clenched teeth.
"I'm...I'M SORRY!" I howled, twisting my hips agains the pain.
"Your going to be sorrier then that," My father proclaimed, slapping my butt with the belt. The worst of the whipping started then. I could only clench my legs together, thrusting with each stroke of the belt while the pain spread across my buttocks and legs and clenched every muscle in my little body. I could feel my rigid penis rubbing against the rough material of the couch until the tiny organ felt raw and abused.
My dad welted my bare buttocks, leaving no portion of my flesh unscathed while he whipped me. My screams were unabated and unheeded while the whipping took its toll. It was only after the final stroke that my cries dropping to heavy sobbing. My body was wracked with the agony of my punishment and my crying came in choked sobs.
I was told to stand with my hands on my head until they were ready to go to bed. For the next hour I stood naked in the living room, my sore buttocks clenching and unclenching against the pain, my penis bobbing up, then down ever so often as my mind realized how exposed I was standing in the open in full view of both of my parents, completly naked, my briefs still around my ankles.
Finally I was told to go to bed. I quickly pulled up my briefs and dashed to my bed, still sobbing as I crawled beneath the blankets, rubbing my raw backside.
For the next half hour I sobbed softly, holding and massaging my butt cheeks, running my fingers along the countours of the welts, some still burning to my touch. I finally drifted off to sleep on my belly, my briefs slipped past my butt and somewhere in the night I realized I had kicked off my blankets, leaving myself exposed to my two gawking brothers...