The following story was related by Don R., now in his twenties, living in Easthampton, Massachusetts where he grew up. Don is a veteran of the Navy and got pretty drunk one night and opened-up to relate the following:
My Father way usually quick to provide discipline to both myself and my younger brother, Joey. He almost always would smack me in the head about as fast as I got into trouble, which was pretty often. One good whack in the back of the head, that was usually the end, but when I really _f_u_c_k_edup I got quite a bit more... either with a fresh-cut tree branch from the birch grove in the backyard. He called it the twitch (he means "switch") and he also had that _f_u_c_k_ing paddle he bought years ago and painted lettering on it which stated: "Board of Education". Some joke.
When I was sent to by bedroom, I knew either one or the other was going to be used to meat me on my bottom. He would usually just come into the room, grab me by the upper arm, sort of stand at my side and then beat me till I screamed... and then some. With the paddle, I'd expect at least a dozen good hard smacks, often more. That _d_a_m_n_ed twitch was usually ten or so.. except that sometimes I had to bend-over for the lickin. The whole deal was usually over pretty fast... and that was fine with me.
The time I remember most clearly was when I was fourteen. It was in the summer and I was with my older cousin Paul who was regarded as being a little weird. He was almost seventeen at the time this took place. See, we had been _f_u_c_k_ing around town trying to figure out what to do next. Like I said, Paul was weird at times and generally I split when he started to get into _s_h_i_t_ he shouldn't be into. This was one of those times I should have listened to my senses and left while leaving was an option.
We were standing at the foot of the mountain where Route 151 comes over from Holyoke when Paul decided it would be "fun" to freak-out the drivers going by. He unzipped his fly and pulled out his _c_o_c_k_, shaking it at cars as the drove by. After a few surprised (and funny) looks, one guy slammed on his brakes and took out after us We ran like Hell! We also got away. I should have kept on going but I didn't. There is a strange attraction to an older guy when you're that age... even if he is stupid.
We went over to my Uncle's house (Paul's father) and he asked if we wanted to go with him for a ride. It was then that I learned that I was going to be staying with Paul and the family because my Mom and Dad were going to Boston. My brother Joey was going with them. So Paul, my Uncle Paul and I hopped into the pickup truck and headed across town to an old guy who was a retired farmer after years and years of farming his land. He had hens, and he picked-up a little money on the side selling eggs.
When we got to the farm, my Uncle began talking with the old guy about spraying his fruit trees which was of little interest to me or to Paul. We walked-off towards the chicken coop. Paul led, I followed.. naturally. Inside we had to adjust to the smell of the henhouse. It stinks! Paul picked up an egg and broke it open. The he did it again! Then another and another. I was horrified but he told me to help him so we can find one with a chick in it. I knew better but went along with it as dumb as it was. We must have busted thirty eggs, then just like nothing had gone on Paul walked outside and headed for the pickup. The eggs were left drooling through the slats in the floor. I was feeling both guilty and uneasy about what I had just taken part in. Soon my Uncle Paul came along and we headed for his house... nothing said about the eggs, of course.
We were eating supper.. It was around six o'clock. There was Paul, my Aunt Doris, Uncle Paul and MaryAnn, my little cousin at the table with me.There was a knock at the back door and there stood the old farmer. I felt sick but pretended nothing was unusual and kept eating. The old guy was really pissed-off and was making a LOT of noise. Paul was called to the back door and I heard my Uncle ask him if he had broken any eggs. Paul said he had NOT. The old guy accused him of lying and Paul told him to _s_h_i_t_ in his hat and pull it over his ears. I thought I was gonna pass-out from fear and embarrassment. What an asshole! Big trouble coming.. I could feel it. Paul came back to the table and said "They want you, little man". I went to the door at the back porch and was confronted by the old guy with the same question. I hesitated, then said "Yes, Sir... We did and I'm sorry.. real sorry. I didn't mean to cause upset to you and I apologize.. I'm really sorry... honest."
The old man eyeballed me almost in pity. I guess he realized I was sincere.. but I felt like an assHOLE! My Uncle told me to go back to the table and wait for him. He paid the farmer for the eggs and assured him nothing like this would happen again from his son or his family. I heard the old guy say "If those was my boys I'd see to it they get the lickin' stick but good!" Then, he turned and left.
My Uncle came back into the kitchen and told Paul and me to get up. He looked at Paul, then slapped him across the face... hard. He said "Get ready for a beating". That was it. A simple, direct statement. Paul turned and I followed.. into the bathroom Paul closed the door. "Why are we in the bathroom?" I nearly whispered. Paul said "I get my ass beaten in here, you snitching prick." I just stared at him, my brain frozen. The house was old and the bathroom big. You could probably fit eight people in there and not be crowded. The door swung open and my Uncle came in. I knew I would be punished too, because my Dad and him have an agreement that either brother can take charge of the other brother's kids.. including discipline. I had no idea what was going to happen here, but I knew I wouldn't like it. I looked at Paul and that asshole was actually grinning! Not a real grin, but sort of a sneaky grin like he knew a secret and was keeping it from everyone else. Strange guy.
My Uncle briefly explained that the old guy depended on egg money along with other income from his honeybees and it was very important to him. I honestly felt bad about this whole mess. The lecture was brief and to the point and inside of 30 seconds or so, my Uncle turned and opened-up the door on the linen closet and hanging on a hook on the back of the door was a leather strap. He took it off the hook and closed the door.
I was scared. It looked mean! It was about a foot and a half long, dark brown.. almost rust colored.. made of leather. One end had a small wooden handle, the other end was cut so it looked like an upside-down letter "V" leaving tails of sorts on either side. Uncle Paul told my cousin that he would get it first and hardest. Paul said nothing. He just unbuckled his dungarees, pulled down the zipper and dropped them around his knees. Then he turned around and faced the old bathtub... one of the old-fashioned ones made of cast-iron and stands fairly high on it's fancy looking legs. Uncle Paul told him to pull down his underpants and bend over the edge of the tub, hands flat on the inside of it. Paul stripped his underpants down to his knees and bent over. He was a big kid for not quite seventeen. He must have been around six feet talk and probably weighed nearly 200 pounds. He played football at Easthampton High and this was his Senior year coming up so he'd be first-string. He had big, muscular legs and even with his legs parted far enough so his pants didn't drop to the floor, there was no daylight to be seen between his thighs.. they were touching with muscle.
Uncle Paul took that strap and began to lay into him something wicked! Red marks began to rise on this cheeks and upper thighs. The strap make a loud crack sound like a rifle shot as each like was meted-out. Paul was shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to another while trying to suck back the noises he was starting to make.
I suddenly thought of my Aunt and MaryAnn being able to hear all of this in the kitchen was really embarrassed. Paul was really feeling it by now and I don't know how he kept so quiet. I would have been howling so loud you could have heard me at the far end of the street.
The strap was played all over Paul's bottom and upper legs. I didn't count but it must have been at least 24 hard licks... maybe more. Paul suddenly threw his arms behind in and blocked the next lick. The strap caught both hands and he bellowed in pain. My Uncle stopped for few seconds in silence. As if he knew the routine, Paul placed his hands back into the tub and the strapping resumed! I was about pissing my pants, thinking what might be in store for me. When the beating finally stopped, Paul remained bending over, letting out convulsive cries while trying hard to not cry full force. His bottom was a mess! Red and purple welts were criss-crossed all over. He must have taken around 40 licks or so. I just stood there, in fear. My Uncle told Paul to stand up and let the welts sink-in. Paul had to leave his pants down while he stood there as told.
My Uncle turned his attention to me now. Without hesitation he told me to stand in front of the sink and take my pants down. I turned towards the sink, unbuckled, unzipped and unsnapped... then in one motion, pants and underpants came down to my knees. I didn't want to piss-off my Uncle more than I already had.
My _d_i_c_k_ popped-out surprisingly large for my being so scared. I was freaked. I didn't know back then that many guys get a boner when feeling anxious or threatened. My Uncle told me that he was going to strap me only 15 licks and it would hurt, but I was to hold-on to the faucets and IF I let go of them to block a lick, I'd get two extra licks for each time I let go. He asked if I understood, and I replied very seriously that I did... and I would try my best to do as he told me. (Suck up!)
I watched in the mirror over the sink and hoped that I wouldn't let go of those faucets! I held on like my life depended on it while I watched Uncle Paul's mirror imagine raise an arm back and upwards. Then I closed my eyes and heard a slight "whoosh" and a sting like a swarm of bees on my ass. The strap landed fifteen times in all and I was signing soprano by the time lick #3 was laid-on. It HURT! As the final few licks were given, I was actually kind of _f_u_c_k_ing the front of the sink as I slammed into it on each lick. But.. I did NOT let go of those _d_a_m_n_ed faucets!
Whippings now over, the strap was returned to the closet and we were told to pull-up, clean-up and wash our faces. We were allowed to go outside but no allowed to leave the yard. As I buckled my belt, Paul asked it I was satisfied. I ignored him. He asked if I enjoyed the strapping because I looked like I was gonna _f_u_c_k_ the sink. The bastard had been watching! Well, that was fair.. I watched him and that way worse than my punishment. We passed through the kitchen and my face felt so hot it was second only to my butt. My little cousin sat there grinning at us while she ate her Jello. I felt like a jerk!
In the back yard was a shed where the lawn mower and assorted tools were stored. Paul went inside and I followed. He told me that when he got a whipping he would always come out here to do something to feel better. I took the bait and asked "What do you do?" He said that he would show me on ONE condition...that I do the same thing. No excuses. I said "okay" figuring it was going to be something dumb and useless. There wasn't a whole lot that you could do in the shed that would lead to more trouble. I felt safe that I wasn't headed for another session with the _f_u_c_k_ing strap!
To my complete surprise Paul unbuckled his pants, pulled down the zipper and then pulled the elastic on his underpants down far enough to expose his _c_o_c_k_ and balls. He sort of hooked the elastic under his balls so both hands were free and his genitals were fully exposed. I just stared at his half-hard _c_o_c_k_ as if it was going to speak to me! Like I said before, he's a big guy and although I'd seen his _c_o_c_k_ a lot of times before.. like when we went swimming, or took a leak together, or were changing our clothes at bedtime when we stayed together. But this was the first time I stared at it.. studied it. I noted that it was like my own in that it didn't have a hood covering the head. Some guys at school had _d_i_c_k_s that you couldn't see the _c_o_c_k_head. I thought there were two ways a _d_i_c_k_ grew and it wasn't until I was in the Navy that I received education about circumcision and genital hygiene. What a surprise that was.. I'd been CUT!
Anyhow, Paul stroked his _c_o_c_k_ a few times and it got rock-hard. He grabbed a squirt can of oil and put some on his hand then took hold of his tool and began to jack-off! I just stared in amazement. Within a matter of a couple of minutes, he began to breath real hard, then shot globs of cum while contorting his face, eyes closed while making a low growling sound. It was actually fascinating to see. I had been jacking-off for a couple of years by age 14, so I knew what he was doing... just not WHY. I remember when I was around 15 years old, my brother Joey who is three years younger told me he knew I did it at night. We did a few jack-off scenes together in our room, but that was short-lived. At this point in my life, the whole masturbation thing fascinated me..especially to SEE it being done. Anyhow, Paul grabbed a rag and wiped the oil and cum from his _c_o_c_k_ then looked at me with that _s_h_i_t_ty grin and said "Okay, your turn you _f_u_c_k_in' snitch-ass".
I told him that I didn't have a boner and couldn't get one. I was lying. I was already well on the way to a prize erection and eager as Hell but had to act cool. He just told me to get my pants down or he'd do it "without unbuckling first". I dropped my Levi's down to my knees. He walked around behind me and pulled my underpants down... then rubbed his hands over my still-flaming bottom and asked if it was hot. Of COURSE it was hot... and it felt good to have his hands on it, too. He told me that I got only a sample of it compared to him and sometimes he got a LOT worse that what I'd seen. I didn't know if he was bull_s_h_i_t_ting me or not, but the way he acted sometimes made me think that he was probably being honest about this.
So, he stood there behind me, then reached around in front and grabbed my now erect _c_o_c_k_. He asked if I ever felt a tit and if I wanted to _f_u_c_k_ cunt. He kept talking about cunts and how great they feel... like a big, smooth hand that could massage your _d_i_c_k_ while you rammed it in and out. I was REALLY horny now. He oiled me up and jacked me off. I felt that wicked-itchy, tingly, swelling sensation which I now understand as orgasm, and I shot a very substantial amount of cum into the air... more than I shoot if I'm going the stroking. He reached between my legs and squeezed my balls. Very intense. I have since experimented with using a _s_e_x_ toy up my butthole and massaging my prostate gland. My wife does it to me from time to time, then I _f_u_c_k_ her until she nearly passes out.
A lot of what I know about that kind of stuff was learned from Paul and a couple of other buddies. During that summer and the next two, Paul taught me that any kind of stimulation.. even a whipping... can be a hot experience if you just "let go" and let the nerves connect and provide stimulation. By the way, those bathroom whippings continued until Paul was 19. I got my last one at age 17... or at least my last official one from Dad. I've fooled around a few times since then, but nothing like those time in my teens when the juices were flowing and I could _f_u_c_k_ a knot hole and find it great.
Paul went on to play college football for UMass - Amherst and them moved to the Boston area. He's a construction worker and shares a second floor tenement in Dorchester with guy he works with.
I showed my brother Joey the after-the-paddling jackoff routine, but he never got into it. Geeze... I still get a hard on just thinking about it. I met a guy in Springfield (Massachusetts) and have had a few session with him. My wife doesn't have a clue.... but I guess that's how these things usually work-out.
Copyright (c) 1987 - Chip Bernardt -- a/k/a "Strapper"
This story is Copyright 1987 Bernardt associates and is provided for the exclusive use of MMSA Stories'S MALE MALE SPANKING PAGE. (http://www. rdrop. com/MMSA Stories:/) It may not be duplicated and distributed unless this entire paragraph remains intact as well as the header with my name and EMail ID. Any other distribution is unlawful and we prosecute.