Growing up, I probably spent more time with my pants down around my ankles than I did with them up around my waist. That's because I always seemed to be getting a spanking.
It started when I was a small boy and Mom would go out and leave me home with Dad. As soon as Mom was out the door, Dad just went ahead and made me take off my little jumpsuit and my underpants.
It saved a lot of time when he needed to give me a couple quick swats. He didn't have to undo my pants each time he spanked me. And spank me he did.
I'd run around the house, naked from the waist down, and it wouldn't be long before I'd touch something I shouldn't have or do something I shouldn't have and Dad would blister my bottom with the ping-pong paddle. He'd grab me, turn me over his knee and spank my little bottom.
By the time Mom returned, my bare bottom had been warmed several times.
The trend continued as I got a little older. When I turned 13, Dad bought a fraternity-type paddle. It was 22 inches of hard wood with holes drilled into it.
Every time Dad spanked me, he pulled down my jeans and underwear. Then, I would go over his knee for a sound spanking.
The whipping itself was brutal. Once he had me in the spanking position, with my legs dangling off the side of the chair, Dad would begin to deliver a series of rapid-fire swats with the paddle.
Dad usually pinned my legs underneath his to keep me from squirmming.
Each swat was strategically placed.
Dad would raise the paddle and bring it down sharply across my naked backside, striking one buttock first, then the other.
He would lay one stripe after another across my buttocks. Dad would lecture me throughout the paddling. Each word coincided with a swat.
If it was a long lecture, I would receive as many as 40 or 50 licks. After about 10 swats, my butt was on fire. After 20, it felt like all the flesh had been ripped off my buttocks and upper legs.
The pain became so intense that I couldn't keep the tears from my eyes. Dad said spankings are supposed to hurt and that usually meant tears. I seldom received a spanking during which I didn't cry.
Afterwards, Dad made me stand in the corner, with my pants and underwear still down around my ankles, so that everyone was sure to see my red bottom.
Sometimes, he made me take off my pants completely and I'd have to go the rest of the evening bare bottom - usually with only a T-shirt to cover my nakedness. Everyone who walked down the hall couldn't help but notice me.
My mother and my older sister saw me bare-bottom on many such ocassions. My grandmother and granddad, aunts, uncles and cousins - all got to see me in this compromising position.
A few of my sister's friends even took a peek at me. They merely giggled as they passed by and saw this naughty little boy standing with his nose pressed against the wall and bottom shining. To them, it was all so cute.
It didn't matter who saw me. I had to stay in the corner, with my nose pressed against the wall. Dad set an alarm clock, and I was not allowed to turn around until the alarm sounded.
Trouble was, he never told me how much time was on the clock. Sometimes, it was 15 minutes; sometimes an hour. If I did make the mistake of turning around, I got spanked again, and the clock was restarted.