I was a decent kid, but like many in their early teenage years, I was looking to be my "own man". At times I took pleasure in challenging authority especially my dad's. He usually kept me in line by reasoning and occasionally a stick or his hand did the talking.
At thirteen or fourteen, I'd get a weird stirring in my groin when I challenged my dad. Once he got mad enough to push me to the floor, hold me down and spank my ass hard with his big hand five times. I was wearing briefs and a pair of thin Bermuda shorts. It stung enough so that my eyes watered, but I didn't cry out and was able to get up and walk to my room as if it didn't bother me. After, while feeling pretty tough, I beat off several times in bed as I mulled over the confrontation in my mind and wished my shorts had had back pockets for more protection.
Months later I got in a tiff with my dad after already in bed. Poor timing. He got his pine stick out of the closet which was about an inch wide, half inch thick and over a foot long. Walking back into my bedroom he pulled the blankets back, lifted my right side up by the shoulder and as my ass cheek became exposed...Whack! Whack! The stick landed long ways on the side of my cheek. It stung like hell! The summer PJ's I was wearing (no briefs either) seemed not to help at all. I yelled out and cried, but the sting didn't last long and my tears dried up fast. Later I promised myself I'd be more careful about mouthing off or challenging when I was wearing such skimpy clothing. After, I went over the event in my mind and yes, pounded my meat. I wondered if I had been wearing jeans what that stick would have felt like. I imagined it probably would have stung plenty, but I convinced myself I wouldn't have cried. Not crying meant that I was tough and got away with whatever I got hit for.
In ninth grade I was bigger than most and many times brash. One evening after my dad had asked me to go to bed while I was watching T. V. an argument ensued. I played tough and wouldn't obey. When he warned me about the stick, I took a quick look down and saw that I was wearing a pair of heavy work khakis with deep back pockets. Then I gleefully remembered that I had put on a pair of Munsingwear double seat briefs that morning. They were like wearing two pair of under pants. I decided to stand my ground. I was feeling tough and somewhat protected.
Soon the stick came out of the closet. It looked meaner than I last remembered it. With that weird feeling in my groin, heavier clothing or not, I quickly had a change of heart and headed for my bedroom. To my chagrin, my Dad and the stick followed closely behind.
Dad ordered me to take off my clothes and get into bed. I was between a rock and a hard place with one hard place getting harder by the second. I didn't want to get undreesed in front of him with that stick in his hand, but I wanted to obey and end the confrontation. I began unbuttoning my shirt which was in my mind covering a less critical area to have exposed. In doing so I viewed the basketball T shirt underneath. I remembered then that I was also wearing a pair of jean cutoffs under my khakies that I had worn to play basketball in earlier that day. Luck would have it, they were thick cords.
Inow I was in a real dilemma with two tough choices. Continue to say NO to my dad and likely find out how effective the stick could be on my well protected ass...or...obey and take off my pants and cutoffs and trust that the confrontation would end. I'd have to hope that my pissed off Dad would not lay the stick across the seat of my briefs or worse, yank the elastic waistband of my briefs down and paddle me bare.
One thought of the stick on my bare butt made my mind up. I TOLD him I'd get undressed when he left the room. Not exactly a tackful move. He would hear none of that and in no time, he started walking toward me. I realised then that the stick was different. This one was oak and about a half inch wider with rounded edges. I sat back on the bed and started to kick in defense. It wasn't long for him to prove poor a choice I had made to kick. He grabbed my left ankle, then my right, and as I fought to not be turned over, he pulled my butt out over the edge of the bed while I was on my back. The after raising my ankles up and against his chest he swung the stick into my left ass cheek. Three shots landed right on the center of the cheek. The shots caught me unawears. I hadn't seen them coming. They made a lot of noise and caused some pain but very little sting. The protection from one layer of khaki, two layers of fabric from my khakis deep pockets, the cord cutoffs plus their cord back pocket and the double fabric seat of my briefs seemed to be helping a lot.
I could see my dad wasn't pleased by the lack of effect. Soon three more shots landed. These were somewhat harder. With the flicking of his wrist as the stick landed and the fact these shots landed lower and closer to my crack made these shots far more effective. Not only did the stick land faster and on a more sensitive area, it landed minus the protection of the three layers of back pockets which were now out of the target area. Even with four layers of protection, by the third shot, the sticks message was penetrating through and caused me to kick. The kick caused my dad to lose his grip and drop my ankles. In no time though, he grabbed my left ankle again and raised it into the air. He proceeded to chew me out while I sweated out the wait. I was not yet crying, but nearly and I knew a few more shots like the last three would likely break me. As my boner was pressing tightly against my underwear and being held in place by my tight cutoffs, I grit my teeth hard and hoped for the best.
Whack!...YYEEEOOOUUUUUU!!!!...the tears flowed from my eyes almost immediately. Whack! Whack! I cried out until I had no breath left. It wasn't that my dad was hitting me that much harder, it was because when he lifted up my ankle, he didn't lift it as far as before. Now when the stick landed, it landed just BELOW the elastic leg band of my double seat briefs and to my dismay just below the leg opening of my cutoffs. One layer of snug fitting khaki was no match for the robust stick, especially when the stick was working on the most tender part of my upper thigh just below the ass cheek. Several more shots completed the job and as my dad left the room I fell off my bed to the floor and kicked around for a while.
Later, as I got undressed, pulling down my tight cutoffs was a sore procedure. Pealing down my briefs to see the light red and dark red stripe on my left ass cheek gave me a hard-on. To see that dark red and blue stripe on the back of my upper leg...well it told all. The stick had been perfectly placed whether my dad planned it or not..
Dad had now proved that he could get to me even when my ass was well clothed. If that wasn't enough, the back of the leg was. The experience gave me plenty of thought material to masterbate by. I promised myself never to challenge my dad again. Then again, I was never great at keeping promises...even to myself.