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In 1997-98, I posted a series of true-life stories that got a lot of very positive e-mail response from readers of this website. I never finished the series, until now. In reviewing these original submissions, I have edited these stories and now repost them with typo corrections, etc. These repostings will be done every couple of days, and the series completed with new stories. This series begins when I was 11, and ends a year ago, with the stories posted chronologically. Enjoy!
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This particular story takes place when I was 16, and in the early spring of my junior year in high school.
Even to this day, I have a very aggressive driving personality...hell, my whole personality is aggressive and dominant. When I was 16, this aggressive personality also had the urge to speed. Today, I push the envelope so to speak, testing my ability to go from spot A to spot B without a ticket. It has been over 25 years since I received my last ticket, 43 in a 35, going down hill towards an Interestate on ramp. Without a radar/laser detector, I am always 10MPH over.
My Dad was an airline captain; my uncle was a city bus driver. But, dear Uncle Dan was also the local dirt track champion, year after year. Uncle Dan is the one who taught me to "really drive", after my parents spent some good money to give me private driving lessons. (My mother, thought that my Dad would want to do serious and permanent bodily harm if he tried to teach me to drive. She probably was right!)
By the time the winter holidays arrived in my junior year, I was a very good high-speed driver, very good. What I could do on the gravel parking lots of our high school was the talk of the school. And with some of the teachers, who got scared _s_h_i_t_less watching me do high-speed donuts in the parking lot and then high speed u-turns...on the main street in front of the high school. (You can't do that with most front wheel drive cars today, certain Saab models being the exception. I can still put a rear wheel drive car through almost any 35-MPH marked highway curve, well in excess of 70. )
What bothered them the most was my car didn't look like much, just a basic 2-door Chevy Bel-Air, 6 with a stick. But, with the exception of straight drags, nobody in school could stay within 100 yards of me after a mile down some of our curvy back roads. Thank You Uncle Dan!
Twice, my football coach, Ted Carter warned me about my stunts on school property. The second warning came with the threat I didn't ignore.
"Jason, if I hear of a third time, I will paddle your butt before gym class. Do you hear me son?", he said quietly, too quietly. Coach Carter was big, real big. He stood 6'5", and weighed 255...and wasn't fat. I stood 5'10" and was a 90 pounds lighter. Not a good match. Plus I had been witness to some of his paddlings in the locker room. _d_a_m_n_ did those boys scream.
One morning, I had to run into the city to deliver a rush-tailoring job for a customer of a store where I worked part time. I left about 7AM, got to the tailor by 7:20AM, and figured I had 30 minutes to get back to school in time to screw off before the 8AM bell.
The trip back was down a basically good piece of two-lane highway, with lots of rolling hills that could put your car airborne with the proper acceleration techniques. That trip I caught air 5 times. By the time I got close to our town, I was doing a nifty 90MPH with a Chevy straight 6.
Just outside our suburban town, a main US east-west highway's overpass went over the road I was on. Just as I crested the final hill and caught air for the 5th time, I saw a car leave the exit ramp of the overpass and cross over the oncoming lane and turn onto mine. The driver of this car, saw my green & white missile and panicked, stopping crossways, dead in the middle of the highway, blocking both lanes.
I let off of the accelerator, and dropped into 2nd gear. Then I hit the gravel shoulder of the highway in a slide, about 20 yards from the car. Just as I got to the car, I turned my wheel slightly, sending the car towards the ditch. Just as I got to the car, I turned the wheel back, popped the clutch and stomped on the accelerator. Net effect was I did a controlled power slide around the car. I put it quickly in 3rd and sped into town. Thank You Again, Uncle Dan. (Several years ago, I did the same maneuver in a friend's gray-market Mercedes at 160MPH. It was between Phoenix and Laughlin at midnight, on that lovely desert highway, avoiding a bunch deer, frozen by my illegal German headlights. )
As I hit the city limits sign, it dawned on me. I knew that car. It was probably Miss Butler's car. But who was the little old lady in the passenger side? I dismissed the thought, thinking it was a car that looked like my business law teacher's, Miss Butler.
At the lunch period, Coach Carter approached me as I was walking out the door to drive my buddies to the local drive in for lunch.
"Jason, give me your car keys. I will give them back to you after we discuss this morning's driving stunt on the highway. This is number three...sonny!", he held out his hand and glared at me. I didn't argue and meekly handed him my keys.
Suddenly, I was no longer hungry. I knew I was going to get paddled. He never called anyone "sonny", unless he was pissed. On the practice field, when he was really mad, he start off by saying, "sonny, sonny, sonny..." and then rip you a new asshole.
"Christ, it was Miss Butler's car", I thought.
My buddies were startled and immediately were full of questions. My buddy Jim drove us in his car. By the time we got to the drive-in, the whole story was told, down to the flying gravel. On the way back from lunch we detoured and stopped at the scene, and viewed my tire tracks...and Miss Butler's skid marks. "_d_a_m_n_, that was a little too close Parker', I mused to myself, dreading going back to school.
Then Jim dropped a real turd in my punch bowl of life.
"Jason, you really _f_u_c_k_ed up. That passenger was Miss Butler's mother. The old lady was crying and shaking in Mr. Kemper's office when I was in there this morning.", Jim was almost whispering, as if I wasn't in enough trouble already.
My gym class wasn't until the second hour after lunch. The first hour after lunch period was Mrs. Foster's class. She and I got along great, her French nationality and I really hit it off. But her final words to me as I left at the end of class were ominous.
"If I were in Coach Carter's shoes, I would make sure you couldn't walk or drive for a week. I wish I could see him paddle your smart ass!", she hissed at me with an icey French accent. Coming from her, I knew that what was going to happen next was already the talk of the faculty and probably most of the students. I just looked sheepishly at the floor and walked into the hallway.
As I walked down the hall and went to the stairs leading to the boy's locker room, I saw smirks and grins from both boys and girls, some even pointing to my denim covered butt. "Christ, the whole school knew about it.", I thought, beginning to really dread opening the locker room door.
I did, and attempted to slip past Coach Carter's office door. He saw me, because he obviously was waiting for me.
"Parker, get stripped to your underpants and report back to me. And do it fast sonny!', he yelled, rising from his desk.
I went to my locker and stripped to my white Jockey Y-front briefs, dumping my clothes in the locker. I made it back to his office as quickly as I could in my bare feet.
He was standing in his office doorway, already holding his punishment paddle.
"I am really _f_u_c_k_ed", I thought.
"Sonny, sonny, sonny, didn't I warn you about your driving habits? Didn't I tell you that the next time you screwed up I would paddle your butt? Didn't I sonny?", he was boring in on me with his eyes and words.
"Yes Coach.", I stammered, looking at the paddle in his big hands.
"All right sonny. I want you to hold onto this paddle for me. I want you to hold it in front of you, while you face this wall, with your nose on the wall. I want your two feet a foot away from the wall, and your feet shoulder width.", he shoved the paddle into my hands.
I put myself into position, as he directed. God what an embarrassing position. My cotton-covered butt was stuck out very prominently and I was holding what was about to be used on my buns.
"Now you don't move sonny. I want you to stay just like that, while everyone dresses and goes up to the gym. I will start the class on a game, and then I will come down and give you the kind of attention your butt deserves with the paddle you're holding. Do you understand me sonny?", he said as he whacked me square on my ass crack with his hand.
"Yes Coach", I quickly blurted.
For the next 5-6 minutes all my gym classmates smirked and joked about the target my butt was making and what I was holding was going to do to it. Finally everyone got dressed and went upstairs. It seemed like an hour before Coach Carter came back. During that time I began to examine his paddle. It was heavier than my Dad's was. It was shorter, about 12 inches long, with an additional 3-inch handle. It was wider, at about 4 inches wide.
It was about twice as thick, and I really didn't like to hold it...which is probably why he made me do it.
When he did hit the door, he grabbed me by the back of my neck and hauled me over to a bench, between some lockers. He put his left foot on the bench and ordered me to get up over his propped up leg. Since I was still holding the paddle it was awkward, and he assisted me by picking me off the floor, like a potato sack and draping me over his right angled leg.
Now I was over his leg, balancing myself on his gray sweat pant covered thigh. I looked down at his sneaker and then back. My butt was on full display in the mirror, across the next row of lockers. It was normally used to help guys see what they looked like after showering and dressing. Now it showed my butt as a white, tight target for Coach Carter. God it was unreal, I was upside down in my view in the mirror.
Coach Carter placed his left hand on my back, at the waistband of my briefs, to keep me from falling off. He then placed his right hand on the straight crotch mark line of my brief's tightly stretched seat. Then he drew his hand back and really busted my butt in the same spot. I groaned.
Over the next 2-3 minutes he gave me one hell of a hard hand spanking as he lectured me loud and long about what I had done to Miss Butler and her mother a few hours earlier. Gradually, the more he talked, the more pissed he got, and the harder he spanked. His huge hand was as bad as any paddle I had ever felt. Then began his math lesson.
"Sonny, how old are you?", he asked.
"16, Coach", I said, practically choking on the tears bottled up in my throat. "Sonny, counting today, how many times have I warned you about your driving?", he quietly questioned, as he continued to swat my butt.
"3 Coach", I blurted.
"How many is 3 times 16 sonny?", he really smacked me hard with that question.
"48 Coach", I was now almost blubbering. He stopped.
"Did you say 48 sonny?", he leaned down closer to my head.
"Yes Coach", I said, grateful for the break in his hand spanking. I could see that my ass was beginning to look pink in the mirror, with the thin white fabric contrasting with the red skin underneath. A few of his swats had landed on the leg openings of my briefs, leaving a red mark on my upper thighs. My briefs had also started to creep up my butt, now baring about an 1" of lower ass cheek.
"Sonny, take your right hand and give me the paddle, by placing it on the waistband of your briefs.", he directed.
It was awkward, but I placed my hand and it's wooden instrument of terror on my back. He took the paddle from me with his right hand and then directed me to grab hold of my waistband, and to keep it there through out the paddling. When I did as he directed, he then grabbed my right wrist with his left hand to keep me in position and my hand and it's elastic passenger in one spot. When he did that, my brief's leg openings slid up a little more, now baring about 2" of butt cheeks.
Upside down I was one hell of a sight in the mirror. And then it started
"Here is the 48 you deserve...sonny. ", he said calmly.
"Crack"
His first paddle swat landed on nothing but bare butt and thigh. I kicked and jumped as I screamed. Now I knew why those other guys screamed. His paddle was three times as painful as my Dad's.
"Crack"
The second swat landed on both cheeks, protected only by thin cotton. I still screamed, promising to be the most careful driver in town.
He ignored all my pleas as he slowly and methodically covered my butt with that horrible paddle. He went up and down each cheek and upper thigh and then landed some that covered both cheeks. When it ended I was blubbering and wailing. I had never felt anything that bad! In the mirror, through my tear stained eyes, my ass and thighs looked like bad hamburger covered in white gauze. God it hurt.
He put the paddle down and began his post-paddling lecture verbally and with his hand. On top of the paddling I just got, his hand hurt twice as bad as before. I agreed instantly with everything he said, hoping that someday before I graduated he would stop stoking the fire in my backside.
Then he let me get off his leg. He put me back in the same position on the wall, with the paddle and then he pulled my briefs down to my knees. He ordered me to stay in that position until he told me to move. My backside was a red, mutli-colored display. When the class returned, they all gasped at the sight it made. I heard of few of them say they even heard my screaming during the spanking.
I never, displayed my driving prowess around the school again. Though several years later, these skills would come in very handy in the Army.
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This story is true, just certain names have been modified. I travel in my own business, and have the freedom to safely satisfy the spanking needs of interested readers.
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