My Dad Got the Better of Me Again

by Jon <>

Several weeks after my go around with that thick and heavy cleaning brush( (see the previous story) I discussed with my dad the severe beating I believed I had received from him by way of that heavy brush. I explained how my ass and legs were bruised and that I didn't think he wanted to be known for beating me that way. I also described how students and a teacher saw my bruised upper legs and butt in the locker room when I changed for gym. That embarrassed him, but was a lie. I would have been mortified if that had happened. So it didn't happen, I had worn Jockey, extra long leg boxer briefs all the following week.

During the discussion, my Dad said he understood my concern and even apologized for hitting me so hard. He also said I was plenty to blame for "stealing" the paddle from the closet. I wasn't about to tell him the real reason it was missing. We soon mutually agreed that I would give the original paddle back and also agreed that I would accept a paddling with it if my dad believed I deserved it. We also agreed that he would try to use it only on my bottom. My real hope was that the discussion was moot and I would never have to feel that thing again, although thinking about it provided many days of rigorous and memorable masturbation. I was beginning to feel pretty old to be paddled especially when made to cry like a little kid.

I went a whole year without any major confrontations. My luck ended though in the middle of my 17th year in 11th grade. I had lost my cool with a teacher in the hall. I was caught running in the hall of all things. The teacher just asked me to come back and retrace my steps. My mouth started working before my brain did and I ended up in the office for mouthing off at a teacher. I had let a four-etter word fly at that. I was given two days of In-school suspension/detention. That meant I had to come to school for two days and sit facing the wall in a special classroom. I was also told that a letter would be sent home, but that I should tell my parents about it that night. I knew that night was not to be a happy night..

On my way home I thought of what I was going to say to my parents. I figured Dad would probably be thinking the word "paddle" after I dropped the word bombs of detention, all day, and suspension. My attention was quickly diverted to what I was wearing. I remembered putting on a pair of thin, baggy, polly/cotton boxers that morning. I confirmed my thinking as I raised up my T-shirt. I saw the upper part of my boxers showing above the waistband of my Adidas pull on Nylon Pants. I was sure glad I was going to get home before my dad, so I could change into something a little more substantial. I planned how I could put on a pair of cotton briefs, then a pair of baggy flannel cotton boxers or maybe a pair of baggy long john pants, the baggiest I could find. I figured on wearing my old, black, snug fitting Hip-Hop jeans. They would fit more like regular pants and hopefully cause my dad to paddle my ass instead of my tender thighs as has happened when wearing Hip-Hops the previous time. The jeans would still be baggy in the butt where my baggy boxers and briefs would neatly fit.

I got home, walked in the house and headed in the direction of my bedroom to change. On my way, I met an unplanned obstacle, my Dad. He had called the school to confirm a coaching time with the school secretary. In the process, he got the story that I was supposed to tell him.

"Mouthed off at a teacher!" Dad bellowed.

Looking at the sheepish eyes was all he needed to see. He ordered me to my room and told me that "I was going to get it". I knew what was coming.

In my room my attention quickly diverted to my thin nylon pull-on pants. I wished they were lined like most nylon pull-on pairs I owned. These were even a little on the old side, a little small and as thin as any I had ever worn. I turned my ass toward the tall mirror on the wall. I couldn't help but admire the rounded figure of my bottom in the shiny mirror glass. I pulled my nylon pants up, which enhanced my figure even more. This caused less boxer to show and put the waist of the pants squarely on my waist. I even went to the trouble to retie the waist. This hopefully would make it much more difficult for my dad to pull down my pants....for all the protection the thin pants were about to give me. On hearing my dad climb the stairs, I was thinking that I was a pretty tough 17 year-old, but that paddle of my dad's was just the right weight for effectively tenderizing my globes through what I was wearing. He had already proved how effective that little piece of wood was several years earlier.

It wasn't long before I was bending over the edge of my bed again. I could feel the thin nylon snug up to my oh so thin boxers. Not only was I lamenting quietly in my mind that my nylon pull-ons had no lining, I was also wishing they at least had back pockets, which they also lacked.

For a short moment I could feel the paddle resting on my right cheek. In another short moment, I felt it leave my ass and then, WACK! OOOHHH! What fire, no hurt, just FIRE! WACK! OOOOOOHHHHHH! That one landed squarely on my left cheek. I couldn't believe there were tears coming to the surface of my 17-year-old eyes already.

WACK! WACK! WACK! WACK!...I think somewhere around sixteen in all. Rapid-fire, Left cheek, right cheek, left cheek, right cheek, and so on. By the time the paddle finished with me, I had YET to feel the stinging effects of the second half of the shots. The tears were flowing, I was balling and catching my breath was a chore.

My dad left the room and let me cry away. After a number of minutes, I finally quieted down. I lay on my stomach and put my right hand on my right ass cheek. What heat was coming through the thin nylon material. What STING had been generated with surprising little pain. My pant's felt so thin as I rubbed my hand over the smooth shiny nylon of my pocket-less rear that I, for a moment almost thought I wasn't wearing any underwear. I was able to feel the square seat seam of my boxers through the nylon that confirmed I was wearing the boxers. I don't know what good they did me considering the lack of protection they afforded me.

I soon put my left hand on my left cheek, then my right hand on my right cheek. I rubbed both hot cheeks with my hands through the slippery smooth nylon in a soothing way. Before long, the soothing rubbing of my ass caused other things to happen. Later I dosed off to sleep in my now wet boxers. Something good did come (excuse the pun) out of this day after all.

More stories byJon