As a kid I had no problem getting the discipline I needed. My dad was no slouch with the strap, and being a natural born brat, my pants were up and down like a yoyo. Like most boys I hated it while I was getting it, but I knew when I needed it, and knew it had to hurt plenty to do me any good. There's nothing worse than presenting your bare butt for a well-deserved tanning and getting something that's hardly worth dropping yourpants for! When I was 11 my dad went off and left us, so mum got the job of strapping me, but she never hurt me enough to make me behave. She was always telling me I needed a man to take me in hand, and I had to agree with her.
The one summer day I was pantless over the kitchen table getting spanked when my Uncle Paul, my mothers 19 year-old hunky brother, turned up. Mother handed him the strap and invited him to take over, and boy! did he do a good job on me! It was the first time for ages anybody had made me cry. After he finished I thanked him and I really meant it. He said it had been a real pleasure, and next time I misbehaved he'd tan my highly spankable ass with grandad's paddle. Mother had told me about that paddle and how her brothers used to get it on their bare, squirming butts on a regular basis, how they'd had to keep a record of all their misdemeanours in their personal punishment book, so they could have justice administered on Friday nights.
Uncle Paul fished out a small hard-backed cash book out of his pocket.
"This was my punishment book till father died last year," he told me. "Now it's yours. You'll write down everything you do wrong, and bring it over to my place every Friday after school so I can punish you with the paddle."
I got really horny at the prospect of having my bare butt paddled by uncle Paul, and by the end of the week had entered the word "masturbation" several times in my punishment book.
To be continued. . .