I was awakened by the sunlight streaming through the window, to find that my dick was still rock-hard behind the imprisoning paddle. I began to appreciate the erotic pleasures of the dick harness. My rear end, though still bruised and tender to the touch, had recovered remarkably well from its ordeals of the previous evening. I picked up the punishment book from the bedside table, where Uncle Paul had written out my punishment program, and I was shocked into action when I saw I was due for another 12 whacks at 8 am. I had no means of knowing the time, and dreaded what would happen to my butt if I was late reporting for a beating. I could hear splashing from the pool, and realised guiltily that my uncle was up before me. It didn't seem right - I should have had his breakfast ready, taken it to him in his room. . . I hurtled downstairs, and was relieved to find the hands of the hall clock showing half past seven.
I went out to the pool, to find both Mike and my uncle skinny-dipping. Uncle Paul greeted me happily, "Glad to see you up early, Davy. We'll get your spanking over before you make breakfast. You'll find the harness key in my shorts pocket in the bedroom!" The shorts - my shorts - were on the bedroom floor, and alongside them the swim briefs Mike had worn at the party. . . Evidently Mike was a very good friend of Uncle Paul's!
I retrieved the key, and unlocked the padlock, before tightening the strapping to restore the paddle to punishment mode. I had to pay an urgent visit to the bathroom, and contend with the well-known problem of peeing through a rigid erection. I finished up with big a puddle on the floor. I began to panic. . . no time to mop it up, it would have to go in the punishment book. . . which unforgiveably I'd left in my bedroom!
I finished up with three new entries: peeing on the floor: forgetting my punishment book (again!): and slowness to obey an order. And two of these were second offences, as uncle Paul pointed out as he reworked my punishment schedule. I was kicking myself, because, when I'd entered my punishment for being late the previous day, I'd put: "late due to forgetting punishment book." Which meant that later that day, my backside was to be introduced to another implement, even more formidable than grandad's paddle - grandad's little used but much feared punishment strap! My uncle explained that it was his fathers rule that if you didn't learn your lesson after the paddle, you got the strap. I had only myself to blame. I knew I had to have the punishment book with me whenever I reported for beatings, and I'd vowed after yestereday's paddling never to forget it again.
Meantime I draped myself once again over my uncles bare thighs, for another tanning with the now familiar paddle. My spanking had now increased to 24 whacks, to take into account my floor-wetting episode. And I'll swear he spanked me harder than ever. Long before it was over, Mike had the pleasure of seeing me cry. Luckily there was no penalty for making a puddle of tears by the swimming pool!
After it was over I only got 10 minutes corner time, as the two guys were ravenous for their breakfasts, and so was I. The only time I'd eaten since I'd arrived was Mike's burger after I'd dropped it, and the charred remains I'd scavenged after the barbecue. I can report that the condemned man ate a hearty breakfast.
For the rest of the day I slaved away at the long list of chores my uncle had prepared for me, punctuated by another two paddlings. My final chore was to oil the strap ready for my thrashing. It was a daunting object, over two feet long and made of thick stiffish leather, split along half its length. It made my parents' strap look like a toy, and even that had hurt plenty in uncle Paul's expert hands.
I was taken out to a large shed which housed the strapping bench, to which my wrista and ankles were secured. At least I wouldn't be able to earn extra for squirming!
To be continued