'I'm so sorry that my son has caused so much trouble, officer. Please rest assured that he will be punished, very harshly indeed. Perhaps you'd like to come and observe his punishment yourself?'
My heart sank when the police officer accepted my father's offer and stepped inside.
I had been out with some mates in the city after college. We'd had a few drinks, quite a few by all accounts, and had then decided to go for a curry. On the table next to us, there were a group of young Asian lads, and my friend Mike had though it would be funny to throw a screwed up serviette at them while they weren't looking. Of course, we had all joined in and before long they had got up and started to fight with us. Tables and chairs went flying and we were all lashing out like lunatics. The restaurant owner had called the police and we were all cautioned and arrested.
Now back home I was starting to regret my actions. I had been punished before of course, but never more than a few well-aimed slaps over my trouser-protected bottom for insolence or bad language. I knew this was more serious, but I didn't realise how serious the punishment was going to be.
'Get into the living room, boy. Now move it', my dad ordered. I knew better than to disobey him when he was in this type of mood, so I replied 'Yes Dad'. 'I think you'd better call me Sir while you're being punished, its more befitting', he said. 'Now, you're 18 years old Mark, I expected better from you and now you're going to regret it. Take off your shoes and socks and place them neatly against the wall'.
I did this, untying each lace carefully and peeling off each sock as if it were made of gold thread, just trying to delay the inevitable. I placed the socks inside the shoes and put them neatly by the wall as ordered. The officer and my father had sat themselves in the two comfy armchairs and were watching with interest. Now barefoot, I turned and faced them. There was something about being barefoot that made me feel more naked than if I had had no clothes on.
My dad stood up. 'As a warm up Mark, I'm going to use my belt on the soles of your feet. You're eighteen years old, so you're going to get eighteen strokes on each foot. Kneel up on the sofa.'
I complied, kneeling up with my bare soles pointing towards my father. This was something new for me. I had heard of people getting whipped on their bare bottoms, but never on their feet. I heard the belt being drawn from my father's trousers. And then suddenly he lifted up my left foot.
Crack. I jumped. I had never felt such intense pain in all my life. Crack. The pain in my foot seemed to rise right up my leg. Crack. This time I cried out 'Please Dad, I've learnt my lesson'. But it did no good. The strokes kept coming hard and fast. When he had finished with the left foot, he started with the right one. By now I was crying quite freely. My feet were on fire.
Having finished the bastinado 'warm-up', my father ordered me to stand up and face them. I did this, though how I managed to stay stood up I don't know. 'Young man', he continued, 'I'm now going to ask the policeman to conduct the next part of your punishment. You will now strip off the rest of your clothes'.
I proceeded to do this, first slipping off my shirt to expose my smooth bare chest. The I unbuckled my trousers and slipped them over my feet. Lastly, with some hesitation, I pulled down my pants to reveal my naked bottom and _c_o_c_k_, which strangely had started to become erect. I blushed at this. It was so humiliating to be stood in front of my father and a complete stranger in the nude. I felt them assessing my position, drinking in my embarrassment.
The officer stood up next. 'Right. There's only one way I know for curing this type of infantile behaviour that you have show today, and that's a long hard caning. I want you to kneel on all fours on the sofa with your bottom high up in the air.'
A caning - oh no! I had heard about the cane when we talked about public schools and I had even seen a clip of a caning from an old film. But that had been over trousers - I was naked. I got into position, my bottom the highest I could get it. And then it started. I saw the officer take out a cane from a case my father had given him. I had never seen it before, but the sight of it was terrifying. I heard him try it out in the air with a few swishes and then,
Swish, crack. Aaagh. I couldn't help but cry out and my hands reached behind to rub my sore bottom. 'Hands away, young man' said the officer sternly. 'Anymore of that and we'll start again. You're getting twelve strokes and that's that'. I managed to keep still after that, though the pain was excruciating. Swish, craack. Stroke two was even more painful than the first. Swish, craack. Swish, craack. My arse was on fire after only just six strokes. How could I possibly take any more. Swish, crack. My eyes were all red and puffy by now with all the crying I was doing. I had to keep still, I didn't want it to start over again. At last, it was over.
My two tormentors let me rest then. I lay on my stomach for a while, just thinking and sniffling slightly. If only I hadn't involved myself in all the trouble, I thought. I was drunk - didn't they ever doing anything stupid when they were young? Surely there couldn't be any more punishment in store for me - I couldn't take it. But then I saw that my father and the officer had stood up again.
'Are you starting to get the message Mark', my father said. 'Yes sir', I replied. 'I'm really sorry Dad, I mean Sir, and I won't do anything like that again. 'Well son, there's still one more punishment to come before the officer goes. I don't want him to get the impression that I tolerate this sort of behaviour. I'm going to cane you this time, on the soles of your feet.' He tuned to the officer. 'Would you mind helping me with this one?' 'Not at all, I'd be glad', he replied. I was sure that I could see a grin appear on his face and the bulge in his trousers swelling. They turned me onto my back and the officer took hold of my ankles, pulling my legs upwards, with the soles of my bare feet facing my father for a second time.
'I'm going to give you ten strokes this time', my father said. 'That should really teach you a lesson. You're not going want to do too much walking in the next few days.' Somehow each stroke on my soles seemed to have twice the effect of one on my bottom. I tried to kick and get away, but the officer was holding my feet still. By the end of the punishment I was sobbing uncontrollably from the pain and the humiliation. I was told to stand up and thank each of them for my punishment. I did this, still with tears rolling down my face. The officer left, and I was left alone with my father who said I could dress. I put on everything except my shoes and socks. The coolness of the floor seemed to ease, at least to some small degree, the pain in my bare feet. I looked at my bottom and saw the bruising already starting to appear. Something was certain - I wasn't going to behave that way for a very long time to come.
This is my first story. It explores one of my many personal punishment fantasies. Please, please let me know what you think of it. Contact me at: drtucker80@hotmail. com