On a recent trip back to the country to visit my father, who has long been retired, we decided seeming as it was a crisp fall day that a fire in the fireplace might be nice to have. I checked the wood closet beside the fireplace and found it to be rather bare, some kindling and a bit of small wood but nothing to keep the fire going for any length of time so I went out the kitchen door and over to the old wood shed behind the house. It was still standing as square and sturdy as when I was a boy and I opened the door and stepped inside. Even though I am now 35 years old and have not lived with my parents for years a flood of memories came into my mind upon seeing the inside of that building. There was not as much stacked in it as there had been in the past, we used to put up about fourteen cords of wood a year to keep the kitchen range running as well as the big old pot bellied stove in the living room, now there was maybe four or five cords stacked along the back wall, most of it diseased trees or blowdowns that Dad had cut up for use in the fireplace for he had long ago converted the house to central heating and the oil furnace just purred away down in the cellar. After that conversion he had re-opened the fireplace in the living room, the pot bellied stove used to plug into the chimney above the fireplace and it had been blocked off for all of my childhood.
It used to be my chore to keep the woodbox beside the kitchen range and the wood closet beside the fireplace full of wood, a chore that used to occupy a lot of my time when young. I would help to fill the shed with wood, splitting and stacking it under cover so it would burn nicely come winter when we needed it and I made innumerable trips between the house and that shed keeping the fires in fuel.
Those trips I didn't mind all that much though I would complain about it and mention slavery had been outlawed years before but there was a trip out to the wood shed that I didn't care for at all, the ones when Dad decided I needed a 'talking to'. "Boy," he would say, "I think we need to take a walk out the wood shed for a talk." I used to dread hearing those words for it meant that shortly after we had reached the shed and the door was closed behind us I would be upended over Dad's knees with my pants and underwear around my ankles while he 'talked' long and hard to my bare bottom with his hand and I would answer loudly but not too clearly from the opposite end from the one being talked to.
My father was not a cruel man but did feel that the best way to get a boy's attention and improve behavior was directly connected to the nerves in his backside, stimulate one and you stimulate the other, and I got my fair share of stimulation in my youth. I was not a bad boy all told, more mischievous than a vandal, but I did tend to do things before thinking about the consequences of the action and so it was a rare week that should be marked on the calendar when I didn't take that walk at least once. I'll have to be honest about it and admit that Dad never took me to the shed without a good reason and I deserved every spanking that I received.
I can still remember my first ever trip to the wood shed like it was yesterday although it happened when I was around eight years old. Up to that time I had gotten spanked, sure, but it was my mother that would pull me across her lap and smack the seat of my pant a few times, but this time my crime warranted a 'talking to' for I was now considered old enough to know what I should and should not do and it was Dad's time to tend to my disciplinary needs.
Dad uttered those horrible words and I followed him out to the shed and he closed the door behind us. The only light in the shed was from the windows on either end of the building but they gave enough light to see by. I had never seen the inside of the door before this because it was always open when I was lugging wood to the house and only closed when the job was finished.
Dad took a seat on the heavy chopping block in the middle of the floor used to cut up kindling and split some of the larger logs and called me over to his right side. He told me to unbutton my pants and push them down to my ankles and then told me to put my underpants in the same place which I did and then stood there naked from the waist down for all practical purposes and had to listen to Dad lecture me on what I had done wrong and why he was about to spank me. I can remember sniffling a bit already and he hadn't even hit me as yet and I can remember having an erection although I knew not what that was all about as yet. That would stay with me for my entire youth, every time I got spanked I would be erect before, during and after the spankings. Dad seemed to accept that fact for he never mentioned it and later on in life would actually allow me to position my penis as I lay down over his knees to avoid crushing it between my body and his leg.
After the lecture Dad took me across his knees, pulling me up so my belly was resting right on his lap and my legs were hanging down by his leg and then he ran his hand over my white behind that was pointing at the ceiling of the shed. It didn't stay that color for very long for he raised his hand on high and brought it down smartly square across the middle of my bottom. That was the first slap of many that landed on my poor bottom that day, Dad spanked it all rosy and hot while I bawled and cried and kicked my legs furiously trying to escape the stinging slaps of his hand. That did me no good at all and Dad held me firmly in place with his left arm, my pants and underwear hobbling my legs, and spanked me until he felt that I had had enough. He then took me over to a corner where the firewood was stacked together and made me stand there with my hands on my head and my lower clothing still around my ankles while my bottom burned and burned and I sobbed and cried. My poor bottom had never hurt this much in my life, I couldn't believe that Dad's hand could sting as much as it did and had never counted on having my bum bared for the spanking either.
Dad let me cry myself out and then took me from the corner and back over to the chopping block. As he sat down I started bawling again for I figured he was about to tan my backside some more but instead he pulled me up on his lap, my bare and sore bottom sitting on his woolen pants, and hugged me and patted my head and rubbed my back until I stopped crying again. He told me how he didn't like to have to spank me but I could count on it happening again any time I misbehaved, it was better for me to have a sore bottom now and again than to have no order or discipline in my life and I would think back on it and thank him later on in life for his taking a stand in my youth. He then put me back on the floor and let me pull my pants back up and we went into the house together.
That was my first trip out to the shed for a spanking but by no means the last one, when I screwed up again I would hear the fateful words and shortly would be bawling my apologies to the world while Dad once again would tan my hide red and sore. I can't say that I ever liked the spankings I got but I accepted them as being just punishment for my crimes, Dad always gave me the benefit of the doubt when it came to a spanking, if it could no be proved beyond a reasonable doubt, as they say in court, I would get off without a spanking, it was only when I was guilty that I would feel his strong right hand on my butt. He never, ever, hit me anyplace but my backside although he did stretch the definition of 'buttocks' a bit and included my hips and even the tops and side of my thighs in the punished area. I used to sneak a peek at my freshly spanked bottom in the mirror on my dresser and I would look like I had a pair of red underpants on from the back view, everything back there was scarlet. My after spanking corner time continued but now he would leave me alone to cry it out and I was allowed to pull up my pants and leave the shed when I felt as though I had reflected upon my sins enough.
At age 13 I was a big boy and getting pretty _c_o_c_k_y all told, my body was filling out and I was getting tall, almost as tall as Dad himself. Needless to say with my hormones kicking into high gear and my body growing rather rapidly in one area at least, not to mention all the hair appearing in odd places on my body, I was feeling my oats and a spanking, although still quite painful and somewhat embarrassing, was a thing to be tolerated and not necessarily dreaded, sometimes I would do something for the sheer pleasure of doing it and hang the consequences, a sore behind was a small price to pay for the delight of the moment. After an episode that involved rolls of toilet paper and the trees in front of the principal's house that I and some of my buddies got caught at, Dad proved to me that he still had a trick or two up his sleeve.
Dad was not thrilled exactly when I was brought home in the back seat of the town police car that night, he sent me upstairs to my room while he talked with the Chief. Back in these days you did not take a kid to court over fairly minor offenses like this, punishment was agreed upon by the parents of the offender and generally involved cleaning up whatever mess you had made and of course a good, sound spanking. I lay awake for a while knowing that most likely in the morning I would be once more over Dad's knees in the shed while he explained long and hard why I shouldn't act in such a manner.
The entire next morning went by without a word being spoken about my adventure of the night before other than I had to go over to the principal's house and apologize with my buddies and we had to clean up all the toilet paper from his trees. It took a while because it had rained a bit the night before and that paper was stuck to all the branches but we got the job done and I came home to wait. My butt had that itchy feeling that it tends to get when I just know that I'm going to get a spanking but still it didn't come. I wish that he would just get it over with so I could go and do what I wanted to do, that also was traditional, once spanked the crime was paid for and the slate was wiped clean until the next time I messed up. Dad was just puttering around in his workshop all morning while I waited.
Finally about three o'clock Dad suggested that we take a walk out to the wood shed to discuss my latest escapade and I almost gladly followed him to get my punishment over and done with. He ushered me into the building and closed the door and I automatically walked over to the right side of the chopping block and without being told to dropped my jeans and underpants down to my ankles. I had found over the years that doing this tended to make the spanking last less time, cooperation seemed to work in my favor in this matter. My bottom was still itching and my penis fully erect as usual though now I had quite a bit more to show in that area than during my first trip out here. I heard a knocking sound as Dad closed the door to the shed and looked over and saw him taking down from a hook that he had installed on the back of the door a wooden paddle.
It was beautifully crafted as was all of Dad's woodworking, made of straight grained maple and sanded smooth as glass. The working end of it was about eight or nine inches long and maybe four inches wide and had a nicely carved handle for Dad to hold and even had a wrist thong made out of leather. All edges of the three-eighths thick blade were smoothly rounded as was the tip of the thing, rounded over in a gentle curve. He slipped the thong over his wrist as he took his seat on the chopping block.
"Son, you are getting more mature now," he said, glancing down at my crotch with it's projecting penis and sparse growth of hair, "and it has come time for you to graduate to a big boy's method of punishment. I've noticed over the last few months that my hand is not making the impression on you that it used to and frankly I'm tired of wearing out my hand on your backside so we are going to use this from now on when you need a spanking." He lifted the paddle into my view and waved it in the air a bit. "I think that you will find that this gets your attention rather well." He gestured at his lap and I lay down across it, holding my penis down so it would be outside of his right leg and not squashed on top of it. He pushed my T-shirt up toward my shoulders to fully expose the target and took a firm grip around my waist with his strong left arm and raised the paddle high.
He brought the paddle down on its white and vulnerable target, hitting me squarely right in the center of my bottom cheeks, right over my anus. "This isn't all that bad," I thought and then the second swat landed just above the first and the pain hit me from the first swat. _d_a_m_n_, didn't that thing burn! As the paddle licked all over my fanny I yowled and wailed and begged but to no avail, every time the paddle landed it either lit a fresh fire on my flaming backside or fanned a blaze already burning there to hotter flames. I was struggling and kicking and bucking my butt up and down trying to escape the blazing sting of the paddle and every time I'd kick my legs up Dad would land a fiery swat on the very bottom of my butt and top of my legs to remind me to keep my legs down where they belonged.
The spanking lasted forever and turned me from the tough teenager that I was into the eight year old getting his very first official pants down, bare bottom across the knees spanking and I was crying just as loudly as that kid had done while the flames raged on my entire rearend growing higher and hotter with each paddle whack. Finally after an eternity Dad stood me up and guided me over to my corner for some reflection time. I stood there with my hands behind my head and my bum throbbing with pain to the beat of my pulse, sobbing and crying like the well spanked boy that I was. This time instead of leaving the shed Dad sat down on the chopping block and waited until my sobbing stopped. He called me back over to him and I shuffled back to his side, pants still at my ankles and stood there with my hands behind my head. My T-shirt was still rucked up around my back so I was pretty much naked from my ribs down to my ankles and that darn penis of mine was still sticking out straight and hard.
"Son," said Dad, "normally you know that a spanking is the end of your punishment but this time you went just a bit too far. Due to the seriousness of the crime I'm going to nip it in the bud right now and I want you to know that this was a two spanking crime. You can expect another trip out here tomorrow where we will continue this discussion and I hope you learn something from it." He got up from the chopping block and hung the dreadful paddle back on its hook and opened the door and left the shed.
As soon as he left the shed my hands flew to my blistered rump to see if it was still there and not spanked clean off of my body as I expected. It was hot and swollen a bit and sore as all get out but still seemed to be in one piece. My right hand moved to the front and I took relief in the manner that I had done since I learned what an erection was all about, I had found that it would make my bum feel a bit better anyhow. I was not looking forward to the second part of the discussion the next day!
Another new wrinkle was added the next day when I had to walk out to the shed once more. Instead of just having me pull my pants and underwear down to my ankles, Dad had me strip naked as the day I was born. Winter or summer this would be my outfit for a spanking from this time forward which added greatly to the embarrassment of getting spanked. The only big change was my corner time, in the winter it would be cut short and I would be allowed to get dressed right after the spanking, during the spanking somehow the heat from my rump would spread to my entire body and I would never feel really cold until my spanking was over. In the summer I'd still have to do my corner time naked and with my red fanny displayed to whoever walked by the open door of the shed for Dad always would leave the door wide when he left and my corner was directly in line with it.
The spanking that day was flat out horrible. My bottom was still pretty tender from the previous spanking and added to that was the embarrassment of being naked and I don't think it took more than half a dozen swats to get me bawling at the top of my lungs. This did me no good for Dad continued the paddling until my backside was molten and flaming again and put me into my corner, stark naked and sore. The pain of this spanking was equaled by me getting a trip to the shed on successive days in the future but only surpassed once when I got paddled twice in a period of about three hours. Doing the same stupid thing twice in a row got Dad quite irate and he made sure that I knew he was upset about it and that second paddling was one for the record books. It was long and hard and for the first time in my life I really couldn't sit down for a couple of days and it was also the one and only time in my life that I lost it and peed all over his leg and the floor of the shed from the sheer agony from the pain on my butt. I couldn't even bear to pull my pants on over my blistered behind after that one and waited until the coast was clear and sneaked into the house still naked and lay down on my bed with my scarlet and purple fanny looking at the ceiling of my bedroom for I couldn't even bear the weight of sheets on it. The next morning I had a vivid bruise on each side of the very bottom of my butt, right where it meets my legs, that lasted for about two weeks before fading away. Until I finally graduated from school and left home that paddle, in Dad's capable and now I know loving hand, talked to me quite often while I did my part by listening and commenting loudly on the lesson learned. I will have to say with only one exception I never made the same error twice.
I gave myself a shake, hell, I was now an adult and that was years in the past! However, I had heard the familiar knocking when I opened the door to the wood shed--I wonder. I closed the door a bit and there it was, the paddle. I took it down from its hook and believe it or not this was the very first time that I had ever touched it, sure, it had touched me an awful lot in my time but I had never held it in my hand before. I blew the dust off of it and looked at it closely. Dad's fine woodworking skills still showed in the tool though it now had that worn, velvet surface finish of wood that has been in contact with human skin for a long, long time, like a favorite old hammer that is not so good any more but still just fits your hand better than any other that you've ever used. Of course the part that Dad had held was well worn but as I looked at it closer I could see that the entire 'business end' except for right near the handle was worn and smooth as well. I thought of how many times that paddle must have smacked my bottom in order to get that way.
"Hey, son!" came Dad's yell from the house, "What you doing, growing that fire wood?" I hung the paddle back on its hook for the last time.
"Coming, Dad," I hollered back, grabbing a big armful of wood and heading to the house for the first of several trips I would make to fill the wood closet. Dad met me at the door to the kitchen and took the armful of wood from me to bring it to the closet so I wouldn't track up the floor all the way to the living room.
"See something interesting out there?" he inquired.
"Nope," I answered as I headed back to the shed for another armload of wood, "just remembering all the trips I've made out to the shed." I turned quickly and walked away hoping he didn't see my erection