This was not my most embarrassing spanking but it sure was my most painfull.
I guess I was about fifteen at the time and for reasons known only to my teenage mind mind decided it would be cool to sneak out with my friends and had a great time untill I noticed that the sun was coming up and it finally sunk in as to what time it really was.
Running, no make that sprinting home I breathed a sigh of relief. I couldn't see a light on anywhere, wich was great news for me because my bedroom was on the second floor and unreachable, so silently I lifted the family room window and started to crawl thru, thinking I was in like flint untill about three quarters of the way thru when I happen to look up and see my parents.
They were just standing there, holding thier first cup of coffee, trying to blink the morning sleep out of thier eyes, as if they couldn't believe what they were seeing. At that point I fell thru the window.
Silence. The only sound was the old grandfather clock ticking. And scared by that silence I gave a all to bright "hi" and to thier ears it was all to sassy as well.
With my mother shaking her head, not at me so much it seemed, but as if to say, Lord, how could I have raised such a foolish son, my father told me to get upstairs and get undressed.
Sitting on my bed I was so lost in my thoughts, so frightened by my fathers eerie tone of voice that I had already forgotten what he had said downstairs, about undressing.
The first tear came to my eye the second he walked in the room. In his right hand was what he called his slapper and I had never had it used on me before and as far as I knew it had only been used once before and that was on my older brother and I had seen what it did to him. I don't know if there is a name for this instrument, I've never tried to find out, but the best way to describe it is to think of a thin piece of razor strap about a foot, foot and a half long attached to a wooden handle. Un oh.
I tried to speak, my mouth moved, but nothing came out. Really what could I say at this point. To afraid to look at my father I stared at the floor instead.
Reaching down my father lifted me off the bed in one clean jerk and loudly said "I thought I told you to get undressed. What do you think; that I want to go into work today smelling like a brewery!" Oh yeah, I guess I forgot to mention that there was beer involved. Not that we drank all that much. It was used more in spray can fights.
Once undressed I couldn't get over the feeling of how disconcerning it was to be naked in front of my father. Always before I just had to pull my pants down. This was a new feeling and I didn't like it at all. Not one bit. And liked it even less as my father left me standing there, naked and shivering as he soundly told me off
For the first time in my life I was glad my scolding was over with. Momentarily anyway. Untill my father lead me over his lap and positioned me in such a way that my head felt unnaturally close to the floor, wich meant my bottom was riding high in the air. "Oh please" I thought "i'm sorry" I knew my father well enough to know that I hadn't been placed like this by accident.
I wish life imitated art. In all the stories I've ever read the father always warms the son's butt up before tearing into him, giving his bottom time to adjust. To bad that isn't always true. From the first stroke on I knew I was experiencing a pain like I had never felt before and never wanted to again. It felt much like what I would expect a branding iron to feel like. It burned that much. And by the forth or fifth stroke I was literally crying and no more than two or three strokes after that I was bucking hard, trying my _d_a_m_n_est to get off his lap and away from that fire. Going so far as to put my hands on the floor and push with all my might. To no avail. I might have already been about his height but was not even close to his bulk or strenght.
Soon, just a few strokes latter I was no longer just crying but screaming for forgiveness and was to latter find out that my pleas to behave were loud enough to have woken the whole house up and the only stray thought I have from that time on untill he quit was of watching one of my tears hit the floor.
When he stopped I don't know and can't remember. All I know for sure is that I lay slumped over his lap, crying like a baby, for a very long time. And that when I finally did get up for the first and only time in my life it hurt more to touch my butt and try to rub the sting out than it did to leave it alone.