When I was growing up the ideals of behavior was pretty straight forward, there were certain rules that I had to follow and woe betide me if I didn't! Minor crimes would earn me a good tongue lashing and possibly being restricted to the house for a while, the major crimes were dealt with swiftly and firmly by Dad in the time honored tradition between father and son--he'd tan my hide for me.
This was not done an awful lot, a spanking was reserved for gross disobedience and major crimes--lying, stealing, cheating and laziness were the biggies and back talk could always assure me a session in my bedroom while Dad explained my errors to me.
When I got sent to my room there was a ritual to follow, one that I was taught at a young age and have followed ever since. The first thing I would do is take the straight chair from underneath my desk and put it in the middle of the floor and then I had to strip to my white Hanes briefs to await Dad's arrival. That wouldn't be too bad but I had to drop my underwear to just below my knees and sit there on the edge of my bed until Dad came up to my room, a foolish looking and humiliating position to be in. Having my underpants up wouldn't have been so bad and even being naked wouldn't either but being half and half like this made me feel really silly. I would sit there feeling my woolen blanket under my bare backside and it itched and itched both from the wool and from the anticipation of what was going to happen to it when Dad finally arrived.
When he finally got there, and sooner or later he would get there, he never forgot, he'd sit in the chair after closing the door and summon me over to him. I'd have to hobble over to him with my briefs still down although they would come off as soon as I was standing by his side. I'd get the lecture standing there in my birthday suit, my stiff penis pointing upward a little bit, until it was time for the show to start. Over his knees I would go and he'd explain once again what I had done wrong all the while laying down a salvo of stinging swats on my cute white bottom. It sure wasn't white when he got done with it, it could range in shade from watermelon pink to tomato red according to the crime and the length of the spanking but it really didn't make much difference, I'd cry and beg and kick like mad while he heated my bottom to medium rare temperature. Even a 'light' spanking was pretty nasty for it is the first, virgin swats that hurt the most, swats that come afterwards just add to the flames burning back there.
When I turned thirteen and was starting to feel my oats, Dad decided that he was tired of wearing out his hand to wear out my backside and I spent one whole morning finishing off a paddle that he had roughed out for me. He had sawed the paddle from a nice piece of straight grained maple wood, beveled all the corners so I wouldn't get cut by it, how considerate of him, and gave me the job of sanding it smooth. There is nothing quite like making your own paddle knowing that soon you will be feeling the results of your work on an area that you would rather not. Once I had it sanded smooth as glass he even painted my name on the thing so everyone would know it was mine. Just to make sure that everyone knew its purpose he painted 'Bum Bum Blister Blaster' on the other side of the thing so when it was hanging on the wall of my room in plain sight everyone knew it was mine and what it was used for. That thing still hangs on my bedroom wall in a place of honor to this day. Something that surprized me was he didn't have me put any kind of finish on it once I had it fully sanded, he told me that bare wood is best for bare hide.
Having the paddle hanging there was embarrassing enough, though once my friends had seen it and commented on it and even picked it up to look it over there was more sympathy than anything to think it was used to great purpose. It was the term 'Bum Bum' that got to me, as a teen I had a butt or a rear end, not a bum bum. That was a holdover from my childhood and Dad thought it was cute to still use it. When I was young he'd tell me that if I didn't behave I'd get my bum bum warmed. It was never really a threat, more of a promise that Dad always carried through. Its name was accurate, though, for it sure could blast the blisters to my 'bum bum'!
I'll never in my life forget the maiden voyage of the paddle, it happened about a week after I had made it. I was sent to my room to await a spanking and this time besides the pee stains inside my underwear to study I got to gaze at my shiny new paddle hanging on the wall. Dad showed up in due time and took the paddle from its hook before sitting down and calling me over. I hobbled over with my briefs at half mast and took them off at his command. There was the usual lecture and then I was over his knees, bare bottom upturned to feel the paddle for the first time.
Up to that time I figured that nothing in the world could possibly hurt more than Dad's strong right hand when he spanked me, boy, was I wrong! From the first smack of the paddle on my naked, vulnerable hide I knew that I was going through a new experience entirely, one that I didn't want to have! Though I found out later on in life that he wasn't paddling me exceptionally hard, every stroke of that thing just seemed to sear the skin off of my poor tail and I screamed with each and every stroke. Normally I would start with crying and move into wailing and howling when the spanking got hotter, I went right past the first two to howl with almost the first paddle whack I got. I was begging and yowling and kicking my legs every which way but to no avail, Dad tanned me hot and sore with that thing. When I knew that he was about to tan my hide right off of my butt with one more stroke he let me up to dance and cry around the room, rubbing my fiery rump to try to put the flames out. He calmly hung the paddle back up and left the room, leaving me to cry it out. That took quite a while, I think I sobbed for another ten minutes before the flames simmered down back there. There was a puddle on my floor where I had wet during the spanking, that happened only when I got spanked really hard. It almost matched the pool of tears on the other side of the chair.
Outside of the embarrassment of having the paddle in plain sight on my bedroom wall, Dad was pretty good about keeping what tiny shreds of modesty I had intact, spankings were always private matters between him and me. He would always close the door before taking me over his knees and paddling my rump sore and red and close the door once my spanking was over and he left the room. I know it didn't make that much difference for the sounds emitting from my room could be heard all over the house anyway, the steady 'pock, pock, pock' of the paddle hitting my bare butt and my howls and wails of anguish and pain and my non-stop begging for the spanking to stop. Begging and crying never seemed to make an impression on Dad, he never stopped until he was darn good and ready to, normally after my fanny was flaming hot and sore as anything.
As I said, he was always good about being alone with me when he spanked me except for this one trip.....
Dad and his brother were the owners of a fishing camp that they had inherited from their father, it was way out in the woods and you had to backpack all your food in. It was pretty crude all told, you got your water from a hand pump in the well outside in the yard, all cooking was done on an ancient wood stove and for the calls of nature there was the entire outdoors if you had to just pee and an old two hole outhouse for more serious potty chores. My mother hated the place and only visited it once, I loved it. It became an all male camp after that one visit.
I loved the freedom of the place, just step outside the back door into the yard if you had to pee, going skinny dipping in the lake and catching a lot of our food in that same lake. The lake was about 100 yards from the front door of the cabin and I can remember many times dropping my clothes on the porch and running naked across the yard and diving into the lake to cavort around for hours in the cool water. Everyone followed the same routine at that camp and my uncle, dad and cousin would go swimming in the nude as fast as I would.
Most of the time the four of us would meet up at the camp for a couple of weeks in the summertime, my dad, my uncle, myself and my cousin. My cousin was about a year or so younger than me and we had a great time at that place, running around, swimming and just generally having a great boy time. This was normally the only time of the year that we would get together like this for my uncle lived about two states away though the camp was about an hour's drive from my house. Dad and I would spend quite a few weekends at the place by ourselves.
The rules of behavior were loosened up at the camp but never really disappeared and it was usual that fairly often during our two week stay that either my cousin or I got marched off for some parental guidance. If you followed a little trail behind the cabin you'd come across a clearing with a big old stump right in the middle of it, my dad and my uncle used to use it for a seat when they would take us across their knees for some hands on, and later paddles on, training. I spent quite a bit of time in that clearing naked while Dad would warm my butt for me and also heard the sounds of my cousin receiving the same kind of treatment from his dad, sound carries pretty well up there. We used to compare rear ends to see which dad spanked the hardest.
Come to find out the paddles that our fathers used so effectively on our bottoms were our dads' that they had made when they were thirteen, I guess this was an old family tradition being passed down to the next generation. My father's had his name and 'Rump Roaster' painted on its blade, my uncle's was 'Seat Heater'. Oh, by the way, my cousin had his own 'Fanny Fanner' at home. Such cute names for tools meant to cause such great discomfort. At the camp I got my rump roasted and my cousin got his seat heated fairly often. One day Dad grabbed the wrong paddle on his way out of the door while holding me firmly by the arm and I got my seat heated by mistake. I can't say that I noticed all that much difference.
I'll say one thing about getting spanked at the camp that was a lot better than at home, there was no waiting and anticipating the spanking. Either my cousin or I, depending on who had misbehaved at the time, was simply taken by the arm for a march out back into the woods and in a very short time the rhythmic sounds of paddle smacking bottom and the wails of the boy that the bottom belonged to would waft through the woods. Of course in our younger days before we 'graduated' to the paddle our dads would be whacking our butts with their hands and that sound didn't carry as well so mostly you'd hear just the yelling. We compared notes and the technique was the same, we had to strip naked which normally didn't take very much for we mostly wore shorts around the place, and over the knees we went for our spanking. The big difference was my uncle is a lefty, my dad right handed and because of that my right cheek used to get smacked more and my cousin's left cheek got it instead for they were the ones most in view and could get the full smack of hand or paddle on them. Our dads did get the other cheeks but not as well for they had to kind of backhand the stroke onto them.
Our privacy in this male rite was observed even at the camp, we were always taken off for that walk to get our spanking alone. Of course you knew what was happening but because we didn't see each other actually get the spankings it somehow seemed better. That changed the year I was 14 and my cousin 13. The way our birthdays work out this would be his first year getting spanked with a paddle, he had gotten to listen to it smacking my rear end all last summer. He had been getting the wood for about three months now.
We compared notes on our first run in with a paddle and come to find out it was about the same for both of us, he too had peed when he got his first spanking with the paddle and told me that he still does if it gets too hot. Being so much older I lied and told him that doesn't happen to me any more. Yeah, right--get the kettle hot enough and something is going to boil over! Fortunately the grass around the old stump hides all signs of being watered.
There were not too many chores around the place, keep it fairly neat and clean and our main chore was to keep the wood box beside the kitchen stove filled. It was the method used to cook food most nights though sometimes our parents would light a fire in the fireplace out front to do a cook out. It was also the only source of heat in the cabin as well.
One day our dads took off really early in the morning for a days worth of fishing with the boat leaving my cousin and I alone for the day. My father had mentioned to remember to fill the wood box and my uncle said the same thing to my cousin. That was all we had to do and it would have taken us maybe twenty minutes to do but we didn't do it.
We had a great time that day, just messing around, swimming in the lake and going exploring in the woods around the place. It was a wonderful warm day and we spent most of the day naked just for the fun of it. This was not really frowned upon for we were all alone up here, the nearest neighbor was miles away so it made no difference really but it seemed kind of naughty and thus fun. We knew our mothers would have a fit if they saw us running around bare so that just made it more fun, we were getting away with something. My cousin and I had discovered the joy of masturbation at about the same time although he was younger than me and we used to practice this whenever we used to get together, normally up here at the camp. We had found out that even though masturbating yourself was great fun, especially in company, having another guy do it to you felt even better. We used to play with each other a lot up there and had a great time doing it.
Once we came very close to getting our fannies tanned because of that habit. We were using the outhouse first thing in the morning and after doing our chores took each other in hand for a little fun while still sitting there. We heard my father coming out to the privy just in time to drop what we were doing and of course a young boy with an erection while answering nature's call was nothing unusual and went unnoticed. Dad just waited until we wiped and pulled up our shorts before he did his own thing. We met my uncle heading out there as we walked back to the cabin, somehow we always seemed to use the outhouse in pairs, our parents together and us boys together, it just seemed the thing to do while at the camp.
We had taken a sandwich or two with us and something to drink and frankly forgot all about the firewood we were having so much fun. We played a dumb game of hide and seek that involved someone hiding and then jumping out to scare the pee out of the other and other dumb games like that, pretty childish but fun. Sooner or later we realized it was getting pretty late and we had better head on home so we put our shorts back on and headed back to camp.
Our fathers had gotten back before us and I don't think that I have to say that they were displeased because we didn't fill the wood box, highly irked might better describe their feelings on the subject.
"I believe that a lesson in responsibility needs to be taught here," said my father quietly.
"Yes," chimed in my uncle, "we have to show that when chores are given they have to be done and done right. Do you want the first turn or shall I take it?"
"Why take turns?" asked Dad, "They were supposed to fill the wood box together, it's only fair that they get punished together."
"Sounds good to me," said my uncle, "how about out on the porch?"
"Good idea," said Dad, and he walked over and took down both paddles and gave my uncle his.
We got marched out to the porch and told to take our pants off which we did. This was horrible-- sure, both of us had been spanked in the past and knew it when we got spanked but we had never been spanked together! My face reddened as I realized that my cousin would soon see me crying over Dad's knees while he tanned my hide for me, that would embarrass the heck out of me. It got worse.
There is a long bench along the wall of the cabin on the porch, big enough for three or four people to sit on at once and lean against the wall of the cabin to look out over the lake. Dad sat down on the right end of the bench, my uncle on the left end and before we knew it both of us were over our dad's knees--facing each other! I realized later that they did this to allow free rein to our legs when we were kicking but for now all I could think about was I would be bawling right into my cousin's face which was about a foot and a half away from me.
It was just as horrible as I had imagined, our dads seemed to be trying to outdo each other and they really blistered our backsides with those paddles. Of course both of us tried to be brave and 'take it like a man' but that idea swiftly went away under the pain of the paddles and we cried and screamed into each other's face while the tears fell to the floor and our bottoms heated up hot enough to cook supper on. Neither father seemed to want to stop before the other one did so the spankings went on and on, heck, their swats even got into sync after a bit so there was almost one sound as the paddles contacted our hides. My cousin and I were not quite so tuneful though, the sounds emerging from us were discordant to say the least.
After an eternity the spankings stopped as one and we were put up on our feet. "You two fill that wood box now!" ordered my father, not even allowing us any butt rub time. I reached for my shorts but was curtly ordered to leave them where they were so we carried wood into the cabin still naked though sporting the reddest backsides in creation. It took us about half the time we were hauling wood to finally stop crying from the spankings, they hurt that much.
When we went out after that chore to pick up our shorts from the floor of the porch there was evidence that maybe I hadn't been totally truthful about my bladder control when getting a spanking for there was just a large a dark, wet, spot on my side of the bench as on my cousin's side.
It was two very quiet, well chastised boys that ate supper that night standing at the table, still naked for our parents hadn't decided yet if some more teaching was needed. After supper they took a certain amount of pity on us and let us go and jump in the lake to cool down our rumps, I think you could hear the hiss when they hit the cool water even after an hour or so, my butt certainly felt that hot. It helped a bit but we still slept on our bellies that night up in the loft of the cabin, our bare and red bums mooning the rafters.
That was our first stereo spanking but by no means the last. Somehow seeing each other in the worst of all possible conditions, crying and screaming like babies while we got spanked, brought my cousin and I even closer together than we were before. If you can still like and respect a person in those conditions you are friends for life.
We still visited that camp for years to come, just the four of us, but there was a subtle change after that day. When it was time for us to get spanked we no longer were taken out into that clearing with the stump, we got spanked right there on the porch. Many times my cousin saw me naked and howling under smacks of the paddle in Dad's hand and I got to see him get it as well and just as often. The men started the idea that if a boy was spanked he had to stay pantsless for the rest of the day but that didn't work out quite like they expected for the unspanked boy would strip naked as well so the big difference was in the color of the rump. Our dads would just shake their heads and smile at each other. Come to find out the same idea hadn't worked with them either and they spent much of their time at the camp running around in the nude.
Another change was our dads started to talk about the tannings they had gotten as kids, a lot of them right here at the camp and their dad sat on that same bench as they did. They never got to sing at the same time for they were alone with their father all the time but they did get to see each other wailing over his knees, sometimes while they waited their turn for their spanking. The men used to tease each other telling how one of the other used to howl and even pee when they got spanked and who got the most spankings and who got the hardest ones. Dad got his last spanking at the ripe old age of 24, my uncle 23. It didn't look good for us, I can tell you that for sure!
Somehow during every trip we seemed to get a chance to practice our harmony again at least once, more often twice, during the two weeks of the vacation trip. One memorable summer when we were especially naughty we sang in stereo no less than six times while our dads provided the back beat, or possibly backside beat, to our singing. My cousin and I called that 'The summer of perpetual redness' for that was the state of our rear ends most of the time. Good thing it was a warm year because I don't think that we had clothes on for more than a few hours that year because of our pact. One or the other of us was always getting spanked and thus pantsless for the day. Not a single day went by that vacation that at least one spanking was administered out on the porch, maybe it was our ages, I was 16 and my cousin 15, an age well known for pushing the limits.
Our dads got so accustomed to spanking us together out on the porch that they started to call it 'choir practice'. Cute, just like the sayings on the paddles. There was a lot of four part harmony practiced out on that porch--my uncle and Dad provided the background music while I sang baritone and my cousin took the lead, singing tenor sometime almost hitting soprano when the paddle would find a really tender spot on his bottom.
We got to sing in harmony for the last time when I was twenty and he was nineteen, yes, we were still getting spanked at that late age, heck, I got spanked until I got out of college and moved away for good. I can't remember the reason now but both of our dads figured that a lesson had to be taught and we howled into each other's faces once more while the tears fell on the porch floor. The paddles still hurt as much as they ever did, our dads were still as good at using them and we still cried as loudly as ever though in deeper voices.
Somehow my cousin and I never did get in harmony, I guess we never will now. Practice doesn't always make perfect after all. We haven't been able to meet up at the camp for years now because of varying schedules of work but this year we all managed to get into sync so once more the four of us will be at the camp at the same time.
I wonder if the woods will once more hear the sounds of our quartet in action, it might be interesting.