"William," Dad said calmly, "go up to your room and get things ready, I'll be up in a bit."
"Yes, Dad," I answered as I slowly made my way out of the den and headed up the stairs to my bedroom with a stop off in the bathroom to retrieve a couple of towels. His usage of my real name, William, instead of Bill, or if he forgets that I am now sixteen years old and almost grown up, Billy, means one thing only, I'm about to get a lickin'. Thank goodness he didn't use my middle name and last name too, that would mean that my butt was going to be really sore!
While I was in the bathroom to get the towels I took the opportunity to take a leak for I knew that I had a propensity to piddle a bit when a spanking gets vigorous and painful enough and learned over the years to make sure I'm well drained before a spanking starts. I have to stand there for a while before I can get anything going because as usual I have a nice boner, I get them every time I know I'm getting spanked, and it is hard to pee when I'm like that. Finally the stream starts and I drain myself as fully as I can. I shake, zip and flush and head down the hall to my bedroom.
I take the two pillows from the top of my big double bed and place them in the center of it on top of the spread and then lay a folded towel over both of them, this is to catch any squirts or drooling that might occur for even if I don't pee I tend to drool out precum fluid like a leaky faucet. I put the second big towel near the top of the bed and take my pants, shoes and socks off so I am standing there in my underpants and T-shirt, the state of dress that Dad expects me to be in when he arrives upstairs for my spanking. I go over to my closed door and take down the old leather belt from the hook on the back of the door.
I hold its supple length in my hand, it hasn't been used to hold up a pair of pants in years and years and as I grab the buckle in my hand and then the tip it falls into a natural fold, the well oiled leather has developed a set over the years from its sole use. It is hard to believe that I am actually the third generation of males in my family to feel this thing across his bare backside.
It was originally obtained by my great grandfather and was used for many years on his three sons to correct their behavior, my granddad being the eldest one of the three boys and so the belt was passed down to him when he got married and started to raise a family of his own. My own father had gotten hided with this thing many times as a youth, sometimes alone and sometimes in the company of some of his brothers of which he had three, once more, being the eldest of the boys it was passed down to him. Now it was my turn to feel the well tanned hide being used to tan my own hide but being the only boy the ritual was mine and mine alone. I mused at how many bare boy rear ends this thing had lit on fire over the generations as I ran it through my hands. Eight in my family alone but of course I'm sure over the years there might have been a non family butt that it had stung as well for sometimes discipline was doled out as needed and it wasn't always your own father that took care of the chore. There is a long tradition of the application of cow hide to boy hide in my family.
I didn't always get punished with the belt, it has only been in the last three years or so that I graduated from being across Dad's knees with my pants and underwear down while he spanked my bared bum with his hand. That tradition started when I was around eight years old or so and even that followed a ritual of sorts, Dad liked things to be orderly and done properly. I will say one thing for him, he never spanked me when he was angry, there was always a cooling down period before he would come up to my room. It didn't mean that I didn't get my backside well spanked, far from it, but he went about tanning my hide for me as a chore that needed to be done and done well.
Back in those days I'd be sent to my room and told to sit on my bed to wait for him to arrive. When he got there he would take the chair from under my desk and move it out into the middle of the floor and sit down and then nod at me. At his nod I would walk over to his right side where he would undo the zipper and button on my pants and lower them to below my knees and then hook his fingers into the waistband of my undershorts and put them on top of my pants. I'd stand there with my stiff willie sticking out straight from my body and he would calmly lecture me and tell me exactly why I was getting a spanking and how he hoped that I would learn from the experience. At his second nod I would lower myself down over his knees while he would deflect my stiffie with his hand so it would lay down outside his leg and not get crushed on top of it. He would then push my shirt up so he was able to get a firm grip around my now bare ribs with his left arm and then, calmly once again and without fuss or bother, tan my bare bottom flaming hot with his strong right hand.
These were not brutal spankings by any means, I rarely had any marks on my bum once the red flush had disappeared from my cheeks, but they lasted a long, long time with stinging slaps landing anywhere on my bottom to the tune of my wails and crying. Dad paid absolutely no attention in the least to my begging, crying or kicking and simply spanked until he felt that my bottom was red and hot enough and I had been properly punished.
When my fanny was well spanked, Dad would lift me to my feet and I was required to put my hands behind my neck and keep them there, no rubbing of the fiery section of my hide was allowed. He would guide me, hobbled as I was by my pants and underwear which had been kicked to my ankles during the spanking, over to the corner of my bedroom where I would have to stand with my nose touching the wall until he freed me.
Most of the time I would stand there for an hour or so, my naked butt flaming away and clearly visible from the hallway for although Dad spanked me with the door of my bedroom closed, when he put me into the corner for my reflection time he left the door open and anyone that needed to use the bathroom could look into my room and see a red bottomed boy with his hands behind his head sniffling in the corner. This was part of the punishment, my displaying my bare and fiery red bottom to all eyes that happened to pass. One or sometimes both of my sisters would feel an urgent need to use the toilet sometime during my corner time and snicker all the way by my room. Lucky girls, they never got spanked! White bottoms getting turned scarlet was very much a boy thing around my house.
Dad always closed the door to my bedroom when he spanked me so my sisters and mother wouldn't see me getting it but he had no problems at all with spanking my bare bottom if a friend was in the room or even spanking more than one bottom in the same session if needed. Spanking being a male ritual he had no problems at all with other males being present, he figured rightly that any boy that I had visiting me probably got spanked by his own father and felt that the humiliation of being spanked in front of my friend or friends was a good part of the lesson that I had to learn. As far as doling out a spanking to another boy, that was not a problem either for all the fathers agreed that so long as the punishment was delivered it didn't make much difference who applied it to whose behind. Over the years I got spanked by quite a few other men besides my dad and he tanned the behinds of quite a few of my partners in crime as well. An interesting part of these spankings was although the spanking method might differ among the men, some used their hand, some a paddle or belt instead but all of them required our bums to be bare to receive the spanking.
The method of obtaining this state of dress varied as well, some fathers just had us drop our pants and underwear before getting over their knees, others made us take our pants right off as well as all other clothing on the southern half of our bodies and one father actually made us strip naked as the day we were born. Somehow that last one was the most embarrassing especially seeming as he would sit in the chair and watch us as we got undressed.
I recall a time when I was almost thirteen but before Dad had switched to using the belt on my butt to spank me. A buddy and I had been screwing around in the yard with a soccer ball and we knew we shouldn't be so close to the house, we had been told many times before not to play in that yard but to use the other one instead. Sure enough, it had to happen and the ball was kicked, a block missed and window smashed. Dad appeared in the window like a ghost but the 'William' I heard was not ghostlike at all. Neither was the finger pointing upstairs to my bedroom.
"What's going to happen?" asked my buddy.
"Oh, I'm going to get a spanking," I replied, "no big deal." I was trying to be tough but inside I was already embarrassed because I knew for sure that my buddy would be treated to the sight of me getting my bare bum slapped red and hear my bawling and begging while the spanking was going on.
"Sheesh, you still get spanked?" he asked, "My dad gave that up years ago."
We had to pass my father in the hall on the way upstairs and he was using the wall phone. As we passed him he handed the handpiece to my buddy. "Someone wants to talk to you," Dad said.
As my pal talked into the phone he got paler and paler and finally handed the phone back to my father who nodded at us to go upstairs. We went up and got to my room and closed the door.
"Who were you talking to?" I asked my buddy.
"My father," he replied, "he said that seeming as I was partner in the mischief I should be punished just like you. If you get a spanking, I guess I'm going to get one too."
"We better get ready then," I said, "when Dad comes up he wants to find me ready and waiting for my spanking so I guess that would include you as well."
Things had changed a little bit over the years, now when Dad sent me to my room I had to take my shoes and socks and pants off so I ended up in my T-shirt and briefs to wait for him, I told my buddy what was needed so soon there were two teenage boys dressed in printed T-shirts and Fruit of the Loom briefs that appeared to be under some strain on the front as well as being rather damp.
Now boys in my bedroom in their underpants and T-shirt are not all that uncommon, that is pretty much standard wear for sleep overs, in the heat of the summer the shirt is optional as well. In a very short time the underpants would be removed, once again, a not uncommon occurrence, but when we boys do it it is to jerk off, there might be some jerking off done but not until Dad is finished stimulating the opposite side long and hard. My buddy was really nervous and I have to say that I was as well for it had been a long time since I last got spanked with someone else in the room besides Dad. I knew that before the spanking was over I'd be bawling like a little baby and was already embarrassed to know my pal would see me that way. Dad's spankings hurt!
"What happens now?" asked my pal in a small voice.
"Pretty quick Dad will be up and come in and close the door. He will take the chair from underneath my desk and sit down in it." I said. "Then he will call me over and pull my underwear down and make me step out of them and I have to stand at attention while he lectures me. Then it's across his knees and he tans my hide and then puts me into the corner for a while to think about my sins." I looked over at my buddy, his face was as red as his hind end would be shortly. I asked him what was the matter.
"I've got a boner," he said, "what if your dad thinks I like to be spanked?"
I had to laugh a little bit at that, nervously, I'll admit. "I get one all the time," I said, "I have as long as I can remember. All he will do is push it down when you lay down over his knees so it won't get crushed on top of his leg." My buddy got redder than ever, if possible, and we sat in silence waiting for Dad.
Pretty soon I heard Dad's footsteps on the stairs and he entered the room and closed the door behind him. He got the chair out into the middle of the room and sat down, then nodded for me to come over to his side. The way the chair was set my pal would be able to almost look straight up my bum once I was bent over Dad's knees, he would have a ring side seat for my spanking for sure. Dad pulled down my underwear, releasing my boner to pop out straight, and made me step out of them. He tossed the underpants onto my bed.
The lecture was long and I didn't hear much of it, I was thinking about the spanking to come but all too soon I was over his knees with my bum pointing upward. Dad slid my shirt up so he could get a grip around my bare ribs and ran his hand over my naked rump in his normal pre-spanking butt rub and then brought his hand high and then brought it down. The spanking had started.
I tried to tough it out to show my pal how little I cared about being spanked but Dad's hand just hurts too much and before very long I was lustily bawling and begging for him to stop the spanking. I was kicking my legs and bouncing up and down trying to avoid the next stinging slap and realized somehow that I was exposing all my private places to the view of my pal but didn't care, I wanted to avoid the next spank!
It was a good, long spanking and left my fanny on fire all over, every inch of my sitter had been spanked thoroughly. Dad doesn't confine his spanks to my buttocks area but spanks anything that is normally covered by my underwear, hips are spanked just as much as my buttocks and even the backs of my legs near my nuts and sometimes he smacks me inside my crack if it is open when a spank lands. As when I kick and buck my bottom around that area gets shown a lot I get quite a few slaps on my bottom hole which hurt like molten iron was poured back there. Finally he let me get up and instead of putting me right into the corner he made me sit back on my bed with my hands behind my head. The wool blanket underneath my blazing ass itched like mad.
My crying had subsided quite a bit while Dad was lecturing my pal and I looked at his nice, white ass almost glowing in front of me. Pretty soon he was in the same position that I had been in so many times before and I saw Dad give his bottom the pre-spank rub that he always gave my bum before laying on the first spank. Dad's hand spread his cheeks a bit and I could see the dark tuft of hair that grew around my pal's butt hole before they closed again. Dad lifted his hand high and brought it down.
It was with mixed emotions that I watched my pal getting spanked. Part of me was sort of delighted that I was not the only one getting punished for the ball going through the window, another part of me was feeling sort of sorry for him because I knew just how much one of Dad's spankings hurts and from the sounds my buddy was making and his kicking around he was hurting plenty. I got to see his bottom hole and balls a lot when he kicked high and wide and was surprized to see that his butt hole was protruding a bit and not sucked up tightly like I figured it would be, even after Dad slapped it the next time he exposed it to view it was once more sticking out a bit like he had to go potty. He must have been slapped in that tender spot at least a dozen times or more during the twelve minute spanking.
I remember the first time Dad slapped me there, I was astonished that he would do such a thing and afterwards asked him why he spanked me there. "It's part of your bottom," he said tersely, "if I see it I'll spank it."
"But Dad," I wailed, "it really hurts!"
"I know," he said. End of discussion. I actually made an effort not to expose it to view but once the spanking got hot enough I forgot all about my good intentions and got slapped there quite a bit. Stings like crazy and is embarrassing as all get out at the same time. Strange thing was, as much as it stung to get spanked there and as humiliating as it was that he would smack me on that very private place on my body, every time I would get spanked there I would pump out a slug of pre-cum fluid that felt almost solid as it worked its way down my boner to the outside air.
Finally my red assed, bawling buddy was let up and Dad guided the two of us over to the corner. As there is only one open corner in my room we were almost cheek to cheek standing there, fiery red bottoms side by side, wearing only our T-shirts. We stood there sobbing a little with our hands behind our heads for an hour before Dad set us free.
First time I ever jerked another guy off and felt someone else's hand on my penis as well, it just seemed the thing to do. We masturbated each other twice before we pulled our underwear and pants back on over our sore behinds. Dad didn't know it but he taught us a new trick that day, one that we would practice whenever we had a chance. It also opened up our awareness of another part of our body as well, even though it hurt a lot to get slapped on our butt holes somehow it was a turn on at the same time. We would include playing with that area into our masturbation sessions every now and again.
Now we have to fast forward about six months from that spanking to what I get today. I guess that Dad figured that his hand alone was not getting through to me any longer and in truth it wasn't as effective as it used to be, I could take a lot more spanking before I'd start to cry from the pain. One fine day I got introduced to the tradition of the belt.
I was sent to my room as usual, I had done something wrong and knew I was in for a hot ass because of it. Dad showed up a few minutes later but this time he had a couple of towels in his hand and a long leather belt. I was stripped to my T-shirt and underwear already and watched as Dad placed my pillows in the middle of my bed and put one towel over them.
"Son," he said, "you are getting too big to go over my knee any more so we are switching over to the style of punishment that I used to get when I was your age. From now on you will get a couple of towels like I did and put one of them over the pillows which you will put in the middle of your bed." He then made me take my underwear off and climb up onto the bed and lay down on top of the pillows with my stiffie poking up toward my belly button. This raised my bum upward and rounded it over neatly, just prime for a spanking. The middle of my ass cheeks was now the highest point on my body.
At Dad's instructions I grabbed a hold on the bar running across the headboard of my bed and held on tightly. Dad took the second towel and folded it up the long way and tucked it underneath my body so it was across my back just over the top of my bare and exposed bottom. I could feel a cool breeze running over my naked lower section.
"Now I am going to give you sixty licks with the belt across your buns," he said, "and I want you to hold onto the bar on the top of your bed. If you let go at any time we will have to start all over again. Do you understand? I don't care how much you cry and kick but if you let go of the bar you'll get a lot more spanks than if you just hold onto it."
"Yes, Dad," I said in a very small voice into my blankets, "I understand."
I felt the cool leather of the belt across my upturned buns, Dad was getting his range I guess, and then it withdrew from contact with my cringing hide. I heard a quiet 'whooshing' noise and then a sharp 'crack' as the belt made contact with my bottom.
Nothing at first and I thought that this wasn't so bad and then a fiery swath of pain erupted across both of my cheeks and I yelped. A pause of about five, six seconds and the sounds repeated and a second fiery stripe bloomed across my bottom, right above the first one. My legs flew upward and outward as I yelled from the new pain and Dad waited until my legs were back in position before laying yet another stinging lash across my nether cheeks. When my legs came to rest this time they were spread almost to the full extent of the width of my bed and when the next stroke landed it curled around my left cheek and stung the inside of my crack.
Thirty times that belt came flaming down on my bottom, nailing mainly my right cheek and the insides of my crack if I left that open to be lashed and I was bawling and crying and begging for the whipping to halt. Dad paid no attention at all but walked around to the other side of my bed and resumed the whipping so my left cheek would receive the brunt of the punishment this time. Dad had this cute little trick where he could land the doubled tip of the belt right square on the crease where my butt meets my legs, exactly where it would hit a chair when I sat down. After the sixty strokes had been delivered my bottom felt like gasoline had been poured on it and ignited and even after Dad left the room, hanging the belt on a hook on the back of my door, all I could do was lay there and cry into my bedclothes for quite a while, my flaming rump mooning the ceiling of my room.
When I finally decided that I could move without my ass falling off I got up from my perch over the pillows and found that the towel was wet. I guessed it was mainly pre-cum fluid for my willie was still hard as a rock but from the amount of moisture I guess I might have piddled a little bit under the pain of the belt lashing my rump. I had pissed on Dad's leg once during a hot spanking when I was little so I knew that was possible, I'd have to make sure to take a leak before a spanking in the future. I pulled the wet towel over to the edge of the bed and with my left hand rubbing my slightly welted and fiery rump I added to the wetness by rubbing the most prominent item on the other side of my body.
The redness of my backside lasted for two days and I had to sit very gingerly during that time and with that hiding with the belt thus began my normal punishment routine from that day afterwards. I would fetch the towels and position the pillows and such and wait in my T-shirt and underwear for Dad to come to my room to whip my butt for me again. I always, always made darn sure to pee before I had a spanking due so I never leaked pee on the towel again though sometimes it looked soaked anyway from all the pre-cum that I oozed out during a spanking. My orgasms after a whipping were absolutely incredible, lasting long and shooting hard.
Following this generations old tradition the belt was used on me all the time after that, the number of strokes varying depending on the crime. Mostly I would get about sixty swats which was plenty, believe me, once when I was fifteen and had gotten into some beer at a party I went to I got treated to double that, 120 strokes all told. That day Dad had asked my mother to go to the store and take my sisters with her so I was spared that embarrassment anyhow of my sisters hearing my howling and crying during that extended whipping. The hiding left my bum sore for almost a week afterwards and I didn't try beer again. Good thing it was summer time, I wore nothing but loose shorts for a week for I couldn't bear to put my briefs on and sitting on a hard school chair would have been sheer torture.
One thing, in all the hidings I got with that belt I never, ever, let go of the bar on the top of the bed. If there is one thing that is worse than getting a whipping with a belt it is getting extra strokes because you couldn't take your punishment.
I found out why Dad put the towel across my back like he did, he wanted to be sure to spank all of my available ass area and didn't want to hit my back. The towel was there to insure that stray strokes on the top crest of my bum, which by the way, is very tender, would never hit my back for Dad believed a boy's ass was put on his body for disciplinary purposes, not his back. Trust me, he could get his point across just with that darn belt on my bared bum!
Here I am once more, sitting on my bed in my underpants and T-shirt waiting for Dad to come up. I'm running the snaky length of leather through my hands thinking how smooth and cool it feels but how hot it will soon feel when it once more lands on my bare behind. Soon I will hear Dad's footsteps on the stairs and see him come into my room closing the door behind him, once more I will take my underpants off and lay again over those pillows to feel Dad tucking the towel in around my lower back. Once more I will await the first stinging swat of many to land on my naked rump and feel the burn of that old belt as it has been felt by many boys in the past.
Will I be able to follow the family tradition and apply this supple piece of leather to my own son's upturned backside? As I am laying there crying while my behind is burning from belt induced flames I think 'No, I could never do such a thing'. At other times I am quite sure that I will follow the old family tradition and a son of mine will also learn obedience and good behavior under the fiery sting of the belt. I'll have to wait and see. Some traditions just seem to last.