Okay, I messed up. There is no doubt about that at all as there is no doubt that I did deserve some punishment but who would ever have thought that Dad would go back in time when it came to choosing my punishment and who would have thought that getting spanked at my late age of seventeen could hurt so much and turn me back into the bawling, begging, boy that I used to be. Well, the spanking wasn't quite like I used to get when I was young. It gave a completely new meaning to the term 'Spin, crash and burn'.
It seemed like a good thing to do at the time, Dad was gone for the day leaving me to my own devices and he did leave temptation in my way. You see, I had just recently become licensed to drive and there was his old treasured Jag sitting in the garage looking all lonely and aching to go for a drive. Sure, I knew better, the Jag was strictly off limits to me but it wouldn't hurt to go for a little spin, I'd have it back in the garage and covered up long before he got home.
The Jag was a total classic, an old E-type coupe and Dad's pride and joy. He had owned it since brand new and took care of it like a baby, I don't think that it had ever even been rained on! He didn't drive it very often and then only on really nice days and although I had ridden in it many times I had yet to drive it and boy, didn't I want to.
"You just aren't ready yet to drive the Jaguar," Dad would say, "it drives a lot different from the Chevy and you don't have the experience behind the wheel. When I think you are ready we'll go for a ride."
Well, the day was today and he'd never know it.
No sooner than I had waved goodbye to Dad as he pulled out of the drive than I was in the garage and opened the door to the bay that held the Jag. I pulled off the cover, revealing its scarlet red paint job, and just looked at it for a while. Then I went inside the house and got the keys.
I sat behind the wood trimmed steering wheel and looked out over that expanse of hood, it seemed like it was a mile long. I put the key in the ignition switch and turned it on, hearing the electric fuel pump forcing gas up to the triple carburetors and set the manual choke like I had seen Dad do hundreds of times. Taking a deep breath, I pushed in the clutch and pressed the starter button.
The six cylinder engine woke with a roar and ran choppy until I hastily opened the choke whereupon it settled down to a deep purr. I gunned the engine a few times, more to hear it than anything, and then put the stumpy gearshift into first and let out the clutch.
The Jag jerked forward and stalled. Blushing, I depressed the clutch again and hit the starter button and tried again, this time getting the car to move out to the end of the driveway. I pulled out onto the rural road running by the house.
I drove down the road, shifting through the gears and all went fine until I came upon this steep corner. I'd been around this corner thousands of times but it still surprized me and I yanked at the wheel.
The Jaguar does react lots faster than the Chevy and I veered into the ditch and heard the awful sound of the front fender making contact with a small tree. OUCH! Maybe it's not too bad...
Greatly chastised, I drive back home, my trip cut very short indeed and back the car into the garage and turn off the key. I just sat there for a while, Dad is going to kill me! I slowly got out of the car, closed the door and walked around to look at the damage.
I had hit the tree with the very front corner of the hood, denting in the metal and putting a nice, big scratch on the Jag's glossy red hide. Not a lot of damage all told but this was the very first scratch of any kind on the car, all was original including the tires, that's how little the car had been driven.
That was how I was found a couple of minutes later when Dad's car drove into the driveway. I was shocked, he wasn't supposed to be home for hours and I felt my balls bang up tight to my body, I was so scared of what he was going to do.
Dad got out of the Chevy and walked over to where I was standing.
"What's going on here?" he asked in a very calm voice.
"I can explain, Dad!" I stammered, "I'm sorry!"
"Well, which is it," he asked, "are you sorry or can you explain?"
He squatted down beside the car and ran his hand over the damage. I was so scared that I felt like I was going to wet my pants, he had to be mad about this!
"The damage isn't all that bad," he said, straightening up from beside the Jag, "my body man can deal with it and it will be just like new. You, on the other hand, are my problem and mine to take care of. I think we need to take a walk out to the shop."
God, I hadn't heard those dozen words for years and years, I'd guess the last time was when I was thirteen or so. Back in those days they meant that pretty darn soon I'd be naked over Dad's knees while his strong right hand spanked my backside so hot that you could fry eggs on it. I just hoped that now, at my ripe old age of seventeen plus about four months, that he wasn't planning on doing this again! I can still remember the pain and humiliation of being in that awful position.
It's funny that Dad always took me out into the wood working shop to spank me, we lived alone so he actually could have tanned my hide for me in any room of the house but chose to use the shop instead. Being invited for a walk to the shop was the most awful thing I could hear, thank goodness I was pretty well behaved so it didn't happen all that often but when it did Dad made sure that the lesson sunk in quite well, he never stopped the spanking until my bum felt like it had been dipped in lava and the hour or so of 'reflection' time in the corner of the shop with my hands behind my head and my naked, flaming bum glowing into the room weren't much better.
Another funny thing is how much I hated to get naked before I got spanked. I was completely used to having Dad see me in the nude, in an all male household neither one of us was shy about our bodies or even its functions, the bathroom door was never closed and it wasn't unusual at all for one of us to be sitting on the toilet doing our duty while the other washed up or shaved. No big deal. Heck, I was bare naked the time that Dad taught me how to shave and he was in the same state of dress having just taken his shower. We both slept in the nude and sometimes in the summer months even wandered downstairs still bare for breakfast. Somehow, though, being forced to remove my clothing to get spanked was a different thing entirely.
Dad opened the door to the wood working shop and ushered me inside and then closed the door behind us. He walked across the shop and opened the big window and I could feel the ever present breeze start blowing in, cooling the shop right away. He then walked over to a locked cabinet. Inside were all the strange and delicate tools for working wood, I was never allowed to use them without his supervision.
Dad worked the combination lock. Looking over his shoulder at me he said "You might as well get ready."
I hadn't heard those words either for a long, long time and I almost couldn't believe that I was hearing them now. Dad was rummaging around inside of the cabinet.
"Dad," I said, "you aren't really going to spank me, are you?"
"Oh, heavens no!" he said from the depths of the cabinet. "You are way too big to spank."
I breathed a sigh of relief. Hmm. If he wasn't going to spank me, why did I have to get undressed?
Dad turned around from the cabinet, a sturdy old wooden paddle in hand. "You are not too big for me to take this and blister that fanny of yours so hard that you won't even be able to think about sitting behind the wheel of any car, never mind the Jag," he said in a much different voice, "now get undressed!"
As I slowly, ever so slowly, got undressed, starting with my shoes and socks and going to my shirt and finally my pants and underwear Dad talked about the paddle.
"I felt this paddle smacking my bare behind more times than I can count while I was growing up," he said, "starting at about age thirteen or so and finally stopping at age twenty-two." He was running his hand over the blade of that thing, about four inches wide by nine or so long and just full of holes like a piece of Swiss cheese.
"My father always figured the best way to get a boy's attention when it came to matters of behavior was to stimulate the nerves of his backside," he continued, "and believe me, this thing does the trick very well."
Despite my nervousness I just had to ask. "What did you do to get spanked at age twenty-two?"
"I was in my last year of college," Dad said, "and I had let my grades go badly. Oh, I was going to graduate, no doubt about it, but my grades were just flat out bad and that was due to lack of effort on my part. When Dad found out after the first semester he took me out to the shed and made me strip and paddled my butt so hard that I couldn't sit for about three days and still showed marks when I went back to school. I don't think I have to say that my grades improved drastically after that."
He walked over and pulled out the old chair that he used to sit in, dusted off its seat and sat down. He beckoned me over to his side and I obeyed, what else could I do? I still felt like I had to pee big time and for some reason my willie was sticking straight out from my body, hard as anything. Scared stiff, maybe?
"Dad," I said, "I know that you are going to spank me but I need to go really bad. Okay if I go and take a leak?"
"Sure," he answered, "go ahead."
I went over and opened the door to the shop and stepped naked into the yard. It took a while with my boner but sooner or later I got a stream going and drained and drained my bladder. No more time to waste, time to go back inside and face the music.
Once more I stood at Dad's side, not feeling any pressure inside of me any more but still hard as a rock.
"The reason I'm going to paddle you is not because you damaged the car, accidents will happen," he said, "I'm going to spank you because you disobeyed me, you know that you weren't to touch that car, it drives nothing like the Chevy. I fully intend to teach you to drive it sooner or later but not until you get a lot more experience under your belt, you just aren't a good enough driver as yet."
Dad paused for a little bit. "You know," he said, "you almost got to feel this paddle back years ago when I figured that you weren't feeling my hand as much anymore. I haven't needed to spank you for quite a while now so I never had to dig it out but now that I have you can count on getting tanned with it anytime you misbehave, maybe I've been a bit too slack with you. Okay, you know the position, let's get started."
There is a lot more of me to lay down over Dad's knees than when I was thirteen, I bet I've grown a foot in height and got lots bigger everywhere else as well. It was embarrassing to have to hold my stiffie down when I lay down to avoid getting it squashed on top of Dad's leg but I got into my old familiar position, one that hasn't seemed to change that much. Dad had even put the chair in the same spot as he had in the past and I looked at the wooden floor near the chair and thought about how many times my tears had watered those boards.
The breeze blowing in the open window blew straight up my crack and once again I blushed when I realized that my boy-hole was plainly in Dad's view, somehow despite my total lack of modesty when it came to being naked in front of him having that spot on my body exposed to his gaze was embarrassing as all get out.
Dad put the paddle on my bare back and started to run his hand over my bare, upturned bottom. He had done this pre-spanking ritual as long as I can remember, too. I felt my face flush red as he parted my cheeks and ran a finger or two over my boy-hole. He always did that as well and once sent me back to the house, bare naked, to wash myself there before spanking me, he insisted on my bum being clean all over before tanning my hide. I think I got extra spanks that time for being messy.
He picked up the paddle from my back, his pre-spanking bottom rubbing being over.
"Okay, son," he said, "you aren't going to like this very much but I do hope that you learn something from it."
I felt his arm tighten around my ribs and sensed the paddle raising in the air.
"CRACK!!"
It sounded like a gun shot going off in the shop, I had never heard anything like that before and a split second later the burn started, right over my boy-hole. Darn it all, didn't that thing sting!
I did wrong and I was going to take my medicine like a man. Dad was laying on a flaming swat about every three, four seconds or so, leaving time for the heat to develop between swats and boy, wasn't my butt starting to heat up! Up and down my buttocks the paddle traveled, from the top of my crack to the bottom, again and again. Finally the burn got too much to bear.
"DAD!" I yelped, "STOP, PLEASE STOP, THAT HURTS!"
"Yes, son," he said calmly, "and it's going to hurt a lot more before we are done here." Relentlessly the paddle rose and fell like clockwork, landing anywhere on my bottom, buttocks, hips and even thighs when I kicked too vigorously.
The tears were spurting from my eyes and I was sobbing loudly between my begging for the spanking to stop but Dad paid my pleas no heed at all and just kept on heating my fanny up with that piece of wood. Every swat either lit a new fire burning merrily away or fanned one already burning there to greater heat and I'll admit it, I started bawling just like a little kid.
My bawling didn't stop the spanking by any means, Dad just kept up the tempo of the paddling almost forever, eliciting a special loud yelp from me when the paddle hit a tender spot. Forever in this case amounted to about twelve minutes of constant paddling which left my entire rear end feeling like a blow torch had been applied to it. Dad's hand spankings had hurt like crazy but this paddle brought getting spanked to an entirely new level.
Finally Dad put the paddle on the floor and got me to my feet. Automatically my hands went behind my head as he guided me over to the corner. If I learned one thing over the years it was never, ever touch my bum until I got permission, once when I rubbed my butt without asking I got taken back over his knees for another hundred or so stinging spanks.
It took me quite a while to stop sobbing while standing there in the corner, my backside just throbbed with pain in time with my pulse, I was certain that this time he had actually spanked the skin of my butt right off of me, how else could it hurt so much? I honestly didn't think it possible for a guy's bottom to hurt this much.
I stood there for an hour or so before Dad let me out. My hands flew to my backside but then I touched it very gingerly, I was sure that the skin was laying in shreds. My bum was hot as anything and felt sore and swollen up, especially down low on my butt where it will hit the chair but I found no blood and no shreds of skin laying loose.
Dad walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. "Son," he said, "I won't say that I'm sorry that I had to do that to you, you deserved punishment and just be glad that all that will happen to you is your bottom will hurt for a while. Later on in life you will wish that it was that simple but an adult has to be punished in different ways and can't just take a butt warming and all is well again. Think it over, and think about this as well. From now on you are on notice, step out of line again and you'll be paddled again." He walked out of the shop, leaving me alone with my burning butt.
He stopped at the door and looked back at me. "Next time I won't be so gentle."
Well, my hide is all better and so is the Jag's. It took the shop man about a day to get the car back into as new shape, it took my butt more like a week and a half to regain the same state. Dad had talked about blistering my hide with the paddle and believe me, he did. Although he had spanked my entire bum so it looked like I had red underpants on he had paid the most attention to the lower half of my buttock and top of my thighs and they looked like bad hamburger, all different colors and blistered like all get out. I couldn't actually sit for three full days and didn't even get dressed, I wore my bathrobe around the house or just went naked. On the fourth day I managed to put loose fitting jogging pants on but still couldn't take my tight briefs, they hurt too much. I sat on a pillow to eat supper and slept on my belly.
The bruises faded with time and for a while there my bum would make a great picture of a sunset, all different colors. Finally after a week and a half went by I could once more put my briefs on.
Do I still want to drive the Jag? You bet. Will I touch it without Dad's permission? Are you kidding? I don't like my butt blistered that much! That paddle hurts!