As I said in an earlier account, my mother's re-marriage when I was 14 led to my first spanking, at the hand (literally, as well as the paddle) of my new stepfather, assisted by my new stepsister. Late that same summer, shortly after my 15th birthday, I was to receive my second thrashing -- one that made my first appear mild. I had made some new friends that '60's summer and they weren't exactly the boys next door. We became involved in a series of escalating episodes of adolescent mischief until finally several broken windows at the high school led to our arrest. The police dropped the charges against me beacuse, unlike my friends, it was a first offense. But from the look on my stepfather's fsce when he picked me up at the police station I would have preferred staying in jail. On the way home, nothing as said but as soon as we were in the door I was ordered to go down to the family room in the basement. After what seemed an eternity, my stepfather came down. He ordered me to remove my shirt and extend my arms. Puzzled -- but nervous -- I followed his directions. He tied my wrists together with a strip of rawhide and then raised my bound hands above my head, tying them to a chin-up bar.
"You've blackened my reputation in a town my family has lived in for generations," he said, "and I'm going to make certain it never happens again."
With that,he reached out and unfastened my belt, unhooked my jeans, and pulled them to my ankles. He then slipped his hands into the elastic waistband of my jockey shorts, quickly lowering them to my ankles as well. I shivered, as much from nervousness about what was coming as from the chill of the air on my now nude body. My stepfather then pulled another length of rawhide, this one about four inches wide and a foot long. Stepping behind me, he pulled his arm back and brought the rawhide strap snapping forward.
"Crack!"
I heard the sound of the strap striking across the center of my bared bottom a split second before I felt the stinging pain.
"Ow!"
I involuntarily jerked forward as I realized that this was not going to be a hand spanking. Slowly and methodically my stepfather brought the strap backwards and forwards, tanning every inch of my naked butt. Tears rolled down my face as the strap continued to slap loudly against my rear, creating a criss-crossing pattern of red across my otherwise snow-white buttocks. After about 15 whacks, the telephone rang and my stepfather stopped to pick it up.
After a few words, he turned back to me and said, "That was the sergeant at the police station. He wants me to go down and sign some papers. I'm going to leave you here to think about what you've done, but when I get back the strap is going to kiss your sorry butt some more."
With that he left, leaving me still crying and wishing I could at least rub my blazing cheeks. Not two minutes later I heard footsteps; it couldn't be my stepfather, and mom was at work. Suddenly, stepping in front of me was my new stepsister, Carol.
"Well you've really done it his time haven't you, Brian. Hey, Joan, come on down.
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There I was in the basement -- my arms over my head, wrists still tied to the chin-up bar, standing in my birthday suit at 15 with my bare bottom stinging from the rawhide strap which had been applied repeatedly to it a half hour before. Suddenly, I heard footsteps again....
"Well, Brian, I hope you've done some thinking since I left."
My stepfather's voice sent a cold chill up my spine.
"I'm really sorry; please don't spank me any more," I pleaded.
"Sorry, Brian, but you've got to learn a lesson and your bottom might be sore enough for a 12-year-old, but not for a boy your age. I think ten more spanks will make certain you don't do any sitting for a while."
With that, he brought the strap back, and quickly snapped it back, striking me directly across the middle of my already enflamed buttocks.
"CRACK" --
"OW" --
My butt tightened as the stinging began again. I began to cry, tearings running down my flushed cheeks.
"I can't believe this -- a 15-year-old boy bawling like a baby," said my stepfather, "you should be embarassed."
With that, he untied my wrists and led me over to the couch. Sitting down, he took me by the waist and pulled me across his lap. Without a word, he repeatedly and rapidly raised his open hand and brought it down across my bottom. Still crying, I kicked my bare legs desperately, but he just continued spanking. I finally managed to get one hand over my bottom to protect it, but my stepfather simply paused long enough to grab my wrist with his left hand and pull my hand up to my back before he again brought his right hand down on my flaming rear.
"Please, please stop -- I'll behave!! Just stop spanking me!"
Finally , he stopped and putting both hands around my waist, stood me up in front of him. "You had better get the message, boy. I'll put you over my knee every day and wallop you if that's what it takes. But next time I'll spank you in front of your mother. Now you get that little red bottom of yours upstairs and into bed -- now!"