October, 2001:
John pulled into the driveway, glad to be home. The week long conference in California had been exhausting, and he was glad to get home. He noticed the light was on in the living room, which surprised him; he expected his family to be in bed, as it was past midnight. His wife shouldn't be waiting for him, as he wasn't originally scheduled to get in until the morning, but the company changed plans last minute and put him on an evening flight. He hadn't called home, figuring he would just slip in and surprise his wife---and maybe even get a little action if she was in the mood.
As he reached the front door, it was flung open. His wife stood in the doorway, tears running down her face. "Oh John! Thank God you're home! I'm worried sick about Tim." She flung herself into his arms, sobbing.
John stroked his wife's hair, attempting to calm her. "Shhhh, honey. Calm down. I'm sure it will be alright. What happened to Tim?"
Eventually his wife calmed down and he was able to get the story out of her. Apparently, their 16-year-old son Tim had been caught smoking in the bathroom at school earlier in the week, and his mother had forbidden him to leave the house this weekend as punishment. They got into an argument over this that escalated as the week went on, as he Tim was planning to go out with his friends on Friday, which was tonight. The two had gotten into a shouting match earlier that night, and Tim had called her a bitch and stormed out the door. That was at about 6:00, and she had been frantic with worry ever since. She had tried to call him at the hotel, but he hadn't been there because of the change in plans.
"I think we should call the police, tell them to loo for him." his wife said.
"No, Mary. They can't do anything yet, he hasn't been gone long enough. I'm sure he'll cool off and come home. And when he does...."
RING! The phone interrupted him in mid-sentence. "Hello? Yes, this is John Sterling. You have my son Tim at the station? He did WHAT?!? Yes, I understand. Yes, I will be down to pick him up. Thank you."
"Well, Mary, looks like our son got himself into trouble. He and his friends broke into that abandoned house on 3rd Street, and the neighbors called the cops. Tim and some of his friends were in there with some 6-packs."
His wife started crying again, and John hugged her and calmed her down again. "Honey, why don't you go on to bed. I'll go down to the station and pick up Tim. We'll need to have a man to man talk when we get back. We can talk to him together in the morning to decide what further punishment he will be given."
"Further punishments? What are you going to do?"
"Just leave that to me dear. There is going to be a very sorry 16-year-old tonight."
As John and Tim drove home, Tim stared out the window, refusing to look at his father. John decided not to push the issue at this point, instead using the time to go over what he was going to say to his son, and steeling himself for what he had to do. John had not spanked his son in almost 6 years, but knew he had to do it tonight. The kind of disrespect his son had shown must not be allowed to continue and become a serious problem.
When John and Tim entered the house, Tim headed immediately for the stairs. "Wait a second son. We have some things to discuss."
"Whatever. I don't feel like talking. I'm going to bed."
"You most certainly are NOT going to bed until I say so. Now get back over here."
Tim sullenly turned around. "OK. Talk. I can't wait to hear what you have to say."
John was angered, but silently thanked his son for making sure he would be able to do what had to be done. "We'll talk downstairs in the den. I need to get something; you wait for me on the couch." Tim let out an exaggerated sigh, then stomped off towards the door leading to the basement. John watched his son go, and then went to the bathroom to retrieve the old wooden hairbrush from under the sink. The old hairbrush didn't actually have many bristles left any more, but John wasn't worried about THAT end of it. Having retrieved it, he followed his son to the basement.
As John entered the den, he saw his son slumped on the couch, facing the TV. He quickly crossed the room, and lay the brush beside the couch before his son could notice he was carrying it.
John sat beside his son on the couch, looking at his tousled blond hair and rumpled clothing. Putting his hand on his son's knee, John started to talk. "Son, we have some issues here. I can't have you disrespecting your mother. She's the woman I love; if someone had called her a bitch when we were dating, I would've decked him. I certainly won't let a child of mine call her one."
"I didn't mean anything by it. She was just being unreasonable. Why do you care if I smoke? It's my life, and my lungs, and you can just mind your own business."
"You are my business, son. And though you may not have meant anything by it, it really hurt her. She was crying all night worried sick that something had happened to you. You owe it to her not to worry her like that."
"OK, fine, I'll tell her I'm sorry. Are we done?" Tim looked over at his father, rolling his eyes.
"No sir, we're not done. Your mother and I are going to have a long talk with you tomorrow about your behavior and what we're going to do about the situation. You are 16, and that is too early to be making decisions about alcohol and tobacco."
"OK, we'll talk tomorrow. Can I GO now?" Tim started to stand up.
"TIM! You will sit down and wait until I say!" Tim fell back onto the couch, glaring at his father. "Young man, I said we were going to TALK tomorrow. We're done TALKING tonight, but we are by no means finished. You may be 16-years-old, but you've been acting like a spoiled brat. When I was your age, whenever I got too big for myself, by father, your grandpa, brought me down a few pegs by blistering my behind. With the way you've been acting, you're begging for a good spanking and I'm going to give you one!"
Tim looked in shock over at his father. "The hell you are. You're not laying a hand on me!" Tim went to jump up from the couch, but his father was faster, leaping up and grabbing him by the arm.
"Tim, I am going to give you a spanking tonight. You will only make it worse by fighting me. I'm sorry I have to do this, but I'm not sorry I'm doing it. When I release you, you will remove all of your clothing except your underwear, and you will lean over the edge of the couch. If you try to run, I will catch you, and you will receive a spanking tomorrow night as well. Am I clear?"
For once, Tim did not have a smart response. Several times he looked on the brink of saying something, but a glare from his father cut it off. When John released him, Tim slowly began to remove his clothes. Before long, Tim was standing in his white briefs, looking at the floor. He was usually a very pleasant, obedient child. John supposed that being in this awkward situation caused him to revert to that behavior. Tipping his son's chin up so he could look him in the eyes, John reminded him that loved him, and then guided him over to the couch.
Tim leaned across the end of the couch, as John placed a pillow under his stomach to cushion him. Drawing a deep breath, John quickly delivered 10 stinging swats to his son's butt with his hand. Tim twitched a little, but gave no other sign of discomfort. John then reached down and grabbed the hairbrush, waited a few seconds, then brought it down very hard on his son's left butt cheek.
CRAAACK!! "AAGGH!" Tim groaned in pain.
John brought down the paddle again, a little harder.
CRAAACCK!! This time Tim just sucked in a hiss of a breath, having gotten over the surprise of how much the first swat with the brush hurt.
CRACK!! CRACK!! CRACK!! CRACK!! CRACK!! John delivered five more stinging swats to Tim's butt. Tim cried out in pain, and started to push off from the couch. John put his free hand firmly on his son's back and pushed him back down onto the pillow.
"Dad! Come on, stop! That really hurts!" Tim yelled out, the pain obvious in his voice. John realized that he wouldn't have to work very hard to bring Tim to tears; it had been a long time since his last spanking, and he had never felt the hairbrush before.
"Not half as bad as you hurt your mother when you called her a bitch." John responded, then responded further by continuing to bring the brush down on his son's behind.
CRACK!! CRACK!! CRACK!! CRACK!! CRACK!! CRACK!! CRACK!! CRACK!! CRACK!! CRACK!! The spanking continued, and Tim continued to cry out; John soon heard the sound of tears in his son's voice. Slipping his fingers into the waistband of his son's underwear, john yanked them over his butt, baring it for the brush.
CRAAAAAAACK!! The hairbrush came down as hard as he could bring it. "AAAAGGH!" Tim yelled. CRAAAAAAAAACK! "OOWWWWWW!!" CRAAAAAAACCCK!! "AAAGG (sob) AAAGGH!! Tim was now crying, tears running down his face.
Returning to less forceful shots, John continued spanking his son CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK!! Tim stopped fighting and just lay there sobbing, taking it. When John reached 50, he stopped. Placing the paddle back on the floor, he ran his hands comfortingly over his son's back as he sobbed out his agony. Eventually, the sobbing subsided to quiet tears, and then to the occasional gulp and shudder. John pulled his son's briefs back up, then stood him up and hugged him. As he pulled his son into an embrace, Tim started crying all over again, clinging to his dad and crying into his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, dad. I really am. How can I face mom after calling her a....that name?"
"Your mother knows that everyone sometimes says something they don't mean. You can apologize tomorrow when we discuss your drinking and smoking."
"It wasn't anything big, dad. That was my first time for both, I swear."
"We can talk about that tomorrow. Right now, we both need to get some rest. I wouldn't try putting my jeans back on if I were you; I remember all too well what it feels like to try to put clothes on a blistered butt. You should probably sleep on your stomach as well."
"Dad?" Tim asked, pulling on his shirt and picking up the rest of his clothes. "Did grandpa ever have to spank you when you were as old as I was?"
John chuckled, "Oh yes, your age AND older. I got a particularly memorable spanking my senior year of high school. You should ask your grandfather to tell you the story some time. I'm sure he remembers it!"
Clapping his son on the shoulder, John headed upstairs to get ready for bed, shaking his head in remembrance of that spanking, 23 years ago. Memorable was an understatement, for sure!!