[This is the first in a series of spanking memories as a TEEN. Comments and writing requests welcome: gr_anderson@hotmail. com]
I stood there staring at a fleck of paint feeling sorry for my self. The living room felt colder than normal, but of course the cool drafts of air were more noticable when you are stipped to your underpants. I could hear my mother talking on the phone in the kitchen and a faignt laugh from my brother who was paying our new video game upstairs. I could smell bits of dust and all I could really see was a familiar potion of the wall.
I was doing my pre-spanking corner time. This is something my dad decided needed to be introduced to help me "think about what I did". But I think he did it just to make an example out of me.
Earlier in the day Dad called me a "lazy _f_u_c_k_" when he found I had forgotten my chores--taking out the garbage. And there was alweays a high price to pay for undermining Dad's authority over garbage.
I was fourteen and my parents had found other more punative (but less painful) measures of dealing with discipline such as grounding. However, what put me in the corner waiting for a spanking was repeating my father's choice words and directing them to my mother.
Dad had zero-tolerance for disrespect. I knew that, but I wanted to show him that he needed to start treating me more respectfully. Though in hindsight, calling my mother a "lazy _f_u_c_k_" was a loose-loose situation.
WHACK! as her arm deleivered a stinging swat to my face. She Mom was not impressed and yelled for my father.
I think he had overheard it becuase he was already mobilized and ready for battle in the kitchen.
My heart was pounding faster and faster. As Dad entered the room, mom backed off and had a mixed expression on her face. Anger that her teenage son would speak such words to her and at the same time hope that Dad would not kill him for it.
Dad grabbed me by the arm and bent over putting his face right in front of mine. "You will not speak such words in this house!" he yelled in my face.
"You did" I cried as he lead me into the corner. I was terrified, but there wasn't much time for fear. He quickly had his hands on my jeans figeting, unbuckling, figeting, lifting, and letting them fall to the floor. "Step out!"
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Without giving me a chance to respond he delivered three stingers to my brief-clad bottom. I jumped out of my jeans instantly.
I did my pre-spanking corner time. It was shorter than usual, which was a sure sign that Dad was really mad.
My little brother had come down to see what all the comotion was. "Ha. Ha. I can see his underpants" He chanted.
"Brett get your ass upstairs and if you come down again underpants will be the least of your concern" Dad hollored.
The next thing I knew I was pulled out of the corner and dad raised his arm for standing swats.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
I flinched while the first volley of smacks came down. Though it was not pure pain yet.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
The next round contiuned to build the sting. I caughed a few times.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
I began to feel the threshold approaching and started to feel the 'real' pain. But I realized Dad had stopped.
I looked up and I saw Brett was hiding behind the coucl deligthfully watching my punishement. I could get him for that, but he would tell my friends at school. It's embarassing when people know I still get spanked like a little boy. Or even the fact that I wear still briefs (not boxers) can be detremental for my dating prospects.
Meanwhile Dad pulls me over toward the couch. He sits down and pulls me up over his knee. "Dear...I think I'm going to need something" He says as he positions me with my butt high in the air.
'Oh no!' I thought to my self as I grabbed the legs of the chair to prepare. 'Not the spoon.' Mom always goes for the wooden spoon.
I hear a familiar sound of the kitchen drawer opening and a few clangs as my mother pulled something out. 'Dam it. It's the spoon' I thought to my self
The spoon had quite a history. It was the implement Mom spanked us was when we were younger. Dad tended to go for the belt, but if he didn't come to the scene prepared, he called upon mom to furnish her spanking 'tool' of choice.
As I turned my head to see if Brett was still looking, I felt his fingers around my waist. First they smoothly slid up my t-shirt. And then, as I saw Brett giggle, I felt the fingers pry into the sides of my fruit-of-the-loom underwears and pulled them down in a single motion. Once I was over his knee though, the briefs never came all the way down, because the front waistband would get stuck against my penis.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
My head slid back to looking at the carpet when the first volley of spanks came.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Holy _s_h_i_t_ that spoon hurt. There was a short pause as dad readjusted my t-shirt.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
I cried and sobbed after a long series of swats. My eyes were so filled with tears looking at the patternet carpet seemed like looking down on a swimming pool.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
At this point I was screaming. Maybe my mom would stop him from lighting my ass on fire. I could just picture Brett enjoying the view--'but his turn would come' I thought.
WHACK!
The single swats always came near the end. They hurt like hell, but at least brought closure
WHACK!
Aw _f_u_c_k_. My butt was killing.
WHACK!
"Awwwooo!" I yelled out.
The spanking was over. I had survived. I was stood up but very disoriented as my Dad hugged me. My underwear were down at the back, and just barely hanging on to my penis in the front, but I didn't care. The worst of it was over.
But of course there was always corner time.
"You'll get your _f_u_c_k_ing ass in the corner" Dad ordered leading me into the living room. He walked me to his corner of choice. I slowly walked toward it, bowed my head slightly up so I could stick my nost on the wall. "No talking and no rubbing--you know the consequence son."
I heard a very subtle giggling noise and as dad turned around he yelled "Brett get out from behind that couch!".
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
"Awwwaaa" Brett yelled and he sckuddled clumisly up the stairs.
"I told you to get your ass up stairs unless you wanted it to feel like your brother's" Dad bellowed.
I think Brett liked to get a couple of swats, just so, in his mind, we were even. Though his swats were nothing compared to my spanking ordeal.
Of course I couldn't see anything, but I had a feeling Dad had left the room as well. There was something self-agitating about standing naked in the corner feeling sorry for your self. I wish Dad didn't have such a temper. Why couldn't he be nicer to me? Sometimes I felt like kicking a hole in the wall.
Then I felt the air currents change. There was someone else in the room. Brett! the little _s_h_i_t_.
Suprised as I heard my Mom's voice ask "Are you sorry?"
"Yes maam" I replied adding a whimper to secure her sympathy.
"I don't belive you!" WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Aw _f_u_c_k_ that hurt it was with the spoon too! "Awwwaaahhh!" I cried.
Mom walked away, but I sensed that she was still standing there watching me suffer. Oh boy did I hate corner time.
My dad came by about 15 minutes later and allowed me to pull up my underpants. Then the part I hated the most--I would remain pant-less for the rest of the day. People could even see me, in what the girls called 'thighty whities,' through the window. Those days I wished so much to have boxers.