I felt the man's hand run across the seat of my jeans to make sure there was nothing in my back pockets and could feel the back of the folding chair just touching my belly, a guy has to spread his legs until he reaches that state so if you are older and taller you tend to have more of the tender parts of your bottom exposed, and I tightened my grip on the seat of the chair. I felt his hand move over to my lower back, pressing down firmly, and once more attempted to tighten my butt cheeks, a vain effort I know, that's why they have a guy bend over like this, but worth a try anyway. On the front side of me I could feel my hard dick straining against the fabric of my fly.
"Okay, Tim, it's six this time," came the man's voice from above.
'WHUMP!"
The heavy wooden paddle contacted the lower center of my buttocks, jarring me forward, and again I marveled at how different a paddle sounds when it smacks your jeans instead of your hide and waited for the burn to start. I didn't have very long to wait and the burn started and spread just as the second whack landed in the same exact spot. My balls started to ache as my scrotum suddenly sucked up tight to my body in sympathy for the flames starting on my fanny. Four more times the paddle 'whumped' onto my sit down making it sting pretty good, not enough to cry about but something a guy don't really want to feel either. Six swats in the same place, no treat at all. Even though it hasn't actually been hit, my poop chute is burning just like it had been.
I stood there waiting, a guy never, ever, gets up before he receives permission.
"Okay, Tim, you can head back to class and please, please try to behave!" said the principal. He handed me a note as I rose from my embarrassing position and said, "Have this signed by your father and bring it to school on Monday, no signed note, no school and you'll be sent home."
"Yes, sir!" I said as I left the office. A trained reflex, you are always polite to the man that just paddled your butt for you. I walked down the hall with the burn following very close behind me and stopped off in the boy's room for a leak before heading back to class.
I stood at a urinal, my still erect penis sticking out of my fly and pointing into it and waiting for the flow to start, bottom softly burning, and read the note. Pretty standard corporal punishment note, really, you get one every time you get paddled in school. Had to be signed by Dad and that's where the rub comes in.
"Dear Parent Guardian, Tim acted up in class today and was disciplined with six strokes of the paddle. Please sign this note and return it to the school to acknowledge receipt of this information."
How many of these notes had I taken home over the years of school, I don't know. I'm a senior now but the corporal punishment laws follow a guy all through school and a senior is no more exempt from them than a first grader. Heck, I got my first paddling and note home about three weeks into first grade and been getting them off and on ever since.
Like I said, there is a rub. Dad takes a very, very, dim view of kids acting out in school and takes firm measures to insure that particular behavior will not be repeated, not too soon, anyhow. The thought flew through my mind of simply forging his signature to the note but then I remembered again what had happened the one time I tried that stupid move. I was in the sixth grade and my attempt at Dad's name was pitiful to say the least and so was the shape my behind was in once he found out, I got an extra special good spanking for the double crime of acting up and forging his name. Not a good idea. As I was standing in the corner of the shed after that spanking Dad informed me that if I ever tried to forge his name again I'd get a spanking that would make this one feel like pat the baby.
Finally getting my leak taken, I shook off and stuffed my dick back into my pants and zipped up and put the note in my pocket and headed back to class. You are always allowed a little time to 'collect' yourself after a paddling so there was no comment when I walked into the class other than a couple of snickers from those who knew what just happened to me, all the class for that matter. My paddled bottom was just sore enough to make me squirm a bit for the rest of the day, those stupid chairs they have in school are hard! It don't help in the least that the principal knows exactly what part of a boy bottom contacts the chair and makes sure all the swats land in that area. The paddle he uses is about six inches wide so that makes a pretty wide sore spot down there.
I got teased a bit on the bus ride home, that's traditional as well and every guy gets it now and again for all of us have felt wood hitting jeans clad bottom more often than we would like to.
"Did the little boy get his bum-bum whacked?" asked James, my best friend. "Did he cry and go wee-wee in his pants?"
"Nah," I said, "this time I decided it would be interesting to crap in them instead, that's why it took me so long to get back to class, I had to go to the gym and take a shower to get cleaned up."
There was more teasing about bodily functions and paddlings and then finally the bus reached my stop. I got off and walked into the house and immediately put the note on the table where Dad would see it at supper.
"Oh, Tim, not again!" said my Mom. "When will you learn to just behave in school?" She opened the note and read it and then refolded it and put it back on the table.
This being a Friday most likely Dad would deal with this on the following day, we had all weekend to get the problem dealt with. Mom knows this and said, "I guess you will want to eat at the counter tomorrow night, won't you?"
"I would say so," I said, "more than likely Dad's talk with me will be rather firm to say the least."
Mom had never been in attendance at one of our father son discussions but knew more or less what went on in the shed and in my younger years had actually seen the results of such a discussion when she accidentally walked into my bedroom when I was getting into my pajamas. She hasn't done that for years, thank goodness, it's bad enough that Dad sees me with no clothes on, I'd die if Mom did! I'm not exactly the little boy whose diapers she used to change and gave baths to, not for years and years. I don't wear pajamas any more either, I sleep either in my briefs or naked, naked more often than not. More often than I like to think about naked with a red bottom mooning the ceiling of my bedroom.
I changed my clothes and went out and started on the yard work that I knew I had to do that weekend, might as well get a jump on it for it's lots more fun to do it without a sore bottom and I would have to do it regardless. Three hours or so later, Mom called me in to supper, Dad having arrived home.
As we went out to the kitchen table Dad spotted the note.
"Tim," he said, "do we need to have a talk again?" He picked up the note and read it and sighed as he sat down. "We'll deal with this tomorrow morning," he said.
"Yes, sir!" I said. It pays to be polite to the person that is going to paddle your butt, too.
We ate supper as if nothing was going to happen on the morrow, my sentence had been passed down and the date and time of execution set. There was no getting out it, I knew. Once more I'd be looking at the wooden floor of the shed while Dad had a long discussion with my backside. He works on the theory that the nerves of a boy's butt are directly connected to those that make him behave, stimulate one and you stimulate both.
You would think that a guy that is darn near eighteen years old would be a bit too big to spank and I'd agree with you. Unfortunately for me, Dad does not agree with that. I remember once complaining about getting a spanking when I was sixteen or so.
He had just let me out of the corner where I had been standing stark naked with my crimson tail glowing out into the room. Yes, corner time is still part of my punishment even as old as I am, just like a little boy that has been spanked I am given reflection time and there is no place on earth better than standing in a corner with your hands by your side and your nose pressed against the wall while your fanny throbs and burns to reflect on your sins.
"Dad," I had said, "don't you think I'm getting a bit big and old to be spanked like that?"
He came over where I was standing looking at him, my darn weenie still sticking out hard and stiff, always happens when I get spanked, and put his hand on my shoulder.
"Timmy," he said, "a boy is never too old or big to spank as long as he behaves in a childish manner. If you want to behave like a bratty little boy, you will be treated like one and bratty little boys get their behinds tanned. End of discussion."
It's been two years since I asked him that question, two years of still getting my rear end roasted when I misbehave, be it in school or at home. A paddling in school always, and I mean always, results in my rear end hurting a lot more when Dad reads the note sent home. He has informed me that even though I am going to college after high school that will not make my backside sacred ground, it will still be warmed when needful just so long as he's paying for my education and I'm not self supporting. He tells me it's for my own good though I can't quite see it that way, it sure isn't good to feel your fanny on fire! Something to look forward to, a guy in his twenties getting his bare ass tanned.
Bare ass you say? Sure, though bare body is more like it. Ever since our first trip out to the shed for a little male bonding I've been the one wearing not a stitch of clothing. It's part of the spanking ritual that has developed over the years. Only two or three times in my entire life has Dad just pulled down my pants and briefs to whip my tail for me, those times were in roadside rest stops where my antsy behavior in the back seat of the car led to Dad pulling off the road into a rest area and taking me into the men's room and applying his leather belt to the target that he had provided by said dropping of pants and underwear. Once, to my horror and embarrassment, he leaned me over the sinks and whipped my bare tail for me while a father and his two little sons who were standing at the urinals taking a leak watched the action of the doubled over belt striping my backside until it was a nice uniform shade of scarlet and heard my howls and crying from the pain of the hiding. One of the little boys who must have been maybe seven or so had half turned from the low mounted urinal and stood there with his little pants still below his bottom and his little dick held in both hands dribbling pee on the floor, his eyes wide to see a big boy howling as his father spanked him with a belt.
"Daddy," he said in his little kid voice, "why is that boy getting his bum-bum spanked?"
"Because he's been naughty," answered the father, "and you might just get a spanking of your own if you don't attend to business!"
To add to my embarrassment, the man came over once Dad had whipped my poor bottom sore as sore can be and my tears were dripping onto the sink and shook his hand.
"It's nice to see that some fathers still believe in giving a boy a lickin' when he needs it," he said.
"That's why nature put a bottom on a boy," Dad said, "it's a great site for corporal punishment when he needs it!"
While I was still bent over that sink with my bare, blazing, bum stuck out in the breeze the two men compared notes on how to spank a boy. Under different circumstances it might have been interesting to listen to but I really wasn't in the mood right then.
Dad only whips my ass with the belt when not at home, at home it's the wooden paddle that caresses my hide. It's smaller than the one that they use in school but being used on bare hide it is most impressive indeed. The paddle, however, is for the 'big boy' phase of the spanking, first I have to endure the 'little brat' part, this is something new over the last year or so as to provide maximum embarrassment to me. Dad figures that humiliation and embarrassment are part of the learning curve.
The next morning the condemned man ate a hearty breakfast. Okay, I'm not going to be killed but knowing how Dad works it might be preferable to how my fanny is going to feel while he's talking to it. I went out after breakfast and started mowing the lawn, using the tractor for now to get the main job done, I most likely wouldn't feel much like bouncing around on it after our discussion. Once I got the main body of the lawn mowed, I parked the tractor back in the garage and went into the house for a drink. Dad came into the kitchen while I was pouring a glass of soda.
"Timmy, I'll meet you out in the shed in a little while," he said, "be ready for me when I get there."
"Yes, sir," I said, politeness in gear again. I gulped down my soda and made my way across the freshly mowed lawn to the old wood shed. It hadn't been used for wood for a long time, the house has central heating and it's been turned into a workshop for both wood working and mechanical repairs. Dad and I made the paddle that he uses so effectively on my bottom out here, he sawed it out on the band saw and I had to sand it smooth and round off the sharp edges so it won't cut my bottom's skin, just roast it. Dad put a lot of windows in over the years so as I stepped inside the building and closed the front door there was lots of light inside of the place.
Okay, first things first. I get the heavy old chair from where it is beside one wall and put it in the center of the floor, looking down as I do so and wondering why the floor boards on its left side aren't rotted out from all the tears that have fallen on them over the years.
That done, I get undressed down to my briefs, putting my sneakers underneath the bench and my clothes on top of it. I then walk over to the chair and lower my briefs to just below my knees and sit down, the wood of the chair cool under my bare bottom. I will sit here like this until Dad arrives, it could be ten minutes, it could be an hour, it makes no difference, here I will sit. A guy feels ready dumb sitting like this with his shorts at half mast, that is part of the punishment routine, Dad says it will remind me that if I behaved the underpants would be covering where they should instead of keeping my legs warm. I think about why I'm getting spanked this time as I sit there waiting.
Dad shows up in about fifteen minutes and I stand up, leaving my underwear where it is. My weenie is sticking out hard and stiff and drooling out a little pre-cum fluid like always, just mention a spanking to me and I get hard. Dad closes the front door of the shed behind him. At his nod I slip my briefs off and put them with the rest of my clothes.
Dad goes over and opens the back door to the shed, he installed it to make it easier to get things in and out of the place.
"Time to go pee-pee," he says, motioning me out onto the step.
I stand there and feel Dad's hand come down to rest on my shoulder, we will stand like this until I leak no matter how long it takes. This part of the ritual dates back to the first time he used the paddle to spank me with, it hurt so much that I wet on his leg and he decided that a peed on leg wasn't something that he wanted as a regular treat so since that time I have had to stand naked on the back step while he stands behind me until I pee-pee. It takes a while once more because of my erection but I do leak and see it and hear it splashing on the ground beside the step. I can certainly take a leak by myself but once again, this is part of the embarrassment part of the spanking. There is just something so little boyish about taking a whiz under supervision. Takes me back to the days when I was just getting potty trained and once I got the idea of doing it on the potty chair fairly regularly Dad started to show me how a boy can pee outside if he needs to go badly enough. Darn, I can remember standing here on this same back step with my little pants and underwear pulled down below my bottom and peeing with Dad sort of squatting beside me, telling me that it was a big boy thing to do and not to tell Mom for this was between him and me, one of our first 'boythings'.
Back into the shop we go and Dad closes the door. He walks over and sits in the chair and beckons me over, I go over and lay down across his knees. I have to hold down my weenie so it won't get squashed on top of Dad's leg. This is the 'little brat' part of the spanking, a spanking like you'd give a young boy that is being bratty. The number of spanks are adjusted for my size and age but it is still a little boy spanking regardless.
First comes the butt exam. Dad runs his strong hand all over the areas that he will soon be turning red and sore, my entire buttocks, hips and upper thighs. Then comes the part I hate, he pulls my cheeks apart with his left hand and runs the fingers of his right over my now exposed poop chute, just to remind me that it is back there and he's looking at and able to touch it if he wants to. His hands go a little lower and touch the back of my scrotum which at the moment in hanging loose from my earlier exercise. An old tradition of his. Really embarrassing. It also serves to make me spread my legs further apart to expose more skin for him to spank.
"Good," Dad says, "nice and clean so I don't have to wash you this time."
My face turns as red as my ass soon will be, he did just that once, got a rag and wet it at the outside faucet and came back into the shop, sat down and took me back over his knees and thoroughly scrubbed my pooper before he'd spank me. He warned me at that time if I ever showed up for a spanking with a messy poop chute again he'd scrub it clean and then maybe spank it a bit just to remind me to keep it clean all the time. I've been darn careful since that time but he still checks me every time anyhow.
Exam over, he settled down to spank me. His big, strong hand slaps every square inch of my backside and surrounds, everything that would be covered by my underwear and then some, mainly anything that remotely resembles a boy bottom. Dad's definition of a bottom is quite broad, actually, so there is a lot of stinging hide back there by the time he is finished and puts me into the corner to think about things.
In my younger years I would have been bawling from getting spanked like this but your pain threshold rises as you get older so you can handle more without feeling the need to cry from pain. However, that was just the warm-up for the real spanking, that one is still pretty nasty. If the spanking by hand was the punishment for a little boy, the paddling that will follow after my sojourn in the corner will be that given to a much older boy.
Dad had switched to using the wooden paddle on my fanny when he spanked me just about the time I hit puberty and started to grow hair in odd places and get a lot bigger down below. Up until a year or so ago that tool was what he used for the entire spanking, after my bum exam which was much more cursory than before, a quick rub over the entire target area and a pulling apart of the cheeks to see if I was clean, it was straight to the paddle igniting all the skin on my rump to glorious blazing flames.
When I turned seventeen it was then that he decided that embarrassment needed to be worked into the punishment and so he started giving me the spanking of little boy-hood, with his hand on my bare bottom. It is embarrassing, I mean I'm old enough to be punished like a big boy, not a little kid! The fact that I'm standing in the corner with my bottom stinging and burning but not enough to cry makes what will follow even worse, now my spanking routine is much longer than it was before. The spanking time hasn't doubled, there is no need for that, he gets his point across really well with the paddle during phase two of the punishment, it's more the corner time than anything, I spend almost twice the amount of time in the corner when all I really want to do is to ease the burning on my backside in the age old method of boys, namely by masturbating. I glance down from my corner and see that yes indeed, my weenie is still sticking out hard and stiff and now it's drooling pre-cum fluid in a silvery string heading to the floor. My balls are aching from needing to cum.
Spankings are definitely not a turn on for me but somehow my weenie doesn't understand that and gets hard like I'm playing with myself during my best masturbation fantasy. I start a spanking hard and end up that way which does come in handy once Dad leaves me alone and I can get down to business.
Dad has the corner time after spanking part one down to a science. Any boy that ever got spanked twice in a fairly short period of time knows that the second spanking hurts a lot more than the first one, in my case it will be much more painful for it will be done with a paddle instead of his hand. Get spanked too soon and the nerves in your backside are still a bit overloaded and will not feel the spanking as much, wait too long and the background heat and tenderizing provided by the first spanking will have faded a lot. From the spanker's point of view the perfect time is when the burn from the first spanking has simmered down to glowing coals instead of raging flames.
Dad has this timing just perfect, I don't know if he goes by color or what, I do know that the redness of my fanny fades rapidly even after a paddling so maybe he can judge the state of my bum by its color alone. Regardless of what he does, it works!
"Okay, Tim, let's get this over with," comes Dad's quiet voice.
I leave my corner and walk the few feet to where he is again sitting in the chair but this time holding the dreaded paddle. I've had that thing smack my bum so much that I'm surprized it hasn't worn out completely. Either my bottom or the paddle, I'm not sure which will go first. I lower myself down over his knees, having to hold down that darn boner of mine again and feel Dad's arm go around my ribs and grip my tightly.
No bottom exam this time, Dad gets right to work. The paddle immediately reignites all the fires that had been burning back there and intensifying them incredibly, just before I start crying I'm again amazed that it is possible for a guy's butt to hurt as much as mine is!
Dad's spanking method with the paddle is a little different than with his hand, he is swatting hard and because of that confines almost all of the smacks to my buttocks, the fat, meaty part of a boy's bum with his crack running down the center. It's good and bad, he doesn't smack my hips very much but boy, don't he smack the lower section of my buttocks! I know from experience that my butt from about an inch above my poop chute down to maybe six inches down the backs of my thighs will be red, swollen and raw, quite often blisters form on my hide right where the butt hits the chair when you sit. He knows about those two special spots on a boy's butt right where the bottom joins with the upper legs and spanks that area a lot, sometimes landing six or eight spanks on first one cheek and then the other, your bottom is nicely divided there so it provides a wonderful target for the end of the paddle to burn into. When he spanks me there I can feel the wind from the paddle blowing across my balls, a not nice feeling at all but it does remind me how vulnerable I am back there right now.
No gritting of the teeth this time or any attempt to 'tough it out', the paddle just hurts too much. I know better than to beg for the spanking to stop, that just spurs him on to extra efforts so I just lay there kicking my legs and bawling, just like I did oh so many years ago when I first felt the furious sting of wood meeting boy skin. Mentally I know that my kicking just exposes more skin for Dad to spank and spank it he does but I just can't help myself, the nerves being stimulated on my butt seem to just make my legs fly.
What makes a spanking with the paddle even worse if possible is the way Dad does it. Most men will get a tempo going, say a smack every couple of seconds or so and that lets you sort of be able to anticipate the next spank and almost react to it before it hits. Dad does that when he's spanking me by hand as if he wants to get the job done but not so with the paddle, a swat can land anyplace on my rump and upper legs and I might get several slow ones all over the molten terrain of my bum or a whole bunch of rapid fire strokes in the same location, you never know. He's also very, very, good at not overstimulating one area of my fanny too much to make it numb up a bit, he'll let one spot rest a bit to reset the nerve endings before slapping it again. A paddling is a most interesting experience to have indeed.
I have never been able to count how many spanks I get with the paddle, it seems like hundreds and hundreds but most likely it is just about a hundred spanks or maybe a few more, all I know is that my fanny really feels like I sat on a blazing campfire. Finally the last blast of the paddle sears my skin and Dad is getting me to my feet and leading me back over to my corner. It takes a while for my sobs to quiet down, darn it all, that paddle hurts! I can feel the heat on my blistered rump pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
After an eternity I hear Dad say, "Okay, Tim, you can come out of the corner now. Rub your butt if you want to."
I leave the corner and face him, both hands furiously rubbing my still blazing fanny, heedless now of the boner I'm still showing to him which is bouncing up and down as I dance from foot to foot in a vain attempt to put out the fires.
"You can take some time to compose yourself," Dad says as he puts the paddle back on it's hook above the workbench and puts the chair back against the wall. "once you are ready I want you to get busy on your yard work."
"Yes, sir!" I say somewhat tearfully. Polite as usual to those that can make your bottom hurt. I watch Dad leave the shop by the front door, closing it behind him.
Once I see through the window that Dad is well on his way back to the house I limp across the shop and open the back door and step outside, still stark naked. I step off into the grass outside of the shop, a really private spot and out of sight of the house, and take my stiffie in hand and with just a couple of strokes spurt all over the place, cumming long and hard. For that minute or so that I'm cumming all the pain burning on my rump fades to the background and all is well with the world. I stand there with my softening penis in one hand while rubbing my blazing butt cheeks with the other until I can take yet another pee, somehow getting paddled fills my bladder up in good shape and most guys like to leak after cumming.
I go back into the shop and find a rag and wipe off the tears streaks and snot from my face and the cum from the end of my finally limp weenie and then gently ease my briefs up over my burning fanny, even the pressure of the tighty whiteys is not all that wonderful. I put on my socks standing up and ease my jeans back on and slip my feet into my sneakers, yank on my T-shirt over my head and it's off to do the yard work, I've found that you can either go to sleep after a spanking or go to work, both of them work to take your mind off of your smoldering rump.
Getting spanked at almost eighteen, just think about it. Think about at the same time that I've still got four years of college to go through before I'm finally able to work on my own and not be subject to the sting of the paddle on my bare rump. Something to look forward to. I know that Dad only spanks me for my own good but do I need to be that good?