Thirteen year old David had returned home from playing football with his friends. It was the first week of the long summer holidays and the weather was nice and warm. David lived alone with his father, his mother having left them when David was 5. Father went to work and David was expected to do chores around the house before being allowed to go out and play. Today, however, he had decided that as dad wouldn't be home until evening there would be no harm in playing football in the morning and doing his chores in the afternoon. Unfortunately he had forgotten one thing. One of his jobs that day was to visit the village shop and buy a few groceries. Today was early closing day and David was mortified to discover when he passed the shop on his way home from play that it was shut. God!! What would he say to his dad? David knew the consequences of disobedience because his father was a very strict parent. The slightest misdemeanour always meant a trip to his dad's bedroom and a painful session with whatever implement his father chose to use on him. Up until he was about 7 his dad had always used an old size 10 gym slipper, then for more serious offences he had decided to begin using his thick leather belt. Shortly after turning 10 David had experienced the bamboo cane for the first time and at 12 he had suffered his first thrashing with an old riding whip. David was reflecting on all these things when he turned into the street where he lived. He was horrified to see his dad's car parked in the driveway. He entered the house. His father, assuming his son had been to do the shopping, called out to him to bring the groceries into the kitchen. Upon seeing David enter the kitchen in his t shirt and football shorts his father's face turned into a scowling mask of fury.
"Where are the groceries David. Come here" David timidly approached his father and was slapped twice, very hard, across his face before he could answer. David sniffed back a tear.
"I'm sorry dad, my friends called and I went to play football. I was going to get the stuff this afternoon but I forgot the shop was shut. Oh dad I'm very, very sorry"
"You know I expect you to do your housework before playing David. I will not tolerate disobedience as you well know. When are you going to learn? Upstairs to my bedroom now!"
David tearfully turned and made his way up the stairs to his dad's bedroom. He entered the room and as he was always instructed to do placed the hardbacked chair which sat by his dad's dressing table in the centre of the room. He stood behind the chair and waited for his dad's arrival. He wondered how long his dad would make him wait. Sometimes he had to wait ages but today, after about five minutes, he heard his dad on the telephone, obviously speaking to his work, saying he would be a little bit late back as he had "a little problem in the house that he needed to sort out". He heard the phone replaced and then the sound he dreaded, his dad's heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. His dad entered the room still scowling.
Without a word he approached the cupboard where, David knew, the instruments of punishment were kept,. His dad leaned inside and selected the old riding crop. Clearly he considered this a serious display of misbehaviour from his son. He stood and faced the boy.
"Take off your shorts" he ordered coldly. David obeyed. He looked down at the floor, unable to meet his father's steely gaze. "Pants" his father then commanded and David removed the tiny pair of yellow briefs he was wearing. "Over" was his next command and David leaned over the back of the wooden chair and held on to each of the front legs with outstretched arms. He clung onto the legs because he knew while his father was thrashing him that if he got up from his position the severity of his whipping would be increased.
His father then moved behind his son and lifted the boy's t shirt halfway up his back. He never told David how many strokes he would receive but the boy knew he was expected to count as each one landed. The whipping began. As each crack of the whip cut across his bottom the boy yelped out the number of the stroke. After each lash his father waited for the sobbing to subside before administering the next one. David didn't know but his father enjoyed these sessions in the bedroom. He enjoyed the power he held over his son. He enjoyed seeing the fear in the boy's eyes when he had misbehaved. And most of all he enjoyed the tearful sobbing and pleading which always accompanied a beating. He always increased his enjoyment by making the session last as long as possible. Which was why he waited for David to regain his composure before each stroke. By the time David had cried out "12" the session had been going on for around 5 minutes. But it wasn't over yet. The whip continued to do it's work. After about 10 minutes David tearfully cried out "20".Father inspected his handiwork and stared at his son's wealed bottom. 10 more should suffice he thought to himself and brought the whip down once again onto his son's flesh. The final 10 strokes (although of course David didn't know they were the final ones) took around 15 minutes to complete because David was now wailing in anguish for much longer between each stroke. His face was wet from the tears which were dropping in a torrent from his cheeks. After hearing his son scream out "30" father told his son to get up from his position. He asked if he had learned his lesson. David sobbed uncontrollably that he had. Without further comment father replaced the whip in it's cupboard and coldly told his son he was returning to work.
David replaced the chair over which he had been thrashed, scooped up his shorts and briefs and, still crying tears of pain went to his own bedroom and threw himself face down on his bed, both hands frantically massaging his well whipped backside.