I was in my room, absentmindedly doing homework. I was a little nervous about what had happened in school that day. Dad had warned me more than once about cutting classes; maybe the fact I was a 17 yr old with a poor memory would be in my favor, but I doubted it. Anyway, I had gotten little homework done when I heard him pull into the driveway. Did the lady in the office really call him at work like she said she would?
The front door opened and shut; I heard his briefcase hit the floor; a bit of shuffling through the mail, and the footsteps started up the stairs. *sigh* I would probably miss the game this Saturday, and have to spend the whole day doing yard work. Maybe then I would remember not to cut class anymore.
A knock on my bedroom door - dad was nothing if not courteous and respectful - and he called, "David? May I come in?"
"Sure, Dad" He came in and stood next to me as I stared at my math book.
"Is there something you need to tell me about today, son? Do you have an explanation of why I might have gotten a call from the school office today?"
"Uhhhhhhhh, well, ......."
"Ok; I thought so."
He took off his suit jacket and laid it carefully on my bed. What was he doing that for? I wondered. If he's just going to ground me, he does not need to undress at all.
"Son, I have told you far too many times that cutting class is just not acceptable. And this time, the school office said that you are suspended for tomorrow since it was the 10th class you cut." Now THAT I had no idea would happen. Getting suspended would have more of a consequence than a day of extra chores. "I'm sorry, dad; I am sure I only cut 5 times though."
"Well, David, 5 times is more than enough, don't you think? And besides; it's 10 classes, not 10 times." He walked to the door, and said, "Put your chair in the middle of the room; I'll be right back."
What was he doing? I carried my desk chair to the middle of the floor, and then it hit me ..... he was going to spank me. Oh, man; that had not happened since I was 16, and I was almost 18. But last time, there was no chair involved. He said I was too big to go over his knee.
I stood there nervously waiting for him to return. What was taking so long? There was no way to do any homework now ..... no chair, feeling like I'd throw-up any moment - ugh.
When he came back in, about 5 minutes later, he had changed into sweats and a t-shirt. He must have been working out during his lunch times, because he was still in as good shape as I was, but I was a good 4 inches taller. He was carrying a paddle; it was the same one he used on me when I was younger. He WAS planning on spanking me; I could not believe it; after all, I was almost 18, well-behaved most of the time, much bigger than he was ..... I considered running out of the house for a moment, then realized what a stupid idea that would be. So I tried reasoning with him. "But Dad, " I whined like a 6 year old, "I am too big to be spanked."
"Oh, really? You are? Well, let's just see about that. Come over here, " he pointed at a spot next to him. I obeyed. "Hmmm; you won't be needing those sweatpants; drop them."
" But DAD," I protested loudly.
"David, did you hear what I said?"
"Yes, Dad, but, but, but...."
"Son; the only 'but' you should be concerned with right now, is the one you sit on. Now, lose the sweats."
I could feel myself getting choked-up as I took my sweatpants off. My eyes started to sting as tears welled up in them. "Please, Dad; please ground me for a month; take away the TV and computer; no going to the mall with my friends; ANYTHING but this."
He almost seemed to be enjoying torturing me this way, but he maintained a serious expression. "Ok, now over me knees." Just a pitiful, pleading look from me, as I lowered myself across his lap. I was way too tall to be comfortable, but he adjusted me so I was not in any real discomfort ...... yet.
Once I was where he wanted me, he pulled down my boxers. Now, my tears were dripping onto the floor. At least I would not have to go to school tomorrow. "Now, son; you are to hold on to the legs of the chair, and do NOT let go until I tell you to; also, keep your feet on the floor. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir", I barely whispered.
The first several smacks were not with the paddle; I think I counted about 40 or so smacks with his hand before he paused to get the paddle. He didn't really need the paddle, however, as I was crying out and begging him to stop after the first few with his hand.
"Son, I have only just begun. You just hold onto the chair legs." My hands were cramping from holding to tightly, but I knew it would be worse if I let go.
My already sore back-side was soon on fire as he continuously smacked me with the paddle. Every 6 smacks landed on the upper part of my thighs; there was no way I'd be sitting for the next couple of days.
I had given up begging him to stop, and was just sobbing after about 100 whacks with the paddle. He only gave me 5 more smacks after I stopped fighting it. He let me lay there, crying, and rubbed my back a bit before I dropped to my knees on the floor. He said I would have plenty of time the next day to do my homework, and I should just get in bed and go to sleep. I did crawl into my bed, but it was a while before I fell asleep.
The weekend was quite boring, which was nice. Nobody called or stopped by at all. And on Monday, after I went to apologize to the teachers who's classes I had cut, I found that I still had a reminder not to cut any more classes ...... those school chairs are really hard.