When I was 20, I had graduated from Tech school and went to work for a manufacturing company as a machine welder. At the age of 21, I was able to move out of my parents house and into an apartment to make my own life. When I was 24, I decided to buy a new car, which I bought on a 60-month loan, for which I had to make monthly payments. For over 4 years, I made the payments, paid my rent, and made it on my own.
Unfortunately, however, the company I worked for went out of business, which left me in a bit of a jam. After more than 4 years of payments, although I was close to paying it off, the car was not yet paid for, and I was still having to pay rent, utilities, food, gas, etc. – without a job. My cash supply was dwindled fast. In a short time, I found myself in a situation where, with no income, and nothing more with which to make the monthly payments facing me, I had to ask my parents if I could move back home for a while.
They readily agreed; and my Dad even paid off the remainder of my car for me – so I wouldnt lose it. The only conditions they set on my living with them again were that, while I wasnt working, I was expected to work fulltime doing a number of chores around the house such as mowing the lawn, trimming back the hedges, and painting; I was to be actively looking for another job; and, then even after I found a job, while I was living there, I was still to continue doing those chores around that house that were assigned to me. Not surprisingly, I agreed at once.
Then, one, two, three months passed; and after four months, I still had found nothing available as a job by which to make a living and support myself. I was feeling really frustrated. At home, the next chore that my Dad had assigned to me was to clean out and paint all the gutters around the house and garage. This was definitely not a task I was looking forward to. It was late July and very hot outside. Each day I got up, I would think about tackling the chore, but the weather always got the best of me and I continued to put it off until the next day.
After a week and a half went by, my father spoke to me about the need to get the gutters cleaned out and painted. Steven, Im tired of looking at those gutters, and asking you to do it, and then waiting while nothing gets done. This is it. I want them done this week.
I grunted grudgingly, hating the idea of my Dad nagging me and of laboring out in that heat. Friday afternoon came around and I still hadn't done the gutters. I just figured I'd eventually get to them, and it wasn't a big deal. My father came home from work and came up to my room where I was laying on my bed watching TV. He asked why I hadn't worked on the gutters this week after he had told me they were to be done. I just moaned about how hot it was to work outside. Dad closed the door to my room behind him. Then he walked over, grabbed the remote out of my hand, and turned off the TV. "What the hell did you do that for?" I demanded. Give it back. I was watching that, I barked.
Dad stared an icy glare at me. You really dont have to guess, Steven, Dad said. You know what we told you when you came back to live with us, and you agreed. And you know how long weve put up with your idleness. Well, one thing I will not put up with is a lazy son – at any age! I told you it was to be done this week. You just flat out ignored me. When I ask you to do something, I expect you to do it.
Annoyed with him lecturing me like I was a kid, I flippantly replied, Ill do the _d_a_m_n_ gutters when I get around to them, okay?! So dont have a stroke over it.
Listen up, young man. I dont care how old you are. I am not going to take any disrespectful attitude or mouth from you. And you are going to do what I tell you, and what you promise – as long as youre living here.
Oh, lighten up and get a life, Dad, I returned. The gutters are not the end of the world. Its no big deal.
Thats it, Steven. Your are doing what youre asked to do, and your impertinent behavior and mouth, are a big deal, young man. Its time that someone taught you a lesson that you wont soon forget. As you are our son, in our house, Im the guy to teach you that lesson. Dad declared.
What are you talking about, Dad? I asked him somewhat derisively
You are about to see, young man. Im going to paddle your behind until you remember what disobedience and disrespect earn for yourself.
Paddle my behind! Youre crazy! You can't do that! I'm too old!" I shot back at him.
Dads face reflected his anger with me. Ill show you whose thinking is crazy. You are either going to get the lesson youve been asking for, and needing, – for quite a while now, - or you can pack up and move out tonight.
I gulped, and shut up. I knew I had no where to go, so I started to apologize and told him I would do the gutters on Saturday. He told me, "You bet your backside youre going to do the gutters tomorrow. But its too late now. Youve got this paddling coming, and its way overdue. So, get up and get your clothes off, cause if I have to do it for you, youll be wishing youd started obeying sooner."
I just sat there, stunned and stammered out, "Remove my clothes?!"
You heard me, Steven. Get up and get your clothes off, NOW! – or get out – its your choice, young man! If you're going to act like a child, not listen to your parents, and disobey and disrespect like a child, then you will be punished like a child. Now take your clothes off or start packing."
I could tell he wasn't joking. Slowly, I stood up, slowly removed my t-shirt and unbuttoned my shorts, slowly unzipped them, and slowly lowered them down my legs and off my bare feet. I stood there in only my boxers in front of my Dad. He told me to move the desk chair to the middle of the floor and then lean over the front of it and hold onto the seat. I could feel myself starting to tremble because Dad was serious. My heart was pounding as I placed the chair in the center of the room and leaned over it as he instructed.
The next thing I knew, Dad grabbed the waistband of my boxers and yanked them down my thighs where they fell to the floor around my feet. Shocked, I started to reach for them only to have Dad push me forward on my upper back, so that I had to reach for the chair seat again. He told me not to move again and slid his belt off. I couldn't believe it! My father had me, at 28, naked and was going to whip me with his belt! All I could think about was at the moment was that at my age I was standing bent over in front of him totally bare. I was hoping that since I was bent over somewhat he didn't see anything but my butt jutting out at him.
Then it happened. Dad started to hit me with the belt. I lurched forward with each sting of the belt and realized that in the position I was in, Dad could see every bit of me moving in reaction to the licks on my backside and thighs. For some reason, I felt myself blush. It's not like he has anything different, I kept telling myself, but it was small comfort being this old and naked in front of him, and now being paddled.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Over and over he hit me with the belt. I actually thought I was going to fall over the chair from the force of the blows he was raining down on my backside. It had been years since my bottom had been subjected to such blazing punishment. I shifted my weight back and forth from one foot to another, trying to endure the mounting pain and fire on my behind.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Still, I was determined to take this like a man,– no matter how humiliating – and not to make a sound. After almost five minutes of the barrage on my bare butt, however, I felt the tears rush up into my eyes, and start bursting out streaming down my face. Even though I knew when to expect the next blow would hit from the SWOOSH of the belt through the air, amd tried to steel myself against it, after this long of blistering, clenching my cheeks together and trying to grit down my teeth didn't really help the matter. All at once I was starting to breakdown and bawl.
I started pleading and promising I would be good, and would do what I was told, but Dad just continued hitting me. Finally he stopped and I started to stand, almost forgetting I was naked. I tried to turn away from him and started to bend over to retrieve my boxers. Swiftly, Dad grabbed my left arm and yanked me down, across his legs, as he sat down on the chair. With one rapid swoop, I was over his lap, with my bare bottom poised in the air for a spanking, - like a five year old!
I started to struggle and twist, trying to break loose, but Dad's grip was strong and tight, and I was trapped across his knees. Then he started to spank me with his hard, flat hand.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
With each hard swat I launched forward across his thighs, then squirmed and pushed, trying to evade the ongoing spanking. As I did, I was begging for Dad to stop and let me go. I promised to be good, not to be bad – ever again –, and to do whatever he said – just like a child who had been caught being naughty. I was thrashing around over Dads lap, and crying out as I begged and apologized. He kept right on spanking me though, and my behind was now burning and sore.
While I was desperately bawling, and bucking and bouncing around, I thought things couldn't ever get any worse than being taken over my Dads lap, at my age, and having my bare bottom blistered like a small, bad kid. Suddenly, the bedroom door opened and Mom walked in. Dad stopped spanking me; and for an instant, I hoped she might be source of my escape from the fiery inferno punishing my behind. Mom asked him what had happened, why this was going on.
Dad released me, helped me up, and then held onto my arm in his powerful grasp, keeping me standing in front of him. I was stomping up and down, grabbing my torched bottom with my other hand, tears streaking my face, as he told her that he was punishing me for repeatedly not doing my chores when he had told me over and over about it, and then for my talking back insolently to him. As I stood there, I tried in vain to turn away from the eyes of my mother and father, but to no avail. Dad held me steady in front of him.
I couldn't believe what I heard next! Mom said that, after what they had told me, and I had promised, and then with talking back to my Dad in a disrespectful matter, it didnt look like I had really been punished enough to learn my lesson yet. She then suggested I needed a lesson with the wooden spoon and having my mouth washed out. I couldnt believe what I was hearing. I started to say, Wait a minute . . .,: when Dad turned me around and
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
He laid a volley of flaming smacks against my smoking bottom.
I jumped and yelled, Stop it! Stop! STOP! Oooo-uh! STAAAAP!! Dad kept me standing before him in his granite grip. Mom just turned and walked out of my room. Within seconds she was back with the large wooden spoon she used in the kitchen, and a bar of dial soap.
Mom gave the spoon to Dad and he sat back down in the chair, pulling me around to his right side. Then I was hauled off my feet and came dragging over his knees, my arms, hands, and face on the floor. "Give him a good 10 minutes with that and see if he doesnt respond like a lot different boy," she told Dad. Then, she came around to the right side of Dad, knelt down on the floor, and ordered, Open your sassy mouth, young man. Ill wash up that mouth of yours real clean, she declared. I clenched my teeth tightly, refusing to open my mouth for that nasty soap bar.
Mom reached over, pulled my hair up, and as I immediately opened my mouth to yell from the pain, she inserted the soap bar into my mouth. She placed her hand over my mouth, forcing me to keep the bar of soap in my stuffed mouth, as I gagged and mumbled my muffled protests. She just pushed my face and mouth, making the soap bar swirl against my tongue and teeth. My mind flashed back to 20 years earlier, when she would soap my mouth for talking bad or filthy.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRAACK! CRAACK! CRAACK! CRAACK!
Dad laid in on my rearend with all his might, again and again smacking my buttocks with that spoon like snare drums with a drum stick. I was squirming, bucking, and thrusting while crying my eyes out, but my mouth was held shut with a buildup of saliva and soap suds swishing around my mouth and draining down my throat. I was choking and gagging as my shrieking sobs were muffled by the soapy saliva emptying down my throat. I tried to shake my head from side to side, to get away from my Moms hand holding the soap bar in my mouth, but she held the back of my head with her other hand, and I couldnt expel the disgusting soapy mass in my mouth. My eyes were overwhelmed with tears, and my nose began gushing as well.
If anything, Dad only intensified the spanking with that horrible wooden spoon. I felt the buildup of fire and pain in my butt. I wailed and howled with each thrust in reaction to each hit of the spoon. To my amazement, Dad kept up the volley until I finally resigned to the shame and pain of my indignity, and hanging limp and dangling, simply sobbed and wept, through soapy gags and choking, as he continued paddling me.
Dad finally stopped and I laid there spent. Mom finally released her hands from the back of my head and my mouth, and I spit out the considerably smaller soap bar at once.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Dad laid back into my flaming, red butt with that broom, ordering me, Dont you ever spit anything at your mother, young man. As long as I live, Steven, no matter how old you are, no matter where you are, if you ever do something like that again, Ill blister your behind so bad youll wish you can sit in a bucket of ice.
Then, he told me he expected me to start and finish the gutters on Saturday. I nodded, and still sobbing said "Uh-uh! Augh-un! Augh-uh-yes, sir."
Dad then told me to get up and and pulled me up off his lap. I was bouncing and stomping up and down, when he ordered me to go stand with my face in one of the corners of the room until he told me otherwise. You stay there and think about what you have done that had brought this on yourself, Steven. And dont move from there until I tell you youre free to, unless you want to spend another session over my lap, young man!
Ooooo-uh-ughuh-augh-uh-noooooo! I wailed but trudged quickly over to the corner he had pointed to. I stood in the corner of my bedroom for almost an hour while Dad sat in the desk chair watching me. Mom came up one time to retrieve her spoon, saw my red battered bottom, and gave Dad a nod of approval. I was still shaking and heaving from the sobbing that my spanking had evoked, and was so embarrassed. I vowed then and there to get any job - at McDonalds, anywhere I could find anything -, so I could repay the amount of the car they paid for me, save up some money, and move out again.
Finally Dad stood up and told me to go get into the bathroom, wash up and rinse out my mouth, nad then get back here, into bed. Youre restrcted here in this room for the night, Steven, and you can get plenty of rest, because youll need it tomorrow. You have a lot of work to do. Sobbing slightly and softly, I turned back from the corner that had been my confinement for nearly an hour. I absolutely hated what had just happened to me, and the way my father was taking charge of me like I was 8 years old.
Dad just pointed to the door, and I hobbled out and down the hall to the bathroom, where I rinsed my mouth out repeatedly, trying to rid myself of the noxious taste of soap. I also put cold water with a wash cloth on my battered bottom, trying to douse the flaming pain. Then, wrapping a towel around me, I walked stiffly, but hastily, back to my bedroom. Dad had not left. As I entered, he simply pointed to my bed. I walked dutifully over to it, pulled down the sheet and blanket, took off my towel and handed it to him, and slid in to bed on my stomach. Dad pulled the sheet and blanket up over my back, turned out the light, and walked out, closing door behind him to leave me sniffling and whimpering in my bed.
Needless to say, the next morning I was up early and on to the job of the gutters right away. I also tried my best to make sure that I listened to my father, and did whatever he told me. While I needed to be able to live with my parents for a while longer, and was grateful to do so, I sure did not want to encounter the kind of trouble I had brought on myself. Even so, I still managed to find myself hauled over my fathers lap another time, and spanked with my mothers brass hairbrush, which was an experience that even hurt worse, and was more humiliating, than this one.