I grew up in a home where spanking was the only form of discipline. Grounding, taking away privileges was unheard of and took far too much time. I was spanked with a paddle regularly up until about age 14, pants down and over the knee. But somewhere around that time, methodology changed. Whereas up until that age 90% of the punishment had come from mother, it became dad's job after that age.
Dad was a good carpenter, from rough-in to finish work. He had all the woodworking tools you could ever require so it shouldn't surprise anyone that he made his own paddles. He had two that he used. The one for "pants up" was 18" long, 3.5" wide, and made of two pieces of 3 16" red oak glued together with small wood screws at critical points, and three rows of 1 16" holes about an inch apart. The idea was that with two pieces laminated together it wouldn't split, and it never did! Even through jeans it stung like all hell.
The other paddle was for "pants down!" and was the same size but made out of light weight yellow poplar. It was almost flexible and did not have any holes drilled in it. On bare butt flesh, the pain was indescribable. Which paddle got used depended on how bad the deed had been and the attitude displayed during "the lecture". Believe me, I usually was the most polite teenager around when "the lecture" began.
After the discussion portion I would be sent to my room to wait for the verdict. My room had one overstuffed chair in it that by the age of 15 was perfect for punishing a teenaged butt. Bent over the back of it, my toes barely touched the floor and the arms had straps at the base to which the removable seat cushion was clipped. Once over the back, I had to grab the straps and not let go until I was told the punishment was over. Dad didn't do spankings, Dad gave "licks" or "swats" Pants up, or pants down, Dad never gave less than 12 swats and the speed at which they were delivered was a good gauge of just how pissed he really was. And he had a temper. When he finished he would stay "Now stay right there while I decide if that's enough punishment!" What that meant was "Keep your hands off your ass!" If he caught you rubbing your butt, you'd get it again only double. So you'd stay there, trying to ignore the fire in your butt and hoping that would be the end of it. It seldom was. Dad would decide that further "education" was warranted and there would be at least one more round of swats. These were usually spaced a little further apart, say one lick every one to three seconds. If they came any faster than that, I knew there was going to be another round of licks.
Finally it would be over and after an appropriate time "in position" I would be allowed up. Believe me, I couldn't wait for him to leave the room so I could rub the sting out of my ass. My butt would usually always be glowing red even the next day.
As I said, Dad didn't do "spankings", and he only used a belt on me once. I think he found it ineffective and harder to control than the paddle, at which he was very adept at covering every square inch of your butt by the time he finished. As I got older the paddlings were further and further apart and by age 17 I averaged less than one a month and it was usually only a single set of 12, I say usually. But a month after my 18th birthday I got in trouble at school. I had been having some "attitude" problems, but escaped the paddle at school. Apparently the principal and the coach had both called Dad to discuss the "problems" and left the solution in his hands. He had been rather distant with me the rest of that week, and that usually meant he was waiting until the week-end to deliver a lecture. By that time I didn't really think that every lecture was going to result in a paddling, so I really didn't take too much notice of it . . . . until Friday night.
When I got home Dad was waiting. He told me to go to my room. He came in and in his hand was an obviously new paddle that I had never seen before. It looked as though it had been fashioned after a hand mirror, about 12 inches long, oval face and comfortable handle. It was made of maple (I later discovered), about 3 8" thick, and had tiny holes drilled in it in concentric rings. Just looking at it I figured "well this can't hurt all that much" and even when he said "Pants down!" I still thought I at least could keep from crying even if it hurt more than I thought it would.
When I was "in position" he put his hand firmly in the middle of my back to make sure I didn't move. This was something he never did and I think explains why he decided on a shorter paddle. He then told me that I needed a "serious attitude adjustment" and that when he was through I wouldn't "be able to sit down for a week!" He didn't miss it by much. At that he started whacking my butt fast and furiously. I couldn't even count the licks and it went on endlessly! When he finally stopped, my ass was on fire and I was crying like a 4 year old. He then went over point by point what he had been told by the principal. He then started whacking me again; same speed, same strength. After another full 5 minutes, he stopped and went over point by point what the COACH had told him. At the end of that he started whacking my ass again. The pain was incredible! I couldn't actually feel the individual licks. The pain would just start and build and build until it felt like a thousand bees all stinging me at once, over and over again.
He stopped and I though "FINALLY!" I was wrong, he started going over a laundry list of things HE felt I was screwing up on. When he finished each one, he'd paddle me for a minute or so and then stop for the next point to be made. I'm not sure how many there were, but I know there were at least 14 or 15 - each one punctuated and driven home by a minute or so of furious whacking. By the time it ended I was sobbing incoherently and the entire time I was to "stay in position" my ass just throbbed and throbbed. My butt was red for three days and for the next five every time I sat down it was like getting another swat.
I changed my attitude! I never got punished like that again and it was 2 months before I even earned another swatting. Nowadays this would be considered child abuse, but back then it was serious parenting. It worked. My grades improved and there was no more trouble at school. I knew what was waiting for me if there had been!