I was about 14 when this happened.....
"Sorry, dude. Can't make it," I told my best friend over the phone. "Mom's in super bitch mode and she won't let me." I was sitting in the dining room as I talked to him.
"_f_u_c_k_, you sure?", asked Tom.
"Yeah, I don't what is up her ass today. Must be on the rag or something, she is driving me _f_u_c_k_ing nuts. She's a total bitch. Hey, I gotta go." I reached around the wall from the dining room into the kitchen to hang up the phone when I felt something grab my wrist.
I leaned over and looked into the kitchen. It was my father. I didn't know he was home.
He took the phone with one hand and hung it up. With his other hand, the one still on my wrist, he pulled me towards him into the kitchen and then shoved me up against the door to the garage.
"Dad...."
"What did you just call your mother?" he bellowed at me.
I stood there still in a daze. For a second I had no clue what he was talking about. Then I remembered calling my mom a bitch. "Uh.....uh...." I shuddered.
Then I saw Dad's hand come up. Smack! He slapped me in the face. "I asked you a question, boy!"
"Uh...I....ummm...uh..." Smack, he slapped me again. Harder this time. I could feel my eyes start to water up.
"Umm....I....was on the phone with Tom....and...umm," I faltered. I saw Dad raise his hand again. My face already stung from the first two slaps, I didn't want to get slapped again. "And he wanted to know if I could spend the night at his house."
"And?" my father asked, hand still threatening to strike at any moment.
"And....umm....I told him Mom wouldn't let me."
"AND?!"
"Ah....I was um...mad and I called her a few names," I answered. "Sir."
Dad grabbed me by the shirt with both hands and shoved me back hard against the door. His face was inches from mine. Very soft and slow he asked "What did you just call your mother?"
My eyes were as wide as saucers. I started to look away, but he gave me on quick shake. "Answer me."
"I called Mom a bitch, sir," I answered very, very quietly.
Smack, he slapped me a third time and then, again grabbing my by the shirt, he propelled me towards the kitchen table. He pulled out a chair and started unbuckling his belt. Knowing he meant to whip me, I quickly unbuttoned my jeans and unzipped them and then bent over the back to the chair without being told. Once my father is this angry, there is no reasoning with him. Cooperation is the only thing that will save a bit of hide off your ass. Normally he would have sent me upstairs into my parents room to get beat, but since no one was home but him and me, I was going to get it on the spot.
CRACK! Dad wasted no time and he started off hard. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
My ass felt like it was on fire. I started yelling at the 5th lick and I was close crying at the last lick. As fast as it started, Dad stood me up and spun me around and shoved me towards the counter.
"Take one," he ordered.
"No. Please, sir. Please!" I begged.
"CHRIS. NOW. DON'T MAKE ME TELL YOU AGAIN."
"Dad, please, no.....please....sir....please!!" I continued my begging. "Whip me more, but please don't make me take one of the root beer candies. I'll let you whip me as much as you want, please Dad".
The root beer candy was made by our neighbor up the road. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson lived in the first house on our street. They were an elderly couple and their daughters had moved out when I was in elementary school. Mrs. Wilson loves to cook and doesn't know how to just cook for two, so she constantly is giving away leftovers all the families in the neighborhood. Everything she cooked melted in your mouth and was awesome. The only exception was these root beer candies. I don't know what she did to them, but they were the most disgusting, foul taste you will ever have in your mouth. My brother Sam described it best -- _s_h_i_t_ preserved in ear wax -- and that still wasn't close to how disgusting these candies tasted. Chewing on them made them worse, so you had to suck on them until they melted. Unfortunately, it took about 10 minutes for one of those _d_a_m_n_ candies to melt. When Mom found out how much we hated these candies she started making us suck on them as punishment instead of washing our mouths out with soap. She said we fussed too much and made a mess when she tried to wash our mouths out, so making us suck on one of these candies was much easier (on her) and we seemed to hate it worse.
"Boy, I don't need your permission, I will whup you as much as I want anyway. And you are going to get whupped again after you have had your mouth cleaned out. Take TWO now."
"No sir!! Please, please Dad. They're disgusting. Can't you wash my mouth out with soap, sir? I won't move... please, please Dad." I begged pathetically. You would too if you ever tasted those things.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! My father whipped me with his belt four more times. My jeans had fallen to my knees and he whipped me on my briefs. "Do you want to make it THREE?"
"No, sir," I answered. I slowly forced myself to the covered glass jar containing the candies.
My hand was shaking as I lifted the lid. With my other hand I picked out the smallest piece I could find.
"Didn't I tell you two?"
I nodded and picked out another piece. I closed my eyes and forced myself to put the candy in my mouth. My eyes started watering and I felt my stomach wretch.
My father grabbed me by the upper arm, spinning me around again and shoving me into a corner. I tripped and fell into the corner on my hands and knees. I started to stand up when I heard my father say "Don't you move" as he walked out of the kitchen.
I stayed on my knees for what felt like and eternity. My ass burned from his belt. My eyes were watering partly from the whipping and partly from the root beer candy. I reached back and rubbed my ass. My jeans were around my knees, but I didn't dare pull them up. I could feel my stomach churning from the candies. It took every ounce of self control to keep from puking right then and there.
After about 15 minutes, the candy had melted and I was just left with the horrible aftertaste which would last for the next several hours. My father came back into the kitchen and asked, "What are you doing on your knees?"
"You told me not to move, sir."
"Get up"
I obeyed and turned to face my father. I saw he still had his belt in his hand. "Oh _s_h_i_t_, he's going to really whip me again," I thought.
Dad pointed to the chair that I had previously been bent over. I shuffled to it and bent over, jeans sliding down my legs and were almost at my ankles now.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
"Don't you EVER call your mother a bitch!"
"Yessssss, SIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!"
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
"Aarrrghhhh....I won't! Dad, I'm sorry!! Please!!!" At ten licks I was begging him to stop.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
"I'm sorrrrrryyyyyyy!!! Daaaadddddd...... It'll never happen again....."
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
"You will not disrespect your mother."
"Yes, sir..... I won't...... I'm sorry......." At this point I was sobbing and crying. Twenty-five licks was more than my ass could take. I felt like I was on fire.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
At this point I stopped kicking and just laid across the back of the chair. My throat was sore from yelling. I hadn't been whipped like this in a while.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Finally it was over. "Stand up."
Stiffly I stood up and turned towards Dad. I stood there trying to compose myself.
"Boy, I don't care how mad you are, I will not tolerate you disrespecting your mother or me. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"If I hear you calling your mother any more names, I'm going to whup your ass so you won't sit for a week."
I looked at the floor. "Yes, sir." Thinking didn't ya just do that?
"Look at me."
"Yes, sir," I said as I looked at my Dad.
"Don't you look at the floor. You were the one who opened your mouth, now you have to take your punishment."
"Yes, sir."
"Now, go to your room and stay there until dinner is ready. If I hear one more thing out of you today, we'll repeat this whupping tonight. Understood?"
"Understood."
I slowly pulled up my jeans and went to my bedroom. I pulled my jeans and briefs off and looked at my ass in the mirror. It was bright red and you could see several belt marks. No amount of rubbing would ease the pain. I laid down on my bed and fell asleep.
I few hours later, Nick knocked on my door and told me dinner was ready. I sat up and felt renewed pain in my ass. Yup, my ass was going to hurt for days. And I never called my mother a bitch again.