Occasionally up through age 12 this guy got a bunch of sharp slaps to the ass that kept him in line. After age 12, dad kept me in line with a 3 8 inch pine paddle that was about 3 inches wide and 12 inches long and hung on the kitchen wall. Let me tell you, the first time that thing made contact with my thin dress slacks and boxer covered butt at age 12 it had my respect. After just three or four swats it had me fully convinced of what my dad was trying to get across to me.
At age 14, I became overly stupid one evening just before bedtime. If you are picturing a 14 year old boy sporting a pair of thin cotton woven boxers and pleading with his paddle wielding dad you are right on target. Being a smart ass with your parents when your 14 is something that happens, but doing it just before bedtime is dumb ass and leaves you with a real red ass after your dad gets done giving you roasted ass. The first solid swat across both cheeks lit the inferno in my ass and turned on the water works at the same time, if you get the scenario. The remaining three or four shots produced a positively overwhelming sting that underlined my dads point of view vividly. The experience gave me enough respect to last me at least a couple of years. Thankfully dad seemed always to paddle me on the clothes that I happen to be wearing and had never bare assed me. Im not sure, however, that my fancy flimsy boxers really provided much of a difference.
I achieved the age 16, actually almost 17 without any more fires in the posterior. Yes, I had been in some heated arguments with my parents, but, I managed to usually keep my cool, at least enough so not to earn any more swats. After two years I began having a little less respect for that wooden thing hanging on the wall. That meant I was sometimes letting my mouth run ahead of my brain again. I was no dummy; I knew if I kept the trend up, I was going to get more education from that flying piece of pine.
One early evening before dinner I was talking with my mom while standing in the kitchen. Our discussion got abruptly interrupted when I felt a flying board of wood land on the seat of my new, slightly loose fitting heavy wrangler jeans. Within a second or two my butt began to sting, my mouth emitting a "whooo" sound and I began to rub my butt. Within the same second my dad let me know that he was tired of asking me to clean up my area of the garage and further explained that if he had to ASK again that I would really know it. Hearing that and seeing the pine paddle in my dad's hand was convincing and I was to be found making the garage spotless right after dinner.
While cleaning the garage, I had plenty of time to think. My mind wandered to the swat I experienced earlier. It had surprised the heck out of me and thus I reasoned, was why the "whooo" sound had come out of my mouth. I knew by the landing weight of the paddle, I had taken quite a hard swat, but I was surprised that it had not caused my butt to burn more severely. I was pleased with myself that I had not even come close to tears. Wearing a pair of heavy weight 13MWZ rodeo wrangler jeans and tight fitting Calvin briefs I surmised, gave me more protection than the boxers and dress pants did when I was 12 or the boxers alone when I was 14. My mind wandered a bit and thought about the possibility of being paddled while wearing my wranglers and Calvins. Having heavier clothes when being older, bigger and stronger led me to believe that I might be able to take licks with a lot less fuss.
A month passed, it was the spring of my junior year and I was now 17. One day I stayed after school and weight trained with others for about an hour. I worked strenuously on my upper body; shoulders, pecs, biceps, triceps, and neck and did a lot of sit-ups until I was beat and admittedly a little sore, but it felt good, I was pumped. I and Tim who I planned to drive home were running late. We put on some deodorant and pulled on jeans over our dazzle and compression shorts. Before we put on our shirts we both did a low key pose in a mirror and admired the definition of our growing upper bodies. With shirts on we trotted out to the car.
After stopping at a deli and picking up some beer with my fake ID, (I was really only showing off) we stopped at my house so I could show Tim a new computer game. I had agreed with my parents never to allow friends in the house without their permission when they weren't home, but I chose to ignore that agreement. We each popped a beer tab, agreeing to drink only one so we wouldn't smell later and began playing the computer game.
While playing, we talked about many a topic. Somehow we got started on how our parents disciplined us. I described how my dads paddle really stung when landing on my thin boxers several years before. Next up was how I got swatted a month ago with jeans and Calvins on and how it didn't sting nearly as much as when younger and wearing less. I even showed Tim my Dad's 3 8th inch thick pine paddle hanging on the kitchen wall. After Tim saw the paddle, he smirked and commented that he wished his dads paddle was that wimpy. He went on to say that his dad's 16 inch long oak paddle was at least a half inch thick and that his jeans never seemed to help much. It got me to thinking just how wimpy a 3 8 inch pine 12 inch board is to a 16 inch oak board that is half again its length and thicker.
About half an hour into the game, we heard my dad walked through the front door. He was not supposed to be home yet. I quickly pushed Tim into my closet and got rid of my beer can, just in time to have my dad come through the bedroom doorway. He looked pissed, and quickly I found out why he was pissed. The owner of the deli had called my dads cell phone to report that he had seen me purchase beer from his clerk with a fake ID. The deli owner had not wanted to call me on the fake ID at the counter as other people were in the store. After receiving that call dad rushed home from his brick laying job to confront me.
Confronted I was and to top it off he spotted Tims partially empty beer can which was still cool to the touch. I was so caught, and I had no choice but to admit to drinking the beer....by myself.
Dad said he didnt have time to talk with me now, but there would be plenty of talk later and directed me to get undressed and get ready for bed. Get ready for bed? It was only 5 Oclock in the afternoon for God sakes. Besides, I knew dad was pissed and I didnt know whether he had the paddle in mind or not. I liked the thought of keeping my jeans on if he had the paddle in mind. He saw my hesitation and repeated what he had already said. He still had not referred to the paddle and I surely didnt want to be caught wearing just compression shorts if the paddle came off the wall.
I didnt want to get ready for bed yet as I still had homework to do, I said. After a quick discussion about homework, he caught me in my lie. He knew I usually did my overnight homework at school and only brought my multi-night stuff home. That excuse was not accepted.
I was told I would be paying dearly for the days shenanigans and reaffirmed his order for me to get undressed and get ready for bed. My mind went quickly to my long compression shorts and long and baggy dazzle shorts I wore. Under jeans they gave me a somewhat padded and protected feeling around my upper legs and ass.
Tim and I had just talked about how I might be able to handle dads paddle if I was wearing enough clothing. Keeping my pants on now seemed to be my best avenue of defense. In my pumped up freshly worked out body I had decided to try to stand tough and still did not comply with the order. Helping me stand my ground was the thought of having Tim hear me from the closet balling my eyes out. I was all too aware of the likelihood of that happening if I had only compression shorts to protect me if I had to deal with the paddle.
Dad had waited long enough and headed in the direction of the kitchen. I knew then it was pay up time as my stomach started doing flip flops and I began feeling queasy all over. At least I was wearing jeans and two other layers of clothing. Now, I could only hope that my clothing was bulky enough to sufficiently reduce the penetration of the swats to a degree that I could somewhat deal with them.
While dad was out of the room I whispered to Tim, "Wish me luck."
Tim replied, "Youll need it."
After that comment I could feel the blood drain out of my face as I furiously tucked my shirt in as far as it would go, regretfully only about half way down my butt. Oh how I hated the thought of Tim hearing me get spanked. I despised the feeling of being in such a no win jam. I certainly got myself between a rock and a hard spot this time I surmised.
As Dad came back through my bedroom door with his implement, my eyes nearly popped out of my head. Instead of the paddle, he was carrying a heavy looking plastic scrub brush with rounded edges around its oval back. Tangling with a 3 8 pine paddle was not a pleasant experience, but seeing that brush sent shivers through my spine. I had no experience with a brush like that, but I had heard that they were no fun to say the least.
My heart began to pound and I could feel my face flush as I listened to dad expound on not following his directions. A thought passed that he may not have paddled me if I had begun getting undressed immediately when asked. It was too late to ponder that thought, but the big question now was how and IF I could calm him down.
I pleaded with him that there was no need to use that brush on me. This 17 year old, made promises, pleaded, appealed, wined and just babbled away in broken dialog. You must get the picture. I was downright frustrated with fear. I had been had by my own foolishness, stupidity and arrogance. GET READY FOR BED NOW I was directed. Now I COULDNT obey, not with that brush staring me in the face.
I told dad "Please not now", and raised my hands toward him.
That was a very big mistake!
His reply was "YES NOW" as he shoved me hard back onto the bed. The next thing I knew, he had a firm hold of my right ankle and had placed it easily with his strong brick laying arms and hands on his left shoulder. This caused my right ass cheek to be bent at approximately a 45 degree angle as I lay helplessly on my back with my right leg aiming in an eleven oclock position. He was staring right at me as I stared right at him with a look of fear and wonder of what was going to happen next. I was going to get a real butt roasting I knew and I didnt have long to wait. Within seconds the back of the brush swung swiftly into my lower right cheek. It took no time for the effects of the shot to cause me a great deal of distress. Lets get real, it stung like hell. I had all I could do not cry out as my eyes began to water.
Dad shot me a few more words of wisdom and then swung a rigorous swat into the sensitive lower right cheeks crack area. I could not believe how fast a river of tears flowed this 17 year old after the second shot, I hollered at the top of my lungs and kicked my left leg violently though the air as my right leg was held firmly for the punishment I could not possibly have imagined. I dont remember much more than the excruciating sting and pain from there on as eight more horrendous barn burning swats landed. Dad seemed to know just how to make them as penetrating and effective as possible. I wiggled and flopped in vane as he alternately landed shots on the inner lower right ass cheek and then a little to the right of center on my right buttocks just above where the ass cheek meets the upper leg. I could not previously have imagined the intensity and effectiveness of that brush.
After I had received the ten ass killing swings, dad let go of me which really allowed me to freely wiggle, scream and flop for about the next 30 seconds which must have been quite a show all in itself. There certainly was no more questioning from me when I was again told to get ready to get into bed when I was done crying. He went on to say that he had to get back to work and finish a job and that he would get back to me later that evening. Leaving the brush in the room, dad left me in racking sobs.
After Tim heard my dad leave through the front door, he came out of the closet. I didnt even feel any embarrassment. My ass cheek was giving me far more serious things to think about.
After several minutes I calmed down. I could see Tim felt sorry for me, but each of us sort of knew I earned most of what I got, probably all of it and more. I just couldnt believe that brush had worked so thoroughly through my three layers of clothing. Leave it to Tim to try to explain why the brush had done its job so well.
Tim rationalized that my sport compression underwear probably helped very little. They were tight fitting, stretched very thin and provided no air pockets that might provide some protection. My dazzle shorts though baggy, were very thin as well. Once my right leg was bent on a 45, the shorts probably became snug to my tight fitting compression shorts and the bagginess went other places other than my butt. They do that normally when a guy bends, showing just smooth moon outlines of a guys butt cheeks. A thin layer of dazzle shorts without air pockets like the compression shorts would still not much help. Yes the jeans are thicker than slacks but they were off brand and thinner than wrangler. Dad also never hit a pocket. He always made contact below it working through only one layer of snug fitting jeans over the most sensitive area of my vulnerable bent ass.
Tim set my embarrassment into motion when he said he had watched me get my ass roasted through the louver closet doors. He described how dad was able to take full swings and pivot the brush into my ass with wrist motion, thus landing that thing with tremendous speed. Tim seemed to have it all figured out and I guess I proved him right by being one sorry test case.
As my nose was still running, I unbuttoned, unzipped and removed my jeans. After taking off my dazzle shorts I pealed down my compression shorts and proceeded to check the damage to my ass. The lower area of my right cheek was a vivid red and in some spots a little toward purple. My butt cheek had been really scorched and I began feeling some embarrassment that Tim had been there to hear me get worked over. Soon Tim promised me before I asked that he would not tell anyone else; that made me feel a lot better.
I decided not to go to bed with my compression shorts as they were too tight even on a good night. I retrieved and donned a pair of baggy flannel PJ shorts. Other than feeling plenty of warmth radiating from underneath, they were quite comfortable and not binding.
Tim left the house, but not before he first sheepishly poured out his beer can, crumpled it and took it with him. He also apologized for it, though I believe I provided all the nails in my coffin my dad had needed.
Later that night dad and I with my very horse voice from all the crying, had a very good talk. In the end I believe we gained much more respect for one another. Yes, I was still a little miffed that he had roasted my butt cheek so forcefully, but then he was still disappointed that I had chosen to use a fake ID.
You can better believe I will remember that day forever, but as the days go on I am sure that it will be in even a more positive way. Thank goodness dad didnt know Tim was in the room that afternoon. I cant even imagine what strife that would have caused.
I guess I could say that I had provided dad with plenty of ammunition that day. His gun just happened to be a well designed ass busting brush that had no problem with acing its way through a pair of jeans and wimpy gym clothing. With this as a finishing thought I promised myself that disrespect and defiance would never happen again toward my dad. No fake IDs either. Could I keep these promises? I sure hoped so.
What happened when I was 19, coming in part 2, surely beat thus adventure and beat me too.