by Christin (Brazil) < christin@uol.com.br >

It was 2:00 a.m. and I heard Fernando's car entering the garage. Then he opened the door and I could see he was drunk. It was the third time Fernando drove drunk, although he promised me he wouldn't do this again. I knew that I have to do something to be sure this will never repeat. I couldn't help remembering my little brother. The accident is still in my mind, after 20 years. I wouldn't stand if the same thing happened to my son.

I almost got well of the drunkenness when I saw my parents face. I would prefer that they were angry with me. But they were really disappointed. Mom looked at me, silently crying, and said nothing. Then she went to the kitchen to take me coffee. Dad asked me, his grave voice sounding like a whisper, why did I drive drunk again. I tried to apologize, but he didn't want to hear my frail excuses. He made me drink a cup of coffee and told me to take a shower.

I just didn't know what to do. But I knew I *had* to do something. I had to punish him this time. However thinking in a punishment made me feel horrible, cause I've never punished my son. Two or three times he was grounded, when he was a little kid, but often, when he makes something wrong, I use to talk whit him about this. But talk was not working in this case. I had to punish him, and it had to be a severe punishment, so he will never forget.

The hot water was very agreeable, but I couldn't feel better. I did a really stupid thing. I'd rather be in another place, in a place that was far from my dad's eyes. But they were there, looking at me. Dad closed the hot water and made me take a cold shower. Then I knew he was going to take an attitude this time.

I went to my bedroom to choose a belt. It would be one that hurt enough for him to remember. So I grabbed the leather belt I used to wear when I went camping. It was really frightful, wide and thick, but very flexible. When he came in to his bedroom, wearing only a towel around his waist, I was standing there, holding the belt. So I closed the door.

Dad was standing in front of me, holding a leather belt. Well, I just didn't know what to think of this. Was he going to whip me? No, I couldn't believe it. It is simply ridicule, I thought. I am nineteen years old and I have never been spanked. After all, sons didn't get spanked anymore nowadays! Certainly, he is trying to scare me. I guessed it would be better that I admit my fault and promise him it won't happen never again. But I just couldn't do this. I only could say "Dad...".

I didn't want to cause serious injuries to my son. But I wanted to cause him pain, a great pain which he would remember for a long long time. So it would be better strike him on the bottom or the legs. But I didn't know how I could make him stay stopped in a position which offered this places as an aim. Certainly, Fernando wouldn't obey an order like "bent over the bed". The nowadays education had almost wasted away the parents "authority". I wasn't questioning this, cause I'm not an adept in authority. Spanking my son is completely against my educational principles. My method is the dialog. But now I had to do this. And I just couldn't imagine how to convince Fernando to bend over to get it. And as I couldn't depend on the authority neither on the argumentation, I decided to weaken his resistance.

Suddenly, dad gave me a blow with the belt across my right arm. God, it was serious! Dad was really spanking me. The surprise and the sting on my arm made me moan. No, he just couldn't do this. It wasn't happening.

After the first blow, I pulled the towel from Fernando's waist, so he was naked. Then I drew up the belt and struck him on the side of the thighs, first two blows on the left thighs and next three blows on the right thighs. Despite they were not too hard blows., the belt was sketching parallels red welts on his skin.

Fear. Waves of some paralyzing thing going through my body. Waves of something cold and strange. My father standing there, spanking me, was a scene I have never figured in my life.

With each blow, he was reacting whit a little jerking and a hesitant step back, until he reached the bed. I was afraid he move up and I miss the aim, but it looked like this little motions were all he could do.

My heart was beating so fast I thought I was going to swoon. I was trying to escape, but I just couldn't move myself. It was like a nightmare. I felt as I was floating, loosing the control of my body.

With each blow, he was moaning and begging. "Please, don't do this to me, dad. Please, don't. Dad, no. Stop. Don't spank me, dad. Forgive me. I'm sorry. I won't do this anymore."

It seems like it was not me that was begging dad to stop. The cold waves was starting in my knees, going up till my neck and breaking in my stomach. I was just floating.

The blows made him defenseless. So I grabbed him by the arm and forced him to bend over the side of the bed. And the real whipping began.

The shock I got when my father threw me at the bed made me wake of my torpor and I tried to get up in an attempt to escape from the blows. But dad was whipping me so hard that I was just stuck on the bed.

I was whipping my son really hard now, with crossed strokes on his butt and his legs. So hard that he was jerking and moaning and soon he was crying out and yelling .

Waves of pain. An incredible pain. A never guessed, strange pain. A pain that was not only the consequence of something, but itself a finality. A pain that had the only function to punish me.

I was trying to keep a measured rhythm, not too fast, so he could breath, but not too slow, so he couldn't get up. The alternated succession of the blows made him keep the position, even though he was rocking back and forth.

There was no way to avoid the belt. Or maybe there would be, but, with the little reason that still remained in me, I thought if I moved myself I would get the belt on a more sensible place. I wasn't begging for mercy now. I knew he wouldn't stop, and I just plunged into the waves.

I was not counting the blows, but I think I gave him almost fifty. His skin was deep red and stamped with welts since the top of his bottom till the back of his knees. Little dark spots began to appear where the belt had fallen the most.

When I feel I couldn't take it anymore, I started begging again. "No more, dad. It's enough. Please, dad, stop. No, dad". The waves of pain and sting were driving me to despair. But dad didn't hold back.

I didn't want to stop just when he started begging. I had to be hard with him. So I kept on smacking and smacking while he was dancing under the belt.

No, I just couldn't take it anymore, so I broke down, crying and sobbing, almost out of my breath. And finally he stopped, just when I was drowning.

I stood there for a long time, looking at my son, and I was crying too. I love this boy so much that I've never thought I was able to do this kind of thing to him. But it was exactly cause I love him that I prefer punish him this way to see him running a risk.

I was getting my breath back now, despite the tears. Then I feel dad's hand gently touching my shoulder. This only made me cry harder.

"Shhhh", I said, helping him to get up. I pulled the blanket and put him to the bed. Next I sat down at his side and comforted him until he was calm.

- Stop crying, son. It's over now.

Dad's hand rubbing my hair made me feel so well... I was only sobbing now.

- Dad....!

- I'm sorry, Dad. I'm really sorry. I did a stupid thing. .... I hurt you and mom. I...I deserved that ... the spanking. ... Please forgive me. I won't do it again.

- I know you won't.

- Dad ... I love you.

And I plunged into little waves of pleasure.