I will never forget the time I spent waiting for my punishment. Dad would give me a whipping. But I didn't know what it means. I was excited and scared.
A whipping. What would he use? How would it feel? Certainly, it would hurt. A spanking is supposed to hurt. But how much? Would I yell or cry?
Geez!
It was my decision. I got myself into an illegal thing and I would be send to a reformatory. Dad went to talk to me at the police station. He is very good in argumentation and made me agree with him that my behavior deserved a punishment. I said "Please, dad, help me. I don't want to go to the reformatory. You can give me a punishment yourself. Please!" He asked me if I really wanted that and I assured him that I did. So he said "If I have to punish you, son, it will be a hard punishment." "What will you do?", I asked to him. "I will give you a whipping". I stayed in silence for a whole minute, looking to my shoes. I didn't know what to say. He told me that he would give me some time to think about that. I stayed alone for 20 minutes, thinking hard. But, in fact, I knew that even if a whipping could hurt like hell, it would finish in some minutes, and the reformatory would last for six months. So I chose the punishment dad would give me.
When I told him my decision, he told me that I would not find a way of escape from the whipping. "I understand, dad", I said.
That afternoon, dad was taking me back home. We barely talk when we were in the car. Dad looked tired and disappointed. And I was feeling guilty. And terrified.
When we came home, he didn't say a word. So I asked him, in a low voice, "It will be now, dad?" "No", he answered, "I have some things to do now at the office. You can take a shower and eat something. Then, you wait in your bedroom".
I waited for five hours. Or five centuries. It seemed the same.
Five hours thinking of a whipping.
I tried to eat, I tried to watch TV, I tried to read, but I couldn't. I just could count the minutes and think of the whipping.
I had got some spankings when I was a child. But not really whippings. Once dad gave me a hand spanking when I steal some pencils from my cousin Ted. Then he smacked my butt with a slipper because I didn't gave the pencils back to Ted. Mom also had spanked my butt, using a ping-pong paddle, because I used foul language at the school. Of course the spankings hurt, but I was sure that dad would not take off his slipper to smack my butt this time.
That waiting was killing me. But when I heard dad's car entering the garage, I desired that the waiting last a lot more. I felt sick and panicked. Within half an hour after dad arrived, mom entered in my bedroom and told me dad was waiting for me at the room.
I don't know how I could go from my bedroom to the room. I couldn't feel the floor under my feet.
Dad was standing there, near the table, looking at me. And over the table was a strange thing that later I knew was called leather paddle. Much more frightful than a slipper.
"Son, you're 17 and I thought that I would never have to spank you anymore. But what you did was a very wrong thing and you deserve that punishment. Do understand why you're going to be whipped? "
"Yes, dad"
"Do you agree that you deserve to be whipped?"
"Y -yes, dad."
I had tears in my eyes at this point.
"Now, son, I want to know if you'll do all that I tell you and collaborate keeping the position or if I'll have to tie you. If you collaborate, it will be 30 strokes. If I have to tie you, it will be 50. How it will be?"
"You don't need to tie me."
"OK. Take off your clothes."
I stripped, and I confess that I was trembling.
"Bend over the table."
I bent over, putting my elbows on the table.
So it came. The first stroke on my bare butt. And then I knew how a whipping feels like. First an unbelievable sting, then the pain. And before I had time to deal with it, another stroke, and another, and another. Each one more searing than the previous. For a moment I regretted my decision.
The bottom of my right cheek had get the leather paddle two times. I would not endure another stroke on the same spot. And the eighth stroke landed exactly there. I cried out and, before I could think, I stood up and turned around facing dad and rubbing my poor right cheek.
"Resume the position, son."
"C-can't." My voice was full of tears.
So dad took some cords from the back of a chair.
"No, dad, please. Don't tie me. I will bend over."
But my determination to collaborate didn't last. After 3 strokes more I covered my butt with my hands. It was an almost instinctive gesture to protect my behind against the fury of the leather paddle. When I saw what I did, I immediately put my hands again on the table and begged to dad not to tie me. He rubbed my shoulder and said "I won't". So I heard him calling my brother and telling him to hold me.
Dad put a cushion in front of me and told me to lay my body across the table with my chest and my head over the cushion. My brother positioned himself at the other side of the table and held my hands very tight.
The whipping restarted. As hard as before. The leather paddle was meeting my butt and my upper thighs painfully. But I took each stroke without move. Sure I moaned and cried, but my brother's hands holding mine gave me an unbelievable strength to get my punishment.
Dad gave me 30 strokes.
When it was over, dad and my brother helped me to stand up. Dad held me and said that he wouldn't want to punish me never again. I asked to him to forgive me and promised I would never mess with illegal things anymore. Then he took me to my bedroom, put me in the bed and sat down beside me, rubbing my hair until I calmed.
I was exhausted.
He brought a glass of milk to me and stayed there until I got asleep.
Now I am very grateful to dad because he gave me the punishment and the love I was needing.