Susan’s belt

I grew up from grade school to high school with my good friend Marty. Marty was the class clown at school, but at home his mother Susan was a strict disciplinarian.

As far as I knew, Susan never punished Marty or his younger sister, but I was witness to his younger brother’s punishment.

Susan was a large, imposing woman, with a commanding voice and she had a mean streak in her a mile wide. She was about 40 years old, had long black curly hair and a curvy, large figure.

Several times I watched her chase Marty’s younger brother into the house with a belt, only to see him walking funny the next day. I just knew that I didn’t want to make her mad. Unfortunately for me, I did.

My first incident with her, and one of my most memorable, occurred during the summer of my eighth grade year. Marty was at the pool and I was hanging out at his house. At the time, I was experimenting with cigarettes. I didn’t particularly care for them, but I was willing to keep trying at it.

His younger sister kept bugging me to give her one but I told her she was too young and her mom would be pissed if she found out. She agreed that her mom would skin her alive if she caught her but she wasn’t home and it was only one cigarette.

I finally gave in and she lit up. About two puffs into her smoke, Susan pulled up in the driveway, totally unexpected. We scrambled to hide the evidence but as her mom came in the house, she immediately knew what we were up to.

She was absolutely furious. Susan chewed her ass, then told her she was going to get a good licking for it. She burst into tears, begging her mom not to punish her. I felt really bad as the two argued.

Finally, my guilt got the best of me and I spoke up and admitted to pressuring her to try the smokes. Susan looked surprised but was still red in the face with anger.

She ordered her daughter out of the house. When we were alone, she asked me what we should do about this. I answered that I should get the same punishment as her daughter – after all, fair’s fair. She accepted that and instructed me to go upstairs and wait in her bedroom.

I stood in her room, scared, awaiting my fate. I heard her high heels click on the hardwood floor as she came up the stairs. She walked into the room and closed and locked the door. She didn’t say much, but ordered me to strip off my shorts, underwear too. My bare butt was trying to enjoy the cool air while it lasted.

She watched me get undressed and, satisfied with that, began to unbuckle her belt and pull it slowly through the loops, while she lectured me on the evils of smoking.

My eyes were fixed on her belt. It was a shiny, worn brown leather belt, very wide, and extremely thick. The buckle was big and shiny. The tip of the belt whipped out of the last loop with a snap, and I knew at that point that this was going to be bad.

She doubled the belt over and cracked it several times, making me jump each time. I was ordered to bend over her bed.

She informed me of the ‘rules’ – 50 licks with her belt (doubled over). If, at any time, I fought her or moved, we would start over, and this time she would use the belt like a whip, swinging it fully extended.

She wasted no time as she positioned herself diagonal behind me. Susan told me that she was going to whip me within an inch of my life. And she did.

The first lick came down hard and cracked loudly. It felt like fire across my cheeks and I jumped. The first lick was awful and I had 49 more to go and I wondered if I was going to make it. The second lick took my breath away, landing slightly lower on my bottom. I gripped the bedspread and gritted my teeth.

The crack of the belt echoed off the walls and only made my whipping worse. The third and fourth licks hurt progressively worse, making me jump and gasp. After the first dozen, I couldn’t stand it and started to cry.

After the next dozen, I was wailing and begging for her to stop. Nope, she said, I was going to have my ass blistered that day. She took her time between licks, making sure the pain settled in before the next one. All the while, she lectured me on how bad I was and how I deserved to be whipped.

After about the 40th (I had lost track by this point) I could stand it no longer. Her belt caught me between my thighs. I howled, jumped and covered my thighs, all in one action. I realised my mistake immediately, and so did Susan.

“I warned you about this,” she said, “now you’re really going to get it.” She unfolded her belt and gripped it by the shiny buckle. Without warning she brought it down on my butt. I heard the belt whoosh through the air a split second before it hit me.

The pain was unimaginable – a million times worse than before. There was no pause between licks now. She kept her promise to whip me within an inch of my life. The belt whipped my butt, thighs and lower back.

The worst licks were when the belt tip curled around my hip and snapped. It was like a lightning bolt and she knew it. I took the first 30 without moving too bad but after that, I rolled side to side and writhed in agony.

She walked around the bed, positioning herself precisely, and drew back the belt and swung it with all her might. The whipping was incessant, lick after lick. I couldn’t catch my breath. And neither could she – she whipped me so hard that she was panting and had a light sweat. I wanted to pass out and almost thought that I would.

Mercifully, she reached number 50 and I just lay there sobbing. She ordered my to stand up and face her. I got one final lecture from her as she put her belt back on. As she fed it through the loops in her jeans, I had a new respect for Susan and her belt, which was a little bit more worn after that afternoon.

I couldn’t sit for two days and I walked slowly for a week. Neither Susan nor I ever told my parents. It was our secret.

There were many other instances that her belt got a good workout across my bottom. After that initial encounter, I was treated like one of her own. She definitely never hesitated to yank off her belt, lightning quick, and give me a sound whipping.

I can’t say whether her disciplinary methods made me a better person – but I sure do look at middle aged women wearing thick leather belts a lot differently now.

Contributor: Anonymous

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