Bus, paddle, belt

Due to my having ADHD, I was a ‘difficult child’, as my mom put it, and sometimes I misbehaved purely out of boredom. One morning, when I was in second grade, I acted up on the school bus, and when we arrived, I was sent straight to the principal’s office.

The principal, Dr Hill, was a mountain of man who lived up to his name – he was as round as he was tall, and looked like he could me through the wall with his ‘board of education’, as it was called. Looking back, it was probably a traditional fraternity paddle.

After lecturing me about the safety issues surrounding my misbehaviour on the bus, Dr Hill ordered me to ‘assume the position’ with my hands on the wall. I was sentenced to the maximum three licks, and before the spanking began I was already in tears and full of dread.

However, the paddling itself proved somewhat anti-climactic – the licks stung but didn’t really hurt that much. Dr Hill dismissed me with a stern warning. I made my escape and went straight to my class with a stinging bottom and a note from the school secretary for my parents.

After school, my dad picked me up, which I knew meant I would be getting the belt when we got home. Like a lot of parents of the time, mine made it clear that if I got into trouble outside the house – especially at school – I would also be punished a lot worse at home.

During the ride back home, my dad questioned me about my behaviour on the bus. Then, when we got home, it was straight to my parents’ room.

I stood by the bed, awaiting my fate, while Dad fetched the belt he kept for spanking me from the walk-in closet. When he returned, he laid the instrument of correction on the bed, then told me to do something that had my stomach in knots – he told me to drop my pants and underwear.

Of course, I was very familiar with my dads’s belt by this age – but never on the bare, and I feared that my father was intent on increasing the severity of my whippings.

However, it turned out he just wanted to see whether I had any bruises from the paddling. After he was satisfied, much to my relief he told me to pull my clothing back up.

Then I was told to bend over the bed – and I can tell you, I received a lot more than three licks, all delivered with a lot more force than my previous spanking.

In fact, Dad never gave a specific number of licks – he simply whipped me until he felt that I had learned my lesson. If I didn’t co-operate and take my spanking ‘like a big boy’, that usually earned me extra.

As I got older, I had to stand slightly bent over for my whippings – which pretty much assured I got extra. Eventually I got smart and braced myself to just take them and get it over with. My father’s swats were slow, deliberate – and very painful.

I have to add that as much as I hated these spankings, I never felt like I was abused.

Contributor: Erik

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