The way it felt

Once again, I found myself sitting alone in my room, waiting for the inevitable. It had been about a half hour since my dad said the dreaded words: “Go to your room, you’re getting a spanking.” 

Of course, I had tried to talk my way out of it. “OK, l’ll do what you said now.” “Please! I’m sorry for not listening.” These attempts were futile. Once my dad made up his mind, it was as good as done. Why didn’t I just clean the bathroom without complaining? It seemed my mouth was always saying something that my butt had to pay the price for. 

My thoughts pivot to my fate. I wonder how I’m going to be spanked this time? Usually, my dad would use his hand. However, since I had turned 13, I had been getting the belt more often. I didn’t think what I did was worthy of a strapping, but then again, my dad was clearly getting annoyed with my constant back talk. 

My stomach turns in nervous anticipation as I hear his footsteps come down the hallway. “Maybe he’s just walking past, maybe I have more time. I hope he’s not coming in, I’m not ready yet. Ah! I just want to get this over with.”  Contradictory thoughts race in my head as his footsteps get closer.

Finally, the door opens and I know my fate is sealed. “We’ve been over this again and again, Matthew. When you’re told to do something, you do it. Your mother and I are tired of constantly arguing with you.” 

I’m listening to his words, but my main focus is on the second part. The part that comes after the lecture – the spanking. 

“You know what happens when you back talk. Pull them down and get over my knee.” 

I had hoped for some modesty. Maybe he would allow me to keep my bottom covered with my thin sweatpants. After all, a spanking still hurt over pants. With these words, I knew it was not to be. In the past, I had pleaded to not have a spanking be on the bare. I had learned over the years that it was useless to plead. At this point, I was just glad I wasn’t getting the belt. If I was, Dad would have had me lie across the bed. His lap meant the hand. 

The carpet in my room was green. I can still remember looking down at that carpet from my prone position over his knee. Meanwhile, my bare bottom was upturned and helplessly exposed to the wrath that was about to be inflicted on it. 

Spank! The impact of my dad’s hard hand meeting my soft bottom nearly takes my breath away. Before I can fully register the pain, his hand comes crashing down again, magnifying the pain from the previous strike. I close my eyes and hold on for dear life. Over and over, his hand meets my bottom. The burning sensation grows and grows until it feels like my entire butt is on fire. 

With my dad’s right leg wrapped over my legs, and his left arm holding my body down, I have nowhere to go. Once or twice, I reach my hand back in an attempt to protect my bottom from the never-ending barrage of spanks being inflicted on it. “Move your hand right now, or you’re getting the belt.” I reluctantly move my hand and the spanking continues on.

I always told myself that I wouldn’t cry or plead this time. I think I must have failed to remember how much his spankings hurt. What started as a slight sob was now erupting into a full blown wail with pleas to stop.

“Please – I’ve had enough. I won’t back talk again. Ouch! It really hurts! Please stop!”  Any thoughts of pride had left my being and the only thing I could think about was my blazing bottom. 

I’m not sure how many spanks I received or how long the spanking went on for. At a certain point, it becomes a blur. I know I reached a point where I thought I couldn’t possible take anymore, but the spanking continued on. 

After the last blow crashes onto my bare bottom, my dad tells me to get up. With blurry, tear drenched eyes, I stand up and clutch my tender bottom. Still in a daze, I listen to my dad’s final lecture. “I hope you learned a lesson from this. Get yourself together, and when you’re ready you can come down and clean the bathroom.” 

With that, he leaves me alone to tend to my mess of a bottom. I gently rub my raw, warm cheeks. Despite the pain, there is a certain relief that comes from knowing it’s all over. I gingerly pull up my underwear and pants. I tell myself that I won’t back talk anymore. I never want to go through this again. Unfortunately, these post-spanking moments of contrition were usually fairly short-lived – it wouldn’t be long before I found my bottom getting blistered again. 

Contributor: Matt