I Got Spanked As a Kid
This story was inspired by (strictcp, another EP member) who had the experience of becoming a mentor and disciplinarian for a young teen neighbor. My fifteen year-old nephew and I have a very close relationship deemed early in his childhood as his “favorite uncle”. Fred and I were able to talk about subjects that teens tend to shy away from with adults these days to the point that there seemed to be no limits to discussing peer pressure, girls, drugs, and sex etc. Through our discussions he has decided not to have sex until he is “much older” and can handle the responsibility. While on a fishing trip with two of his friends he initiated the conversation. It was interesting because the other teens seemed totally comfortable with the subject being somewhat captive in the boat with just the four of us, although one said he knew Fred and I talked about “confidential” things and asked if they too had the privilege of “stuff” remaining in the boat. Fred answered, “I told you could say anything here”. It was interesting as I became the fourth person invisible while they shared previously “unsaid thoughts” about sex for about an hour until one of them turned to me and invited, “What do you think?” I pondered how good these boys were, not perfect by any means, but basically solid friends who would do well by each other in years to come. Isn’t that a comforting thought given the pressures of these current generations? All of the above related as a prelude so the reader understands the extent of trust between my nephew and I.
This event happened just after Fred’s fifteenth birthday when he came by the house to get help with an essay for English (Fred would take criticism from me and do re-writes as often as I suggested). Something was different about him today and his head just wasn’t into the subject with his eyes wonder off in the distance along with a “sad, subdued” manner. “Fred, what’s going on with you today”, I asked? He became teary eyed and blurted out, “I need fifty dollars”. I don’t understand, “You will be able to earn more than that over the next two weeks with the chores we’ve agreed to last week-end”. Fred put his head down on the table, almost sobbing. I put my arms around him encouraging him to cry as much as he needed until he was ready to talk about his looming teen problem. He buried his head in my shoulder and cried for a long five minutes or so it seemed. Fred struggled for composure as I reached over, raised his chin to look directly at me and said, “No matter what has happened, you know I love you unconditionally”. Fred began to tell his tale of woe talking about a new computer game his friends all had and how he felt left out not being able to join in online too. “I’m so stupid and stole the money from grandma”. “I just have to get the money back to her before she notices”. “I can’t believe I was so selfish and took advantage of grandma’s trust”. “I’ve never felt so guilty in my life”.
“Well Fred, you seem genuinely remorseful and I think you’re a good man for having the guts to admit this in such a thoughtful manner”, I commented. “So tell me how you want to solve this issue”. Fred slowly laid out his thoughts, “I don’t want Grandma and my parents to ever know about this. It would just hurt them too much and they don’t deserve the heartbreak I have caused by my stupidity. You know I’ll pay you back, so could I just borrow the money today so I can put it back tonight at dinner?” So let me understand this Fred, “You want me to bail you out; give you the money; you secretly replace it so nobody is the wiser; you work to earn the money from me; and keep the video game and go on playing with your friends”?
“Gee, now that you say it that way it doesn’t seem very fair, does it”? “I know you talked to me about the belief that kids today have not learned to delay gratification. It’s like playing a video game and getting that immediate reinforcement you always talk about”, Fred thoughtfully commented. “Yes, you’re getting the big picture now”, I replied. “You know the razor strap you use to shave with to sharpen that straight razor, do you still have it”? “I think I have it somewhere in my closet”. “Why”, pondered? “Well, I’m thinking you should spank me with it like the stories you told me about being a teenager working on the ranch. I know I deserve it and much more because I just didn’t use the information we had talked about many times.” “Fred, I want to be very clear about this. A “real” spanking would be bare bottom over my knee with my hand, maybe a hairbrush too until your butt cheeks are fiery red and I think you have cried enough. Then, you’ll go over the bed and get a good twenty to forty whacks with the razor strop just as my dad would have done for the severity of the act. This would hurt like no spanking you ever had from your dad”. “You need to be very sure about this because once it’s done it can’t be taken back. It’s a punishment you will never forget. I still vividly remember my first razor strap spanking after all these years.” I commented further, “Please don’t think I would go easy on you because I love you and you would need to give me the video game while I decide what to do with it.” Fred replied, “I know this is very serious and I’ll just have to take the pain as a consequence for my behavior. Also, I had hoped to keep the video game since I would work for the money afterwards, but I understand why I have to give it up too.” I looked at him eye-to-eye and said, “Ok, go to your bedroom and get ready. I want you to sit on the bed and think for awhile and I’ll give you one more chance to change your mind”.
After about an hour I went into the bedroom and saw a contrite little boy sitting only clad in his boxer briefs. He looked wide-eyed at the hairbrush, razor strap, and bottle of lotion I carried in my hands. “This wait was awful and I wanted to back out ten times in the past hour, but I know I really deserve this and don’t want you to go easy on me either. So let’s do this now”. Fred stood up and I embraced him for a long hug, saying how sorry I was to be put in this position but was also disappointed in his behavior and agreed he needed a strong consequence. I sat on the bed putting a towel across my lap and gave directions for him to lie across my leg and not to wiggle too much or he would get three hard whacks on each cheek with full force every time I had to stop. I instructed that this would be a very long and hard spanking. At this point Fred was half nodding, looking at the floor, shaking, and covering his privates with both hands. He managed a slight grin saying, “You don’t suppose I could keep my underwear on since this my first spanking from you?” I looked down at his hands and said, “Don’t worry about that erection as it’s totally natural in this situation. That’s what the towel is for incase you have a manly response at first, said as he turn bright red in embarrassment.” Through that sheepish boy grin he slid his briefs down to his ankles, kicked them off while saying, “I guess that’s a no, ugh”.
He wasn’t even trying to cover his full erection at this point as I grabbed his wrist easily directing him over my left leg presenting his perfectly smooth bubble butt in the best spanking position. I delivered ten moderate swats to each cheek with clenching responses as I told him not to hold back and just give up. “Slap, crack; smack, crack; smack, crack” came the harder hand swats with increased frequency. Then the flood gate of tears opened as he became regressed into a sobbing little eight-year old completely limp across my knee. I evenly covered his bare bottom with firm hand smacks until he was bright red from just below his thighs to the sit spot crack and all around the now responsive jelly- like bubble butt. He was now crying out with pleas that I with great effort ignored, “I’m sorry; it hurts: I won’t do it again; please stop.” Somewhere between 8 to 10 minutes I stopped the hand smacks and rubbed his back saying, “You’re doing fine just breathe and calm down.” I began to smooth on cooling body lotion with a response of soft sighs as he eased into calm, slow breathing. His sobbing was soft but deep as my heart felt so bad for him. It was all I could do not to stop at this point. After a few minutes of nurturing I told him to stand up and wait for 15 minutes and think about the hairbrush phase of his punishment. Fred yelled, “No, please don’t stop its worse, just do it now”.
I picked up the oval wood hairbrush, six inches long at the head, four inches wide, with a long handle. It hadn’t been used in many years but now re-discovered its primary use as I firmly landed four alternating swats across the vulnerable sit spots and mid bare cheek flesh. Each cracking sound reverberated with his loud yells as the oval head made repeated firm impact on the waiting target, “OMG, yeeeeouch, noooooomore, aaaaaagh, pleeeeese, I’m soooosorry”. Fred began to wiggle uncontrollably as I locked my right leg across his legs holding him in a firm grasp while delivering three harder swats to alternating sits spots. “Lie still and let go or it will be worse”. Again, he collapsed into that limp eight year-old sobbing in submission. “Whack, thwack, crack and whack” in rapid consistent rhythm four or so every five seconds turned those upturned cheeks into an array of rainbow colors all accompanied by blood curdling yelps echoing throughout the house as if a symphony was being conducted. As I delivered each stroke I couldn’t help envisioning myself at age eighteen on the receiving end of that dreaded hairbrush instrument of retribution. I had intended five minutes of rapid fire punishment but stopped in three with tears in my eyes too. As I rubbed more lotion on those burning cheeks, so red and hot to the touch both of us gained composure, but Fred didn’t realize my emotional state. This time he didn’t protest when I said he would wait fifteen minutes for the strap. I didn’t require him to stand facing the wall with his hands on his head. He got up doing the spanked boy dance while rubbing those well punished bare cheeks profusely not remotely embarrassed by his exposed condition. As I left the room he lay on the bed face down crying softly with repeated utterances of “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”.
I took the break, more for myself, and the deep empathy if felt for Fred. I wanted to stop but knew I had to follow through on my agreement with him or he would remain guilty for years. Fred had a price to pay, had accepted it, and expected no less. When I came in the room Fred stood up with a tear streaked face and handed me the strap. I told him that my dad always followed our consequences with another strapping before bed so that the lesson was well learned. His face turned white with shock and regained color as I continued saying I wouldn’t require him to do that too. Instead, I was offering him time out to wait for the razor strap part of his punishment until tonight before bedtime. “If we do this now you will have a hard time sitting the rest of today, during dinner, and maybe even tomorrow”, I explained. There was an eerie silence that hung in the air for what seemed an eternity. “No, I can’t stand to wait. Let’s just get it over with, please”, said with resolution. I gave Fred the final rules telling him he could stand, bend over with his hands on the bed, but if he didn’t hold position the swat wouldn’t count. Alternatively, Fred you can choose to lay on the bed with a pillow raising your butt in position while holding onto the bed fr
Fred placed the pillow in position on the bed without any further direction and laid directly over it with his bright red well toned butt cheeks in perfect spanking position. He was about to give up his virgin butt cheeks to a “razor strap” experience from hell. He took a deep breath as I laid the strap gently across his sit spot for best range.” Whooooosh, crack; yeeeeeouch; Whooooosh, thwack; aaaaaaaugh” came the responses as the first two whacks alternated between the mid and lower sit spots. My father never used the strap on the thighs and neither would I as the disciplinarian. The leather strop has a distinct sound as it forms contact around the curved butt cheeks. The supplicant can hear the whistle followed by the cracking sound and burning stinging sensation that spreads over the entire fleshy cheek area. “Whoooosh, crack; Woooooosh, crack; Whooooosh, crack; Whooooosh, crack; Whooooosh, crack; followed by those yelps of pain that nobody seems to respond to, only your burning, stinging upturned bare boy cheeks. The first 180 degree powerful arc of the razor strop landed perfectly across his bright red mid-cheeks with a planned pause to allow the sting to spread from the 2.5 inch imprint all over the mid to upper butt cheeks. The second whack of leather landed directly an inch or so below leaving an impact print that lit his butt neurons to a new level of burning sting that spread down his legs to even out his first razor strap experience. “Oh please, I can’t take this it hurts too much”, echoed the unheeded howls for mercy. Each alternating whack of the strap created a masterpiece of modern art across his butt canvas, accentuated with mauve colors that represented emanating heat. Fred was in his sobbing world of hurt when it stopped after twenty slow paced hard whacks, not the forty I had initially intended but sufficient for Fred’s virgin butt. He clearly had had enough to get the point of this requested young man’s lesson. He was sobbing so loudly and deeply he hadn’t realized it was over. Only when I rubbed the aloe cooling lotion on did he calm in recognition stating with reassurance, “I did it, I did it, I did it. Is it over?” I rubbed his back slowly as he regained normal breathing. Without a word he got up and cuddled in my lap softly crying while I rocked him for a long, intra-personal eternity. Finally, he looked up with those tearful eyes and said, “You’re crying too. I’m sorry. I love you so much”. Wow! I then knew it was worth it.
Epilogue: Dinner at grandma’s house was interesting as Fred shifted from side to side on the chair catching a smile or two between eye contacts with our private knowledge. Sometime during the after dinner milieu he gave me a hug saying thanks to verify he had returned the money. His secret was safe and secure along with a very burning butt. He kept his agreement and worked hard over the next few weeks to earn the fifty dollars and more. I told him that I respected him as I fine young man and decided to give him back his “video game” since he had done an excellent job at all the yard work. He looked at it and said, “You know, it isn’t important anymore. I think I’ll just give it to my brother”. Our bond remains stronger than ever. He then asked for a discipline mentoring agreement saying he felt it would keep him focused during high school. Yes, we have a discipline agreement, but he hasn’t needed to use it much since he graduated as an honors student and is now well into college. His approach for asking for discipline was always the same. He would bring me the razor strap saying there was something we needed to talk about! Over the years his first razor strap experience remained the strictest experience. Out of the ten to fifteen times he requested discipline there were only two to three times we agreed and he felt the strap again. Our approach was to address each issue as we came up with a solution involving a set of goals. I admired his ability to do this with awesome manly insight.
