When My Dad Was Going To Beat My ***.When my Dad was going to beat my ***. Dad would make me pull down my pants and while I was standing there with my pants down, sniffling to beat hell, he would go through the whole speech about how and why whatever I did was wrong. When he was done, he would take me by my hand and proceed to beat my *** raw with his work belt. It was impossible to stand still when dad beat my ***. The result was dad holding my hand with one of his hands and then whipping my *** with his belt in the other while I ran around in circles with my pants down around my ankles and usually my free hand attempting as best I could to protect my bare ***. If my legs would give out or I would trip because my pants were around my ankles, he would pull me up and continue beating my *** without missing a stroke.
The whole time, he would be telling me how I better never do it again and how he had told me a million times that whatever I had done was wrong. This seemed like it went on forever and sometimes it really did! When he was done, I was made to stand there with my pants down and tell him what I had done wrong and how I would never, ever do it again. By this time, I could barely walk, holding my beet red *** with both hands, and gasping between sobs, but if he couldn't understand what I said, I would get it some more. If I was lucky, when he was done! I would get to pull my pants up and run into my bedroom. I usually had welts or stripes all over my *** and usually down to my knees where he had missed my *** altogether.