CORRECTION OF A
WAYWARD SON
by:
Eric
Author's Note:
I asked my disciplinarian to indulge a fantasy of mine, which he
agreed to do. What follows is a mixture of fact and fantasy: a
story involving the role-play interwoven with the actual
spanking that resulted. My disciplinarian played 2 roles, that
of court-appointed Punishment Officer and, of course, Dad. There
are, of course, certain embellishments to make the fantasy and
reality merge into an acceptable story. Finally, I would be very
remiss (and probably subject to an extremely severe spanking) if
I didn't express a very great deal of gratitude to my
disciplinarian for what is, to this point, the most memorable
session I have ever had.
I was having a
really bad day. Got up late, missed breakfast, had to run to
catch the bus...you name it. If it could go wrong, it did. You'd
think being a senior in High School would be a little easier.
Anyway, I had an exam in my Civics class this morning, but I was
ready. Studying always came easy for me, and I was poised to be
Valedictorian of my class. Halfway through the exam the teacher,
Miss Jones, walked to my desk and picked up my test paper. After
a cursory glance, she said, "Go out in the hall and wait for
me." A little confused, I did as directed. A couple of moments
later, she emerged, with my test paper in hand. "Young man, you
were cheating on your exam. I saw you looking at Tim's paper!"
she stated. I was astounded. "BULL_s_h_i_t_!" I exclaimed, "You
and I both know I have the best grades in this class. You can't
stand me, so you're concocting some ridiculous d_a_m_n story to
screw up my future!". Miss Jones was momentarily taken aback at
this outburst, but after a pause wagged her finger in my face
and informed me that now I was going to be reported to the
principal not only for cheating but also for verbally abusing
her. Blinded by my anger, I did the stupidest thing I could
have: I slapped her hand out of my face and shoved her back.
Instantly, I knew I'd made a mistake, and apologized profusely.
No dice. Off we marched to the principal's office.
The principal,
Miss Jones and I had a brief meeting. The facts came out, and
Miss Jones insisted I be arrested for assault. Finally, the
principal was able to convince her to offer me an option. Since
I had not ever had any real problems in school, he suggested
that if I were to agree to receive a sentence of Corporal
Punishment at the local Juvenile Delinquent Center I would not
be expelled from school and Miss Jones would drop all charges.
The incident would be forgotten, and I might still be able to
graduate as Valedictorian. Miss Jones agreed, somewhat
reluctantly. I, too, agreed...somewhat nervously. I'd been
spanked fairly frequently at home by my Dad, and occasionally at
school, but never anything like a judicial punishment. I'd heard
stories from some kids who had been through that, and it didn't
sound like a lot of fun! After a quick call to the JDC, the
principal informed me I had an appointment for noon, and that I
was to receive 30 strokes of the Judicial Strap. If I failed to
show up or to cooperate, I would be expelled and Miss Jones
would reinstate assault charges.
I arrived at the
JDC at the appointed time. Nervously I informed the officer at
the desk that I had an appointment with the Punishment Officer.
With what I thought looked like a grin, he indicated that I
should go into the room at the end of the hall. Being quite
nervous, I stopped in the restroom to pee before going to my
fate. I entered the room to find the Punishment Officer applying
a coat of oil to a wicked looking razor strap. He looked up as I
entered. "Got to keep this supple, you know. If it's well oiled
it wraps around its target better and snaps in with a whole lot
more force. Oh, you may not have known that, but you'll find out
I'm right soon enough. OK, boy, you're here to receive 30
strokes of this strap. Here's how it's going to go: You will
disrobe and place yourself on this bench, with your rump
elevated over the padding. I am going to apply the strokes in
sets of 10, 5 from each side. In between sets, you will be given
a moment to recover. This isn't because I'm nice, it's so your
butt won't get numb. It is my intention to give you the worst
strapping you've ever received in your life, and I want you to
feel each and every stroke to its maximum. Very few boys who
come here once come back again. Do you have anything to say
before we begin?"
I nervously shook
my head, and on his command I undressed. I placed myself as
directed on the bench, and closed my eyes. Part of me wanted to
look, to see when it was coming, but most of me was just too
scared. I felt the leather lay lightly across my buttocks, as he
got his aim. Amazing how nice the cold leather felt. I knew,
however, that neither the leather nor my buttocks would be cold
for long! Knowing what was going to happen did nothing to lessen
the shock a moment later. With what echoed like a pistol shot in
the small room, my strapping was underway. It took a second for
the full impact of the pain to hit, but when it did, it was like
a freight train. It took my breath away, and my mind went empty
of everything except for the searing pain of that first stroke.
The officer waited a few seconds to let the full effect of the
stroke set in, and long enough for me to realize that I still
had 29 strokes left! True to his word, after 10 strokes he laid
the strap down and waited a few minutes till he felt I'd had
enough time for my buttocks to come out of shock. I didn't think
it was possible that the second set could hurt any more than the
first, but I was dead wrong. Only about 3 strokes of the strap
were necessary to cover my entire buttocks, and by reversing
direction every 5 strokes he was ensuring both cheeks got the
full measure of punishment. By the time he started the second
set, every inch of my bottom had felt the strap several times.
Each stroke exploded on my backside, and kindled a new level of
pain in my brain. He was right...I'd never felt anything like
this before. With an almost scientific precision he finished the
second set, and after a few minutes, the third. In all, the
entire punishment lasted only about 10 minutes, although it felt
like hours.
When it was done,
I slowly got up, dressed, and moving rather stiffly left for
home. My butt cheeks felt like they were swollen, and the fire
in them didn't seem to be diminishing. If anything, it felt like
my jeans were helping to hold in the heat. Unfortunately, I knew
that if my Dad found out about the day's events, I'd be getting
another spanking that evening. Dad had always said if I got
spanked outside the home, I could count on getting another dose
from him. Desperately wanting to avoid this, at least for a few
hours, I decided to get home as quickly as possible. I'd take a
quick cold shower, to try to soothe the pain raging in my
backside, and slip out of the house to "run errands" before Dad
got home. Once home, I hurriedly undressed, and started toward
the bathroom. I heard the front door open, and my heart sank.
Walking into the living room stark naked, I said, "Uhh...Hi,
Dad. You're home early. I was just getting ready to take a
shower, and ...uhhh...go take care of some business." I turned
to go, and Dad stopped me. "Son, I think you know why I'm here.
Do you have something you want to tell me? And don't bother
trying to lie, the state of your bottom confirms what the guy
from the JDC told me in the phone call."
Knowing I was
defeated, I quietly explained everything to my Dad. When I
finished he said, "Well, son, you were right about one thing
when I came in. You do have some business to take care of, and
it looks like your dressed appropriately for the occasion. Go
fetch your paddle and bring it back to me. And be quick about
it. You're about to find out what happens to naughty boys who
get strapped at the JDC and get their fathers called away from
work because of it."
"But, Dad...", I
whined. "The only 'butt' around here I'm interested in is that
red one of yours. It looks like it hurts a lot, and guess
what...it's about to hurt a whole lot more! Now stop sniveling,
get the paddle, and be quick about it. You're not going to be
able to sit down for a few days. Any more whining or delaying
and you won't be able to sit for a week!"
Reluctantly I did
as instructed, and returned to find Dad seated in the
straight-backed chair I'd come to know as my spanking chair.
Without a word he took the paddle from me and pulled me over his
lap. My second spanking of the day began as soon as I he had
positioned me, and began as his spankings always did...very hard
and very fast. I think Dad was especially pissed off because
being called at work embarrassed him. At any rate, he was
paddling my ass at a rate of about a stroke every second.
Sometimes the strokes landed at random, sometimes in the same
place for 10 or 12 strokes. In no time, he had me squirming and
bucking all over his lap. This kind of paddling, especially on
top of the hard strapping I'd already had, was unbearable. After
a couple of minutes he stopped, but only for a moment. Locking
one of his legs over mine to better secure me, he stated, "You'd
better stop kicking and squirming so much. The more you fight
me, the longer and harder your spanking is going to be. You've
only got about 5 minutes left, so try to take it like a man."
Those remaining 5
minutes seemed like a lifetime. Anyone who has received this
kind of spanking knows each lick just compounds the amount of
pain. It just seems to grow exponentially, and it never seems to
reach a maximum. I always wondered if Dad had some preset number
of strokes or some predetermined amount of time when he spanked
me. I think I finally understood that day. The goal was to treat
each spanking like it might be the last, to impart enough pain
in that spanking that I would remember it forever. To that end,
each spanking had, of course, to be worse than the one prior.
I can safely say on that day, his goal was
achieved.
