My First Real Spanking at Age Seventeen

[4549fc]

My First Real Discipline At Age Seventeen
I was fortunate enough to have a scholarship to a boarding high school in the mid-west which was located in a very small town in the heart of farming and ranch country. I was from a large city on the east coast, so didn't travel home on short holidays like Thanksgiving or Easter. There were day students that lived locally, or within say 45 miles, mostly ranch and farm boys. There, of course, were the boarders who lived out of state. It was not uncommon for us boarders to obtain jobs on nearby ranches and farms, especially if we developed friendships with a day student. This was the case with me as my best friend, Dave, lived on a ranch about 40 minutes from the small town and near an even smaller town of less than 2000 population. Dave's father had a ranch which was passed down from father to son over the generations and had been homesteaded in the mid to late 1800s. Culturally, the majority of the ranchers and farmers were German/European immigrants with strong family and religious values, so discipline was often strict. Dave's father was basically a kind man who loved his family, providing a good living on a ranch that supported in excess of 1500 head of cattle, grew wheat, barley, etc. He was a man who stood 6' 5" with very large hands, strong arms and shoulders. He could throw a 100 lb bale of hay from the ground to the bed of truck as if it were a twig. Dave respected his mother and father as did I, as I had worked on the ranch for almost two school years. I think this background gives the reader a picture of environment in which the following incident occurred.

I was seventeen, looked mature for my age, and Dave was sixteen, when we made the fateful decision that led to our demise one Thanksgiving vacation. Dave had gotten his driver’s license and we went out on a Friday night to cruise main-street, what there was of it. I had the "great" idea to buy beer. After all, I was almost of the legal age of eighteen for beer in that state. In the eastern states it was still twenty-one. Given we were macho men at that age we drank, how much, I just don't remember. We then decided to have some greasy burgers at the only small restaurant in the town. We made sure we were home by curfew, I think midnight.

Now Dave's room was in a converted attic of a 100 year old, four-story house. We made it up the stairs quietly, but then took turns worshiping the great toilet bowl for the next hour. The big bed in Dave's room had I large feather comforter as there was no heat in the upstairs. We laid under the covers getting warm dressed in only our "tightie-whiteys", as Dave began to say that he was going to be dead in the morning. Why? I naively asked. He said that his father had heard everything. "No, that's imposable, we're 4 stories up." Dave said, "This is an old house and you can hear everything". I said, "Just go to sleep and forget it".

It must have been about 5:30 am when I heard the door of the attic room open. Through my blurry eyes I saw this huge figure standing in the light of the hall. My eyes opened wide when I noticed he was holding what appeared to be a wide leather strap. I soon found out that it was a "razor strop" of thick leather 2.75 inches wide and 22 inches long. The light came on glaring in our eyes and Dave immediately jumped out of bed standing there in his whiteys. I quickly followed suit. Dave already had tears in his eyes and I was just in shock. His father directly said, "You boys were drinking last night". Dave said, "yes, sir" without hesitation. Lying was not an option. Who drove? The brief interrogation continued. "I did", was Dave's quick response. You know what your grandfather did to me when he caught me drinking and driving as a teen? "Yes Sir”, Dave said with tears rolling down his cheeks. “It seems you earned the same lesson the hard way.

Dave's father walked around the other side of the bed, laying the strop on the bed, and sat down. Without a word Dave striped off his underwear to the total bare and lay across his father's lap. The first whacks of his huge hand were loud and strong with Dave crying uncontrollably only after the first three strokes. I stood there watching with my eyes wide open and my mouth likely the same. I think my color was very faint and my heart was pounding through my chest. Each hand whack hit with a resounding sting and sound that was piercing to the ears. Dave’s butt cheeks just kept getting an ever more deep reddening color only separated by various shades of pink. The whack, whack, whack impact was only separated by howls of ahhh, ahhh, please stop, I’m sorry, ahhh, stop! “I’m sorry dad”. Each cry for help sent shock waves through my entire bewildered body. All the pleading fell on deaf ears as Dad delivered his intended punishment without the slightest hesitation. The hand spanking continued for what seemed an eternity of at least 50 or more hard swats to each upturned bare butt cheek. Dave's father stopped and let him lay there across his lap sobbing for a few minutes. Dave's pure white bare butt became a bright red and seemed to have steam dissipating as Dad gently stroked his son’s cheeks. The sobs were now more utters of quiet pain. He then told Dave to get up and get in position at the bed rail. Dave was shaking as he rose with his sobs and tears growing louder from deep within his chest.

The big old bed was made of metal rails across the foot of the bed. Still sobbing, Dave walked around his father, bent over and grabbed the top rail with both hands tightly. I soon learned why he held on so tightly. With the leather strop firmly in hand the stropping began with Dave crying loudly as each stroke was expertly laid across his lower sit spot and across the mid bare butt cheeks, alternatively. The well toned strap had a different sound as it whipped through the air landing on bare butt flesh with a sharp crack, quickly followed by blood curdling howl. “Oh, dad; Oh, dad; I’m sorry; Ahhhh; Please….” as each howl was selected in no particular order. Again, an eternity went by as I watched unable to move or hardly breathe. Tears were now rolling down my cheeks too, likely a combination of empathy and fear. I don't remember if it was 25, 30, or 50 hard swats with the leather strap. Shock and fear prevent accurate counting and recall. Finally, it was over and Dave stood up, or I should say jumped up and down rubbing his butt profusely doing a wild dance. His eyes gleaned a puffy red of exhaustion.

Dave's father turned to my frozen teen body and said he would call my parents and I would never be allowed to associate with Dave again. My tears were now almost sobs with the fear of anticipating that my pristine boy-butt was about to play a role in adjusting my cocky ego. You need to understand that my step-father was a total jerk, and the reason I chose to leave home at 13 and go to this boarding school which I loved. I just could not tolerate that consequence, so before I realized what I was saying, I blurted out that I was at as much at fault and had bought the beer deserving the same punishment. Dave’s eyes were wide with surprise as his sobs continued. Little did I realize how sensitive my uninitiated boy-butt cheeks would be in response to such a severe spanking? I somehow unlocked my frozen body and walked around to the other side of the bed and slowly eased my “whiteys” past the butt cheeks, hesitated, then dropped them to the bare. I wasn't even embarrassed to have Dave's father see my fully developed package. Dave's father looked at me and said, "Alright, I'll treat you as my son", and sat down on the bed. I laid my bare butt across his lap and he adjusted me into proper position with my legs parted just so and began to redden the cheeks with hard firm strokes. Whack Whack, Whack, Whack, and Whack! After the first five on each butt cheek, I thought, "Oh, I'll show him and be tough enough not to cry out and sob like Dave". That fantasy was short lived, as somewhere between the 5th and tenth well placed hand whacks the intensity increased and I totally broke down, sobbing and yelling pleas just like Dave, who I could still hear crying too. I could only think, “Will this ever end?”Again, I had no idea how many swats with his big hand I had received through the eternity of bare butt pain. The burning had gradually increased as if the gas flame was slowly being turned to high. He stopped when assured that there was no longer any boy-white flesh left to color. All I could do was lay there totally limp and sobbing with the steam rising from my butt flesh. I remember he gently stroked my bright red butt cheeks while I relaxed in gratitude calming my every breath. It helped, until he said, "now, get up and get in position and don’t let go of the bed rail".

OMG! How was I going to survive the leather strop? Oh, had I failed to mention that I had never been spanked prior to this situation—ever! I grabbed on to the bed rail and bent over as dad directed my legs to be spread further apart to brace in spanking position. I lasted until the third well placed swat and vaulted straight up grabbing my butt with both hands, jumping up and down in that darn dance so perfected by Dave. The hand spanked sting was no comparison to the fire ignited across the width of the strop as it impacted evenly with each butt cheek. I don’t think any words do justice in describing each burning, stinging, painful, hurting bare butt leather assault. Dad said, "You didn't stay in position, so I'll start over". My heart sank, took multiple deep breaths, and I again grabbed on to the bed rail vowing not to let go again. I could hear the leather whistle through the air just before each painful reverberation across my exposed bare butt. The first ten or so whacks hurt like nothing I had ever felt in my life. The hurt soon turned into pure throbbing pain ignited as the leather seemed to perfectly wrap around the contour of my waiting bare butt cheeks. “Oh, God; Please, Dad; I promise, I’ll never do it again!” “I know, just let it all out”, Dad said. The loud cracks hit my cheeks equally with incredible accuracy. Crack, crack, crack, crack, after crack had me praying never to be so stupid again. I'm sure my well tuned butt cheeks had been toned by the hand whacks just enough to make the leather strap leave its penetrating message with incredible precision. Dad was well practiced in the art of good old American rural discipline. The eternity of the leather strop continued as I sobbed and prayed not to let go again. My body was shaking, sobbing and crying so powerfully that I didn’t realize the strap spanking had ended. I was still hearing the whistle of the strop as it cut through the air although it had stopped. Fear and anticipation had totally taken over my senses. I returned to reality and through the tears thanked dad as he gently soothed my bottom with light strokes for several minutes as I held the spanking position at the rail. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Dad” The pain seemed to dissipate but the intense burning heat remained. When it was over both Dave and I were still standing there sobbing. Dave's father said, "I'm proud of you boys for taking this like men". He handed Dave a bottle of lotion and said, "Use this where it will help". "Take an hour and come down to breakfast". I just collapsed on the bed as Dave began to rub the lotion on my burning bare butt flesh. No, neither of us was remotely gay and I didn't care. Right then nothing ever felt so good. I did the same for him and we lay there on our stomach, bare, red, sore butts cooling off as we fell into a deep sleep still crying softly as we drifted off.

When we woke up Dave said we had to work really hard today. Naively, I said "why". Dave said that when he does something this bad he always gets spanked again before bedtime. Not exactly what I wanted to hear. This was dad’s way of insuring we had learned the reality of our misdeeds. We worked with all our energy that day in hopes that we would earn a reprieve. We were silent through supper. Dave's mother patted me on the shoulder, as she mentioned several times that we had worked very hard all day. After supper, Dave's father simply said, "boys, it's time for you to go upstairs and get ready". Now you have to realize that I was new to this discipline, so as we walked up the flights of stairs, I said to Dave, "So, we did it, happy to say we can just go to bed early". He responded, "God, you’re stupid sometimes". When we got to the attic room, Dave began to remove each piece of clothing, telling me to get mine off or his dad would be really mad if we were not ready. My heart was pounding again, as I slowly took of my last cover of vanity, those whiteys. We could hear our strict parent slowly nearing as he climbed the many stairs. That wait was worse than what followed. Dave's dad came in the room, but wasn't carrying the strop. I breathed a sigh of relief and then noticed the leather strop was still on the corner chair where it had been left that morning. God, that relief was short lived!

"You boys did well today and I'm proud of you" That sounded so good. "You’re only going to get a reminder with my hand because of your efforts" I wondered how much of a reminder? Tears were rolling down both Dave's and my cheeks as we accepted the partial reprieve. I asked to go first this time. His father smiled at me, and said, "Sure son". That statement felt good, but my entire body was shaking in anticipation of another hard and painful spanking on an already sore butt. I was hoping that a brief reminder spanking really would mean a less firm punishment. We had spent the day avoiding any opportunity to sit. Work breaks and lunch consisted of leaning on the truck, tractor or work table. Riding or using the tractor to haul ranch implements about simply wasn’t part of our agenda. I lay across dad’s lap and he said, “I can see you’re still quite pink so this will be a part of your consequences that will not be easily forgotten”. My clenched cheeks relaxed as he gave a love tap to each side cheek several times to coax my legs apart before the thunder of his hand paddle set my butt on fire again. Dad was right, “this was the worst part of my punishment”. Each powerful hand swat was delivered in what seemed a more rapid, hard penetrating fashion in comparison to this morning’s hand spanking. It had to be three hard hand whacks every five seconds which continued without let up for at least five strait minutes. My mind was a whirlwind of prayers hoping for an end to my plight. My hope of a quick end was only wishful thinking. Again, I simply gave up and lay in limp exhaustion having accepted the well deserved whacks. I was no longer pleading, just sobbing with deep moans and cries punctuated with ever-flowing tears regressing to a little repentant boy again. When it was over I spontaneously turned and sat on dad's lap like an eight year-old sobbing while dad hugged me and I held on for dare life. Dave told me later the worst part of this reminder hand spanking was standing there watching me get it first as his frightful anticipation became unbearable. I had felt that same fear as I watch Dave get his first this morning. He was relieved to lie finally across dad’s lap for his turn. Watching Dave get his retribution was just as bad as my receiving it with my butt still ignited with that burning fire. My guilt and shame was especially so evident when I could see tears in Dad’s eyes too. Our bonds were closer than we had ever realized until that fateful night.


This true story may seem extreme to you these days, but this was standard practice on the farms and ranches. This man was more of a father to me than my natural or step-father. I respect and love him to this day. By the way, all of us who attended that boarding school grew up to be fine family men, community supports, and many patriotic veterans who served their country. This hard discipline paid off in spades during military service for many of us.

This was not to be my last "son, spanking", but that's another story. Oh, the strop remained on the chair all week-end. Neither of us dared touch it. This was such an effective reminder.

[pipspank]

I love the retro-feel to this story and it is very well described.