Bob's Story

Author: Geo coqhobqe@hotmail.com

Hi--

Your ad caught my eye. I was indeed spanked by my dad when I was a kid. From age...? forward. I don't remember the first ones but from about the time I was 9 or 10 it was down to a routine.

My father worked outdoors as a laborer mainly on constructing earth dams in various parts of the country. So we would be in one place for a year or more then move somewhere else. I have two brothers. One, Brian, older than me and Jon who is younger. We all got it from time to time. Brian and I got more than did my little brother, Jon, who was my mother's favorite so she would cover up for him.

The routine was pretty much the same no matter where we lived. One of my brothers would say "Dad wants to see you," and I would go find him. Daddy eventually got to be a foreman with an office job, and we ended up living in a big old house where he had a den and would go there. It didn't always mean a spanking. It might just be to discuss something about school or chores etc. But it meant a spanking often enough for my heart to skip a beat or two when I got that message: "Daddy wants to see you!"

OK, I would go to the den. I knew that I was in for it by the way he looked at me. He wouldn'tt ask me to sit down -- an ominous sign -- but would say, "Well, Robert, what's this I hear about you not wanting to mow the lawn?" or "What's this I hear about you back sassing your mother?" I would try to explain and he would listen and then say , "All right go up to your room." And he would reach into a drawer in the desk and take out whatever he intended to use. He had a collection in that drawer -- straps, paddles, a hair brush. He would hand me the strap or whatever -- and I would take it upstairs.

Upstairs in the room I shared with Jon, I would take a chair and put it in the free space next to the double-deck bunk beds and put the strap on it. Then I had to drop my pants and undershorts and look at the strap until dad came up. It was never very long but it seemed like forever.

I guess you want to know what he looked like. He was about 5' 9" with a big chest, fairly muscular from doing outdoor work. I didn't appreciate his physique then. He was my father and I took it for granted. He had dark, reddish hair cut fairly short-- almost a crew cut He had a square jaw with high cheek bones, brown eyes and very sensual lips. In the summer time he either wore a t-shirt in the house or more often went around bare chested.

I felt very sorry for myself, knowing what was coming. He would come in quietly, pick up the strap and sit down on the chair. He would then toss his head to beckon me over to him. I would hobble the step or two and he would take me across his knee. Then wham! I would get the first one. He didn't like us to howl, so I would whimper quietly or sob. Then the next and then the next. All I could ever think of was

"It hurts, it hurts!" but I didn't dare say anything. I never counted the strokes.

He always went on until he felt satisfied. So it could be anywhere from ten to fifty. Finally he would stop, push me to my feet and tell me, "Say you're sorry!" and I would sob and say I was sorry -- seldom meaning it. Nothing more, not even to say what I was sorry about. He hit hard and my ass was usually a bright red afterwards. It was a rare spanking when I didn't have a few bruises on my ass and sometimes even blood. I remember that the paddle left black and blue marks that lasted for a couple of weeks and were a cause for derision from the other kids in school if they caught sight of them.

This went on right through high school. I was the smart one in the family and went away to college. That finished the spankings. Dad didn't think much of education, but I think he was a little in awe of me when I became a college boy.

OK, the last spanking I got was when I was almost 18, the summer I left high school. I went to a party at a friend's house and had a few beers, so I came home with liquor on my breath and a little high. Dad was waiting for me.He said it was late and that I had been drinking. He said wait here -- in the hall --and he went and came back with a paddle and handed it to me. It sure brought me down from my high pretty fast.

I was a big 17 and was on the track team so I was in good shape, but I thought then and I think now that Dad could have licked me in any kind of fight. So I took the paddle and went upstairs. I had been spanked a couple of times that Spring, so it wasn't something new or unusual.

I went upstairs shaking my head to clear it. I went to my room -- I had a room of my own because Brian had a full time job and had moved out. I thought to myself, "I sure fucked up tonight." I undid my belt. I was wearing button-fly jeans and I remember undoing each button and then pushing them down to my ankles. Then my briefs. I felt very naked. I said to myself, "I deserve this. I deserve everything he's going to give me." It was the last spanking I got from dad and it was the first time I acknowledged to myself that he was right and I had it coming to me!

That thought got me excited. Not sexually excited, but excited in a way I can't describe. As though I had some great insight. Dad came in in pajama pants and I wanted to apologize to him for making him punish me. But I didn't know how to say it. He sat down on the chair and I came over and got over his knee. I had to adjust my cock and balls. I remember that. I was crying from almost the first blow. I wanted to say "Please, dad, I'll be good!" and I really would have meant it, but I didn't say anything. I gritted my teeth and took everything he had to give me. It was like going through a fire, one hard, excrutiating blow after another.

When it was over I stood up and he said the usual "Say you're sorry!" and I looked at him and said "Oh, Dad, I am sorry. I really am." He said "OK" and got up and went back to his own room. When I went away to school, Brian moved back in to save money and dad insisted on the right to discipline him which he did until Brian was twenty-four and moved out again to get married. From college I took a job in New York and never lived at home again.

Brian doesn't like to talk about it. He is the one of us most like my father in looks and manners. I came out during my freshman year in college and came out as a bottom in my last year. I fell in love that year with another guy -- a tall thin English major who got turned on by my stories about my father. I finally let him spank me, recreating the situation at home. It was very different from having Dad spank me. I did it just to do my lover a favor, but I discovered that I liked it and was hooked on it.

My kid brother Jon is also a masochist, so maybe it's inherited. He told me that when we were kids he would hear Dad giving it to Brian or me and he would wish it was himself getting it. And that he treasures the memories of the times he got it from Dad.

I didn't mean to write this much. I thought I would cover it all on one page. Reading it over it doesn't thrill me -- it never did but there it is.

Cheers