Waiting For Dad To Come Home

Author :

I recieved my worst and last spanking when I was eight years old. I went to grade school with a spoiled, obnoxious little brat, Michael K., who used to tease me without mercy. 

He would say that I was ugly, skinny....  typical kid stuff. One day we were on the playground and Michael said something of his kind, and I replied that if he didn't "take it back" that I was going to punch him.  Well, I punched him and got the better of him. 

Before I knew it, I was sitting in the principal's office.  The principal was giving me the "oh kirsten, I am surprised at you" speech and it mostly went right over my head.  I was thinking about how I beat up a boy and how good I must have looked in front of the other kids.  Then the principal said something that made my stomach churn, "I am going to call your father."  I must have turned purple.  I walked out on legs of lead.     

I went home to my room to await my father.  The car pulled up into the drive and I heard him come into the house.  He spoke to the housedeeper but I couldn't hear what he was saying.  Then he come in my room and asked for an explanation.  I explained my side of the story and he was surprisingly cool about the whole thing.  He lectured me about the evils of fighting.  I couldn't believe my luck.  I got off with one week of grounding and no television for one week. 

Dad headed for the bedroom door.  He looked back and said that if anything like this would ever happen again, I was in for the worst spanking ever.  I went to bed relieved.  My luck was not to last.

     I don't know why I did what I did next.  Maybe it was temporary insanity or maybe I was just the stupidest little kid in the world, but when we were out on the playground the very NEXT DAY, I lost my temper again with the very same kid.  He was prancing around in my face and taunting me twice as hard about being sent to the principal's office and that his Dad was going to do this and that... all I could think about was how it was his fault that my Dad was mad at me and it was his fault that I got punished.  Anyway, because of an irresistible urge, I smacked him again.  Immediately, my heart began to pound as I realized the enormity of what I had done and I was dragged back to the principal's office.

     Mr. Wilkes, the principal, just sat behind his desk looking tired.  He was a very small, sad looking man.  He didn't say anything but just let out a big sigh as he got up and walked out of the room.  He returned with a young teacher.  My face was red and burning hot.  He reached into a drawer.  My heart raced and my body trembled as I saw the paddle being removed from its drawer.  I felt sick all over.  I had never been paddled before.  My father always just used the palm of his hand- he never needed a paddle.

     Mr.  Wilkes said quietly and calmly, "Kirsten, please stand facing the desk.  Place your hands on the desk  and lean over.  You will receive three blows with the paddle."  I slowly did as instructed.  I felt so scared and vulnerable and humiliated.  I felt the paddle lightly brush my backside as Mr. Wilkes took aim.  One moment later I heard the thunderous crack of the paddle across my behind as my hips exploded in pain and I raised up on my toes.  I braced myself for the second blow. The second blow knocked my body onto the desk with some force and brought forth copious hot tears and loud sobs.  Mr.  Wilkes sternly told me to hold still.  I closed my eyes and awaited the third  and most severe blow which brought a muffled scream.  Now I had to go home and face my father.

    I was fresh from the bathtub and waiting by the bedroom window for Dad to come home once again.  He was an actor and had been called off the set of a film by the principal regarding the day's events.  He was going to be really mad.  I waited a very long time by that window wondering what he would say, what I would say.  What could I say? Always the optimist, I prayed that God could deliver me from another spanking.  My buttocks were badly bruised from the paddling earlier in the day.  I just couldn't take one of Dad's spankings too without a lot of undignified howling.  I awaited my punishment in misery and awful silence.

     Finally Dad's car pulled up the drive.  Thank god.  Let's do this. I was still hoping for a miracle, but I caught a glimpse of his face as he got out of the car and knew that no god could save me now.  He didn't even bother to change into his street clothes and was still in costume (a police uniform no less).  This was very bad.

    I heard the door open and held my breath.  I heard him open the refrigerator and pause at the dining room table - probably reading the mail.  Everytime that I thought that I heard him on the stairs  my heart would pound and panic would overtake me. Finally, I definitely heard those familiar footsteps on the carpeted stairs and they paused right outside of my bedroom door.  The door opened and my father looked nine feet tall.  His shoulders looked at least six feet wide.  He looked at my sternly and strode slowly across the room.  He picked my up roughly and sat down on the bed, slinging me face down over his lap.  I felt the skirt of my nightgown being raised.  He never did that before.  My legs were cold, my face was so hot, my eyes began to tear, panic swelled inside my  body and I tensed my body for the first blow of his large palm.  The intensity of the pain grew as his hand repeatedly struck the same area of flesh where my buttocks meets my thighs.  Usually I was stoic during such spankings but this one was particularly painful and I began to cry, then to howl and then to wail.  My father knew that I only cried when I was truly in pain and this would usually slow him up and bring a fairly quick conclusion to the spanking.  Not this time.  He continued to spank, about 12 to 15 sound slaps, until he was sufficiently satisfied that I had been punished like never before.  God, how I cried and wailed.  I was not even embarrassed.  My buttocks and thighs were on fire. 

    My father never said a word before, during or after that spanking about my fighting, or about school or anything.  We both knew he had made his point, and I never again gave that man reason to beat my ass again.