My Problem

My Problem

I am an older boy, (more than twenty) who has a problem. Most people think I am attractive or handsome ( I am six feet tall and well proportioned, muscular and have blue eyes and light brown hair).

Despite this and the fact that most people believe I am a very talented, kind, caring and considerate guy, I know better. I used to have a Dad that knew better too. Luckily, I have a man who recognizes the truth of the situation as well. He realizes that, although the good qualities I have may be true, I am also a show-off, and like to dominate everyone's attention a lot of the time. But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me begin closer to the beginning.

I was and am the sort of boy who would always get distracted by things around me, or by what I was doing. Although this has allowed me to excel in a number of areas as an adult, it can also blind me to other things occurring around me. This would inevitably lead to my doing something I wasn't supposed to or otherwise getting into trouble.

There were times as a younger boy that I knowingly did naughty things, but the first problem was the predominant one which led to my problem. This always led to my getting caught at mischief on a very regular basis. Then I would have my pants and underwear pulled down, be placed over daddy's knee, and get a thorough hand spanking. My getting a thorough spanking seemed to happen almost every day while I was growing up. One would think I would have learned from all these spankings. Yet, when night time came and my brother and I went to our room to go to sleep, we would always end up talking away, our voices starting as whispers then increasing in volume as our frequent arguments got more heated.

A footstep would be heard on the stair, and we knew we were in for it once again. First me, them my brother would have our pajamas bottoms pulled down and be spanked again with a hand or a slipper. We never seemed to be able to settle down and go to sleep unless we had been spanked until our hot red bottoms were so sore we were in tears. Our Dad must have got tired of our needing daily spankings. But he always did his duty.

Why we never seemed to learn, I'll never know! As I grew into my teens, the spankings became switchings, then a piece of dowel was used. Later, the razor strap was introduced to my backside. Around age sixteen, I remember a particular time which will give the reader an understanding of the procedure that would occur for my oh-so-frequent punishments.

First I would get sent to my room. Often this would be with my brother, who is a year older than me, since he seemed even more precocious than I am. A discussion (one sided) would occur about the wickedness of our behaviour, and the inevitable question would then be asked.

"Matt and Richard, can you think of any reason why I shouldn't take this razor strap to your backside?"

"No Sir," we would respond in our dejected fashion.

Both of us would then be required to pull our pants and underwear down to our knees and lie down across our bed to await the strapping. Richard was the older so he would usually get a whack first. A loud shish and smack was heard. As Richard's voice started to reach a high note from the sting, I would hear the whoosh and feel the slap of the razor strap, followed by a burst of intense pain on my bare bum. I was soon yodelling as strongly as my brother.

Richard would get another then me and so on. After a short while my butt would go numb and I would sort of feel warm all over. When we were done with our punishment, we were told to stay in our room to think about things for a while. (Like where were we going to go with our tear-stained faces and burning behinds), I always wondered.

Once he was gone, we would pull up our pants quickly for some reason, as if that could save our butts from the burning they were feeling.

Then the real pain would start. I seemed that about five minutes later the heat would build and we would both be forced to bare our behinds again as the intense burning that would follow a hard razor strapping would set in. We would try fanning our behinds and sitting on cool pillows, reversing the side of the pillow to a cool one at frequent intervals. Nothing seemed to help. But the burning would be so intense we were unable to stop trying something, anything to try to make it stop. Rubbing, squirming and laying on our bellies while the cool air breezed across us was how we always ended up. But none of this is really my problem. You see, there were a few times I truly was a very naughty lad. One of which I managed to get out of the punishment for, by lying. This is the story I will now tell, and the repercussions of that event.

It was the same year as the one I explained above, as to how I would have gotten punished with a razor strap, so you know what I would have faced had I been punished properly. I had been feeling sorry for myself because I had spent all of my allowance and wanted a chocolate bar. I attempted to steal a couple from a local store, and got caught. I was made to give my name and phone number and my family was called so that I could be dealt with at home. When I got home, I had to wait two hours in my room until Dad got home to deal with me. That was rough, let me tell you. But it gave me plenty of time to come up with a strategy.

Finally, I heard the dreaded car drive up the driveway. The car door slammed with its usual audible clunk. Moments later the door opened and his step was heard on the stair. For those of you who know what this is like, the sound of a car driving up still sometimes gives me a start! Well, when asked to explain, I lied and said there were some ruff guys who said I had to buy them some candy or get beat up, and since I didn't have any money with me, I tried to steal some for them. I said they ran away once they saw through the window that I had been caught. Unfortunately, after much discussion, I was believed. Since my behaviour was due to the threat of physical harm, I was not punished, but told to think about how I could have avoided breaking the law. I said I should have gone into the store and told the manager what was happening so he could have dealt with the ruffians. This ended the incident from a parental standpoint, but not for me. You see this began a series of fantasies about confessing my sorry behaviour and being properly punished for the stealing and lying as I deserved. As an older boy now, I seem to regularly need this sort of punishment. I really need to have my sorry bare butt spanked with a razor strap so I don't feel bad about the indiscretions and trouble that I get into. What I know should have happened is the following. (Based on a few times I did get the strap for being very bad and trying to lie to get out of it.)

When a boy lies to try to get out of his punishment, that is a serious thing. The stealing is a serious thing as well. Not having a change of heart and confessing to my Dad later is also quite serious, as this has led to my problem of continuing to need regular strappings with a razor strap as a big boy. From when I was growing up, I recognize three such serious things would require my getting the strap for an extended period of time and on several occasions.

What should of happened and did on other occasions is this. I would be told that I was to get the razor strap several times. In fact, the number of times would not be told to me, but would finally end once my behaviour had been impeccable for several days during which I got punished every day. I would know that my behaviour better continue to be good afterwards too, or the strappings could always start up again. Each day after school I would wait in my room with my pants pulled down around my knees. I would lay across a pillow which I put in the middle of the bed. I would place the razor strap across my bare, upturned bum to remind me of what was to come. I would stay just like this until I was told to get up after it was all over for another day. Dad would come home, (again I would hear the car pull up, the car door slam, the foot on the stair.) He would come directly to my room and take off his suit jacket, and place it on my chair by my desk. Next he would roll up his sleeves. Taking up the razor strap, he would say, "Matt, why are you getting the strap?"

"Because I stole and lied and was a very naughty boy. And because you love me so you punish me since I really deserve it." "I want you to know that this hurts me a lot more than it does you, son." The strap would sail down hard on my bare butt. The thwacks would echo through the house along with my yells and eventually sobs. I would hold my position as the strap continued to fly and smack, fly and slash, fly and crack across my bare bum.

Eventually, my bottom would go numb, and then I would just begin to cry softly to myself. After a few more hard whacks with the strap, he would stop. "I'm really sorry I have to do this to you son, but I'll see you here again tomorrow." "Yes, sir," I would sob out. "I expect you to come up for supper in half an hour, so don't be late." "Yes sir." He would then leave me to my sadness, and pain. This was when the intense burning would set in to my bottom and I would shed fresh tears. The events I have recorded would go on for several days. I would never know for how many in advance, but in the above case, at least for three more days. Each day it would take twice as long before my butt would go numb. It would also hurt a lot more the next day when I began to get strapped again. He always seemed to know when my butt would go numb and then just give me a few more to make sure. If it took ten whacks the first day to go numb, then I'd probably get around fifteen that first day. The next day would be worse because I'd probably get about thirty and the following one 50 or more. Sometimes, if he was really mad at me like he would have been in this case, I would spend a whole evening laying butt up on the bed and he would come back every so often and give me several more to make sure my butt just kept on burning and burning all night long.

So this is my problem. I still am trying to make up for the time that I got away with so much naughtiness and so I still need a regular relationship with the razor strap for all the things that I do that are nothing to be proud of. I am learning slowly, but I still forget and get absorbed in things and myself and therefore I still mess up. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will learn my lesson once and for all. I guess only time will tell. But, even if that never happens, I can take comfort, at least in the fact that I have found a man who loves me far more than my first Dad did, who will punish me by giving me a bare bottomed razor strapping when I deserve one, never giving up on me, and who will help me learn to be an even better boy each day we are together. But then, I do return the favour plenty, as well.

MATT