My father spanked me from the time I was five years old. For the minor infractions of boyhood he would hand spank me over my pants or shorts, only rarely pulling them down for a bare ass hand thrashing. As I grew older, the bare ass spanking became more common and, when he punished me, my briefs would be around my ankles far more often than they would be around my tight little boy waist. Being a construction worker, my dad always had scraps of wood laying about our garage. From about the time I turned ten, he began to use a yardstick size scrap of wood against my bare butt. I would scream like the depths of hell but he was relentless. The wood was unfinished and rough and never failed to leave splinters in my bruised and lacerated behind. I thought this was the worst possible punishment my father could conceive for me - blistering my ass with that wicked stick. I was wrong. I learned I was wrong the first time my dad took his belt to me.
I was twelve years old the first time Dad taught me that a leather belt had more uses than holding up a pair of well-worn Levis. My Dad was a construction worker so his outfits didn't change much. An imposing 6' 2", he clothed his able and muscular frame in white tee shirts, tank tops or flannel work shirts. He owned several pairs of tight, worn Levis 501's which he wore like a second skin. I don't remember the first time I noticed his tight bulging muscular ass in those jeans but from the time I did, I often found myself staring at it, as if in a trance, although I didn't know just why. Although those jeans would never come down off his waist of their own accord, he always cinched them about his waist with one of a collection of wide brown or black leather belts. His belts were well worn and almost always were joined by the classic square buckle, although he did have some hand-tooled, solid buckle cowboy belts as well. To this young boy, they seemed at least three inches wide. On his feet were his dirt and paint stained workboots - which made him even taller. Whenever he took me out, to the zoo or park, I was always in awe of how tall he was - almost 6' 3" with his boots on. We would walk with his hand resting on my shoulder and his shadow always looming over my 5' 4" twelve year old frame. That firm hand on my shoulder and the occasional brush of his flannel shirt against my face never failed to send confusing chills of excitement and security down my spine. He was my Dad, and as strict a disciplinarian as he was, I loved him and would do anything for him.
The rules he set down for me were simple and non-negotiable: I was to maintain good grades in school (all As and Bs), I was not to go out of the house without his explicit permission, I was to complete all my chores in the manner of time he determined, I was not to associate with anyone in the neighborhood he did not approve of and, of course, I was not to touch alcohol, drugs or cigarettes. Although not one of his formal rules, it never occurred to me to call him anything other than "sir."
Brad was a boy at school who was off limits to me as a friend....Dad called him a punk and made it clear to me that I should not associate with him. The problem was was that I liked Brad. I liked him a lot. He was smart and tough and handsome. Girls and boys alike hinged on his every word or gesture at school. Although I was in the sixth grade and he was in the eighth, Brad always treated me like a well loved younger brother - called me "kid", throwing his arm around me when we walked down the school hallways and protecting me when bigger kids tried to pick on me. Brad was my hero and, in retrospect, I was madly in love with him. With his mass of bright blonde curls and eyes of blue - Brad was way ahead of his years in the looks department. A full head taller than me, no clothing could disguise his nubile and youthful form. Hairless (I had caught glimpses here and there in the showers) and muscularly lean, Brad was undeniably tough and sweet. In the tight Levis and white tee shirts he favored, he looked like what James Dean had wished he looked in Rebel Without A Cause. I nurtured my friendship and infatuation with Brad in school only....away from my father's stern and disapproving gaze.
The trouble came one Friday after Gym class. Casually, Brad suggested I join him for his usual Saturday afternoon hangout against the wall of the local drugstore in our small town. With a lump in my throat as his beautiful blue eyes gazed into mine, I tried to appear cool as I blurted out, "Sure, man." Doing a quick mental calculation, I knew dad would be framing a house in another part of town this Saturday. I was responsible for cleaning the house before he got home. I could do that, meet Brad, and dad would be none the wiser. Brad threw his arm around me before we went our separate ways after school with a, "See ya tomorrow kid" and a wink that sent shivers from my chest, down my stomach and into that yet unexplored place below my beltline.
I aced through my chores that Saturday morning and took special care with my attire. I squeezed by pre-pubescent body into the new Levis Dad has bought for me and wore only my white undershirt tucked into them. As I looked in the mirror I saw myself as I wished to be seen -- younger, smaller, version of my idol Brad. That mysterious shiver settled in my loins again and I raced out the door to meet him.
Brad was at his usual post against the drugstore wall....looking unbelievably tough and cute in his tight jeans, black tee shirt, and leather jacket. I had begged Dad weeks before to buy me a black tee shirt but he said I was still a boy and boys wore white tee shirts. I didn't question him further. It had been weeks since my last encounter with that nasty strip of wood and, with that track record, the last thing I wanted to do was encourage another.
As I approached, nervous with illicit anticipation of meeting my best friend, Brad threw his arm around me and actually gave me a hug! The smell of his leather jacket snaking up my nostrils made me light-headed! We talked and noticed folks walking by. After awhile Brad lit a cigarette.
"You want one?" He winked.
"No, man, that's cool." I said.... still dizzy from the hug and now that wink!
"C'mon....just have a drag of mine. I'll bet you never tried one before."
I hadn't. True. I never even contemplated what my Dad would do to me if he caught me smoking. If a B- in math left me with bloody splinters in my ass - I feared to ever contemplate what a cigarette would mean for my small twelve-year old butt.
Before I could think I was dragging on Brad's cigarette. I coughed and gagged but tried to remain cool. Argh! How was I ever going to be able to redeem myself in my idol's eyes? Brad smiled and put his hand on my shoulder. "It's okay, kid, I like you even though you can't hold your smoke."
"I can too!" I yelled angrily and convinced him to let me try a cigarette of my own. He smiled knowingly at me. How transparent I must have seemed to this older, worldly stud!
I suffered through half the cigarette and enjoyed the girls who checked us out as they strolled by. Without Brad noticing, I crushed the half-smoked cigarette under my Keds when he wasn't looking.
Eventually we went our separate ways and he said he'd see me at school on Monday. I was high and heady with feelings I couldn't describe. I literally flew home; knowing dad would be at work for the next couple of hours.
I let myself into the house and immediately realized I was not alone. I took a deep breath, tucked my shirt deeper into my jeans and realized I smelled like smoke. While I searched my jeans pockets for gum I hear dad's voice boom out from the living room, "Boy, get your ass in here now!"
I sheepishly walked into the living room. There was dad - seated in his favorite chair and drinking a beer - home early from work.
"I got home a little early today, boy. Where you been?"
I rattled on - a story about returning books to the library. Dad nodded and listened. I thought I had managed to get myself out of this horrible situation when Dad interrupted me and said, "Boy, what's this I hear about you smoking cigarettes."
"Dad, I....uh...."
"Don't lie to me, son." Dad put his beer down and rose from his chair. He swaggered slowly over to me, "Not only can I smell them on you, but I saw you and your buddy Brad today outside the drugstore on my lunch break! Now what did I tell you about hanging out with him?"
"Dad, I, please...." I faltered. I couldn't get a word out. My father's shadow loomed over me and I couldn't help but notice that he'd changed of his work clothes and into an outfit I'd never seen him wear before. He still wore his tightest and most faded pair of Levis - but tucked into them was the tightest black tee shirt I'd ever seen. The black leather vest he wore over it ended just about his waist - which was cinched in by his favorite black leather belt. The buckle gleamed in a way that made me unable to speak. Something I'd never seen before, lengths of black leather twine, dangled from the back pocket of his tight, ripped jeans.
'Don't you dare lie to me son." Dad leaned into me and was inches from my face. I could smell the beer and leather. "Now look me in the eye and tell me the truth."
I rattled on and on like the pre-adolescent idiot I was trying to explain that I only had a puff....wanted to impress Bard..... put it our after a drag....didn't really want to do it....I don't even remember what I said.
Dad placed his hand on my shoulder and listened patiently to the verbal mess that I was contriving to get me out of this mess.
When I was through he circled me silently, " Son, do you remember what I told you about smoking and what would happen to you if I lever learned you lit up?"
I felt tears well up in my eyes, "Yes, sir."
"So.""
You said if you ever caught me smoking you would whip me within an inch of my life."
"And boy," he raised his voice, "that is exactly what I am going to do." He placed both of his massive hands on my shoulders and looked me straight in the eye, "Now get your ass down to my workroom, strip to your briefs and place the old quilt over the sawhorse. You sit on the stool until I come for you." Before I could respond dad had spun me around and sent me off toward the basement with a firm swat ion the seat of my jeans.
I peeled off my Levis and tee shirt and folded them carefully. It was warm in the workroom. Dad's workbench, his weights, and wood stuffs were all around. There was a smell of sawdust and rawhide in the air. I threw the old quilt over the sawhorse Dad usually made me bend over to take my licking with that drasted stick and sat of the stool to wait.
I seemed like hours before dad strode in. He ordered me to stand up and meet his gaze. "You disobeyed me son, and I am going to make sure it never happens again."
He sat in on his weight bench and pulled me over his knees for one of the longest and soundest hand thrashings I had received since I was a young boy. I was a blubbering mess by the time he was through and my ass was on fire, despite the minimal protection of my tight white Jockey shorts. Each time he whacked my butt, I felt a curious denim bulge and his belt buckle dig deep into my gut. I would have an indention of that belt buckle on my stomach for twenty-four hours to come.
I was crying my eyes out when Dad stood me up and informed me that this was just part one. If I continued to misbehave like a little boy I would be punished like a little boy. But he said, I was twelve now and almost a man and I would be punished like a man. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my Jockey shorts and tore them from my body. They hung in tattered shreds around my ankles. He ordered me to step out of them I did - shaking.
Dad stood up straight and began to pull the leather twine from his back pockets. I stole a glance at his jeans. I had never seen them bulge so much in the front. It looked as though he'd stuffed a beer can down the front of them. I noticed a stain about the side of a quarter spread across the denim just below his left pocket. Dad dropped his vest and peeled off his black tee shirt. I was hoarse, seeing his upper body naked for the first time. He torso was smooth and hairless. His nipples stood out like pencil erasers from the small brown circles on his chest. His arms were like nothing I'd ever seen on the boys in the shower at school.
Dad forced me over the sawhorse and spread my legs wide. He secured my arms to the legs of the sawhorse and tied my legs in the same manner. He spread my legs wide before tying them and I felt his callused hands graze my hairless boy balls. I was, Oh my God, getting an erection. Thank God I was bent over so dad couldn't see.
After putting the finishing touches on my boy bondage, my father circled me a few times - I felt so humiliated as he checked me out - spread eagle and tied to a sawhorse. Thank God my erection was hidden. He hooked his fingers into his belt and I saw a trickle of sweat run from his neck, across his nipples, over his washboard abs and into his jeans. He told me that this whipping, like the crime I have committed, would be like nothing I had ever experienced. I heard the rattle of his belt buckle as he undid it and the unmistakable whoooosh as he pulled it through the belt loops of his Levis. I flinched each time he crack the strap, berating me for my disobedience, my lying, and my insubordination. He kept saying, "Boy, you'll sure never do this again."
With my twelve-year-old butt raised in the air and my legs and arms tied in a way that I could never protect myself dad began to leather my ass with a force I had never experienced before. Although he never ordered me to keep count, I counted in my head this time. I lost track at about forty. The crack of his strap and my cries filled the workroom. He brought that belt down again and again over my ass all the while proclaiming I would never see Brad again if he had anything to do with it. He called me a brat and a slut and said I was easy game for punks who wanted to use me. He stopped several times during the course of my whipping to lecture me and then would resume the relentless strokes that caused my tears to soak the quilt against my face.
I had never cried so much during a whipping. Dad lashed my ass with his belt and I could feel welts and cuts rising on my boy butt that I had never felt with the strip of wood he usually used on me. My twelve-year-old _c_o_c_k_ dug into the old quilt that covered the sawhorse and my wrists and ankles pulled against their leather restraints. My erection baffled me. I was so hard....harder than I had ever been when I woke up in the mornings. Even with my eyes close, although I tried not to think about it, I couldn't help but imagine my beautiful, muscular father above me brandishing his belt against me ass. I flinched and itched. I felt and itch burning deep inside of me. I shook and experienced something I had never experienced before. I had my first orgasm that day....into that quilt..... While my dad whaled away at my ass with his belt.
After what seemed like hours Dad laced his belt back into his jeans and told me sternly that if he ever caught me smoking a cigarette or hanging out with Brag again, I could count on a whipping twice as severe. With my gut drenched from the gallons of boy cum I had spurted against it and my eyes drenched with two hours worth of tears from my whipping, I promised him it would never happen again.
Dad unfastened my restraints, told me to stand up when I was ready, take a shower and go directly to bed without dinner. Then he left.
I stood as soon as I could. I took awhile. The cum had glued my midsection to the old quilt and my butt was lacerated beyond belief. I would leak blood into my Jockey shorts for the next two days. Inspected the damage. My butt was bright scarlet and laced with white-hot welts and purple bruises. The skin was broken in at least eight places and blood leaked freely from the wounds.
I dragged myself to the shower. The hot water both soothed and tortured my butt. I gently toweled myself off and struggled into my bedroom. I opened both windows and lay naked on my stomach....the cool evening air was soothing my severely whipped butt. I was small and only twelve years old. The two hour long butt whipping was a punishment ten times worse than what I was used to. I fell asleep at some point. I awoke to dad opening my bedroom door. He silently rubbed something cool and soothing on my striped butt. I gave me a long and deep butt massage and his finders went deep between my cheeks to stroke a place I had never touched. Half asleep, I quivered again uncontrollably..... My second orgasm in one day. Dad finished rubbing the ointment into my punished behind and have me a deep lone hug. He told me he loved me. I said I loved him too. I heard his boots fall against the hardwood floor of my bedroom and then he closed the door.
I drifted off to sleep....naked on my stomach with semen and tears drying on my little boy sheets.