Dad was a carpenter and not an ordinary one, he was more of a cabinet maker and some of the work that he turned out belonged in museums, never mind a household. Because of this he was very much a perfectionist in all that he did and unfortunately that included tanning my bottom for me when he felt that I needed it. That used to happen a lot more than was good for the state of my bum, believe me!
He was never a spur of the moment spanker and I can't recall him ever spanking me when he was angry, I think that as strong as he was he was afraid that he might get carried away and do more damage to my backside than he wanted to. I'm glad that he never spanked me when angry, when he wasn't mad it was quite bad enough.
Dad's spankings were not all that lengthy, really. If I really needed it badly and he wanted to make darn sure I learned my lesson well, the total over the knee time was about fifteen minutes. If it was just a 'you need your butt warmed because you've been naughty again' spanking you can cut three to four minutes off of that time. Here's the catch, though. These spankings were not done in one sitting, so to speak, although I wouldn't be afterwards, it was a three part spanking with plenty of cool down and reflection time in the corner in between phases.
Dad would work five days a week in his shop behind the house, leaving his weekends free except for emergencies, sometimes he just had to work. Because his place of work was behind the house he could be there for me all the time which was good because he was raising me by himself, my mother having moved out when I was about three years old or so. He did everything for me, changed my diapers when I was still in them, he is the one that potty trained me--I can still recall sitting on the little potty chair that he had made when out in the shop while he was working, there was another one in the house. I grew up with the smell of sawdust. Later on I was out there after school and during the summers because he was training me to take over the business when he retired and although I don't like to brag, at age 17 I am getting to be almost as good at wood working as he is.
I used to watch him laying out the pattern on the wood, measuring twice before cutting once and every time the pieces fit together like they had grown that way.
"You always start by hand and finish by hand," he used to say, "that way you know the job is done right." That was the way he used to spank me as well.
My spankings always tended to occur on Saturday mornings, I guess so my bum would be not so sore when it was time to go to school on Monday. It didn't mean that my bottom still didn't feel the effects of the spanking when I went back to school but I could sit after a fashion though maybe not that comfortably. I was luckier than a lot of my classmates in that respect, their dads would tan their butts any day of the week and striped or bruised behinds were a very common sight in the locker room during gym class and the showers afterwards. I think I saw every one of my buddies showing the signs of parental displeasure vividly on their bottoms over the years, it was just that time when all boys got spanked. Even in my senior year in high school there were still quite a few of us that still felt parental wrath visited upon our backsides and as we got older the spankings got harder. One of my pals showed up in the locker room one day with a wonderful series of welts up and down his buttocks and upper legs, his dad decided if the belt wouldn't make him pay attention, maybe a good thrashing with a freshly cut switch would. His butt looked like he was smuggling a washboard under his hide.
Here is a typical Saturday morning out in the shop where I always got my spankings.
"Well, son," Dad would say on Friday night, "I guess we need to meet out in the shop tomorrow about eight, be sure that you are ready."
"Yes, sir," I'd reply, what else could I say? I always knew that I had misbehaved and always knew that I'd pay for it.
I would take a long shower the night before, making sure that my bottom was good and clean, and the next morning after I did my potty chores I would make sure to wash my crack very well, if I showed up with my crack and hole messy I'd just get a lot more spanks than usual. Dad always like to start with a clean workplace and that included when spanking my butt.
Dad was always out in the shop before me, the sturdy chair that he had made himself out in the middle of the floor.
"Good morning, son," he'd say, "time to get ready."
I always used to think as I slowly took my clothes completely off so I was naked how it might be better if he was at least mad a bit at me, getting spanked like this seemed almost a job rather than a punishment. It was as if Dad saw that I needed my bum spanked red hot and sore as all get out, that was the assignment, and he was going to make sure that was the state it was in when he got done.
When I was naked, Dad would sit in the chair and call me over to him. I'd stand there by his side, my stiff willie pointing right out straight from my body, I always did get hard when I got spanked, it just happened is all. He'd lecture me and tell me why I was getting spanked this time and then it was time for the fun to start.
I'd lay down over his spread knees, my boy-parts between his legs with my belly resting on his left knee and my bottom rounded up very well over his right. My toes just touched the floor on one side, I braced myself with my hands on the other side looking at the swept floor, Dad always cleaned up the sawdust right away to keep it from falling on the cabinets that he was putting a finish onto. He always puts the chair in the same place and I'd swear the floorboards are discolored a bit from all my tears that have wet them over the years.
Dad moved his legs around to insure that I was comfortable as can be, he was quite considerate that way, all he wanted to have hurt was my backside. He'd lower his left leg a bit so my head was lower than my bum and then he'd check out the area that he was about to work on. He ran his hand all over my bum, even parting my cheeks to make darn sure that I was clean inside there for it was certain that I'd feel his hand slapping me there, Dad felt that if it looked like a boy bottom it got spanked like one. Nothing was tabu back there, all got spanked.
Then phase one of my spanking routine began and lasted maybe five, six, minutes or so. Dad's big, work hardened hand smacked and smacked my bottom, all over my bottom again and again. Doing as much hand work as he did he was very strong in his arm muscles and his hand was about the same texture as one of the boards he worked with every day. The tempo of the spanking wasn't all that fast, he'd pause between spanks as if deciding what spot on my bottom needed the attention the most. I could never tell where the spank would land until it did, all of my fanny was a target.
I used to start crying in my younger years during this phase of the spanking, it does hurt after all, and by the time Dad finished my bum was scalding hot. Now, at age seventeen, it is not quite enough to make me cry out loud though I do suck my breath through my teeth on occasion when a smack hits a tender or sore spot.
The first phase of my spanking over, Dad leads me over to my corner where I stand with my hands behind my head, bare, red bottom shining out into the shop. This is my first reflection time and I'm supposed to use it to review my behavior and improve it but all I can usually think about is phase two of the spanking that is yet to come.
When I was young my spankings used to be two phase, double hand spankings with a period for reflection after the first one and another time in the corner after the second spanking, the one that Dad used to make sure all of my bum was well spanked. How I hated the second part of the spanking for that was when my crack and little boy-hole got spanked, sure it hurt like fury but the humiliation of having that area exposed was almost as bad as the spanking itself. Dad always made darn sure that outer contours of my bottom were nice and hot again as well to give me something to think about while in the corner. I used to cry and blubber during both phases of the spanking back in those days.
I can hear Dad puttering around the shop behind me, just because he feels I need a spanking doesn't mean that he can stand still while I'm in the corner, he is sharpening tools or sweeping the already spotless floor once more. After a while he will call me out of the corner for the second part of my spanking, the one added when I was maybe thirteen or so. I still remember that day...
"Boy," he said, after letting me out of the corner, "I have a feeling that my spankings just aren't getting through to you like they used to. When I was about your age my own father started to use his hairbrush on my behind and I'm sorry to say that I just can't find one anywhere, they just don't seem to make them like that anymore."
I breathed a sigh of relief, all I needed was for him to use a tool to spank me!
"However," Dad continued, "I can remember that brush well, it was used on me often enough so I made up this replica of it here in the shop, it is about the same size but lacks the bristles which don't make any difference, he never used that side on me anyhow."
He almost shyly showed me his 'hairbrush' and the first thing that went through my head was they must have used that thing to brush dinosaurs! The head of the 'brush' was a large oval shape and it had a nice handle on it as well, to boot the thing was made out of a light colored wood like maple and black walnut all laminated together in bands, I knew from experience that when Dad glued two pieces of wood together the finished product was more likely to break anyplace but where the laminations were. Let's face facts here, Dad's 'hairbrush' was actually a small paddle, one perfectly sized for those intimate over the knees spanking sessions. Small it might be but mighty was its sting! I must now be the proud end user of the fanciest bottom tool in creation! How it felt on my 'end' I soon learned.
Back to present day times and my current spanking.
Dad called me from the corner and I saw that he was already sitting in the chair, his brush in hand. He was polishing the finely finished blade of the thing with a cloth, I guess to get the sweat stains off of it from my last spanking with it. I went over and lay down again, I knew that I was going to get it regardless so there was no use to fight about it.
After once more insuring I was comfortable, Dad raised the brush and brought the first smack of many down on my already tender behind. Slowly, calmly and most thoroughly, he tans my entire backside with that thing. It burns lots more than his hand does and I can't help it, my flaming fanny just flat out hurts too much not to cry about it and I do, wetting the boards once more with my tears and I bawl and cry while Dad makes my bum feel like it's being covered in lava. I'm kicking my legs and bucking my ass up and down to try to escape the searing flames of the brush but it does no good, Dad holds me tightly so I am not going anywhere at all until he wants me to.
This phase doesn't last as long but it is a period of sheer agony, I'm crying after the first minute or so and bawl lustily for the remainder of the time he is spanking my bottom. I am once more led to my corner to think about my sins, my entire rump just pulsing with pain. After a bit my sobbing stops and I blink a lot to clear my eyes and look down, my willie has shrunk quite a bit during the paddling with the brush but even as I watch it soon returns to full erect status.
I stand there for maybe half an hour before Dad lets me out of the corner. He looks at my lower section and smiles a little at my boner.
"Do you need to pee?" he asked.
"Yes, please," I reply, anything to delay the last phase of the spanking. At his nod I step out through the door of the shop and stand there naked in the back yard and try to take a leak, most of the time I need to by this time. I sneak in a rub or two on my smoldering bum, it is still there and not spanked off like I think it should be it hurts so much. I know better than to delay too long and soon am back in the shop, the door closed behind me.
Dad is once more sitting in the chair and I walk over to him. This time the position over his knees is a little bit different, I lay down so my boy-parts are outside of his right thigh, holding down my once more stiff willie to keep from squashing it on his leg. I still don't like this part but believe me, it's better than that darn brush of his!
He starts out by slapping the outside of my rear end, using a sort of side arm swat and nailing mainly the lower section of my buttocks, the place I hit when I sit on a chair which, by the way, I won't be doing this day! I am whimpering a little bit at this for my fanny is still pretty sore from the paddling with the brush.
I feel Dad's shirt brush my back and fanny as he leans forward and takes a firm grip on my right leg behind the knee, using his left hand. He pulls my leg forward and up toward my body, effectively spreading my crack wide open. Then he starts in spanking the freshly exposed, still white part of my bottom. White, that is except for the spot right in the center of that area, it is brownish now but soon will be just as red as the rest of my hide back in that area.
For the first time during my spanking I start to beg.
"Please, Dad!" I yell through my sobbing, it only takes about ten swats on my butt hole to get me started, "Please don't spank me there! I'll be good, I promise, I do, just don't spank me there!"
As usual, he ignores my protests and promises entirely and just swats my exposed hole and all the surrounding skin red and sore as anything. I yelp when he spanks me there, it hurts big time. His big, strong hand travels up and down my crack, from the very top to where my crack skin meets my nuts, insuring all is red and hot.
You would think I would be used to getting my butt hole spanked but I don't think a guy ever gets used to it. I kind of think of it as the most personal and private spot on my entire body, one that rarely gets seen by anyone else except for a doctor, maybe a lover and in this case, a person giving you a spanking. Once when I was about ten or so and has just caught on that your butt hole was something to be ashamed of and keep hidden I complained to Dad about him spanking me there, it was so embarrassing.
"I used to clean that up when I changed your diaper," he said, "and later on when I was potty training you I had to wipe it for you until you learned to wipe it yourself. I used to have to make sure that you cleaned yourself up there when you took a bath so if I feel like spanking you on your butt hole I will, I'm not seeing anything new or secret when it comes to that spot!"
He always has spanked me on my butt hole, even from my very first spanking that I can remember. Back then it amounted to maybe six or eight stinging slaps but as I grew older and tougher so grew the number of spanks I got there. Now, at age seventeen, I get from fifty to one hundred spanks up and down my crack, a lot of them on my poor little hole.
Dad pushes my leg back into place, covering my scalding hot crack, and lights into my fanny again, spanking hard and strong. I'm in full voice by this time, howling and wailing at the top of my lungs, everything just hurts so much back there! Finally he lets me up and guides me back into my corner.
I stand there crying for quite a while, my butt thrust out a bit to try to keep my cheeks from touching. It feels like my hole is swollen up so it is level with the outside of my ass though I actually know better, I've checked things out in the mirror after many a spanking and know that it will be red and sore but not really damaged at all. It will let me know it was spanked when I go potty the next day, though. Just like he will put finish on all parts of a cabinet that he makes whether they are hidden or in view, when Dad spanks me he makes sure all of my butt is red and sore.
I think Dad's method of spanking me is a lot worse than if he just took me over his knees and spanked me for the same amount of time in one laydown. The time I am in the corner between spanking phases allows the nerves in my bottom to sort of reset themselves so they feel the spanking much more. Of course my bum is increasingly sore after each phase as well, especially after his 'hairbrush' has taken its toll on my hide. Then, having not been spanked as yet, my crack is all nice and tender and fresh when it gets spanked during the final phase of my spanking.
After twenty, thirty minutes, Dad says quietly "You can come in when you are up to it" and leaves the shop, carrying my clothing with him. This is part of the routine as well, I will walk naked into the house and up to my room where I'll stay until lunch time. I just lay naked on my bed, legs spread wide with my butt looking at the ceiling, waiting for it to cool down. I have to spend the rest of the day bare as well, eating my meals standing at the kitchen counter, I will not be sitting for the rest of this day, maybe by tomorrow I'll feel up to it.
Dad figures if I am not allowed clothing for the rest of the day it will embarrass me for misbehaving and getting spanked, in truth I'm glad I don't have to try to put my pants on over my throbbing bottom. I try to act ashamed and abashed anyway so he won't catch on. Being naked in itself is not an embarrassing thing for me.
Before I leave the shop I have one more thing to take care of, something I've done since about age eleven or so when I learned how. My willie has had its ups and downs during my spankings, now it is hard again and I stroke myself off to a tremendous orgasm, spurting and spurting almost forever.
Dad knows that I masturbate, he caught me at it for the first time when I was maybe twelve or so, sitting on the toilet with my legs spread wide and sticky willie in hand. I had just cum off and the signs of it were splashed on the floor and my pajama pants. I was terrified, one of my pals had been spanked hard when caught at this forbidden game by his father and I was afraid that I'd get the same treatment from my own dad. Instead he was super cool about it and told me just to be neat about it and wipe up after myself. I'm sure that he's seen me in the shower, my right arm pumping away and visible through the glass door, making darn sure that part of me is nice and clean anyway.
I grab a shop rag and gingerly squat down to clean up the cum spots from the floor and then make my way into the house.
Dad sees me and smiles when I enter through the kitchen door, my willie now limp and much smaller. He knows that he has taught me well, I also always finish a job by doing the hand work.