Jim's Lickin

by Scott B. <wsb221@mcione.com>

This story is a tribute of sorts to a good friend, Jim G. who recently passed away. He was a good friend who shared many of his childhood spankings with. He will be missed. Also see his stories under author Jim G.

Dad was a strict German, who believed fully that any kid under his roof was responsible for their actions after the age of 15. Needless to say, I did all of the things that teenagers of my era did-drag race, smoke, sneak liquor & beer and the like. (We never even needed 'Drugs' to have fun, as a lot of teenagers today do).

Still, it was all against Dad's rules for a teenage son. I guess I did provoke him a time or two to take me out to the barn, but mostly I was just being a normal teenager to my peers around me.

Well, Dad would have none if it! He always was told by the neighbors in our small community when they saw me doing something wrong. I'd come home and Dad would always be waiting with his dreaded 2 tail strap draped over his knees. Mom would always be gone somewhere at these times, no one else would be around.

Well, Dad stood 6'2" and was a hulk of a man. I didn't stand a chance in hell of arguing him out of my spankings. He's always start out by stating harshly "get in here-I want to talk to you!" I knew by the tone of his voice that I was in deep trouble.

Dad would stand up-strap in hand and his voice boomed! "So, you've been racing around skipping school and raising hell, huh?" he would yell at me. "Dad, I haven't skipped school". I would reply usually telling the truth. "Ain't what I heard boy. Drag racing down these country roads-drinking beer with your hood friendssmoking!" and the list went on and on.

Well-I knew I hadn't skipped school-but the rest, I admit I was guilty of. Dad grabbed me by the arm and threw me over his lap, letting the strap fall to the floor. His powerful hand hit my tightly covered ass cheeks through my Levi's and shorts, until I was crying as his strong left arm held my waist firmly over his lap.

After what seemed like 100 spanks of his big hand, (was probably more like 40 spanks) he jerked me up and ordered -"O. K. now you, I and the strap are going to take a stroll to the barn. March!" He emphasized his demand with a strong stinging stroke of the strap across my lower ass cheeks. I remember well, I let out a scream that could have been heard in Kansas and Nebraska and Wyoming, but I rapidly moved towards the barn. Dad was right behind me insuring my direction as he lands the strap a time or two on my uppermost thighs.

Dad was a pro with that strap. He knew exactly where it would land on my sore ass and thighs and I never was able to out run him. He was always right behind the strap hitting exactly where he aimed it-(always on my ass and thighs).

Once in the barn, he lit the kerosene lantern that he had hanging there, then grabbed me by the arm. (I was crying and rubbing my tender ass and thighs).

"So you want to act like others do in your age group?" he asked loudly. "O. K. to act like that in this community is a disgrace to your mother and Me and I am going to teach you some responsibility to the lives of others you endangered drag racing. You don't drink outside of this house or smoke. You understand?" he demanded.

"Yes Dad-I'm sorry-please don't whip me anymore!" (By now Dad had ripped my shirt off of me). "See that shirt boy? Do you think your parents grow money on trees? It's _d_a_m_n_ hard to come by and that shirt has to be replaced, and so you get 10 extra strokes of the strap on your bare ass for not taking it off yourself. Now strip totally before I increase the strokes for a pair of jeans and shorts!" Well, needless to say I obliged rapidly (despite my fears of the strapping to come over my already sore and welted ass cheeks and thighs!). Dad was in no mood to deal with until my licking was over.

Dad ordered me to "get up to that milking machine and stay there." He took two short lengths of rope and silently secured my wrists around the upper timbers of the stall. He left my legs and ankles free.

The first stroke of the dreaded strap landed on mid section of my bare butt. I screamed but it did me no good. The second stroke landed just above the 1st! Oh Dad was a Pro with that strap!

After the whipping Dad released my wrists. "Now Son, are your more receptive to the rules of this household?" Through my sobs I couldn't deny that I was more than ready to obey the rules set down.

Well, I still got the strap whenever Dad learned from the neighbors that I had broken the rules. I went into the Navy at age 19 and served 8 years, being honorably discharged. I went home and Dad was still his old strict self. I got the strap from him at 27- when I returned home and came in staggering drunk one night. He met me at the door. I almost fell inside but held steady on the door jam.

"You been drinking again, huh son?" he hollered. (There was no way I could have denied it from my actions). "Yes, Dad, I had a few beers," I stammered in my drunken state. "And you have been driving too?" Dad's voice almost boomed, "Well Dad, I had to get home." I stated. A hard slap across the face sent me on my ass on the gravel drive. Dad was right there. "Boy, don't you ever talk back to me. Now get up if you can and get to bed. Tomorrow you and I are going to have a talk in the barn!" Dad lead me to bed and took off my shirt, shoes, and Levi's and threw me into bed. I was really out of it. I passed out!

Dad was as good as his word. He let me sleep it off and I awoke around 1 p. m. Mom had already left to buy groceries some 30 miles away and Dad was left behind with me. Slowly the events of when I got home came back to me and I dressed slowly dreading facing Dad. I finally got the courage up to face him. I walked out to the kitchen where he sat having a cup of coffee.

"Got a hangover Son?" he asked sarcastically as I walked into the room. "Well good, cause I'm going to give you one sore ass to match it," he stated without even giving me a chance to reply to his first question. I pleaded but to no avail.

That whipping was the worst one I'd ever had. I cried like a 10 year old and Dad must have given me a good 50 strokes of the strap on my bare ass and upper thighs. I never came to my parents home drunk again I assure you.

More stories by Scott B.