Palimpsests » Carter's Spanked
I lay in my bed wearing my long t-shirt, unable to sleep. I tossed and turned, remembering my father's voice saying, "Carter, put your hands on your head." Each time I remembered it, I shivered. I remembered again and again, over and over, what it felt like to stand, naked in the corner knowing that he was watching me.
Finally, long after midnight, still unable to sleep, I got out of bed. I stood in the middle of my room for a moment, not sure what to do. I listened as carefully as I could for any sound of my father. No, he had clearly gone to bed a while ago. The house was silent.
Quiet as a mouse, I tiptoed to the living room. My heart was beating so loud, I was sure it could be heard throughout the house. Even with the lights out, the streetlight sneaking through the curtains was enough to make out the layout of the room.
As quietly as I could, I pulled my t-shirt over my head and let it fall to the floor. I was now left wearing only my white, cotton briefs, before I could debate it much more, I pulled them down too. I was once again naked.
Many were the time that I had been spanked and then put in corner of this room. I knew this corner well. I leaned forward and pressed my nose right into the corner. I was bare again, showing my naked back and bottom to the room. I imagined my dad looking at me again, sitting in an easy chair and letting his eyes roam up and down my naked body.
I had only been in the corner a minute or so before I turned around and faced the room. I put my hands on top of my head and clasped them firmly together. 'Elbows back, Carter', I imagined him saying and I pulled my elbows far back to more fully display my developing, pubescent body. At first, I had moved my feet a tiny bit apart, then much more, knowing that I would be told to spread myself and put myself on display to my father.
It was exhilarating. I could feel my breath coming in short gasps. I do not know what the connection was, but imagining I was being observed made me blush as deeply as I had earlier in the day. I could feel the flush of heat move down my face and onto my bare chest.
Suddenly I held my breath. What was that a sound in the house? I leapt forward, scooped up my t-shirt and briefs and ran to my bedroom. I threw my briefs onto my bed and yanked my t-shirt over my head. A second later, I was under the covers listening with both ears while holding my breath. It was a false alarm. I was the only one awake and I let my breath out in a slow sigh.
I began to stroke my firm prick until my cum blasted from my prick. I was experiencing thoughts and feelings I could not explain. What was I doing?
Spankings in my life did not used to be as hard on me as they seem to be now. My name is Carter. I am fifteen and overall have a pretty great life. I am an only child with a loving father who has provided just about anything a teenage football player could ever ask for. Unfortunately, for me, he also provides plenty of discipline.
I can remember when I was small, well, up until I was eleven that my spankings seemed to be a simple affair. After all, in our neighborhood, spankings of naughty children are almost universal. Virtually all of my friends have been spanked. When I was younger, we used to talk about it like a badge of honor. Back then, if I was naughty or broke the rules, I'd find myself instantly upended, my shorts down and my underwear at my knees. Dad would pepper my little butt all over until it was blowtorch hot and then it would be over. Well, mostly. I would still get corner time with my red bottom showing. That still happens even now and has since as long as I can remember.
I must say that I hate corner time. For minor offenses, I am in the corner after a spanking for a minute for each year of my age, which is fifteen minutes at the moment. My bottom in this situation is, of course burning hot and I am not allowed to either touch it or cover it up. It is embarrassing to be standing in the corner at my age, but once my sobbing is under control, it is mostly boring. When my time is up, I have to stand before my father, reiterate my transgressions and genuinely and sincerely apologize before the punishment is over and I can go back to whatever I was in the middle of doing. It is a hundred times worse if there is someone other than my father in the room, which happens from time to time but even that is not the worst part of my spankings now.
To talk about how I am punished, I really have to go back to when I was eleven. That is when everything changed.
We have a swimming pool you see. As I said, my father has done his best for me and having our own pool was a luxury. I guess with only one kid, he could afford those kinds of luxuries and I do love having friends over for pool parties. No friends were over that day. It was just Dad and me.
He was sitting reading the paper and I was splashing around the pool on a hot, summer day. Eleven was a tough year for me, I guess. Puberty had started with a vengeance. My dick and balls were not the biggest of my classmates, but many of my friends were still looked like little boys so I was proud of my package. I was starting to see the first dash of hair on my otherwise bare dick and this made me feel like a grown up. That being said, I'd been sticking my nose further and further up in the air and no doubt irritating the heck out of my father when what would be a major change in my life suddenly occurred.
"Dad, I need to go to the mall to go shopping," I announced from the side of the pool.
"I'll see about going later today, Carter," he said as he tried to absorb the sports page.
"No, you need to drive me before lunch," I replied imperiously as though he was my driver, standing by to whisk me wherever I desired.
"I said later today, Carter," he replied with irritation in voice.
I should have taken the hint from his tone of voice, but it was here that I made my fatal error.
"Dad, don't be so lazy, what are you doing anyway? You could drive me if you'd just put your paper away!"
There was a long silence. I knew immediately that I had stepped over the line. Even then, I could have recovered. An instant, but sincere apology would have set it all right, but no, I was too 'mature' to apologize.
"Pardon me, young man?" He was giving me one last chance to save my dignity.
I swiveled from the side of the pool and pushed off, but my mouth was running just an inch ahead of my brain. As I turned, I said under my breath, but loud enough for my father to hear me, "Old Fart.” My life changed at that moment. My back was turned, but I could hear my father leap out of his chair.
"Carter Matthew! Get your butt out of that pool right this instant!”
I turned and could see he was red-faced. I was now in trouble and there was nothing I could do to stop what was sure to happen. I swam to the shallow end and walked up the pool steps to where my father was waiting. As soon as I was in reach, he had a firm grasp of my left ear and I was helplessly propelled into the house.
"I'm sorry," I cried as, slightly bent over as I was painfully pulled into the living room.
"Too little, too late, young man," my father avowed and I knew that I was in for a spanking.
As we got to the living room, I realized with a stunned shock that I was wearing only my swim shorts and, as I had mentioned, spankings were always on my bare bottom.
"No!" I screamed, suddenly mortified that I was to be completely naked in front of my father since I was a child.
I reached up to stop him, but that got me a sharp smack on the back of my hands.
"Hands down!" he said firmly and I lowered my hands helplessly.
My father let go of my ear to grab my swim shorts with both hands and yanked them firmly down and off. Suddenly I was trying to cover everything at once, both hands over my dick and balls. I burst into tears at this new humiliation.
My father did not wait, once my swim shorts were down at my ankles, I was being pulled over his knee as he sat down and maneuvered me properly into place for a spanking. I was naked for the first time in as long as I could remember.
I was already sobbing when the spanking started and, as usual, the super-fast, one-hundred swats turned my otherwise white bottom into a fire engine red panel of heat. Those two minutes seemed to last for hours.
I was hiccupping, I was crying so hard. The hard spanks did not let me catch my breath at all.
It took a minute or so for me to realize that my father's hand was no longer descending with smacks on my buttocks. Again, I was pulled to my feet, still blubbering freely. With one hand firmly on my ear, I was pulled, as usual, to the corner and placed with my nose right in the corner.
"Eleven minutes, Carter,” he said, as he always does.
It took at least half that time to get my sobbing under control. As the pain in my butt tuned down to a throb, I again remembered that I was completely naked as I stood in front of my father who had gone outside to the pool deck to retrieve his newspaper and was now reading it behind me on his recliner.
I realized that I still had to turn and face him as I always did after a spanking. It was horrible enough that he could see not only my newly spanked bottom, but also that I was completely naked, but at least while facing the corner, I was hiding my freshly developed body. From behind, he could see my pale body. The most significant part of the view would have been my beet red bottom right in the middle of an otherwise smooth white surface. Once I turned, he was going to see everything again! The last half of those eleven minutes seemed to last forever as my mind raced hoping and dreading the corner time to be over.
"That's eleven minutes, Carter. Come here."
I sniffled as I turned slowly. Again, my hands were trying to cover everything. I was hunched over as I stumbled towards him.
He had put the paper down to give me his full attention. I could see him looking at me curiously for a moment before a look of recognition came over his face. I was looking right at him and could see that he was suddenly readjusting to how mortified I was standing in front of him. His eyes narrowed as he factored this into my punishment.
"Alright, Carter," he said slowly in a very quiet, but firm voice. Put those hands on top of your head."
Fresh tears streamed down my face as my hands inched away from their job of protection to go up to my head. I had never been in this position before and I could never in my life remember being this embarrassed. My father waited patiently until I had my hands on my head then adjusted my position.
"Elbows back, Carter," he said. I moved them apart, feeling my chest being pushed up and out by the position.
"Look at me."
I had been looking at the floor with my face now blushing as hotly as my bottom.
"Why were you punished?" he asked.
This was standard. After a spanking, I always had to say what I had done wrong, what lesson I had learned and apologize for my wrongdoing. I told him I had been sassy and apologized profusely. He kept like that for a full minute or maybe two after I had said my piece looking me up and down. It was not sexual - well, I do not think it was. He was inspecting me as you would something in a shop. The scrutiny was agonizing as he looked at my face, then his gaze went lower, to my belly, then my bare pubis with its few strands of blond hair that really concealed nothing and down to my newly developed balls and dick. I saw his eyes move back up until they were fixed on my blushing red face and then my on my eyes again.
"I can see you find this very embarrassing, don't you?" he asked quietly.
Tears were still trickling down my cheeks and onto my chest. I did not dare lower my hands to catch them. I did not trust myself to answer so I just nodded my head miserably.
"Good." He said, nodding himself. "We'll make sure this is a regular part of your punishments then from now on."
I burst into a fresh set of tears. If only I could turn back time, and take back my stupid comment in the pool!
"If you don't want to end up embarrassed like this again, you'll have to make sure you don't get into trouble."
Spankings would never be the same. From that fateful day when I was eleven, my spankings became naked spankings, as my father knew that the power of humiliation was a much more significant element of my punishment then that of pain. I can still remember my father's eyes narrowing as he realized how embarrassed I was to be completely naked in front of him.
As I developed even further as an adolescent, my light blond pubic hair stayed a light non-helpful dusting that never really covered anything, but my dick grew, my balls got much larger and hung lower and my bottom became rounder. To my mortification, I became prick became erect and leaked pre-cum during my punishment sessions. The level of humiliation at having to strip in front of my father increased on the logarithmic scale.
Once I'd had my first naked spanking, I held out a faint hope that things would go back to normal. Alas, this was way too much to hope for. In our household, I would expect to get about three or four spankings a week. I thought of these as my "regular" spankings. They could be for all manners of offense, but mostly my father punished me for what he perceived as my insolent behavior.
Regular spankings occurred instantly upon whatever the offense was, at least when I was at home. If we were away from the house, I might be told to 'wait until we get home!' which was a sentence to be avoided.
After that fateful day, when wearing my swim shorts meant that baring my bottom required me to bare everything, I was a good as I could be as I desperately tried to avoid any spankings. The pain of that naked punishment went away in an hour or two, but the profound ignominy that I experienced from having to strip my pubescent body bare in front of my father stayed with me for days.
The next day at breakfast the spanking was still on my mind, but nothing was said about it at the table. It was as though it was no different a day than any other day after a spanking. While my father seemed to be back to normal, it took several more days for me to get there. I was the most helpful, polite, easy to manage soon-to-be-twelve-year-old that my father could imagine. There is no doubt he noticed the all new me. Unfortunately, I may have been trying to be good, but at the age of eleven, it was impossible to stay that way forever.
It was almost two weeks before I got my next 'regular' spanking. My father was getting ready to clean the garage and had already asked me twice to help.
“In a minute,” I had replied each time.
I was watching TV. The third request was more of a command and my getting in trouble was completely unavoidable.
"Carter Matthew!" my father shouted. "In the kitchen right now!"
"Oh, give me a break!" I said to myself, but to my horror as the words escaped my mouth, my father was walking into the living room. He heard them as clear as day.
"Right," he said, his face becoming firm. "Well, you're getting too big for your britches. You like being here in the living room? Well, you can stay here, right in the corner!"
Father's finger was pointing to the all too familiar corner, which meant I was in for a spanking. Choking back a sob, I got up from the sofa and walked towards the corner.
"Aren't you forgetting something, young man?" he asked.
My heart went into my throat as I slowly turned and looked questioningly at my father.
“I’ve explained how your new spanking routine is much more effective and I think you know that's how you'll be spanked from now on. Get those clothes off."
"Oh, God! Oh, no, Dad! Please!" I pleaded.
"Off, young man, right now!"
The tears started trickling down my cheeks as I reached down to pull my t-shirt up and over my head. I kicked my flip-flops off and my shorts were next, leaving me in my cotton briefs. I hesitated, dreading what would come next.
The voice was low, firm, commanding, "Everything, Carter,"
I could not hold back my tears as I reached down and dragged down my underwear. The second they were down, I was turning around and rushing to the corner, happier to show my bare bottom and have my front hidden by the corner than to let my Dad see my completely bare front.
"You can just stay there until I'm ready to deal with you," Dad announced as he headed back into the garage.
I could hear him doing the work I was supposed to be helping with and it was maybe a half hour later that I heard him coming back into the living room.
His hand was on my ear, pulling me from the corner and over to the chair. He pulled me right over his lap where the spanking started instantly. The spanks started out hard and lightning fast, raining down on my unprotected bottom.
When he started, I didn't think of my nakedness at all, just the burning, searing heat building in my bottom and my intense desire to have it stop for a second, even a nanosecond so I could catch my breath.
That never happened. Spankings seemed to go on forever. In fact, they were very short, only about two minutes, but they were very intense each time. Only when I was unable to catch my breath from the sobbing or when breathing had been reduced to hiccups would the spanking wind down. I was pulled to my feet and put back to the corner to wind down.
"Eleven minutes, Carter"
Just like the first time, it took a few minutes to calm down enough that my complete nakedness once again became the focus of my attention. This time my thought compounded the effect by my thoughts racing ahead of myself. I wondered if I would once again feel the unbearably embarrassing arousal between my legs and no sooner had I had that thought than I could feel something starting there. That sensation made me blush even more.
My sobs had dwindled down to a sniffle before I heard my Dad returning from the garage. I could feel his look on my bare back as he took a seat.
I turned to face him. I was dying to put my hands up to cover myself, but somehow I willed them to stick by my sides by imagining them to be glued there. Dad was sitting in the easy chair while waiting for me to present myself. I walked over to him slowly and then, without being asked did one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life, I closed my eyes and raised my hands up, up until they were firmly clasped on my head with my elbows well back before I opened my eyes.
Seeing how compliant this new type of spanking had made me, my amused father was looking right at me, one eyebrow slightly up. His gaze deliberately left mine and traveled down my naked body. It was not sexual, well not directly anyway, but it made me feel so incredibly vulnerable as though he could see right through me. My discomfiture was profound. I knew I was blushing a deep red and, while my sobbing had stopped, the shear degradation of the moment continued to cause tears to stream down my cheeks.
"Well?" he asked. "Why were you punished?"
I apologized ardently and promised he would never have trouble from me again. Once I had wound down, my Dad told me to get dressed as the punishment was over. I pulled my clothes back on and, still blushing, headed into the dining room to set the table for dinner.
My uncle came a half-hour later to join us and, at the dinner table, Dad was happy to share with him how my punishment had gone. The effect of my nakedness was talked about as though they were talking about the weather. I kept my eyes on my plate and choked back my tears as the conversation went on. It was clear that my father was delighted about this new aspect of my discipline routine that was now entrenched as a standard exercise.
I suddenly had a terrifying thought. On occasion, I had been spanked in front of my uncle. When this happened, it was already a mortifying experience. True, I had been younger at the time, but what if he was visiting now and saw me completely naked? I could not help myself. I had to know what would happen.
"Um, with this new spanking, um, plan. What might happen if Uncle Ken was here? I mean, um, you wouldn't let him see me - you know, completely naked? Would you?"
My voice was very polite. My father looked up in surprise as though the idea had not occurred to him.
"You'd just better be sure you're well behaved if he’s around, young man," he said looking at me firmly. "If you're naughty when your uncle is here, he’s going to get a good long look at every part of you!"
I gasped. My eyes were wide and my jaw fell open. Even my uncle looked a little surprised, but sentence had now been passed and I would live in fear of that day for months to come.
There was no doubt - my life had changed forever.
On exceptional occasions however, I had experienced a different kind of spanking. This kind of punishment was more formal and, fortunately, only happened two or three times a month. A 'proper' punishment was terrifying and much, much worse. These kinds of punishments were reserved for times when I had been really bad. The last 'proper' punishment I'd received had been just before I turned twelve and had sneaked into the nearby woods with two of my friends. We were not allowed to go into the woods on our own. The second I got home, I knew I was in for it.
"I just got a call from Jack’s father. You were in the woods, weren't you?" said my father.
I nodded miserably.
"Get to the living room corner and you can wait there until I’m ready. I'll give you a proper strapping when I’m prepared. Maybe that will improve your memory of where you should and shouldn't go when you play."
I started crying right away when sentenced was pronounced. As I headed to the corner, I knew that I was in for a horrible night.
When my father gave me a strapping, I would be bent over a piece of furniture, usually the arm of the sofa. I would be naked, of course, and my bottom bare, but it was my father's leather strap that made the experience worth being afraid of. Unlike my regular spankings, a proper punishment took time and the strap was an implement that was used in a way that each smack was given a moment to sink in. The net effect was a deep burning heat that would leave me drenched in tears.
It came as no surprise that once my regular spankings became all nude spankings that there would be some change to my 'proper' punishments. I thought of it numerous times after I was eleven and when I'd get in a little trouble. My father threatened several times a week to give me a proper punishment and the threat alone was enough to have me change my behavior instantly. For years, I had found myself bent over for a proper punishment at least twice a month, but the year I was twelve I managed to get through an entire year without a proper spanking. I continued to have numerous regular punishments and while I never got comfortable with having to strip naked, it was something that I grew to expect.
It had only been month since that fateful day when my father had dragged me from the pool, stripped down my bathing shorts and given me my first completely naked spanking as an adolescent. Since then my father has seen me naked several times. I get regular punishments three or four times per week and you would think that after a few weeks I would have gotten used to the new aspect of my punishment. I am sorry to say that this never happened.
However, on this day my father introduced an element to my punishments that unbearably continues to this day.
I had, as was common for me, been talking back, which my father did not tolerate. You would think I would learn after all the spankings I had received for the same thing and this time I think my father was looking to improve the impact of the spanking a little more. The spanking had started out as I had come to know by now.
"You're in for a spanking, young man," my father announced.
Tears sprung to my eyes. An apology spilled out of my mouth as though pulled from deep inside me. My father was having none of it.
"Carter if you really want to apologize, you need to learn not to talk back to me. It makes me think that spanking you isn't enough punishment at all."
This brought on a fresh sob.
"Now, get yourself into the living room and get those clothes off," he said. "I expect you to be standing naked in the corner when I get in there so I can try to teach you this lesson again.”
With my head hanging down, I turned from the kitchen and headed to my least favorite room in the house. With no one there to watch, I undressed at a snail's pace. Slowly pulling my t-shirt over my head and then prying off my running shoes, I was delaying the inevitable.
"I expect you to be ready in one more minute, Carter," my father called from the kitchen.
I knew that not being ready might mean a 'proper' punishment with his strap and I was not going to risk that. I peeled off my shorts and underwear together in an instant and literally ran to the corner of the room.
The waiting for punishment was, in some ways the worst part. There I was, twelve now, but still just barely an adolescent and the thing that was most important to me was keeping my newfound body private. Here, in the corner of the room, I was completely naked, exposing myself, even if it was just my back and bottom, to anyone who would walk into the living room. Every time I was in the corner, I lived in terror of the doorbell ringing or the door opening and some stranger walking in to see me naked in the corner.
This time, I had only a few short minutes to wait. I could hear my father's footsteps as he entered the living room and then sat in the easy chair that so often had been the location of my punishments. I could feel his gaze, locked right on me. Looking at my long, bare back, looking up from my bare feet along my tanned legs until reaching the white space of my completely naked buttocks. I know the feeling of being looked at like that. Even though my entire viewpoint was the corner of the living room right in front of my eyes, I knew he was looking and I could feel the blush starting on my cheeks and then covering my entire face. The sheer embarrassment factor was extreme.
I was expecting him to call me over at any moment as I had become used to. Instead, after five minutes he suddenly rose from his seat and left the room. I could hear him going up the stairs as though he had forgotten something. For a moment, I caught my breath, confused by his actions. Was he going to get his strap? No, the strap was in the hall closet. Where was he going? A moment later, I could hear the sound of his footsteps heading down the stairs. He was back in the living room now and sitting once again in his seat.
"Alright Carter," he said firmly. "Get over here for your punishment."
I turned and headed over to him. As I had now been taught, I stood with my feet shoulder width apart and dragged my hands to the top of my head as though they were made of lead. It took everything I had to expose myself this way. I pulled my elbows back, which lifted my erect nipples higher as though they were beacons and thrust my pelvis out vulgarly exposing myself to my father.
My father made me stand there for a full ten minutes. His eyes went slowly up from my feet to my head and then down and then all the way up again. He could see from my eyes how difficult it was to simply stand there naked as he ogled at me.
It was a relief when he finally pulled me over his knee to begin my spanking. As per usual, it was fast, furious and reduced me to tears in seconds. When I was crying so hard I could not catch my breath, the spanking stopped. My bottom was ablaze with heat. Oddly, he kept me over my knee for a moment or two until my sobbing started to come under control. My father pulled me to my feet. He always pulled me right back to the same corner I'd started in but this time, I was pulled in the opposite direction. My father pulled me to the middle of the blank wall at the other end of the room.
"Hands back on your head, Carter," he ordered.
After a spanking, I am always in a hurry to be obedient. This time there was no hesitation clasping my hands firmly on my head. He pulled me closer to the wall until I was facing it only a few inches away.
"Closer," he said.
I inched closer until erect prick was touching the cold surface.
"Feet apart now," he said.
I spread my feet shoulder width apart.
"Wider," he instructed. I spread them wider apart.
"Now, stand absolutely still," he said.
Uncertainty breeds its own anxiety and my heart was pounding. I realized now that my father had left me over his knee a little longer deliberately so that I would be calm enough to experience this embarrassment when I stood up.
Here I was spread-eagled and naked. I was facing away from him, but I was still completely bare and the feeling of just my prick touching the wall was weirdly troubling.
My father had been walking around behind me, but had stopped moving. The flash of a camera was so shocking that I turned in absolute surprise. My father was holding his digital camera and looking right at me.
"Did I tell you to turn around, Carter?" he asked.
I spun back to the wall. Oh, my God! He had taken my picture. A picture of my bare spanked bottom! Oh, God! I was naked in that picture. He had taken a picture of me naked. A fresh burst of tears sprung from my eyes.
"Oh, Carter," he said firmly. "If you want to turn around, I think that will be fine. Turn and face me please."
I looked over my shoulder in shock. Did he mean it? He held out his hand and made a twirling motion with his finger. Yes, he expected me to turn around. Slowly I did so. The camera in his hand was like a weapon. I was helpless to stop my hands from dropping from my head to cover myself.
"Carter!" my father shouted.
I cried as my hands slowly lifted again to expose myself. I could not quite believe it. I could not believe that a picture of my bare front was about to be taken.
My father got up close and snapped a picture of my face with the tears streaming down my cheeks. Then he stepped back and focused again. A flash and the picture of my completely bare body was immortalized.
"Alright, Carter," he said, "into the corner. Twelve minutes."
I ran back to my familiar corner across the room. I could not believe what had just happened. What was going to happen with those pictures?
Twelve minutes later, my punishment was over. It would be a couple of days before I would find out what the pictures would be used for. My father presented me with a new picture album at the dinner table a couple of nights later. It was a very large album with places for many pictures. Only the first page was filled. It was filled with three pictures of me. The first was a full body picture of my back. I was standing with my hands on my head with my feet wide apart facing the wall. My bottom was a beet red and the marks of my father’s hands could still be made out. The next picture was the reverse side. To my horror, my full body was exposed. From this angle, I could make out my erect prick and my low hanging balls, not at all covered by my sparse prick hair. The third picture was a close up of my face. I could clearly see the tears on my cheeks and my red, blushing face.
The album was a good reminder of what was required for me to be a good boy, my father explained. My father would add photos to it after each punishment.
I begged my father to reconsider; pleaded for him to destroy the pictures. He was not buying.
As time went on, the album filled with photographs immortalizing my body growing up and working its way through adolescence on a week-by-week cycle. The album would record me getting taller, my bottom rounding out, my ballsack getting fuller and my prick getting larger and, despite my prayers, many photos of my erect prick. One thing was constant, my blushing humiliation at being spanked and photographed naked.
It was one of the most horrible aspects of my teenage year’s punishments, but it was soon to be made almost intolerable by no longer being private. A month after my fourteenth birthday, I would suffer the unbearable experience of watching my uncle thumbing through the album.
Each and every time I was either stripped or told to strip for a spanking was mortifying. I guess most pubescent boys are over-aware of the changes in their bodies when growing up. Although I was still young, I already had low hanging balls. Unlike many of my friends, my dick was quite large and, despite my silent pleas, seemed to become erect at the least provocation. My dick hair never really came in fully. I had a tiny dusting of hair, which did not cover me at all. Needless to say, having to expose myself was an awful experience.
Shortly after I turned thirteen, disaster struck and I found myself facing my first proper punishment in fourteen months. I had been playing with friends and, despite my best opportunity to resist, I found myself trying a cigarette for the first time. My friend Andy’s father came across us in the back yard. I was terrified. I begged him not to call my father, but the call went out before I even got home.
My father was waiting at the front door when I arrived a few minutes later, tears already welling up in my eyes. I looked up at him, hopeful that I would be in for a regular punishment, but one peek at his face and I realized that I was in deep, deep trouble.
"I'm too angry to even talk to you about this," my father said with a grim face. "Get in the house."
My head hung down in despair. I was going to get it. My father took me by the arm and dragged me into the living room.
"Clothes off," he said in disgust.
As usual, I removed all my clothes quickly and headed for the corner.
"I didn't tell you to get in the corner, Carter," my father said slowly. "I can see you're having a great deal of trouble listening to me. Let’s see what a proper spanking does for your hearing. Now get back over here."
I turned around and came back to my father. I figured I would be bent over the arm of the sofa but my father had other ideas. I had grown some in the last fourteen months and we had a low-backed easy chair in the living room. My father had me turn the chair around so it was facing away from the room. Grasping me firmly by the arm, he pushed me toward the back of the chair.
"Bend over it," he demanded.
I whimpered a bit as I bent over the back of the chair. My father's hands pushed at my back until I was fully bent over. My feet were firmly touching the floor, but my bottom was now placed way up high in the air. It was the perfect level for a strapping, which, I was sure, was coming later.
My father was not quite done. With his foot, he pushed at my ankles until they were wide apart, each foot touching the legs of the chair. I could feel the air conditioning in the room wafting across my suddenly very exposed balls and realized for the first time that not only my ass, but also my dick and balls were fully exposed from behind. I felt more vulnerable than at any time in my life.
My father scooped up my clothes and left me there, bent over, exposed to the room. It would be close to an hour before he came back and in that intervening time, I suffered an agony of anticipation. I dared not move an inch and every sound in the house sounded like a stranger walking in. I was mortified.
I could hear my father pause at the hall closet. I did not have long to wait now. There could be only one thing he would be stopping for - his leather strap. I sobbed into the soft cushions of the chair back that my face was pressed into.
My father's strap was a weapon to be feared. It had started out life as a belt, but no longer carried any kind of buckle. It was pure black, worn leather. It was 2 inches wide and although it was quite thick, it was very supple. He would double it up and usually used a full swing before the leather would connect with my bottom in a tremendously loud smack. The sound would arrive at my ears before the scorching sensation reached my brain. Once the strapping was underway though, the pain and intensity was nonstop until it was over. The tears started as I thought of that strap coming closer to my helpless bottom.
I could sense him standing right behind me and suddenly thought of the exposed view I was providing. It had been hideous enough over the past year to have to show my dick and balls as well as my exposed bottom in front of him, but being spread out and bent over like this was awful. I could feel his eyes looking right up between my legs. I knew he could see everything I had.
"Well, Carter?" his voice was right behind me. "Do you have anything to say for your incredibly stupid behavior?"
"No, sir," I mumbled. There was really no excuse.
"I have tried to explain how dangerous smoking is for you, but you clearly haven't been willing to listen to that lesson. Now I'm going to try to have you learn it in a way that I hope you won't forget.”
A sob burst from me. I knew what was about to happen. My father's left hand came down on the small of my back to hold me still and suddenly the sound of the first smack reached my ears. I searing pain followed a moment later and I burst into tears. He waited a few seconds then the strap came down again full across my buttocks. Each couple of seconds the strap made a blistering line of fire across my bottom. The lines went first up from the crease of my buttocks to the top of my crack and then down again. I would have jumped up to try to escape except for my father's firm hand on the small of my back. It went on for several minutes by which time I was a sniveling mess. I was sobbing and crying without pause and snot was dripping helplessly from my nose. I was beet red and unable to think about anything but my prayers that the strapping would stop.
My father finally stopped. My legs had been kicking all over the place but my father used his foot to push my ankles back to the sides of the chair. My father waited a moment or two until my sobbing was almost under control before getting my attention again. I was feeling much more naked again with my father walking around the chair still holding the strap in his hand. My bottom was on fire.
"Well, Carter, you've been punished for not following the rules," said my father. "You knew that not smoking was an absolute rule in this house. You broke that rule and you've been punished for it, but, I haven't punished you for actually smoking. I'm going to give you six more strokes with the strap for that now. I expect you to remain absolutely still for the six strokes.”
I sobbed again. My bottom could not take any more.
My father was standing beside me now, facing towards my bottom with a view over the small of my back. To my absolute humiliation, I felt his cool hand touch my burning buttocks then pass all over them, feeling the heat.
"Oh, my God," I whispered to myself.
The sheer embarrassment of having my father caressing my buttocks was mortifying.
"Alright, Carter," he said softly. "Are you ready for your six strokes?"
I paused for a moment before answering. I took a deep breath then said softly, "Yes, sir."
I was in for the surprise of my life. As soon as I said I was ready, my Dad's hand stopped on my right buttock. He was still standing at my side, facing towards my bottom and his left hand was firmly cupping my right buttock with his fingers pointing down towards the floor. This left his thumb resting along the side of the crack of my butt. As humiliating, as it was to have my father's hand on my freshly strapped, naked buttock, what he did next took my breath away. With a firm motion, my father pulled my right buttock to the side, pulling my crack wide, wide open.
"No!" I cried but before I could move an inch, the strap was in motion and with a heat hotter than the sun itself, it landed along my inside of my still white crease. My hands leapt back to try to reach the exposed flesh.
"Hands down, Carter!" my father said firmly. With a bout of fresh tears, I lowered my hands again. No sooner had I done so but the strap was in motion again, delivering another line of fire on top of the first.
My cries were inconsolable, but there were still four strokes to come. My father was already in motion, moving to my other side and holding my left buttock now firmly in one hand. I could feel him pulling it and again, I was left spread wide open. He held me like that for a moment and I found all my attention focused on a one inch square of flesh - my pink, exposed butthole.
I was held like that for a long moment before the strap was in motion again. This time the other side of my white crease received the strap and again I was in agony. A pause then the strap was in motion again. This time, the strap did not cover the exact spot but was shifted an inch closer to the center. To my shock, it landed along the middle left and middle of my crease including right over my pulsing butthole, which turned to flames.
My hands clawed back of their own accord, pulling at my buttocks, stretching them wide in a vain attempt to let the burning heat of my butthole get at the air in the room. My father moved behind me once again, watching me pull myself wider and wider apart, not caring that I was exposing my most intimate parts to the room.
"Well, you’re not going to forget that in a hurry." My father stated as stood behind me and I was showing everything to him as I continued to pull my buttocks wide open despite my desire to protect myself.
It was several minutes before the humiliation of being exposed could overcome the pain along the crease of my buttocks. I let my bottom go and returned my hands to the cushion in front of me. After all, I had not been given permission to get up.
"No, Carter," said my father. "I think the position you were in suits you best, get those hands back there and hold your ass wide open."
I reached back slowly and pulled my hot buttocks wide open again. This time I was reluctant to do so. Although I had just done so willingly while the pain in my butthole was severe, now it was to expose myself further and I could feel more tears coming as I exposed my butthole and my hanging balls. There was nothing I wanted to do less than open myself like that, but after the strapping I'd just had, I was prepared to obey virtually any instruction. When I had spread my buttocks as wide apart as I could, I waited. I could feel the eyes of my father looking directly my winking hole that I would have done anything to protect.
He gave two more hard strikes dead center on my butthole. I was quivering, trying to keep my cheeks parted as my father ordered. I was left like this for a minute or two. It seemed like days to me. Finally, my father spoke again.
"This position seems to get your full attention. From now on, if you're to get a proper punishment, you'll be waiting just like this over the chair. You'll be naked. You'll have your feet spread and you'll be holding your little butt cheeks wide open like this waiting for punishment. You'll do that Carter, no matter who is in the room. Do you understand?"
I whimpered my reply, "Yes, sir."
"Very well, you can stand up now," he said.
I stood up slowly and turned to face him. My hands went to the top of my head without asking. I had experienced such a number of regular spankings in the nude now that I knew not to cover up no matter how much I wanted to.
My father reached over and took me by the ear. I thought I was heading to the corner, but in fact, his destination was only about halfway. He had placed a small wooden stool from his workshop into the middle of the room. It was about a foot high and no more than a foot square. I was told to get up on the stool and put my hands on my head. I was still crying. My father sat down hi chair where I was right in front of him when it finally occurred to me that the living room curtains were wide open!
While I'd been bent over being spanked I was pretty much invisible but now, now I was standing in front of the whole neighborhood. At least I was facing away from the picture window, but anyone who looked directly into the house at this moment would see my naked backside.
My father looked me up and down. He was sitting right in front of me. "Thirty minutes, Carter," he said, looking at his watch.
Tears trickled down my face again at this newest humiliation. When the time on the stool was over, I was finally allowed to head upstairs and put my t-shirt for bed. I was never so happy to leave the living room as that moment.
It was the first and the last time I ever tried smoking.
It took some time but eventually my father found the absolute ultimate buttons to push to get me to behave. From the time I turned eleven and started to get naked spankings, I never really got used to the idea of having to strip down and be exposed for my punishments. I say punishments because the actual pain of the spankings, while highly unpleasant, was not a sufficient deterrent to bad behavior. It was only the combination of both a whipped bottom and the mortification of having to be exposed and displayed that made me dread my chastisement so much that I strove with significant effort to be a good boy.
Being photographed over time was, in its way also hideous. My father had amassed a complete record of my physical development through my adolescence as he had completely nude pictures of me both front and back which had been taken after all my punishments. The album (ultimately there would be several), was never far from reach. While no one else had ever seen me punished completely naked from the time I was eleven, I had been absolutely mortified when I spotted him one day handing my album to my uncle who started leafing through it with a small smile on his face.
My uncle would both be well acquainted with every visible nuance of my body when later he would participate in my punishments in what would become the absolutely, most humiliating element of my teenage punishment sessions.
It took all I had to not burst into an angry tirade at my father, something I knew instinctively would cause me to be providing my uncle with a live display in short order. Instead, I burst into tears and ran from the house until I could calm down. I realized that my father, who did virtually nothing by accident, was drawing a line in the sand for me. He could not have been plainer if he had sent me a letter. Cross the line and you will find yourself displayed in front of your uncle or anyone else he chose. Once I had come to my senses, I was on my very best behavior for weeks, something my father certainly noticed.
I was halfway through my fourteenth year when I would run into serious trouble and my father would escalate my punishments once again. I was a fool, of course. It was one of those things that I could have completely avoided by simply doing what I already knew was right.
I had been at the local mall with my friends Jack and Andy. We were inseparable and by the age of fourteen, I was trusted to go to the mall on my own under certain conditions such as when the three of us would go together. We had been cruising around window shopping for a while when Jack spotted something in the toy store he was dying for. It was a Stomp Rocket and quite reasonably priced at fifteen dollars. Unfortunately for Jack, he did not have the money on him and as Andy and I watched in fascinated horror, he slipped it under his jacket and the three of us walked out of the store.
You can guess the rest, security apprehended Jack a few feet outside the door and minutes later the three of us were in the community police station, which was situated conveniently in the mall itself.
We had to empty our pockets to show if we had stolen anything else, which we had not, but we were still all in trouble. The police called all our parents and my father came down to collect me. I knew Jack and Andy would get into trouble too. There would probably be warm bottoms for each of them, but no one knew how hard-hitting my punishments were to be.
The police officer told my father that only Jack had been caught with stolen goods on his person, but the officer made it clear that the three of us were together the entire time and that we must have all known the contraband was under Jack's jacket. My father shook his head in disbelief, making me feel worse than anything.
The drive home was deadly silent until we pulled into the driveway at home. Finally, my father spoke in a low voice that showed how much it was taking him to control his anger.
"I want to know only one thing, Carter," he said tersely. "Did you know that Jack put that stolen item under his jacket before you walked out of the store?"
I nodded miserably. We walked into the house together through the side door, which led into the kitchen. To my horror, I could see my uncle sitting at the kitchen table. My father grasped me firmly by the ear and propelled me into the living room.
"Well, Carter," he said grimly, "I can't say you don't deserve what you've got coming to you. You can get ready for a proper punishment right now.”
"Oh, please, Daddy," I pleaded. "Please wait until Uncle Ken goes home."
My father laughed in a way that showed he was not amused.
"You made your bed, now you can sleep in it," he said. "He'll stay or not as he wishes and if he happens to see how a little thief gets punished on the bare, you have only yourself to blame."
"But I didn't steal anything!" I wailed.
"The second you walked out of that store in the company of your friend, who you knew was stealing, you became an accomplice. It's just as bad as stealing yourself," he said dejectedly.
With a sob, I started to take off my clothes as he watched. Once again, I was to be punished naked and 'proper' punishments meant that I'd be even more exposed and embarrassed than usual. Once I had gotten my underwear off, I could see that my treacherous prick was, as usual, hard. I turned to bend over the chair, which my father had now turned to face away from the main room. Now anyone who walked into the living room would be seeing me naked from behind.
"Spread, Carter," said my father and with another tiny snuffle, I reached back with both hands to pull my buttocks wide open. I was now completely and lewdly exposed.
"Stay like that," he said patting my bare buttocks as he returned to the kitchen. I could hear my uncle and my father discussing the latest turn of events although they were speaking lowly enough that I could not make out much of what they were saying. While they talked, I was in the living room, bent over the back of the easy chair with my bare bottom facing the room, my erect prick pressed into the cloth of the chair back and my hands obediently holding my fourteen-year-old buttocks as wide apart as I could possibly pull.
As I'd gotten older, it took a wide stance each time I was punished over the chair to have my hips rest on the back. When I was eleven, my tiptoes barely touched the ground but now, at fourteen with my long legs, my feet were now outside the chair legs. I knew that I was presenting everything I had to whoever looked in on me. It felt as if I did not breathe the entire time I was bent over waiting as I held my breath in terror of the sound of my uncle coming into the room. Finally, I heard the kitchen chairs scraping as they got up.
"Oh, my God," I whispered to myself.
I could hear them moving around now. For a heart-stopping moment, I held out hope that my uncle was leaving to let my father finish my punishment. It was a false hope of course. I could hear footsteps walking into the living room, closed my eyes and waited.
The bright flash from behind me let me know that my exposed position was now recorded for posterity and my album. My fourteen-year-old balls and butthole would be displayed for anyone who ever saw that album forever. Another flash from a slightly different angle and then a couple of more made me feel like I was being displayed naked in front of an audience of thousands. A sob burst helplessly from my lips.
"Well Kevin, you're right about how exposed he is,” my uncle said
I let out another tiny sob, knowing that my uncle could see absolutely everything.
“You know Ken," said my Dad, "you'd think that the embarrassment of being displayed this way would be a disincentive for him to misbehave, but I guess not enough. I'm ready to try your recommendations."
What was this? What recommendations had my uncle made to my father. Whatever it was, I was not at all looking forward to it. My uncle had two sons. My cousins were a couple of years younger than myself, but they had both told me that punishments from their Dad were fearsome and usually carried out in the woodshed behind the house so their crying didn't bother their mom. This did not sound enticing to me at all.
Footsteps now walked right behind me but whose were they? My fathers? Uncle Ken's? I heard a popping sound that sounded like a jar or a plastic container opening. What could that be, I wondered?
A large strong hand placed itself over my left hand, which was still holding my butt cheeks wide open. It pulled my left buttock even wide apart for a moment making me feel helplessly exposed. The touch of something cold and slimy at the very center of my butthole was such a shock I let out a little scream!
"Quiet, Carter!" my uncle said.
Oh, God. It was my uncle touching my butt hole! Another human being had never touched me like that. I thought I would die of embarrassment.
The finger was still there, just the tip, making miniscule circles around the very center of my butt hole. They must have had some lubricant or something on them because I felt wet and squishy. A moment or two later, the fingertip stopped circling and rested on the very center of my crinkled, pink hole. I could not help it, I clenched my hole tightly. My uncle’s fingered stayed there until my contracted muscles couldn't hold any more. Before I could clench again, my uncle's finger firmly pushed past the momentary lack of resistance and embedded his thick finger inside of my body. He twisted his finger, covering the entire ring of my now penetrated butt hole with the slimy, slippery lotion then slowly and firmly pressed inward in one long, slow, twisting motion until, without stopping, he was embedded as fully as he could possibly reach. I cried out, begging him to take the finger out, begging my Dad that I would be a good boy, begging and crying as the finger waited, buried deep in my butt.
He rotated again, moving the finger in a half rotation to the left, then a full rotation to the right. The finger pulled almost all the way out of me until just the tip was in me then, with more lotion on the finger, it was driven deep inside again. The finger probing was stunningly humiliating. It made me feel things that I did not know how to deal with and it moved in and out a number of times, adding more lotion each time.
Much to my horror, I felt my prick pulsating as my uncle continued to probe and swirl his finger in my butthole.
“Uncle Ken, please, oh, please stop,” I pleaded with urgency.
I did not understand how my debasement could like this as I felt the familiar hints of my pending orgasm. My prick got harder and to my utter shame, I came in front of my uncle and father.
Finally, after a full two minutes or so of time, my uncle removed his finger completely leaving me beet red in embarrassment while I gasped for breath as my hard prick hard dripped remnants of my orgasm. For a moment or two nothing happened and I wondered what would be next. My butthole and much of my rectum felt strange, tingling, stretched. I struggled to absorb all the sensations. My butthole was even more tingly then more again and then itchy too. With a panicky gasp, I realized that the ring of my butthole felt warm, hot even and there was a strange smell of the lotion in the room that seemed familiar, but I could not place. My butt was hot now and suddenly I could feel something deep up in my belly that felt like I was being touched still right in the center of my body.
What was that? My butthole was hot and starting to sting. I pulled harder at my buttocks as the irritation increased. If I could have reached down to blow on it, I would have. The heat was unbearable now and I started to cry.
"Well Ken, it sure looks like he can feel the Vicks in his bottom," my father said.
Oh, my God! He used the menthol ointment my father used to have put on my chest when I was a child for a cold. That was the smell. It used to make my chest all warm and now, now, it was deep in my most intimate place. I could not stop crying now as my father pulled my hands down from my buttocks and held them both by the wrist with one of his big hands at the small of my back. I did not want my buttocks to close over the heat. I wanted to pull them open but a moment later the strap made me forget that as strike after searing strike came down on my poor, bare buttocks.
As usual, the spanking was unrestrained and I was crying as loud as I had ever done before it was over. I could not catch my breath for ages and the difference in this spanking from others I had received in the past was profound. As the heat from my spanking diminished to a deep-seated heat, the stinging heat in my butthole and deep up inside my rectum became agonizing.
Just as I'd normally be getting myself back in control, this time the deep stinging heat was making feel as though I'd been spanked from the inside out. I did not stop crying for several minutes and during this whole time, the flash of the digital camera let me know that there were several pictures being taken of my freshly spanked cheeks and all the places in between.
Gradually, I got my sobbing under control and then the presence of my uncle and father behind me started my crying again. My father picked this moment to make sure I knew that I had not been forgotten.
"Okay, Carter, get 'em spread nice and wide."
Fresh tears were automatic, as I feared the additional punishment that was almost certainly to come. Still, holding my buttocks wide apart was a slight relief to the awful burning sensation of the menthol on my butt hole and I pulled them wide, wide open. Another series of flashes would record my red bottom held open by my hands and the white ribbon of my inner buttocks punctuated in the center by a glistening but angry, pink anal ring.
My father and uncle waited until I was more under control before I could heard footsteps again.
"So Kevin," It was my uncle again. "You've used the strap down here in his ass crack?" As he spoke, his fingertip ran up and down the centerline of my bottom, running from the bottom of my balls to the bottom of my back tracing over my slippery and still hot, crinkled butthole on each stroke. It made me shiver all over.
"Yeah Ken," said my Dad. "Only on these proper punishments though. So you think the spoon will be more effective?"
What was a spoon? What were they talking about?
"Oh, no doubt. Here, let me show you."
I sobbed again. Was there no end to my humiliation?
My father put both his hands firmly over my back and a moment later, my buttocks were stretched even wider apart and I was held there solidly.
I could hear my uncle walking towards me now.
With my father on one side and my uncle on the other, I knew my punishment was about to continue and I cried at the helplessness of it.
"You go ahead and cry, Carter," my uncle said. "You know that you deserve every bit of this punishment."
My father and uncle held me immobile and a moment later, I felt the stinging stroke of a wooden spoon against my balls. The pain radiated from my balls to the remainder of my body. Compared to this, the strap was quite manageable. The wooden spoon is a devastating punishment device in the hands of a skilled disciplinarian and my Uncle Ken was certainly one.
The wooden spoon smacked my balls three more times and the heat at the point of impact built up extremely rapidly. My balls were swollen and redder than my just-strapped buttocks. Once I was blubbering, my uncle paused until I calmed down again. My father and uncle continued to hold me down firmly while the end of the wooden spoon rested against my balls. I continued to have my hands pulling my cheeks wide, wide apart.
"Alright, Carter," my uncle said. "You're almost at the end of your punishment. Now, why are you being punished?"
It took a couple of tries before I could speak a full sentence coherently
"Because I was b-b-b-bad and b-b-because I d-d-didn't tell when Jack stole something," I stuttered.
"Correct," said my uncle. "Now, hopefully this is a lesson you'll remember for a long time when you think about becoming a criminal."
There was a pregnant pause. It was as though everyone in the room was holding their breath. The sound of a sharp smack arrived at my ears an instant before the sensation arrived at my brain, which made it seem like an out-of-body experience. The wooden spoon had descended sharply against my balls. It felt like I'd been stabbed with a metal spike, but before I could shriek in shock and pain, the spoon had already descended again. Ten sharp smacks hit my already sensitized balls, before my uncle would stand up and leave me holding my bottom impossibly wide apart.
I do not know how long I was left over the chair, but it could not have been more than a few more minutes before I was finally able to stand.
"Fourteen minutes, Carter," said my father and I shuffled off to my familiar corner.
There would be more photos once corner time was over, this time as I was photographed, my face stayed blushing as red as my butt as I watched my uncle watching me, completely naked before the punishment was finally declared complete.
It was the embarrassment part of the punishment that would stay with me. The memory of being exposed, displayed to my uncle that my father realized hit me the most. Over the next couple of years, my Uncle Ken saw me punished a half-dozen times. I am sure he enjoyed each incident much more than I did.
My cousin saw me get a regular spanking once and that was intensely embarrassing. He is a year younger than me and having him see me naked even for a few minutes was awful. Worse, my cousin was allowed to peruse my spanking album where he could see my previous punishments.
Eventually though, even this extreme embarrassment was bound to lose its influence so, here I am, at fifteen ready to face the most embarrassing punishment ever.
It started this morning. I lost my temper in a moment of craziness and actually threw a bowl against the wall in the kitchen. It's Saturday, you see and I had plans to meet up with my friends Jack and Andy and hit the mall later. My father let me know that I had chores to do including a bunch of laundry, scrubbing the bathrooms and cleaning the kitchen, which would absolutely take all day so no going to the mall. I argued overly long.
My father gave me that look that he has and said "No, Carter and that's final!"
I grabbed my cereal bowl and hurled it against the wall. Not towards him mind you, just at the wall. I had no sooner done it than I realized how much trouble I was in. You guessed it. I was to have a 'proper' punishment that very evening. My father looked at me, the milk from the cereal still dripping down the side of the kitchen wall. He was thinking and I know he was thinking about how to punish me.
"Alright, young man," he said quietly. "You want to throw a temper tantrum like you were a little three-year-old child? Well, I can remind you of what it's like to be three years old."
I shivered. This did not sound good at all. I was banished to my room for a while and decided to try to make amends by cleaning it up. In the end, it would not help. My father was on the phone talking to my uncle.
Just after lunch, my father came to fetch me and I was plunked into a hot bath and told to make sure I was plenty clean. She waited until I had stripped down and gotten into the hot water. I left the door open as I took my bath. When my father came to fetch me, I stepped out of the tub and dried myself off as he watched.
He took me by my ear and brought me back to my bedroom where a couple of towels had been placed on my bed. To my absolute horror, I was placed on my back and told to hold my knees up and wide, wide apart. It was terribly exposing and, while I looked unbelievingly, my father actually took a couple of pictures of me like that, spread open like a lab frog! I did not dare protest.
Then, he pulled a chair right between my legs and picked up a razor.
"Oh, God, Daddy, please no!" I pleaded.
The plea arrived on deaf ears. A few minutes later, I was as bare as I'd been at the age of three. He even reached down lower down between my legs and removed the few hairs surrounding my butthole.
Some warm oil finished the job and my father carefully photographed the new look as I sniffled softly. The removal of my pubic hair really did make me feel like a little boy. It was as though a mark of my adulthood had been stripped from me.
So, here I am, fifteen years old and completely naked. I have been bent over the back of the chair in the living room for almost half an hour, when my uncle and my two cousins are in the room, I can't quite believe this. They can see everything fifteen year old Carter has to offer of course, because I am holding my buttocks wide, wide apart. On the chair in front my eyes, is an open jar of menthol ointment, which is all I can smell at the moment. I know that I will be thoroughly treated inside my bottom before I get the spanking on the outside.
All I can think about though is this. I am fifteen and will certainly live with my folks until I'm at least eighteen. If this is not the worst punishment, what more severe punishments will they think up in the next two years! Oh my, I am sure I am in for surprises to come.
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