DAD STILL SPANKS HIM LIKE A NAUGHTY BOY

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Dad keeps the paddle on my desk, behind the monitor. For the most part, he doesn’t use it; his hand and hairbrush are enough to teach me just about any lesson. But he says it’s a good reminder for me to have to stare at it every time I use the computer, for homework or fun.

And of course, if I ever mess around when I’m supposed to be working, he’ll calmly reach over my shoulder to pull it out.

I always whine and insist that I’ll start focusing, but there’s no way to persuade him. He pulls me to my feet, then takes my jeans and underwear all the way off. After a shove to the small of my back, I’m sprawled across the desk chair, legs wide and white cheeks exposed to the room.

The paddle smacks down right away. It hurts in a much deeper way than the hairbrush, but he doesn’t go easy on me at all. Just as fast and hard as he would go with his hand. I yelp and buck and wiggle until he has to pin me down. “Please, Dad! It hurts so bad! I promise I’ll get back to work.”

He doesn’t pause the assault on my reddening cheeks. “Oh, you will be getting back to work. And you’ll be sitting on a bare, sore rump.”

“Dad! How can I concentrate when my butt hurts this much?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way. If you don’t, you’ll be getting a reminder paddling tonight. If you’re a good boy and finish all your work, it will just be a hairbrushing.”

I can’t stop the tears from filling my eyes.

HIS BOTTOM IS VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY RED!

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We’re reaching that point near the end of the spanking, when I can’t even remember how long I’ve been crying. I gave up on begging for him to stop a while ago. I gave up on squirming, I gave up on whining, and I gave up on trying to kick the pain away. All I can do is lay over his knee, crying and thinking about the unbelievable fire in my bottom.

He pauses, and I feel the weight of his body shift as he turns to look at the back of my head. “How does that feel, son?”

My voice is wet. “It hurts so, so much.”

He smacks me again, and the fire rekindles. “Good. Do you think you deserve it?”

“Yes.”

He gives my cheeks a rough rub. “Do you think you deserve any more?”

I muffle a sob. “I really don’t think I can take any more…”

He sighs. “Well, I do think your cheeks have just about reached their limit. But that’s not what I asked. I asked if you deserve any more. And since you didn’t say no, I think that means yes.”

My crying intensifies. “But my butt…”

He hooks his foot between my legs, spreading them wide. His warm hand taps between my untouched cheeks and slides down to my still-white thighs. “Don’t worry, son. Dad will always find a way to give you the discipline you need.”