textfiles/sex/EROTICA/B/big_boy.txt

                         A Big Boy Spanking from Daddy
                            By Foxxnet User Bunburn

My parents were firm believers in frequent, hard, tear producing bare
bottom spanking as the proper way to bring up boys.  They both believed
that in order to end up with exemplary adult men, it was necessary
frequently and consistently to correct the inherent obstinacy and mischief
characteristic of boys.  Spanking was always the chosen mode of correction
for all misdeeds, lapses, insolence, fighting, even moodiness.  The bare
behind of a boy was, they contended, the God given body part on which to
impart the lessons that needed to be learned. "Boy bottoms were made to
be spanked," I heard my Father say more than once.  I was the middle
brother of three boys and I had an older sister as well but as far as I
know she was never spanked.  On the other hand, we boys frequently suffered
the ordeal of being over Daddy's knee, always with our pants down, getting a
good handspanking.

Child rearing was my Father's responsibility.  He did the spanking of us
boys and this continued right through our late teens. When we were little,
every once in a great while, Mom would spank one of us.  This was the
exception and a rare occasion.  It was Daddy who determined the structure,
procedures, and rules governing corporal punishment.

I call him Daddy in this account because while getting a spanking, even as
late as age eighteen, I was over DADDY'S knee.  Prior to, during, or after
a spanking, just as I ceased to have an ass and had instead a "bottom" or
"behind" or "tushie" or "heinie", Father was Daddy and was to be addressed
as such.  His avowed intention was to force us to return to a juvenile
orientation, especially as we got older.  "When you act like a little baby
that is exactly how you are going to be treated."

On a few occasions, when we were especially bad we got a strap applied to
our writhing tushies.  He kept it hung on a nail in the hallway on the
third floor where the boys' bedrooms were.  Usually, the dreaded strap
only served as a threat to get us to toe the line.  However, Daddy's trusty
palm could be heard slapping bare bottom at least twice a week.  These
spankings were frequent, thorough, and hard.  As young boys we could
easily be brought to tears of contrition with one of those paternal
handspankings.  During a spanking from Daddy, you could look forward to
gyrating, kicking, begging, sobbing.  Daddy used to assert, "A spanking
begins when the bad boy cries."  For example, if a spanking lasted twenty
minutes, an eleven year old miscreant would probably be sobbing for fifteen
of those minutes.

As effective as these spankings were, Daddy started to warn my older
brother Jake around the age of twelve that soon he was going to be too
old for little boy handspankings and that after his thirteenth birthday,
when he was bad, he could expect to get a Big Boy Spanking.  He wouldn't
tell us what that entailed and Jakey was teeming with curiosity and worry.

Daddy finally introduced us to what he had alluded to when I was ten and
Jake was thirteen.  Already my big brother was a star athlete, popular
with both boys and girls.  I idealized him and ached for his acceptance.
He was a very good older brother.  Sometimes he would razz me, or reject
me for being too young, too much a "twit" as he used to call me.  Although
I had not yet reached puberty, my voice still high, my little boy's prick
still pencil thin and Lilliputian, and my body without a trace of body
hair, I already felt turned on by Jake who was, unlike me,  an early
bloomer.  Without understanding what was happening to me,  I could get
hard with my little boy dick and all woozy inside just seeing Jake's
fuzzy crotch, shapely buttocks, heavy dick and balls.  Since we shared
the same bedroom, every morning and every evening it was a feast for my
eyes when he changed to get ready for school or bed and when he would
come out of the shower wet and half hard.

We did play around a little.  He sometimes liked to have me hold his
balls when he jerked off. A couple of times he rubbed his dick all over
my hot, red behind after I had been spanked until he came.  Whenever we
would wrestle around there was much goosing and grabbing.  It all felt
great and amazing to me and I always longed for erotic play and closeness
with my brother.  For Jake it was just an occasional thing, when a
certain mood would come over him.  He called it "twit-time".  I loved it
when he would lunge for me and tease.  "It's twit-time, time for the
twit!"  That always meant that I could expect some rough, sexual time
with my big brother.

Shortly after Jakey's thirteenth birthday, the unfortunate boy was
discovered during one of these twit times.  When Daddy walked into our
bedroom I was naked, on my belly, and squawking.  He was lying on top of
me with his pants still on but his hard penis sticking out of his fly.
He sprang to his feet putting things back where they belonged with some
difficulty.

"What's going on here!" my Daddy roared.  I scurried over to my bureau
and yanked some underpants on.  He had us sit side by side on Jake's bed.
What followed was an interrogation of both of us in which it came out
that Jake had stripped me, had wrestled me to the ground, that his
"thing" was out of his fly.  Daddy said that he was shocked, that Jake's
behavior was disgusting, and that when he finished blistering his buttocks
that would be the last time he would even think of doing something
perverted like this.

He said, "You know Jacob I've been promising you a Big Boy Spanking for
some time.  Today you are going to find our what is in store for you from
now on whenever your misbehavior warrants it. Your repulsive behavior
today absolutely merits an introduction to a Big Boy Spanking."

He smiled vaguely and almost whispered, "You just wait here, young man!"
In about five minutes, during which we stood stock still and wordless, he
came back with a red box, about the size of a shoe box.  He opened it,
and with widening eyes we watched something we had never seen before
emerge from the tissue paper.  It was an oversized, oval wooden hairbrush!
Clearly he had just recently bought it.  Brand new, the hard tawny wood
had a bright luster to it.  He said that he had recently bought this big
hairbrush for an occasion just like this, that he was pleased he had
anticipated the need to have the hairbrush on hand, and that obviously he
had purchased it "not a moment too soon."  The hairbrush had a little
piece of rawhide on the handle that looked as if it was going to hang
someplace.  And hang it did!  From that day foreword this article that
ruled our adolescent years hung, where a picture of boats used to be, on
a hook close enough to both our beds so that it would serve as a
"naughtiness deterrent" as my Daddy called it.

Daddy sat on the edge of the bed pointing the hairbrush at my brother.
"Jacob, you really screwed up this time!  Things are going to change around
here you very bad boy you.  You obviously need something more than I've
been giving you to straighten you out.  This hairbrush is exactly what
the doctor ordered for an incorrigible thirteen year old like you.  I
intend to give you this hairbrush medicine today and every time you need
it right until you leave home.  Do you understand?  Get those pants down!"

Jake was scared.  He couldn't take his eyes off that hairbrush.  He
pleaded, "Please Daddy, I'll be good.  I'm sorry...don't spank me with the
brush, Daddy. please!"

Daddy was real mad.  Dangerously quiet now, he warned, "Get those pants
down or do I have to go get the strap to encourage you to do as I say?"

Jake unbuckled his jeans and dragged them down to his knees, his eyes
already moist.  Daddy pulled my scared brother across his knees.  Jakey's
underpants stretched tautly across his arched up bottom.  Daddy raised
the hairbrush and let it smack down real hard right down on one cheek
and then the other;  right left, right left, right left, right left,
right left, right left, right left, the brush fell rhythmically, precisely,
covering every inch of the white material.  You could almost see the red
glowing through and the few places were he had smacked low on the exposed
lowest curves of the cheeks angry red blotches sprang up on the lily
white skin.

Jake was howling.  This hard a spanking,  about thirty hard smacks with
the back of that wooden hairbrush, was as hard as the worst kind of
spanking that either of us had ever gotten or imagined until that
afternoon.  My poor brother was in for the shock of his young life when
Daddy, after the thirty swats, jerked his briefs way up into his crack,
completely exposing the rosy, quivering buttocks, and continued to swat
them with the hairbrush even more deliberately.  I was astonished.  I
almost stopped Daddy before I fortunately stopped myself.  It was as if
he was losing control.  Actually he was in perfect control.  It's just
that I had never seen a Big Boy Spanking before.  I couldn't believe
what he was doing to Jakey's poor behind.

My Daddy was determined to impart a lesson that Jakey would never forget.
He pulled down those briefs right down to Jakey's knees.  (I could feel
my brother's humiliation when he had to lift up to let my Daddy pull
those briefs down past his privates.)  With the jockeys down, Daddy
really got down to business with that hairbrush.

Jake was tough.  I could tell that he didn't want to give Daddy the
satisfaction of moving around too much or crying out.  Despite his
attempt to be brave and preserve some semblance of dignity, when that
hairbrushing began on his bare, trembling buns, he started yelping
"Ouch" and "No!" and "It hurts!".  He had started to thrash about like
one possessed as the spanking progressed, putting on a real show for
both Daddy and me.  His buns clenched and unclenched, wagged from side
to side, writhed and trembled.  His balls and penis bounced between his
kicking legs.  A couple of times you could even catch a glimpse of his
little rosebud when he arched his bottom up to meet the ferocious
hairbrush.  The whole time Daddy was scolding and shaming the sobbing,
desperate boy.

"How does it feel to be over Daddy's knee with your bottom all bare,
naughty boy [whack!  whack!  crack! whack!]  I wonder what your buddies
would think if I invited them over to see their big man friend get his
bare bottom spanked by his Daddy?.  [spank, spank, spank!!]   I should
ask them to watch next time.  Or Uncle Tim.  Or my friend Hal or your
mother or your sister or our nosy neighbor MRS. Mitchell?  [whack!
whack!  crack! whack]   Keep still you little brat! [crack !!!] Maybe
next time I should let them all watch my little bad boy getting his
tushie spanked.  Do you realize how wrong what you were doing to your
brother was?  [spank, spank, spank!!]  You keep that bottom up so I can
spank it.  And you are supposed to be an example for him.  Some example!
[whack!  whack!  crack! whack]  I'm positively mortified by your
loathsome conduct, Jacob, you bad, bad boy.  [whack!  whack!  crack!
whack] whack!  whack!  crack! whack! " whack!  whack!  crack! whack]
I should give you a Big Boy Spanking every night for a week for what you
did.  Stop squirming so much.  [spank, spank, spank, crack, whack, splat,
splat, splat, splat, splat!!]  If I ever catch you doing anything like
what I walked into today I'll skin you alive with the strap.  Do you
understand me boy?  What?  I can't understand you.  Stop bawling you
crybaby and answer me.  Do you understand?!"  Jakey was clearly past
even being able to articulate a "Yes Daddy".  Daddy said, "Well I'll
just have to spank you and spank you until you do understand!"

The spanking was relentless.  The few responses that Jakey was able to
make to Daddy's questions were so combined with blubbering as to make
them unintelligible.  Finally, Jake just gave up.  Daddy had broken him.
Finally, the son had fully surrendered to his father.   The son was
there to absorb, not to obstruct.

Daddy paused and then modified the boy's position, which at this point in
the spanking was half off Daddy's lap, arms and legs akimbo, more to
Daddy's liking.  Daddy adjusted Jake's entirely spent body until the
boy's heinie was slightly raised up and directly in the center of Daddy's
lap, my poor brother's legs waving in the air, the fingers of his hands
lightly grazing the floor.  Daddy's free hand held his son around his
bare waist in classical spanking style.  Thirteen and an early bloomer
though he was, my brother looked at that moment like a much younger and
totally punished little boy.

Daddy paused for a few minutes and without speaking, just rubbed and
patted the quaking, torrid bottom of his inconsolable son.  Then the
hairbrush began its work again.  The spanking was slower now, the strokes
a good five to ten seconds apart.  From the height of Daddy's upraised
arm before each whack, and by the flick of his wrist just before the
brush connected with Jakey's behind, as well as the involuntary twitch
and jump in his cheeks after every smack, you could tell that even though
the spanking had slowed down, each smack was harder then ever.  Weeping
profusely, my brother just absorbed the hairbrushing, all resistance
gone now.  Daddy warned Jakey how mercilessly he would be punished if he
ever even dreamed of doing to anyone what he had done to me.  Daddy
assured Jake that he loved him, but he was aghast at his behavior.  All
the while the slow, severe whacks of the brush continued to fall on the
hapless bottom.  Finally Daddy stopped.  Jake was unable to get up or to
stop sobbing.  Daddy again gingerly rubbed and patted the thirteen year
old's steaming rump, reassuring the boy, telling him that he was
forgiven now, that it was over.  Daddy helped his boy to his feet and as
the last part of the Big Boy Spanking he was sent, still loudly crying
and apologizing, to the corner.  Jake was told that he was to stand at
attention, his nose in the corner, that no rubbing was allowed, and that
he was to stand there displaying his red bottom and to think about the
lesson he had just learned.

************************************************

It was shortly after my thirteenth birthday that Daddy thought that I
was old enough now and that my adolescent bottom would from then on join
his for Big Boy Spankings applied as often as needed.

I remember the countless number of Big Boy Spankings that I received
from Daddy between the ages of thirteen until shortly after my eighteenth
birthday. The first thing that comes to mind is being upended: hauled
and positioned over Daddy's knee with my pants down, my backside the
highest part of me and my head the lowest, my legs dangling helplessly
in the air.  In that position I am the identified Naughty Little Boy.
My bottom is raised and slightly bent, directly under the gaze and full
attention of my Daddy.  My buttocks feel so UTTERLY exposed, so vulnerable,
so helpless, so hopeless, and somehow cute.  It's like I sense, or hope,
or imagine (I'm not sure which) that Daddy likes my bottom even though
he is going to spank it;  that he thinks I have a nice bottom.  I try
to imagine what he is seeing and what he looks like when he looks at my
twitching bare buns.  I feel embarrassed to the core of my teen age boy
dignity, but also at the same time somehow giving in to a strange sort
of pleasurable submission about being bare bottom for him. I feel his
arms positioning me, holding me.  I feel Daddy's powerful, muscular knees
and thighs through his pants.  Sometimes, and these were very intimate
and secretly very special moments of closeness, I feel his hairy, manly
thighs beneath my bare mid-section. This happens when he spanks me in his
boxer shrts, or when he's naked under his robe, or during the summer when
he's in a bathing suit.  I am thinking "I am over DADDY'S lap I'm over
DADDY'S lap."  I know I am in this position for one reason only and that
is to get my hind end blistered.  I feel as if my bottom no longer belongs
to me, but now belongs to my big, strong Daddy to do with as he pleases.
I have no options whatever than to take it.  It is now for his to deliver
and for me to endure.  I try to steel myself to get ready.  I make a
pointless vow not to cry or struggle.

When the spanking begins in earnest I forget about how exposed I am or
at least that awareness recedes and unbelievable, intolerable, shocking
pain moves into the foreground.  I feel I can't take it;  it stings and
burns too much.  At the same time I know I will take it, and take it
and take it.  It is a dance between Daddy and me.  As we struggle, I
vainly, he triumphant.

All thoughts leave and I am only aware of my blazing bottom.  It feels on
fire and yet the searing smacks of the hairbrush continue to fall.  That
familiar hairbrush!  How well I know its exact shape, it's oval imprint
as familiar as his open palm.  I don't welcome it, I dread it but also
respect it.  I recognize it.  It is familiar.  Its imprint is part of my
boyhood.  It is not an enemy.  It is part of what bonds me to Daddy.  It
is part of what keeps me his boy.  It is part of what keeps me good.  In
some weird way I am reassured by its precise familiarity of sting and
shape and sound amidst  the agonizing, building fire that it delivers to
my writhing buttocks.

I become all buttocks.  All bottom.  No me.  No words.  No thoughts.
Just backside.  I become my fiery upturned cheeks.  When I clench them
or unclench them, when I squirm or wiggle, or buck or heave, or just lie
there over his lap,  I am my behind .

At the beginning I cry out words.  I yelp.  I say Ow!  I feign crying.
I reason.  I strategize.  Against all the wisdom of past experience I
vainly try to dissuade my Daddy from his committed course of action.  His
sense of duty is sure and direct.  As always, he will spank me severely,
for a long time, and not stop until he thinks I've had enough and finally
delivers the last searing smack. After a while I finally, totally break.
The tears and words now erupt from me, like an involuntary liturgy...
The sobbing, the difficulty breathing, the blinding tears and the
"Daddy's" and "please don't" and "I'm sorry" and "I'll be good" and
"Daddy please, please, please no more Daddy I promise I'll do better
I'll never do it again, No Daddy No Daddy Please No more!! Please please
please, Daddy, I'll be good,  Daddy Daddy, I'm sorry, Please stop Daddy
I'll do better I promise!"

Then comes the total release.  When the struggle ceases.  The total
submission to my Daddy and to his authority and to his will and to his
power.  Finally, I just open to the spanking.  Finally, all the stops
are out and I cry my heart out openly and frankly.  I know that he has
won and though I have lost, my head is swimming with certainties. I am
his spanked bad boy.  I am Daddy's red bottomed naughty little boy.
I know when Daddy gets me to that point of genuine contrition for having
misbehaved he will stop and it will be over.  Then I am forgiven and
through my tears I can feel that he has forgiven me, that he loves me
even though he has punished me so hard.  He is again gentle and kind.
Daddy caresses and massages my behind.

There are those times when I think the spanking is unfair, and then I
will sulk (secretly, or I can expect another spanking!).  Usually the
spanking is justified since I have been bad.  At those times, after he
lets me out of the corner and he leaves, even though I feel sorry for
myself and rub and tend to my blistered bottom, a waxing devotion to
my Daddy overtakes me and the connection is made between everything that
has happened and my swelling cock.