A deserved spanking

Frieda and Fin Noose were lying in bed. She was comfortable spooned from behind by Fin. His hands were resting protectively over Frieda's growing stomach. She was four months pregnant with their first child. Besides worrying about names, they also discussed how they wanted to rear any future children. Frieda knew a little bit about Fin's upbringing and had seen the result of discipline netted out by his parents. He had told her about some of the spankings he had received as well, and it seemed mostly they were unfair. Frieda had rarely been punished physically and didn't want to get started with their son or daughter. Fin and she hadn't spoken about how he was feeling about administering a walloping. Frieda could guess the answer, but wanted to be sure. Before asking how he planned to treat their offspring, she asked: "Fin have you ever been punished fairly?" Fin thought for a while. "Cutting class, because I was grieving - no, spitting my grandfather into the palm - maybe, stealing, if I've done it - yes, for talking back - no, breaking a window and lying about it - too harsh in my opinion. I can only think of one another spanking I might have deserved." "What did you do?" 'It was more of a case what I didn't do." "Don't keep me in the dark, honey." Fin smiled and inhaled deeply, smelling the fruity shampoo Frieda had used earlier, when she washed her hair. Talking about the caning wasn't easy.
"Well, I was maybe eleven or twelve. It was a spanking my father administered alone. My mother was on a business trip." "Mhm." Frieda said, trying to encourage Fin to continue. "My parents and I were at loggerheads. I was sure I didn't have to study for my math test. My parents disagreed. They were right. Instead of my normal A or B grade I received a C. The first time we simply had a discussion about hard work and where I would end up, if I didn't get good grades. The second time they were getting impatient and threatened to "cure" me of being lazy." "I guess it made you more rebellious." "Definitely. Anyway the third time my grade had further deteriorated. Of course Mom and Dad weren't pleased." "They spanked you?" "Not this time. Somehow I managed to wriggle myself out of the situation, but they made it clear, should I ever come back with a C or lower until the end of the school year, I would be caned each time I had a bad grade." "Wow, that's quite tough." "Yes, no doubt about that." "Didn't you take your parents serious? I mean, they had spanked you for earlier offences..." "Hm, let me think about that. It was the stupidity of the young, I guess. I believed I didn't have to learn to achieve good grades, even though, the whole opposite was true. Based on that believe I was sure I would have at least a B at the next test. I was wrong. When I received the test back I got a D. I knew then, I was done for." With a brief sigh Fin changed his position slightly. He continued: "Dad had asked me to come straight from school to his workplace. Mike was going to spend a long weekend with one of his friends, so it was just Dad and me. It seemed on the one side the time was standing still. On the other the seconds and minutes passed way too quickly. I tried to figure out, if Dad would cane me as soon as we were back home the same evening or if I had to wait for my spanking until Mom was back from her conference." "You didn't look forward to either, did you?" Fin shook his head. "No, and in all honesty waiting until the return of my mother would have been worse. I was totally unprepared what my father had in store for me, though. When school was over for the day, I didn't dally and delay going to my father's place. I knew I was in enough trouble. Dad and I exchanged a few pleasantries. Then he inquired about the test. Without a word, I got out the sheets of paper and showed him. Dad's face darkened. "Coldham Fintan, what did your mother and I tell you would happen, if you didn't study?" He asked. "You said you would cane me." I barely managed to look him into the eyes. "Absolutely correct! I am very ashamed of you! We have given you so many chances, and you didn't take any of them. If you don't have good grades, you won't be able to study, and that is going to leave you in an awkward position. You are going to end up on the streets. Do you really want to be homeless?" Dad's lecture made me angry. Always, when a mistake was school related I was told I would end up on the streets. I refused to answer, which infuriated my father. He pressed further and out of frustration, anger and rebellion I replied: "Anything than living with you would be better." He slapped me for that. It was embarrassing. Dad had his own office, but it had windows opening to the rest of the open plan office and floor to ceiling windows overlooking Miami. Anyone passing by or with the right seat could have seen the slap. I was so angry I nearly threw a tantrum, but knew, if I didn't keep my tongue in check I would end up with a far worse punishment, so I apologized instead. It wasn't sincere. My father calmed down. He told me he had come prepared, and while he was lowering the blinds, I should fetch the cane from his cupboard. I wasn't happy about that development. Dad said the cane was hidden in one of his packaging for his architectural plans. Well, in the cupboard was only one cylindrical shaped tube, so I knew the instrument of my correction was in there. It cost me a lot of will power to retrieve it, because I knew what kind of pain the cane could inflict, and I was going to be at the receiving end within a few minutes, if not seconds. My father had gone out of the room for a moment. I considered making a dash, trying to escape the inescapable, but decided against it. It was hopeless anyway, and if I ran away, I was going to pay for it dearly. Two canings or an estimated six to eight strokes was the last thing I wanted to endure. I took my time, though, and with some trepidation handed the cane to my father, who had returned. "Your mother and I have discussed your case earlier. We have agreed on three strokes. You can keep on your underpants, so please drop your pants and bend over the desk. While I prepared myself, Dad locked the door. My father may had closed the blinds to the office, but not the ones with views to the outside world. Even though I knew the building was covered in mirror glass, I felt somehow exposed. It made me feel humiliated and vulnerable. Dad pulled my shirt out of the way. I knew then that my punishment was imminent and tensed. Before the first cut landed at the top of my bottom, I heard it whistling. As always the pain was incredible. I only took a deep breath, trying to be stoic about it for two reasons: I didn't want to give Dad the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt, and I didn't want any witnesses. I wasn't sure if the room was sound proofed, so to be quiet seemed good advice. Dad waited a few seconds to line up the next stroke. It was harder than the first and hit me in the center of my behind. The pain of the two cuts merged, and my eyes filled with tears. I bit hard on my lower lip to make no noise. I've preferred to scream ... Anyway Dad got what he wanted. I cried out, when the cane connected with my sit spots. I stifled it, though, and it wasn't too loud. I had another problem. Normally I was allowed to get up and go to my room, where I generally burst into tears. This time there was no escape. After another brief lecture I was allowed to get up, but wasn't allowed to get dressed. Dad ordered me into one of the corners and told me: "I've got a bit of work to do before we go home. Face the wall, pull down your underpants, put your hands behind your head and think about why you are in this situation."" "Uh, oh!" Frieda said, knowing exactly how proud Fin was and what it must have meant for him. "Well, I did what he said. I cried silently - not only from the pain - only my shaking shoulders gave me away. My behind was on fire, and I was by now thoroughly humiliated. I was sorry for myself, angry with my father, embarrassed and ashamed. I didn't like to stand there naked from the waist down and "showing off" my backside to my father. I desperately wanted to rub my sore buttocks and get a little bit relieve from the sting, but obviously with my hands locked behind my head, I wasn't able to. I was frustrated. I wanted to shout, because it hurt so much. Of course I didn't do it. Instead I suffered in silence. Corner time seemed to last for ages, and sometimes I thought I felt my father staring at my derriere. I could imagine what it must look like: Three visible straight, deeply red lines, where the cane had hit me and bruises surrounding them. Anyhow, when Dad thought I had spent enough time in the corner, he came to me and asked, if I was studying from now on. Stubborn as I was I refused to answer. My disobedience earned me two spanks on my freshly caned behind. I burst into tears again - they had stopped earlier. My father was impatiently waiting for an answer. When it wasn't forthcoming, he smacked me again. In the end I nodded, but Dad wasn't satisfied and asked sternly that I reply to him. My voice was shaky when I said: "Yes, sir." He was happy with the answer and let me dress and out of the corner. I was relieved. Dad hugged me and said: "Everything is forgiven. Let's start fresh again, and I want to see an improvement in your grades immediately, is this understood, Coldham Fintan?" "Yes, sir." I meant it. Dad gave me the cane to store again in the tube. I had to carry it to the car. Leaving the office was hard. Since I didn't know how much the staff had heard, I kept my head low and avoided looking at people. Sitting was very, very uncomfortable. I cried all the way home. Dad wanted to comfort me further, but I refused. I was still angry with him. It took me a while to forgive him, but I never ever had a worse grade than B in math." Frieda asked: "Fin, would you spank our children?" "No! I never want to treat my kids the way I was treated. I believe strongly there are other ways to teach them right from wrong or motivate them." He kept to his word.

©2012