Loren hasn’t been doing her chores and her father decides to have a “talk” with her.
“Loren Maureen Wilson!” my father bellowed. I knew I was in trouble the moment he said it, and not only because he used my full name, but because I could hear him from clear across the house, and upstairs nonetheless.
“Yes, Daddy?” I said, peeking my head out of my bedroom to see only the staircase and wall. I don’t know why I did that… I *knew* he’d want me downstairs to talk to him.
“Get down here right now, Young Lady!”
Ouch… Young Lady? That meant trouble.
I shut the door to my bedroom, practiced putting on my innocent face, then scampered downstairs to meet my father in the doorway. I could see my brothers and sisters running around outside in the front yard. They loved to do that in the fall, right about 5 in the evening. I used to run around out there, too, before I turned sixteen. You know, sixteen? That’s the age when you get a life and try to forget that you live in the south in an old-fashioned family that still eats dinner together every night at six and lives in the boonies. That’s the age when you have your first *real* boyfriend and you drive your car to the drive-in theater to meet some of your friends from school. Yes, we had a drive-in in the town I lived in. Isn’t that pathetic?
“What did I tell you to do before I left?” he asked.
Uh oh… this wasn’t a good sign. My eyes averted from my angry father to the front door. I racked my brain. What *had* he asked me to do? It wasn’t to watch the kids, that was my older brother’s job. It wasn’t to wash any cars, too cold outside for playing in water. It wasn’t to… oh shit. “Uhm, to put a load of clothes in the laundry and unload the dishwasher,” I stammered.
“Exactly,” he answered, hands on hips, gazing down at me with fierce blue eyes. “And which of those two things did you do, Young Lady?”
“I canNOT believe you, Loren. I asked you to do two simple tasks. I’ve been gone for nearly an hour and a half and you have yet to begin either of them!”
“I’m s-sorry! I forgot!”
“You forgot last time I asked you to do something. You’ve been forgetting for the last two months!”
“I won’t forget again!” I promised.
“That’s what you said last time. I’m finished with this crap. Remember what I told you last time?”
“Y-yessir..” I said, shuttering. How could I forget what he told me last time? he had told me while I was face down over his lap, staring at the floor, getting my backside wallopped by his strong hand.
“And what did I say, Young Lady?”
“T-that you’d… make me.. cut a switch..”
He jerked my chin up to face him. “That’s right, Loren. I’m going to blister your bottom ’til you can’t sit down anymore, do you understand me?”
“Yessir,” I said, choking down the tears.
He grabbed me by the upper arm and led me to the backdoor, handing me his pocket knife. “And you know what qualifies as a good switch and what does not,” he said as the autumn air hit my flushed face and I walked down the backsteps. I could hear my siblings playing in the front yard. If they knew that I was about to get it, I’m sure they’d have changed their place of playing. They’d have moved to the den or something and played as quietly as possible, ensuring that they could get surround sound of the punishment taking place. As you can imagine, I was glad that they were outside. Of course, I can’t honestly say that I’m not guilty myself of having listened to my sibs’ spankings.
I gulped and looked back to see my father still standing at the doorway, hands impatiently on his hips. I knew the longer I took, the worse it’d be for me. But it’s so hard to bring yourself to cutting a switch for your impending doom!
I reached up and grabbed a limb of the tree, inspecting the switches to find one that would suit my father and not bring holy murder upon my backside. It was going to be hard to find one of those. In fact, it would be impossible. I knew what my father was looking for, and I knew what I wanted… they weren’t even remotely similar. So I found something that would please him and held it gently in my hands, studying it for a moment. Within minutes, this object would be thrashing the daylights out of my pale bottom. Yech… that did not sound delightful.
I hurried back to my house, knowing I’d wasted enough time ambling outside and studying the tree. My father held out his strong hands, asking me for the switch, only using no words. I sniffled as I placed it in his hands. He approved of it, then grabbed my upper arm again, swinging me around and popping my bottom with his hand one time to hurry me inside.
His place for punishment was the den. There was absolutely no privacy in my house at all.
I took down my jeans — I knew the procedure all too well. I’d been getting spanked at least twelve years.
“Dad… do you really have to do this?” I asked, throwing my jeans over the couch.
He slapped my rear end again, causing me to yelp. “Yes, I do,” he answered. “If you don’t hurry up and get those panties down, I’m going to give you more!”
That got me moving — I tugged my white cotton panties down to my ankles, placed them on top of my jeans, and then stood there, giving my father the puppy eyes.
“Oh, don’t even give me that,” he answered, turning me around so he faced my side. “You earned this switching, Loren Maureen,” he said, lifting the switch and crashing it down on my thighs, sending me about a foot in the air and a loud yelp to escape from my mouth. He held my upper arm tightly, crashing it down again and again, mainly hitting my bottom, but sometimes concentrating on my sitspots and thighs, and sometimes even my legs.
“Owwwww, Daddy!!” I howled. “Pleaseee stop please stop!! That hurtsss!” I cried, big tears now falling from my puppydog eyes.
“Think about this next time I ask you to do something!” he ordered, thrashing my thighs again. I was by this point in time practically hopping up and down and trying to keep from squirming so much. I knew squirming only made it worse, but he was spanking so much that I couldn’t help it sometimes.
“Hey Dad can we–” I heard, then saw my little sister standing in the doorway of the den. She stopped immediately, eyes widdening, mouth dropped. My dad didn’t stop though, just kept spanking me.
I knew it must have been a sight for my sister to see… someone six years older than she, standing half naked as her father lifted that terrible switched and brought it down on my tender flesh again and again. I can see why she just stood there, waiting for it to be over, rather than walking away. Her legs were probably too shakey to permit movement anyway.
My father finally finished and I was crying so badly I couldn’t even see. He handed me my jeans and panties, then swatted me, sending me to my bedroom. “Don’t let this happen again,” he ordered, then turned to my sister who asked something about going somewhere.
I just limped away, defeated, passing all five of my brothers and sisters on the way to my room. I knew they would be whispering about me soon enough, wondering what I’d done, comparing it to the spankings they got, but I didn’t care at the time. In a couple of hours, I’d be sitting uncomfortably at dinner and hear my father yelling at another sibling, and then he or she would be promised their own spanking, and the talk would no longer be about me.