Woodshed Whippings

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Woodshed Whippings


Once, Ron took me on a visit to his parents small farm where we had
grown up. We stayed in the same bedroom that was his as a boy and
I got to meet his parents, who were simple but nice country folk.
While Ron was pretty old fashioned to start with, he became even more
old fashioned and strict as we stayed there for a few days. One afternoon,
Ron and I were arguing about something and I told him to _f_u_c_k_
off. He got really mad and gave me a hard swat and told me if I used
that kind of language again I would get a really bad whipping.


That night, while Ron and I lay in his and his brothers bed chatting,
we starting arguing about something and I used the F word again. I
realized I made a mistake as soon as I said it but it was too late.


"Boy, you are going to get a whipping for saying that."


Since ROn's parents were staying in the house too, I didn't want them
to hear me getting it with Ron's belt. "Come on, Ron, don't do that
now, your mama and daddy will hear me getting it." That must have
made him think for a minute because he was quite for a bit.


"Okay, you're not getting the belt right now but get up and come over
here."
I got up and went over by Ron. He pulled me roughly over his lap and
gave me a good dozen hard smacks on my briefs with his hand.


"Thats just for now. Tomorrow you get the whipping for cussing and
the other whipping, too."


"What other whipping?" I asked, pretty much knowing what I had done.


"For not calling me 'dad' when you're getting licked. Now be quiet
and go to sleep. You'll get it tomorrow."


I had trouble sleeping thinking about Ron's belt and what it was going
to do to my butt the next day but I finally drifted off. It seemed
like forever until his parents went to town the next day.


"OKay, son, let's get out to the woodshed." I thought he was kidding
at first but there was actually a small wooden building that, when
we got there, had wood stacked in it. I had forgotten that Ron's daddy
would take him or his brother out to the woodshed for particularly
serious whippings while normal ones took place in the bedroon.


"Well, look what's hanging here." Ron said, and he reached toward
a heavy old belt handing on a nail.


"This is the strap that my daddy used on me and you're going to get
it yourself." It was a heavy brown belt that was doubled over and
apparently well used doubled over. Ron took it in his right hand and
smiled a bit.


"Get those pants down and bend over and grab your ankles" I quickly
did what Ron said and the first crack was really hard WHACK!


"Well, son, its a lot easier using it than getting it". IT did feel
funny getting a whipping with the same belt that had been applied
to Ron's butt and not too many years ago. His father had whipped him
until he was 17.


Then I stopped thinking about the irony and just thought about the
pain. THe first lick was followed by another dozen hard strokes when
I let go and stood up.


"Thats five more, boy, bend over." I bend over, begging Ron to let
up but the belt kept cracking away on my briefs. WHACK WHACK WHACK
WHACK WHACK "Now let's get back to work on your whipping for cussing."
Ron continued cracking away and I was doing my best not to stand up.
Finally, he stopped after another two dozen hard licks.


"What do you have to say for yourself now, son? You sorry you used
that word?" Ron stood with the belt streched between his two hands
and looked carefully at me.


"Yes sir, dad, I am really sorry." I said rubbing my butt. I was happy
to see that Ron was hanging the old belt back on its hanger. I could
see now why he was so quiet when he was around his daddy if he had
gotten many whippings like this one. Ron opened the door and we left
the woodshed


I knew ROn had said two whippings but I felt lucky he only gave me
one. I was wondering what he was going to do about the other. We went
and fixed a small project his daddy had asked us to do and it took
about an hour then we went back into the house. Ron took off his work
clothes and took a shower while I laid on the bed reading a book.
After he was done with his shower, he came into the bedroom and put
on a pair of clean briefs then looked at me and told me to take a
shower. When I came back into the room, Ron was waiting there in his
briefs. I discovered I had forgotten to bring enough underwear and
Ron told me I could wear some of his. Once I slipped them on I turned
around and looked at him. He looked mad.


"I think we better finish your punishment. Get my belt out of the
closet, son."


Well, I knew better than to argue so I went into his closet and found
his belt that he had used to spank me in the past many times hanging
there. It was a tan colored belt, pretty wide with a brass buckle.
I handed it to Ron and he stood up and doubled it up.


"What do you have to say for yourself before I whip you?


I knew that Ron liked me to call him "dad" or "daddy" when he was
going to whip me and I should have said it earlier. If I didn't I
almost always got an additional licking. Standing in my briefs now,
I sure wished I had just called him "daddy" and I would be done.


"I'm sorry, dad, I had it coming and I deserved it. I guess I got
some more, sir."


Ron just pointed his head at his bed and I took the hint and laid
face down over the edge. Then he took the belt and WHACK laid a good
lick across my butt. It was a pretty strange feeling getting a whipping
in the same place that Ron had gotten so many, even wearing his underwear.


On top of the licking with his dad's heavier strap, this really was
hard to take. I was begging Ron to let up. WHACK "Oh, dad, please,
stop. WHACK "Oh dad Noooo" WHACK WHACK "Daddy!!" WHACK WHACK WHACK
I was kicking my legs and yelling good and finally Ron stopped.


"OKay son, get up." I stood up and Ron handed me the belt. "Put it
back in the closet." I was surprised at how warm it was and I hung
it back on its hook and turned to face Ron.


I rubbed my butt pretty hard and it made Ron smile.


"Like father, like son" he said. "I used to stand here and rub my
butt good after a whipping but it still hurt"


Even though I was pretty sore, it made me smile just a bit. "Father
knows best, daddy."



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When Your Father Gets Home

by Robert Satterwhite



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Copyright © 2016 Bartleby Snopes




L ois was waiting for me when I arrived home from work. She had that too familiar look on her face that told me something was wrong.
"It's Michael,"
she said. "He has to be punished."
I went to the
refrigerator, got a beer, opened it, and sat down.
"He lied to me, that's
what. When I confronted him with the proof that he lied, he wouldn't even admit
it. One lie on top of the other. It's inexcusable."
She told me. I took a sip
of my beer. It had been a rough day at work, and I was dead tired. I wanted to
drink my beer and watch the news.
"Why didn't you
spank him? You usually do."
"This is too serious,
John. We can't let him get away with lying. He has to learn."
We both were brought up by
parents who strongly believed that sparing the rod spoils the child. My father
whipped me – with his belt. Lois never got the belt, but her brothers did.
Michael is ten years old. A good kid. He
has never done anything serious enough for me to have to whip him. When he does
something that Lois thinks is serious enough for punishment, she paddles him
with an old Ping-Pong paddle she keeps on top of the refrigerator just for that
purpose.
"I sent him to his
room. I told him to wait there until you came home."
I remembered the times just
like this when my mother sent me to my room to wait for my father to come
home. I remembered the dread I felt
listening for the sound of his car in the driveway, his heavy steps on the
staircase. He would open my bedroom door, take off his belt, and fold it with
the tip and buckle in one hand.
"You know I have to
do this, don't you Johnny?"
"Well, are you
going to do it?" Lois said.
I got up and went up the stairs to Michael's
room. He was sitting on the bed, a look of fear mixed with defiance on his face.
I knew that look, knew it well.
"Michael, your
mother says you lied to her. When you
lie to someone, you're telling them that you don't respect them enough to tell
the truth. You must always tell the truth no matter what the consequences are. It's
easier that way. Do you understand that?"
He nodded, his eyes
locked on my face.
I took off my belt,
folded it, holding the tip and buckle in my hand, just as my father did.
My father would whip me
until I either cried or yelled out in pain. At first, I tried not to cry or
yell, but I soon learned if I didn't, he would continue whipping me. Michael
looked at me, unblinking.
I took the belt and
struck hard as I could, hitting the bed blow after blow.
I sat beside my son on the bed, put my arm around him, and drew him close.
"Stay here until
you mother calls you for dinner."
I put my belt on and
went downstairs, turned on the television, and sat in my recliner.
Lois looked satisfied. "It
had to be done, John. He has to learn. Want another beer?"
"Lois," I said
as she turned to go back into the kitchen.
"Don't ever ask me to do that again."
I held her gaze until
she looked away.
"Dinner will be
ready in a little bit," she said.
BIO: Robert Boyd Satterwhite is a former journalist and a retired English and composition instructor at Southwestern Community College in Sylva, North Carolina. He has a degree in literature from the University of North Carolina-Asheville and a master of fine arts from Warren Wilson College in Swannanoa, North Carolina. He is the author of Broken People, an as-yet unpublished novel. He resides in Cullowhee in the North Carolina mountains.

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