As I child my brother, sister and I would always be spanked if we did something wrong. My father would always do the punishing. We would be sent to our rooms where we would wait for our punishment. My father would come in and not say a word except to bend over (always over our beds) and he would then continue to spank us with the wooden spoon. I can’t tell you how many of those spoons he would break over our butts. The beating always seemed to take forever although my guess now is that it was only minutes. I don’t know about my siblings (because we were always spanked in private) but the spanking always ended in tears for me. For years I hated my father for (what I thought at the time as abuse) for the spankings. I realize now it was not abuse, it was just how kids were brought up at the time.
It is funny how now after all these years spankings are the source of my excitement. Of course when I am being punished for something by Master C all those fears come back for a brief moment. Now Master C has not punished me harshly yet but I am sure my time is coming. I am still waiting for the last punishment he has promised me. And tonight might be that night. He knows waiting is my biggest punisher. The mind game of it all is the harshest of them all.
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