Spare The Rod

Punishments

I have kept diaries on and off throughout my life. From about the age of eight, I had those small 'Letts' pocket ones with the pencil in the spine. I never threw any of them away, but some of them were torn up by my Father! This was because I used to write my most intimate secrets in them which was innocent enough at the age of eight, but by the time I was in my teens and feeling sexual urges, these things had to be kept hidden from him.

I knew my Father 'searched' my bedroom regularly. He was looking for anything that he thought wrong for me to own or read. By that I mean he was dead against me looking at things like pornography as he thought it would lead me to masturbation and other vices and he considered onanism a sinful thing. He would check my bed sheets for any signs of wrong doing after I had gone to school, but in later years, he didn't even wait until then and would go in whilst I was in the bathroom in the mornings!

I often think of that expression “Hands off cocks and on with socks” which I think is an old Army thing, meaning that the squaddies should stop masturbating and start getting dressed. Maybe my Father saw a lot of masturbation during his time in the Army. I don’t know. I did find this advice quite useful and adapted it for my own benefit, more of which later!

He knew or at least discovered all my hiding places that I used. I only ever owned one Porn magazine, a copy of 'Blue Climax' which was given to me by my Brother who was in the Navy and was more likely to get hold of these things from foreign shores. This I managed to keep from my Father for over two years until it was finally found! I have since found some scans from the very same magazine I had.

It's a really horny story about a guy fucking two sisters and even gets me going today! I love the text of these magazines.

I also used to keep those pages from catalogues from the women’s underwear section and anything I found arousing from other magazines. I would cut out the bit I wanted and keep them between the pages of my ‘Look and Learn’ annual or one of my school books. Blue Climax was harder to hide and that ended up under the carpet in a corner of my bedroom.

If my Father found one of these stimulants, he would confront me with it, shouting about filth and such like. I would be struck about the head with the back of his hand and then be given a thrashing.

My Father spanked us from an early age. One of my first memories was of being slapped by him. I must have been about 3 or 4 years at the time. He was very quick to anger and would go from apparently calm to raging temper in about two seconds.

Things got steadily worse after my Mother had died and we got older and into our teens. After my brother had left, he would use any reason going to punish me if he could. Over the space of about 4-5 weeks, his temper would gradually increase and if he hadn’t found an excuse in the meantime, he would boil over and I would be soundly whipped.

His favourite weapon of choice was a cut down piece of garden cane, about half a meter long. He kept this in the cupboard under the stairs and later by the hall table (we moved to a bungalow). I would be sent to the bedroom, knowing what was coming as he went to get his cane. I would be told to take down my trousers and pants and bend over, either holding our ankles or over the back of a chair. There was little formality to it and he would hit in quick succession, no counting or pausing, just blow after blow until he had got his anger out of his system.

Holding my ankles, I quite often lost balance, despite the fact he would be holding me by the neck in a tight grip! He would pick me up by the arm and throw me onto the bed and continue the punishment.

Twice he beat me in front of my school friend Nathan. Once when I was about 7, we had been playing in the garden and cracked a window with a small rubber ball. I was taken over his knee and thrashed whilst Nathan stood and watched!

Later at about 15, we were both in the kitchen and my Father called me to my room. He had found some 'marks' on my bed sheets and demanded to know what it was, shouting at the top of his voice. I don't know whether I was guilty or not but he whipped me there and then with Nathan still standing in the kitchen!

I can't describe the humiliation I felt and being beaten in front of a friend. Nathan knew what my Father was like. He himself was thrashed at home, his Father was a German man, but with nothing like the frequency, lack of justification, or rage that my Father gave it to me and my Brother. Incidentally, I saw Luke get a thrashing in several occasions in front of me!

On one occasion when I was quite young, I was lying in bed and heard him come home. I think I had played my Mother up or something and she had threatened to tell him when he came home, which she did. I knew as his footsteps came up the stairs that he was coming for me and as the door opened and I saw his silhouette in the light from the hall, I was absolutely terrified! He said nothing but dragged me from the bed, bent me over the side and thrashed me severely. Looking back, I wonder why on earth he paused to take down my pyjama trousers. These were very flimsy nylon and offered absolutely no protection whatsoever to me!

A friend of mine asked “When was the last time he beat you?” and I replied I was actually 17! He expressed surprise that I hadn't fought back at that by that age and I told him that was because my Father would have KILLED me! I was that brow beaten living under his regime, and really scared of making him angry, I would never have dared. I left home not long after that incident.