The following story is fiction about a preacher's son. The story contains scenes of spanking and strapping. If these subjects are offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.
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I knew what brimstone was before I even started school – the stuff from hell that burnt and stank and that the souls of the sinful suffered for eternity. I got an early education in that and sinning because my father was a hellfire and brimstone preacher. I was subjected to his ranting and raving both at home, in church and just about any place else that he opened his blasphemous mouth.
By the time I was ten I knew all about sinning and was looking forward to being old enough to do so. I also had learnt that I had to hide my playing – abusing according to Dad – myself in order to avoid a roasted bottom. Now that I'm older, I have a good word for what I had to be – a hypocrite. That was something else that Dad taught me at a tender age. I learnt about the rod before I was eight. I learnt that to avoid the rod I had to be deceitful. "Why", you ask, "didn't I learn to be good?" Well because of all the deceit that I saw happening, especially about the church. To keep us kids quiet they often said: "Kids should be seen and not heard." but they never really paid attention to another one of their favorite sayings: "Little pitchers have big ears." I had very big ears
Every Sunday I had to be in church and I heard a lot and I saw a lot. Because I was the preacher's son, I got to move about the church during services dealing with things. When those chores, er, most important duties were done, I could sit and watch the congregation. That was a lot of fun. At first I was amused by the little things people did frequently chastising their kids or surreptitiously picking their noses. Then as I became aware of the really big sins, the looks of love and lust.
Hierarchy was also important. My brother, junior by three years, was required to obey me by the time I was twelve when our parents were not about. I quickly learnt how to use that to work out my aggressions. All I had to do was to tell Joshuah that I would tell Dad that he was naughty or willful or even just difficult and he would get beaten by Dad. We came to a very satisfactory compromise, at least from my point of view. We agreed that if I punished him, then the slate would be wiped clean and there would not be anything to report. This would obviously fail if I went overboard so I had to be careful.
I treated Joshuah just like Dad had treated me at his age. I would lecture him (much more briefly that Dad would have) and then take down his pants and tightie-whities. Then I would glide my brother over my lap and spank him. It was great fun watching my hand prints form on his cute little bottom in pink. Then as I continued the prints would blur and merge into a uniform pink. I then could spank him a bit more until the pink had changed into a light red. Joshuah usually sobbed a bit and I would stop for I did not want the red to show in the morning when Mom supervised his dressing.© YLeeCoyote
A few times that year I messed up and Dad roasted my tail. He would take me out to the woodshed and make me strip. I was just getting hair down there and thus Mom should no longer see me naked. Once naked, I would have to bend over and hold position while Dad used his heavy leather belt at least a dozen times. Sometimes I got double leaving me sore for days. I know that Joshuah peeked out the window and watched. There was not any I could do about that and I figured that Dad approved for why else would he always send Joshuah to his room when he took me to the woodshed.
* * * * * * * * * *
It was when I was thirteen, close to fourteen, and working my paper route that I was first able to use a strap on someone. In our little community on my early rounds I occasionally saw a man on the street obviously not rushing off to work or on an errand but heading back to his house. It was in church, sitting on the steps next to Dad's pulpit that I put one and one together and got three for I would see those men looking longingly at the women whose houses they had left before dawn. Those women were alone as they were widows or their husbands were away at times.
Mr. Zachariah Francisco was one very nasty, super self-righteous, holier-then-thou, men. It was one weekday morning that I threw Mr. Kocher's paper at his house and hit Mr. Francisco as he was coming down the porch steps. One would have thought that an anvil had fallen on his foot from the scream and the flood of very naughty and some even blasphemous words he yelled. I, of course, stopped to apologize for he would be the type who would tell Father which would get me beaten. Then most politely, I asked how Mr. Kocher was. I quickly corrected myself. "Oh, Mr. Kocher is away. How is Mrs. Kocher, Mr. Francisco?" There could only be one reason that he was leaving another man's house at dawn when he was away. It was clear that one of the important commandments had been shattered. Before he could answer, I continued: "I'll tell dad so that he can visit and pray with her." Sinner Zachariah Francisco turned quite green.
"That is not necessary, Christopher. She doing fine now, thanks to Him." he said looking up briefly. I was not going to let this one go.
"Father will be most displeased with me if I fail in my duty to aid him to offer succor." I didn't think anyone could turn such a deep green. I paused a bit before adding: "Or did you relieve her deep itch?"
"Please, don't mention this to your father, Christopher." I didn't think the man knew how to say the magic word.
"Perhaps if she is OK, I can talk to you this afternoon about this unless you prefer that Father does." It was clear to both of us that once Father came to the same conclusion I had, Mr. High-and-mighty Zachariah would be shunned or worse. He would be ruined.
"Yes, that would be good Christopher."
"I'll see you after school. Have to finish my deliveries now." and I cycled off. I could hardly concentrate in school thinking about the appropriate punishment for the most naughty Zach.
* * * * * * * * * *
I took my own sweet time showing up at his house. Having been caught he was no longer Mr. High-and-mighty but merely a wishy-washy slime ball with excuses. "Perhaps you have a rod?" I asked, "A big rod appropriate for a big failing." It was the sort of thing he liked to say to threaten all of us boys.
He was green again. "Perhaps I should tell Father what I saw at dawn and let him deal with it." And now a deeper green. Maybe your razor strop rather than a rod?" Dad had promised me that would be the next step up after I had out grown his belt.
"Yes, I'll get." he said nervously. A minute later he was back with it in his shanking hands.
"Strip, you terrible sinner." I ordered trying to sound like Father. "You must pay for your sins now in this world or forever in the flames of hell!" That almost scared me but, fortunately, I was not the sinner. I found I spot where I would have room to swing that heavy strop and had naked Zachy bend over at the spot. Then I started. The strop had a mind of its own and it was hard to aim properly. Not only did I get his ass but his thighs also. I really let him have it. Father was giving me "my age" in cuts and he was over forty. I had lots of hard, unpleasant work to do. I quickly discovered that swinging the strop was not nearly as unpleasant as bending over for it.
He was not silent but yelled when the heavy thick supple leather strop connected with his naughty butt and thighs. I was really enjoying doing this and was sorry when I had to stop. I had turned his butt a deep dark red. I could see that it was swollen and when he stood up he was soft and small. Perhaps because for the last one, I stepped closer so that the strop would wraparound and get his naughty bits.
"Zachariah Francisco you had best behave yourself. Like Him, I shall be watching." I roared at him before leaving. I was in a rush to get home to relieve the tension in my own bits.
I was looking forward to doing it again. I also planned to pay more attention in church in order to catch other potential sinners and save them.
© Copyright A.I.L. February 14, 2012
The URL for this page is: https://yleecoyote.asslr.org/StroppedPreachersBoy.html
Last updated: September 15, 2023