He Really Meant It.
When I moved back in with my parents about a year ago, after finding a job post-college became more and more difficult, my dad made it clear that I would be punished just as I always had as long as I live under his roof.
The method of punishment preferred by my parents when I was growing up was spanking. They were always very strict with me and my sister, less so with my brother. My mom did a lot of the day to day spanking, like when we kids would fight, she'd take us over her knee in turn and give us a few smacks on the butt. If we were really bad, we'd get the hairbrush from her in our rooms, sometimes on the bare depending on what we'd done. I hated getting spanked by Mom, especially when it was on the bare because it was so formal. She would send the unfortunate one or ones (sometimes it was all of us, but mostly me and my sister got spanked) to their room with the command to "pull down your pants for me!" This meant pants and underwear or panties, and we all knew it, so those who were not spanked would snicker a bit, but not too much because that would earn you a spanking at my house, too. I hated waiting for mom to come in, my bare bottom sticking up -- she expected you to lay on your bed tummy down, then she would come in and say why she was spanking me, and then she'd take her hairbrush to my bottom until it was flaming, then another lecture and more hairbrush until I cried. Then I was expected to get up, pull up my pants and go do some massive chore, like cleaning the floor with a toothbrush -- which my brother and sister and I had to do, all with freshly spanked bottoms, after a particularly bad fight one summer. We all sniffled as we scrubbed.
If I was REALLY bad, then I got the, "Just wait until your father gets home," instead of a hairbrush spanking from mom. This was the next worst kind of spanking. Then I had to go sit in my room and wait for Dad's car to turn in the drive. Dad was a blue collar worker and he always wore...
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