Taylor’s Addiction, Part 3
author: Amy

Taylor took a deep breath and steeled himself for what was to come. “I left the house today and went out with some friends, and Aunt Jane saw me with them,” he blurted out as fast as he could before his jaw locked from sheer tension. There followed one of those god-awful pregnant pauses meant only to jack Taylor’s anxiety up to an even higher level, as if that were possible.

“Where did you go?” his father finally asked, his voice stern, yet entirely too calm and collected for Taylor’s frantic nervous system. “What did you do with them?”

Taylor chewed his lips and shifted back and forth on his feet. Every piece of information he was going to have to reveal now was incriminating on any number of levels. He was fidgeting and bouncing as though he had to go to the bathroom really badly. If only that were the case, he thought miserably.

“We, um …, we went to Jack’s Cafe for coffee,” Taylor mumbled. It was no secret that his parents did not allow him to go there, because it was a notorious college hangout and was renowned for its smoke-filled atmosphere. That piece of information alone would have been enough to get him in trouble. He wondered if he’d better disclose the smoking now too. His aunt had certainly made a point of acknowledging the cigarette he’d guiltily snubbed out. “And to smoke,” he added finally, not knowing if his aunt would expose him in the end, but definitely knowing it would bode much better for him if he revealed this up front rather than having it come out later.

He’d not only deliberately disobeyed his parents by sneaking out when he was grounded, but he had gone someplace he was not allowed to go to, and he had smoked too – something his parents absolutely forbade! And this was after he had already been given a break for his last offense; trusted, in fact, to be grown up enough to accept the responsibility for his own behavior without having to be punished like a child to learn his lesson. It was as if he was out and out asking for a spanking!

This sudden thought made Taylor’s knees almost buckle. Could that be true? Did he actually want a spanking? Did he feel he needed one somehow - to clean the slate so he could start fresh? Was grounding really not enough for him to learn his lessons? His stomach revolted at the idea, but he knew, somewhere deep down, below all the denial and fear, that it just might be so. Okay, “want” a spanking might not be totally accurate, but “need” one - sadly, that just simply rang true. He was appalled at himself.

His father sat upright, slid forward to the front edge of the couch, and pushed the ottoman back out of the way. Taylor knew several things from these simple gestures, and all of them made him cringe. One, he was now finally about to get spanked. That was a given. Two, it would be over his father’s knees. And three, the most gut-wrenching one of all, he would be draped way down over them too, his upper body hanging low to the floor, as opposed to being supported on the couch. This position was very purposely designed to intensify the humiliation level of the whole thing because it meant his bottom would be up higher in the air than any other part of his body. None of these things was incidental or unintentional in any way. On the contrary, all three were deliberately and specifically calculated to make the punishment that much more unpleasant. His parents were experts at the details.

“Get the hairbrush!” his father ordered. Taylor turned slowly and forced himself to walk over to his mother’s dresser.

“Bring it here!” was his next command. Taylor obeyed. His mother was sitting on the couch next to his father, so she curled her legs up under her to let Taylor pass. He shuddered as he realized that once he was over his father’s knees his bared bottom would be only a couple feet from her face, and pointing directly at her. Thankfully, at least Aunt Jane wouldn’t have that view.

He handed his father the brush and started to undo his pants, but his father angrily swatted his hands away and began unfastening them himself. “No you don’t, mister,” he admonished. “You’ll just stand there and be undressed like the child your behavior has shown you to be.”

Taylor began to cry then. He felt so ashamed. And he was completely exhausted from the drawn out stress of the day. His father pulled his pants down roughly, then grabbed his wrist and turned him over his knees. The whole scene seemed to be playing itself out in torturously slow motion. Taylor’s hands reached out to stop his fall as he saw the floor approaching. Next, he felt his father grasp the waistband of his underwear, then peel them down in back, baring his bottom. Taylor let out a pitiful moan.

Then the spanking began. His father started out with a hard hand spanking, methodically turning Taylor’s pale, white bottom from pink to angry red in no time. Taylor just whimpered and gasped at each smack. After forty or so stinging spanks, his father stopped and picked up the hairbrush. He shifted Taylor a bit, then pinned him tightly and started spanking him all over again. Taylor could feel his resolve disintegrating and, as the pain intensified, he began to squirm and struggle no matter how hard he tried to stop himself. At some point he actually found himself clinging onto his father’s left ankle for security. At least, he thought ruefully, it kept his right hand busy. He was bound and determined not to reach back and protect his poor flaming bottom no matter what. He would prove to his parents and aunt, in whatever small way he could, that he was not a child – that he was old enough to take his punishment like a – well, a teenager anyway.

The pain was exploding exponentially now, however, and his writhing and thrashing about did nothing to provide even the smallest amount of relief. He was getting close to losing all control and simply breaking down. Then his father did something he’d never done before. He reached across Taylor’s back and wrapped his left arm all the way under his waist and belly; then, with a powerful jerk, he hoisted Tay’s bottom way up high in the air, nearly toppling Taylor over on his head. Then he pulled his underwear all the way down to his knees. Taylor was stunned. His parents always took great pains to protect their sons’ modesty during spankings – they never pulled their underwear down that far. What was going on?

“Walker!” Jane gasped at her brother. She, apparently, knew exactly what was going on.

“Taylor, I’m going to do something I intended never to do. I’m going to spank you like my father spanked your aunt and me when we stepped over the line.” And he lifted the hairbrush once more and, with a powerful swing, smacked the tender, most delicate part of the underside of Taylor’s bottom, at the very base of his cheeks and the top of his thighs. Taylor cried out painfully at this wholly new and unbearably excruciating sensation. He had never felt a spanking hurt so much in his life – nor had he ever felt so exposed and humiliated. The position his father held him in was clearly designed with exactly these intentions in mind. Taylor had no defenses left so he just dissolved into complete despair.

“Pleease (spank) Daddy (spank), pleeease,” Taylor wailed. “Don’t (spank), don’t … (spank) do this (spank). Ohhhhh (spank), please (spank) don’t (spank) do this. I (spank), I (spank) can’t (spank) take it (spank). Pleease (spank). Ohhhh (spank). It hurts (spank). I’m sorry (spank). I (spank) won’t (spank) do it (spank) again (spank). I (spank) promise (spank). I’ll do (spank) whatever (spank) you say (spank). I will (spank). I promise (spank). I’ll (spank) be good (spank). Ohhhhh (spank), pleeease (spank).” He hated when he became like this. He hated that he couldn’t take a spanking without turning into a little boy, begging and crying and promising to be good.

After several dozen more searing spanks in this new and utterly mortifying position his father finally stopped, lowering Taylor’s hips back down onto his knees. Taylor didn’t dare move. He just lay there limp and exhausted, panting and sobbing. His father never ceased to amaze him with just how creatively awful he could make a spanking. If his friends only knew.

After a few moments his father reached down and grabbed Taylor’s underpants. It was tricky to pull them back up discreetly but his father managed, then he put his chastened, remorseful son back on his feet. With trembling fingers, Taylor occupied himself glumly with the task of resituating and fastening his pants, hoping to gain enough time to collect his emotions. He was shaking all over and unable to catch his breath. And his bottom was on fire. He didn’t know what he could possibly say right now that would in any way make up for what he’d done. But he knew he was expected to say something. He was going to have to stop crying though or he wouldn’t be able to get a word out. He put both his hands over his face for a moment, attempting to find some privacy, for what little it was worth, to calm himself. After a moment he wiped his eyes and sniffled, then took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I really am,” he started carefully, knowing just how pathetic and inadequate that sounded. “I don’t know what else to say. I can’t believe I did that. Any of it. All of it. I knew it was so completely and totally wrong but I did it anyway. I don’t know why. I really don’t. I can’t seem to manage to stay out of trouble for more than a few months at a time before I get another spanking.” He knew he was rambling but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “I promise myself, after every single spanking, that I’ll never do anything to get another one - ever. But I always do. Every single time. I’m sorry. I should know better. I should. I know. Please don’t give up on me.” And he dissolved into tears all over again; big heaving sobs that shook his whole body and threatened to make him collapse into a heap on the floor.

All three of the adults in the room were consumed with a powerful urge to immediately jump up and wrap him in a huge hug. It was amazing how much restraint they all showed though. For some reason they all silently agreed that Taylor needed to feel the intensity of his wrongdoing and shame a little longer before he was forgiven - before he was allowed the comfort of those consoling hugs.

To his dismay, Taylor began to realize that he was not going to be allowed to repent that easily. He felt his heart squeeze tightly at the thought. Tears welled up. Slowly, once again, he calmed himself down a bit and waited for whatever was to come.

“Jane,” Walker spoke. “I think you should decide if Taylor has been punished sufficiently or not.”

Jane looked taken aback at first, but when she remembered how angry she’d been that he had deliberately disobeyed her, and then lied about it, as well as the nasty tone he’d taken with his mother so many times over the last week, she determined to make sure he really learned his lesson this time.

“Well,” she started slowly. “Considering the lies he’s told and the rude tone he’s taken lately, not to mention the smoking, I think he should have his mouth washed out but good! And then, I think, to finish, he should spend a solid hour or so in the corner thinking about his behavior. That should be sufficient.”

Taylor’s stomach lurched. He hated having his mouth washed out and they all knew it. But he also knew quite well that he’d fulfilled nearly all of the prerequisites, save for swearing (at least as far as they knew), so there was no getting out of it. It was only necessary to have done one of those things to face this punishment. He swallowed hard and fought the impulse to plead for leniency.

“Diana?” his father asked. “You want to handle that?”

She nodded and rose, taking Taylor firmly by the arm and pulling him toward the bathroom. Although he didn’t beg or resist, he could do nothing to control the tears that flowed nonstop down his face.

Once in the bathroom, his mother coolly and calmly took a wash cloth, wet it, and soaped it up into a good lather. She was an expert at this particular form of discipline and Taylor had been in this position more times than he cared to remember. Then she grabbed his jaw with her left hand and ordered, “Open.” Taylor did. He gagged and sputtered and sobbed as she systematically washed every single nook and cranny of the inside of his mouth out. When she was satisfied she’d done a thorough job, she allowed him to rinse, but only once quickly, and spit. That was all. He was going to have to taste that soap for a long time to come – to remind him of his unacceptable behavior. Then she led him back into the bedroom and sent him directly into the corner.

Dutifully he stood there, his face to the wall, feeling three sets of eyes burning holes in his back. His bottom was radiating a fiery heat that was compounded seemingly ten-fold by the thermal effect of his clothes, as well as the pressure and chafing of them; and his mouth was so coated in soap it was making his stomach turn. The shame and pain were overwhelming and he wondered how he could possibly stand there for an hour with them watching him like that. What was he going to do to occupy his mind so he wouldn’t go crazy? Thankfully the three grown-ups quickly fell into familial conversation and left the naughty boy in the corner to his thoughts.

The hour seemed interminable. After a while, though, he was able to settle his nerves enough to focus his brain on reviewing the whole horrible day. He was fervently searching for motives. Why had he done what he’d done? Why did he make such stupid choices? Why didn’t he learn from his past mistakes? Making his favorite aunt and older brother so angry they’d scolded him, or being lectured and then grounded by his parents were certainly unpleasant enough experiences not to want to repeat them. Why did he always push things all the way until he ended up being given a spanking? He hated being spanked. He really and truly did. It was so painful and embarrassing. It made him shudder just to think about it. So why didn’t he just learn to behave so he wouldn’t get one? It wasn’t as if that was a hard thing to do. There weren’t any unexpected spankings in their family. The rules were very clear. He knew exactly what would get him one, and what wouldn’t. He had the power to stop things at any time, but he didn’t. What was wrong with him?

He didn’t, in truth, want to look at the real reasons. But he knew what they were. And his mind eventually quieted enough that it went there like a horse to the stable. Underneath it all, much as he hated to realize it, he basically craved the cathartic feeling of relief he felt after a spanking - the sensation of a baptismal like cleansing; the simplicity of the whole thing – of doing wrong, being punished for it, and then getting the chance to start fresh again, free of all past transgressions. Confession, repentance and forgiveness. Being once again pure and innocent. A new beginning. He was stunned at himself.

And the very best part, the most addictive part, was the feeling of total and unconditional love he always felt afterwards; this was what enabled him to reenact the scenario time and time again despite the awful spanking he’d have to endure. It made him feel so sure of his parents’ love. He loved how his parents made the world feel so safe and secure and wonderfully predictable for him. The rules were clear, the retribution swift and complete, the love absolute. He could be bad, be punished and be loved anyway. It was all so pathetically count-on-able and ordinary. Universal, yes, but common and conventional all the same. It was neat and complete – and wholly satisfying to some deep, secret part of his soul. He hated himself for it but it was an undeniable drive. Eventually, he knew, he would either have to conquer this addiction or find a reasonable substitute, but since Ike still got spanked and he was two and a half years older, he figured he still had plenty of time to work it out.

“Taylor, you can come out of the corner now,” his father finally said. “Please come over here.” Taylor limped stiffly and painfully across the room, each step causing a flare up of the simmering fire in his bottom - a humiliating reminder of his recent punishment. He was strangely grateful for the intensity of all the sensations, however, because they were vivid proof of his payment. After a few more choice, biting words from his father and an extracted promise of good behavior, Taylor was finally enveloped in that loving, safe embrace he so yearned for. It was the best medicine and the most powerful drug he knew. How bad could it be, he reasoned, to want this so badly? There were certainly worse things he could be addicted to.