Well, here I am, once again, standing in the corner, my face to the wall and my backside totally on fire. I can’t believe it. Ugh, this is so frustrating. And embarrassing! I feel like an idiot - especially because this time I’m being forced to stand in this pathetic position on the tour bus for Christ’s sake. It’s nearly impossible to stand still since the bus is so jerky, and I have to keep weaving and staggering just to stay balanced. It makes it all just that much more humiliating somehow. And my whole family can see me like this too, ‘cause the damn bus is so cramped everyone is practically within arm’s reach – at least that’s how it seems to me in my rather hypersensitive sorry state. My parents know just how to make me squirm – and really regret my behavior - that’s for sure. And for the second time this week, too.
Five days ago we were all getting ready to leave some motel somewhere – can’t remember where exactly, the days just seem to run together after awhile – and Mom was in full-out frantic, bossy mode trying to get everyone to finish packing. My cell phone rang and I breathed a huge sigh of relief thinking I’d get a much needed break from it all. I saw on the caller ID that it was Brian and I knew he was calling to tell me all about the party they’d had back home last night. God, I wish I could have been there. Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE what I do and I wouldn’t change it for the world. Just, sometimes, sometimes, I wish I could be normal like other people and just go to parties and stuff. Anyway, I answered it, glancing nervously at mom to see what she would do. Damn. She immediately gave me the evil eye and said clearly and quite definitively, “Taylor, I don’t want you on that phone right now. You have too much to do. We have to get ready and get out of here.”
God, sometimes she’s just like a pit-bull about things. When she gets on a certain subject she just won’t let it go. She’s been bugging me all week about spending too much time on my phone. She keeps threatening to take it away. Why can’t she just leave me alone for once? Jeez. Can’t I just talk to my friends without getting the third degree all the time?
Well, I was just too pissed at that moment to care what she said so I rolled my eyes at her (bad choice, I know) and turned and walked out of the motel room. I didn’t know where I could go safely though, since there was a crowd of girls in the parking lot. And, of course, as soon as they saw me they all started to scream. I waved and smiled distractedly. I really do love that part of my life, but I also wish I could have some privacy every now and again. All I wanted right then was to find a quiet place so I could talk to Brian. Is that too much to ask? When I spotted Ashley and our bodyguard near the bus I knew I would be safe over there, so that’s where I headed. I didn’t want to actually get on the bus since we were all just about to be stuck on it for hours.
I sure wish I had gotten on it though, because a couple moments later I saw my Dad looking for me. My mother had obviously told him about my behavior and I could tell he was mad. I bolted for the bus door and made it up the steps but wasn’t quite quick enough. Eagle-eye Dad saw me and he yelled at me to “get back in your room and finish packing now!” In my annoyed mood, however, I decided to just ignore him too (another stupid move, I know!). When he saw me turning away instead of obeying him, he immediately strode over to the bus. I could feel my heart starting to rev and my palms beginning to get clammy. I fully expected him to fly right up those steps, grab me and start whaling on my backside, and my racing heart clearly reflected that fear. When he got to the door though, he just stopped and stood right outside it, warning me loudly and angrily, and in no uncertain terms, that I was to do as I was told - or else! He added, “I’m going to go back to the motel room now, and you had better hang up and follow me immediately if you know what’s good for you mister, or you are going to be one very sorry young man!”
God, I just hate it when he talks to me like that. It makes my whole body shudder, and worse, it makes me feel about 7 years old, not seventeen. He very purposefully said it all plenty loud enough that every girl in that parking lot probably heard it too. And even if somehow they hadn’t actually heard him, there was absolutely no way they didn’t see from the way he was acting just how mad he was and how much trouble I was clearly in. He was obviously scolding me, and pretty severely too. How was I supposed to show my face in front of all those girls now?
When Dad finished lecturing me, he then turned and walked away. I just stood there sweating and shaking and trying to figure out what to do. Brian kept asking me questions over the phone but I simply couldn’t speak. I was so pissed at Dad in that moment that even though I knew exactly what the consequences most assuredly would be, I just couldn’t make myself obey him. I just couldn’t. I couldn’t swallow my pride. The little ego-devil on my shoulder was whispering very bad ideas in my ear and he was winning. So I did something really stupid. I reached out and slammed the bus door shut! For a single blissful moment I felt jubilant and extremely proud of myself, but in the very next instant, I was in complete and total panic. I knew I’d really done it now. I was going to pay dearly for that bratty little act.
I looked nervously through the bus door window and saw Dad spin around sharply as soon as he heard the slam. When he realized I was still in the bus and not following him as he’d ordered, his eyes widened in stunned disbelief, and it almost looked to me like steam was coming out of his ears. Instantly, I wanted to take it all back. I wanted to open the door and beg him to forgive me. Plead – do anything, something. But I couldn’t. I was completely paralyzed.
Dad came storming back across the pavement like a charging bull. He threw open the door so violently the whole bus shook. As he climbed the stairs I was so scared it felt like someone else was in charge of my body. I just kept backing up and backing up until I was pressed right up against the wall – trapped, unable to escape. Brian was yelling over the phone, “What’s going on Taylor? Is your dad coming?” but I could barely think, let alone speak. I managed a weak “yes” just as my dad reached out and grabbed the phone from me. Then he raised his right hand and slapped my face so hard I almost fell over. It hurt so bad I couldn’t believe it, and it scared the shit out of me too. He had only ever slapped me a couple times. He had to be really mad to do that. Then he handed the phone back to me and said, “Tell whoever it is that you are done talking now!”
I tried to swallow but I couldn’t. My throat seemed to have completely closed up. “Brian, I … gotta go,” I managed to squeak out before Dad ripped the phone from my hands again and threw it on the table. Then he leaned right into my face and hissed, “You are in serious trouble!” His face was dark with fury and his breath was so hot it sent chills down my spine. My heart just exploded in my chest. I could barely breathe. Dad grabbed me hard by my left arm and spun me around to face the wall. I was suddenly disoriented and dizzy and put both hands out to the wall to steady myself. I could feel my dad close behind me. Hear him breathing really hard. Then I felt both his arms wrap around me and his hands begin to unbuckle my belt. I crumbled.
“Please Dad,” I whimpered, knowing just how pathetic I sounded. God I hate it when I turn into a sniveling little baby. But I didn’t seem to have any control over it. I was so scared. I knew I’d do just about anything to try and stop what was about to happen. Dad didn’t even acknowledge my whining though. He simply gave a sharp pull and snapped my belt out from its loops. I was confused for a moment as to why he would do that, then I suddenly realized that he was going to use it on me. He was going to spank me with it. I tried to turn around to beg him not to but he slammed me back around to face the wall. He put my belt down on the table, then his hands came back around me and unfastened my pants.
What happened next made my stomach jolt. He slipped his fingers inside the waistbands of my pants and underwear and pulled them both down at once - all the way down to my knees. He had never, ever done that before. He never took our underwear down until we were over his knee. I don’t think I ever felt so sickened and ashamed in my life. He was truly furious and this whole thing had the eerie feel of crossing over some unspoken line of horribleness.
He leaned in to my ear then and, with a voice so low it barely sounded like him, he growled, “You are never to do that again. Do you understand me?” “I …, I…, um … yeesss sir,” was about the best I could do. Then he smacked my bare bottom really hard with the palm of his hand. I gasped loudly and tears just welled up and spilled over. I totally fell apart then - great heaving sobs erupted. I was completely broken already and it had barely even started.
The spanking began in earnest the very next moment. Dad just held me firmly against the wall with his left hand and smacked and smacked and smacked my bottom over and over again with all his might. I couldn’t catch my breath. It was overwhelmingly painful. And being upright instead of bent over meant my bottom bounced and jiggled with each spank. It made me shudder with shame. I’d been spanked upright before but never bare; that position was always reserved for either just a quick warning spanking or a precursor to going over a knee. It was a new and utterly humiliating feeling to be standing there, completely bare, getting spanked like this. I was literally unable to make a sound come out of my throat.
After several dozen spanks, Dad finally stopped – but only long enough to pick up my belt. I cringed in terror as he folded it and raised it up high. *Crack!* the belt came down across my burning backside with a sting that made me scream. It felt like he’d struck a match across my bottom. He gave me half a dozen hard, stinging lashes like that, but then he must have felt that he didn’t have good enough leverage to make the point he intended to make, because he suddenly pulled me away from the wall, turned me roughly and forced me to bend over the table.
“Daddy, nooo,” I begged. “Please, stop. Please, I’m sorry. I… I…I’m so sorry. I really am. Please don’t spank me anymore.” I knew he wouldn’t listen, but I had to try anyway. I was so desperate I would have said or done anything at that moment to stop this. But Dad didn’t even hesitate. He just lifted my belt up once more and started spanking me with it all over again – only this time it was even harder than before because he could now get a better swing.
A dozen or so more smacks and he dropped the belt. I was so relieved. But that feeling lasted barely a moment because he quickly hauled me to my feet, took a seat and put me over his knee. He was yanking me around so easily you’d think I was no bigger or heavier than a rag doll. Of course, I had no fight left in me by this time. Still, I was stunned that he wasn’t done spanking me yet. This was unbelievable. I guess I shouldn’t have been so surprised though. I’d been pushing it all week, and my parents never tolerated the kind of bad attitude, disrespect and deliberate defiance I had shown. It was always sure to get you the very worst spanking possible. At seventeen, and after 10 years of getting my bottom blistered, you’d think I would have learned that by now.
He kept me over his knee for what seemed like an eternity. I completely lost track of how many smacks I was getting. It all just became one long, horrible, screaming, burning blur of pain radiating off my backside. I was unable to beg or do anything other than sob and gasp by the end. I did my fair share of kicking and thrashing though, I’m sure, although I can’t say I actually remember. I was too overwhelmed.
Finally – finally - Dad decided I’d been spanked enough. When he stopped there was this sudden, dreadful silence. All I could hear was my own gasping and panting and my blood pounding in my ears. After a moment or two, Dad unceremoniously put me back onto my feet and ordered me to pull up my pants. Then he added, “You have 5 minutes to collect yourself and then I expect you back in that motel room to apologize to your mother and to do what she told you to do. Got it?”
“Yeeesss ssssir,” I stammered, nearly choking with sobs and barely able to make my mouth form words. Then he got up and left.
I stood there in shock. Five minutes! How was I ever going to compose myself enough in five minutes to be able to step out into that parking lot filled with screaming fans? Fans that had to know something pretty serious had just gone down inside this bus. I watched my dad as he strode angrily back across the pavement. He looked every inch the furious father who had just severely punished his naughty teenage son. At least he did to me, and I felt very sure that everyone out there could easily see that too.
I swallowed hard and tried to slow my breathing and get my crying back under control. I knew I probably looked absolutely pathetic. I sure felt like it. Painfully I pulled my underwear and pants back up, and then turned and dragged myself into the bathroom. “Ohh,” I groaned out loud as soon as I got a good look at myself. I almost wilted and gave up right then and there, but I knew I couldn’t face my father’s reaction to that response. So instead I took a deep breath, turned on the cold water, cupped my hands under it and plunged my swollen face into the icy pool that formed. It took my breath away but I persevered. What choice did I have?
A minute or so later I stood back up, grabbed a towel and dried my face off. I looked in the mirror again and found that I still looked pretty awful. Especially my left cheek where he’d slapped me. It was an angry red and slightly puffy. I could only imagine what my bottom must look like. There would be no way to camouflage the fact that I had been crying either. I desperately wished I had some sunglasses but I knew they were back in the motel room. Just my damn luck. It was going to be pitifully obvious to everyone out there that my father had just punished me really hard. Well, there was nothing I could do about that now and the clock was ticking. I kicked the cabinet for good measure, then turned and headed for the front door, grabbing my cell phone and tucking it in my shirt pocket as I went.
I took another deep breath to try and calm my nerves. Fat lot of good that did. I knew I couldn’t procrastinate any longer though, so I sucked it up and walked down the steps and out of the bus. I crossed the parking lot as fast as I could, trying to look nonchalant, my head hanging as low as possible for the most protection from searching glances. I knew my face was swollen from crying and bright red from shame. I was trying hard not to limp too, but my clothes were rubbing and pressing on the burning skin of my bottom and every step hurt unbelievably. I was sure any person there could easily have guessed I’d just been soundly spanked. Or maybe I was just being paranoid. I don’t know. All I know was I felt miserable.
I made a bee-line for the motel room and was practically out of breath when I got there. As soon as I stepped inside the room the whole place went deadly silent. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me and I wanted to scream. My mother looked up at me and shook her head sadly. Then she slowly made her way across the room towards me. I tightened every muscle in my body panicking with the thought that she was going to spank me too. But when she got near me she just stopped and stared me down. I was a nervous wreck.
“Did your father spank you good and hard?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. As if my face wasn’t red enough already, I felt the simmering heat in my cheeks suddenly flare as hot as the raging fire in my backside. I was fidgeting and chewing my lips frantically. I didn’t want to have to answer a humiliating question like that but I knew I was expected to. She did stuff like that on purpose. As I said earlier, my mom is the queen of making me squirm. “Yes ma’am,” I replied, trying to choke back the wave of tears that welled up once again.
“Good,” was all she said, then she held out her hand and added, “Give me that cell phone. You can just do without it for a week.” I almost died. I couldn’t believe she was actually going to take it away from me. I meant to keep my mouth closed and submit to whatever punishment she doled out – I really did - but instead I blurted out, “No! You can’t do this. Please Mom, please don’t take it away. I need it.” Her eyes flared with anger and she stepped closer to me. I instinctively backed up a step and this made her even angrier. “Would you like to try for two weeks?” she asked ominously. I was sunk and I knew it. I slowly reached in my pocket and handed it to her, my hand shaking so much I thought I might drop it. She just took it and put it in her purse. Then she turned back to me and said, “I believe you have some packing to do and I think you’d better get to it right now if you know what’s good for you.” And with that I was dismissed.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said again, swallowing hard. There was not going to be any forgiveness for me at this time, that was for sure. My parents were still too angry and disappointed. I had a bad feeling that this awful week wasn’t over yet. And sadly, as it turned out, I was right.
To be continued …