| Subject: still disciplined at 24 |
Author:
 Heidi (curious)
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Date Posted: 22:47:53 11/24/24 Sun
Hello everybody
After reading posts in many different forums over the last few weeks, I have decided to post my own story in this one. The name of the forum just seems to fit well.
In some respects, my father really is still a ‘head of the family’ in the old-fashioned sense of the word. And we (an older sister, me, a younger brother) were brought up according to the motto: My house-my rules. As long as we lived with Dad, we had to obey his rules, and even at 17 or 18 that meant getting a thrashing on the bum with the switch if Dad thought it was necessary. And even at that age, it was still on the bare bum.
That changed for me when I moved in with my fiancé when I was 19 and married him a year later. I don't want to go into details, but it was a disaster. After two years, we split up (no children, thank God) and I moved back home.
The first Sunday after that, Dad and I went for a long walk through the fields and I poured my heart out to him. I had always been Dad's girl first and foremost. I told him what an arsehole P. had been, what he had done to me, how badly he had hurt me. I knew that he didn't approve of the separation and wanted him to understand. At some point he looked at me and asked if I thought I had done something wrong myself. I was silent for a long time - then I nodded. He looked demonstratively at a bush with hazel twigs and then back into my face. I was silent for even longer. I hadn't had a caning with the switch from him in over three years at that point, but memories of all the punishments I'd received for more than ten years swirled through my brain. I had a lump in my throat and a football in my stomach. And yet - I nodded again.
Arm in arm, we walked back home and while Dad went out again to cut a suitable crop, I got ready in my room. I took off my trousers and panties and waited naked from the waist down in front of my bed. Heard Dad's hard, heavy footsteps on the stairs, saw the door open, the switch in his hand. Almost automatically, I turned to my bed and propped my hands on the mattress so that my bum was pushed backwards. ‘Ten!’ Dad said and I already felt the menacing, measuring tap of the cane on my bare backside.
It was just as bad and unbearable as I remembered. I left my position more than once, howling, trying to rub the unbearable pain out of my buttocks, to buy a little time until the next stroke. Dad waited patiently until I bent over again and, unimpressed, counted out the next blow.
At some point I got through it, sank into a tight, loving embrace and cried on his chest. I cried the pain and frustration of my three-year marriage to P. out of me. This unrestrained, liberating howl that washes all the bad and mean things out of you, and that only happens after a thrashing with a cane. You are forgiven!!! Dad then left me alone so that I could take care of the ten welts on my cheeks in peace and quiet.
I lived with my parents again for about six months and had to bend over my bed two more times during that time, but both times ‘only’ for six strokes.
Since I moved out again, Dad and I have a strange ritual. When I feel depressed and bad because I've done something absolutely wrong, I visit my parents for dinner on Saturdays. I go for a walk with Dad, confess and submit to his judgement. And then, like the little girl I used to be, I get my punishment and his forgiveness. I usually stay the night and go home again the next morning.
My siblings and friends who know about this arrangement think I'm crazy that I still ‘voluntarily’ have my bottom tanned just to experience this feeling of absolution. So my question to the forum: Do you have any experience with this phenomenon? I fear and hate being punished like this, but afterwards I feel so incredibly liberated and at peace with myself that it's worth it to me.
Love - Heidi
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