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This time, her roommate tries to tame him.

Dad grabs hold of the hem of my T-shirt, pulls it up over my head. The arms of the shirt were still on me, my shoulders tightly pulled up inside the fabric. My shirt is stretching across the front of my throat and under my chin. My chest, stomach and back are exposed as is the full roundness of my hockey created bubble butt.

Dad puts his right arm underneath the front of my thighs, extends my legs out and away from his lap so that only the very tips of my work boots touch the floor.

I'm in a very unstable position, feel a very rough, warm caress of his right hand as it ran over the back of my thighs, then up and over the mounds of my exposed backside.

His left hand reaches, grabs my right wrist. He pulls my arm into a reverse V shape over my back, away from the object that he is determined to have clear access of. My left arm is stretched forward so I can barely touch the floor with my fingertips, just enough to have some stability and not fall off sideways onto the plywood floor below. We are in this position for what seems an eternity.

I can hear dad breathing very quickly, tell that he is purposefully slowing his inhaling, exhaling. His right hand lays directly on the center of my upturned behind.

I crane my neck, look over my should only to be met with a sharp twist of my right arm into yet an even more uncomfortable position. I lay motionless and gave in to his dominance. The control level has gone completely from 50/50 to 95/05 with me being the lowly 05% of control. Looking down at the plywood below us, I fixate upon a row of penny nails that holds to the flooring the joists below.

His hand raises from my buttocks, sudden coolness of the air surrounds what had previously been a gentle, almost sensuous touch of my butt. It is replaced with a deafening slap, searing red hot pain, pain that shoots down my legs to my toes, then back up to the very tips of my crew cut sandy blond hair.

My head snaps back, I'm staring directly at a window on the far side of the living room. A beautiful white Paper Birch receives the bulk of my attention. I attempt to bite down upon my lower lip to steady myself for what I know is just the beginning of a long, painful experience.

The cool air comes quickly but is replaced by an even sharper smack, more red hot pain. I actually see small floaters of sparkling light in front of my eyes, I try to focus on the Paper Birch.

Again, again and again, the cadence quickens as the blows seem to become ever more severe.

I become acutely aware of my private parts, they dangle between my dad's heavy thighs. My penis is hard as a rock, balls hanging in the most precarious position I could ever imagine them in.

The rough fabric of his work pants rubs down the back side of the tender, lightly haired skin that loosely covers my balls. With each and every blow to my behind, my stiffened penis swings wildly back and forth, as if a clapper inside of a bell. My tormented balls bang one muscular leg, then swing forcefully back, slapping hard against the other.

The onslaught continues against my backside, it starts to become desensitized, almost numb. If it were not for the loud smacking sound, mixed with dad's heaving grunts as he lays fully all of his weight, strength into each and every spank, I would have have almost been lulled into a state of a hypnotic trance.

Tears well up on the bottom of my eye lids. I fight desperately not to make a single sound or to allow theses tears to breach my bottom lashes.

This is of my own doing, I'll be damned if I allow this to make dad feel sorry for me. I refuse to let him think that I am anything less than the man he once believed I had become, rough, tough and in control. This is why he was so disappointed in me for having gone through his things in his room at home. He's right, I do know right from wrong and I purposely chose wrong.

Why the heck am I so darned hard? Why is this pain, I mean REAL PAIN in my ass causing such an aroused feeling down in the pit of my stomach.

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