Caught In The Act

This story is pure wish fulfillment and is dedicated to all my fellow spankos who have had to suffer guilt or shame concerning their spanking interest, whether or not they were actually "Caught in the Act" of self-spanking. Caught In The Act
by
Tris

Dusty furtively opened his Dad's closet and stuck a shaking hand inside. Small rivulets of sweat ran down the side of his forehead as he felt around in the dark interior. With a swish and then the jangle of a coat hanger, he jerked a belt out and then thinking he heard a noise, he whipped his head around.

Covering the buckle of the belt, he looked at the thick black leather for a long silent moment. He then quickly left his father's bedroom, looking over his shoulder occasionally as he quickly strode back to his own room,

Dusty felt a sense of anticipation at that moment that was also mixed with a whole lot of guilt. If his dad knew...or what if his brother Lance came home early from soccer practice?

He shivered at the the horrifying idea of being caught, and even as he shut his bedroom door, lay the belt on a chair, and slipped his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, his heart hammered in his chest.

Dusty didn't completely understand the powerful need to do what he was planning to do, but as he slipped his undies down to his ankles, then surveyed his ass in his dresser mirror, he thought he must be the weirdest person in the whole world.

His small tight butt was snowy white and was covered with goose bumps as he looked over his shoulder at it, and he wondered as he looked, if he would be able to do it--if he would be able to actually hit his own butt with the belt.

He reached a hand back tentatively and felt the smooth flesh, and then experimentally drew his hand back and gave one cheek a light slap. The sound, in the quiet house was shockingly loud. Startled, he reached down and quickly snatched his black boxers up over his hips. He then opened his bedroom door and peered out into the shadowy hallway, but saw no one.

With a sigh of relief, he closed the door again and then pulled his boxers down and kicked them off. Grabbing the belt from the chair, he hurried over to his bed then lay over the edge of it, like he had always imagined he would if he got a whipping.

After rubbing a hand over the light brown curtain of hair that had fallen over his eyes to clear his vision, he brought the leather belt up to his nose and inhaled deeply, relishing the slightly musky scent. Another wave of shame washed over him at that point and once again he swung his head around, imagining he heard a noise.

Dusty had second thoughts about what he was preparing to do, but he had been thinking about it, dreaming about what it would feel like, for so long that he knew he couldn't waste this chance. Dad was gone somewhere, and Lance wouldn't be home for at least an hour. He knew it was now or never.

His heart pounded fiercely in his chest, and his whole body quivered in anticipation, as he tried to bring the belt to an angle where it would come down hard on his butt. The position was awkward, however, and when he realized it wouldn't work like he had imagined, he scrambled onto his side then drew the belt up as high into the air as he could manage.

He swung the doubled belt through the air and when it landed--half across his ass and half across the top of his left thigh--he hissed in pain and surprise. It hurt a lot!

The first burning swat out of the way, a feeling of exhilaration filled him. He had done it. He had actually spanked himself.

Tears suddenly burned his eyes, tears of relief, but also tears of confusion and shame, because he there was no shadow of a doubt now that he wasn't like other people.

All he had ever wanted was to fit in and be normal. At school, and with his friends he had always tried his best not to do anything that would make him stand out in any way, but even then the secret that he carried with him was always there, taunting him with the fact that he gained pleasure from the idea of something that was meant to be a shameful and very childish punishment.

He thought back to when he was younger--even as he brought the belt back up into the air and prepared to bring it cracking down again onto his bare butt-- and he remembered watching a movie with his family--a movie which included a scene of a teenager getting a spanking with a paddle at school--and he remembered the uncomfortable feeling he got when his brother had asked their dad if he had ever been spanked at school when he was a kid. Dusty remembered his face feeling hot, while Lance and Dad had casually discussed school spankings, and how he'd just wanted to leave the room in embarrassment.

At some point, when he was older, he had figured out that they could talk so casually about spankings because they didn't have the same kind of feelings he did about them. The realization made him feel sad and very alienated.

SWISH.... CRACK! The blow, when he slashed the belt down again, scalded him and made the tears which were already threatening to overflow, trickle down his cheeks. "Oooh," he groaned huskily, as the intense pain registered and caused a shower of sparkles in his eyes.

Suddenly he stopped and cocked his head. He was sure he had heard a noise that time. He jumped up from his bed and tossed the belt toward the closet where the buckle hit with a metallic clank.

Once more snatching his underwear from the floor, he put it back on, and then opened his door, and walked out into the hall. "Dad?" he called out huskily. "You home?"

There was no answer, so Dusty skittered back into his room, once again sliding down his boxers, and tossing them aside.

His fear of being caught melded with his need to give himself a real whipping and he wasted no time in bringing the belt up and then down across his backside as hard as he could.

The pain was getting worse and worse, but he continued to savagely belt himself. Some of the smacks were hitting too high and some were wrapping around the tender skin of his thigh, but it didn't matter to him at that point.

As the self-inflicted barrage continued, he gritted his teeth and tried to imagine someone else was whipping him. His teacher at school, his dad, his coach, the man next door. His frenzied mind flickered from one image to the next, never stopping fully on any one.

Fully aroused by the fragmented images of punishment, he slipped his free hand under his belly, while at the same time, trying to arch his back so the belt could access the parts which had not felt the sting yet. As he continued to whip himself in a slow, steady rhythm, he began to lose track of time. All that existed for him after a while was the searing pain and then the transformation of that pain.

It was at that point that he heard the soft click of his door opening. He froze, knowing that the sound was for real and was not just a product of his guilty conscience.

There were no jerky movements this time, he knew it was too late for that, so he pulled his hand from beneath himself, dropped the belt on the floor and then buried his face in the bedspread.

He could hear the blood swishing in his ears while he lay as still as possible, and he closed his eyes willing whoever had caught him to leave.

"Jesus, Dusty, what the hell are you doing?" It was Lance, and he sounded really disgusted.

"Nothing, go away," Dusty mumbled as he put a hand out to snag the edge of the comforter, hoping to wrap it around himself like a cocoon.

"I'm going to tell Dad!" Lance informed him, before slamming the door.

He lay there for a second, stunned and trembling violently, before pushing himself up and off the bed. Tears streamed down his face as he put on his underwear, then grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

His butt was still throbbing as he walked down the hall in search of Lance.

Hearing the TV blaring in the family room, he wiped his damp face with his forearm and then walked in.

Lance, still dressed in his soccer uniform, was staring at the television, and when Dusty walked past him to sit on the couch, gave no indication that he was aware of him at all.

Dusty ran a shaky hand through his hair and pretended to be interested in the program, but after a couple of minutes, he couldn't stand it anymore. He was going to have to say something. He couldn't just leave things like this, and he couldn't stand the thought of his older brother despising him.

"Please, don't tell Dad, it'll freak him out big time," he said, hating the desperate quality in his voice. "I didn't know you'd be home so early, Lance, and I've never done that before, I swear!" His voice was rising with every word, and he was beginning to feel light-headed.

Sounding cold and distant, Lance replied while still staring at the TV. "I don't give a shit, and I don't care what your deal is, so don't tell me about it. I'm still going to tell dad, because he needs to know."

"No, he doesn't! He doesn't need to know. Why does he need to know?" On the edge of hysteria, Dusty clamped his teeth down on his lower lip, to stop himself from begging.

"Just shut up, because I'm telling him. You're a sicko. Now just shut up about it before I beat your ass! But no, you'd probably like it too much," Lance said with a smirk as he looked Dusty straight in the eye.

Feeling his face growing hot, Dusty balled his hands into fists at the insult. "Don't say that," he said angrily. "I told you it was the first time I ever did anything like that, and I won't do it again. There's no reason to tell him."

"Won't do what again?"

Dusty's eyes swerved away from his brother's and over to his Dad, who was standing in the doorway with a questioning look on his face. He felt his stomach lurch sickeningly as he glanced back over at Lance who sat there tight-lipped and still.

"Won't do what again?" his dad repeated, a little more forcefully. "What's going on?"

"Dad, when I got home from soccer practice, Dusty was hitting himself with your belt."

Dusty stared down at the floor, knowing he would never forgive Lance for telling their dad because now their father would know what a freak he was and would despise him too.

As he stared at the carpet, he thought about packing his things and leaving, because the shame was just too much for him.

He heard his father clear his throat and his head drooped further down as he waited for him to say something.

"Hitting himself?" His father sounded confused and Dusty closed his eyes waiting for his brother's reply.

"Yeah, he had his pants down, lying on the bed, and he was hitting his butt with your belt."

Dusty heard the disdain in his brother's voice and he stood up from the couch, unable to bear it anymore.

He walked, shoulders slumped, toward the doorway where his father was standing, blocking his exit. He forced himself to look up. "I want to go to my room," he said feeling utterly defeated. "Will you let me by, Dad?"

He was surprised at the gentleness, when his father put his hand on his shoulder. "All right, you go ahead and I'll talk to you a little later."

Tears burned his eyes at his dad's unexpected reassurance, and when his father had stepped aside, Dusty quickly left the room and hurried to his room.

A half-hour later, There was a knock on the door, and Dusty, who was lying on his back shielding his face with his forearm, sighed heavily. "Come in," he said, dreading the confrontation to come, but knowing it was inevitable after what he had done.

His arm was still over his eyes in a gesture of self-protection, when his father sat down beside him. "I got your brother's side of the story," his dad said softly. "Now I want to hear your side of things."

"What do you want me to say?" Dusty asked defensively. "What Lance said was true."

He felt his dad's hand rest his shin, and he startled. Uncovering his face he looked at his father. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said dully, feeling exhausted and shell-shocked by the preceding events. "I just don't know what else to say."

"Can you tell me why you were hitting yourself, Dusty? You know you can tell me anything, son. You do know that, don't you?"

Unbidden tears began to trail down Dusty's cheeks as he sat up. "I don't want to talk about it, Dad." he said huskily. "I'll just go if you don't want me here anymore. I'm sure I can stay with a friend or something".

"What are you talking about? Why would you want to leave over something like this?" The gruff tone of his father's voice jolted him and he searched his eyes for signs of disgust.

"Don't you think it was horrible thing that I did?" he rasped out, afraid of the answer to his question.

"I really don't understand, Dusty, but it's not the end of the world, and it's certainly not something that should cause you to think about leaving home. I would appreciate it if you would tell me why you did what you did so I can try to understand more clearly."

Dusty sighed, not wanting to take the chance of his dad completely rejecting him, but also having a deep seated hope that maybe he would understand that Dusty wasn't the freak that Lance thought he was. It took all of his strength to begin his explanation to the man whom he had always trusted explicitly, when he knew exactly the risk he was taking of losing that trust and love. "I guess I needed to whip myself because I think about it sometimes...and I know it's weird and wrong and I'll try not to do it again, and I'll try not to think about it anymore. Just, please don't hate me for it, Dad!"

There was moment of silence before his father reached over and pulled him up into a tight hug. "It's OK," he soothed as he gently petted Dusty's hair. "You're a good boy. Yes, it's OK."

Resting his head on his father's shoulder, Dusty cried. He cried because his secret that had been held inside for so long was finally out in the open, but mostly he cried because his father still loved him in spite of it all.

After a few minutes the older man released his hold and helped Dusty to sit up. "I want to tell you something that might make you feel better," he said in a serious tone. "It's not something I've ever told anyone else, but I think it's important to tell you now."

Dusty sniffled and wiped his face with the back of his arm. "OK."

"Well, when I was in college, I was in a fraternity and all the initiates were hazed." There was a pause and Dusty figured that his dad was trying to find the right words to continue the story. "We were all paddled on the bare behind as an initiation rite and there was a... vibe in the air between all the guys that was more than just camaraderie. You could tell some of the frat guys were really enjoying paddling the pledges and also that some of the guys being paddled were...I guess... enjoying it too...."

There was long pause before his dad continued. "I would like to know one thing, though, if you don't mind telling me, that is."

Feeling a sense of relief by the story his father had shared, Dusty agreed. "Sure, ask away, Dad."

"Were you punishing yourself when you were hitting yourself? Were you doing that to yourself because you felt guilty about something, or was it something different from that?"

Dusty looked away, feeling embarrassed. "It wasn't exactly a punishment," he mumbled.

His dad lightly slapped his knee. "Well then, what's the problem? You're a good kid, and nothing that has happened today has changed that."

Dusty smiled gratefully at his Dad's words of acceptance. "Yeah, but Lance hates me now, and I don't think there is anything I can say to him that will change that."

"Well, that's his problem if he can't let it go. I've already spoken to him about my feeling of displeasure concerning the spiteful way he brought the matter to my attention, and I also let him know that if he wants to be understood in his life, he will need to try harder to understand others. It's up to him now as to whether he takes my advice."

Dusty nodded, trying to accept the fact that whether his brother hated him or not was not really up to him anymore." OK, thanks. I love you Dad."

"I love you too, and I don't want you to worry about this anymore. You're going to be just fine."

When it finally registered completely that his dad--whose opinion mattered more to him that anyone else's--had not rejected him for something he had always thought was perverted and wrong about himself. That was all that really mattered to him.

Dusty lifted his slumped shoulders and gave his father a grin of gratefulness. And suddenly, it was as if a whole lifetime of guilt had been magically lifted from his shoulders.