I just hate them, don't I?

* Disclaimer: I would never hit a child. This is just a story. You can repost it or publish it on the web, as long as you don't charge for it.

* Main Characters:
David Campbell - 9-year-old boy.
Diana - David's mother.
Jack - David's father.

I was not having my best day.

I hadn't wanted to go shopping. I'd rather be playing with my friends. But here I was, visiting shop after shop. And Mom actually seemed to enjoy this torture! Womem are weird.

Mom had said that she didn't want to leave me alone, that something could happen to me.

I had tried to explain that I wouldn't be alone, but with my friends. And we didn't live in the middle of the forest, anyway. Nothing would happen to me and, if it did, somebody would help me. Besides, Dad would be home soon.

Unfortunately, she refused to hear the voice of reason. She must think I'm still a toddler who can't look after himself.

So I was not happy and I was making every effort to let Mom know.

I wasn't doing anything really bad. Just passive resistance. I would walk very slowly, pretend not to listen what Mom said, make derogatory comments about anything she bought... I tried to make her as miserable as I was.

"Just a minute, David," said Mom, "we'll be going soon."

I sighed. Just a minute, David. Why don't you look at the antiques for a while, David? Why don't you die of boredom, David?... What on earth does Uncle John see in antiques, anyway?

"But Mom," I whined, "I'm bored."

I could see that she was upset, but I was beyond caring. "Can I go to the book shop while you look for the present?"

"No, son. We don't have much time. I had thought that you were going to help me choose, but if you're not feeling like it, you'll just have to be patient a bit longer."

I sighed again and began examining some antiques.

"Don't touch them, honey. They're fragile."

Gosh!, can't she just leave me alone? I'm not stupid! I shot her a reproachful look, but held back the replies that were coming to my lips. I didn't want to get in trouble for sassing back. Instead, I began to imitate everything she did, trying to make her see me to remind her that I was bored.

She saw me, but she was not amused.

"David," she said, kneeling down and taking my hand in hers, "I know you're tired and want to go home. Tell you what, we'll get something for Uncle John and then we'll buy some ice cream. But meanwhile try to be a good boy, okay?" While she was saying this, she squeezed my hand. Not enough to hurt me, but I knew that that was the way my parents told me they had run out of patience when we were in a public place.

"Okay, Mom", I said contritely.

But then I saw it. It was perfect. It was a wooden pipe, beatifully carved. I knew Uncle John was going to love it. I went to get it and bring it to Mom, but as I was trying to grab it, it slipped off from the shelf and broke.

I froze. "Good bye, ice cream," was my first incongruous thought. I soon had something worse to worry about, however, as my Mom was coming and she didn't seem to be happy at all. I was so scared that I almost started to cry. I was sure she was going to spank me right there.

She didn't, though. She just grabbed my arm and went to the counter. The storekeeper knew us, and he didn't want Mom to pay. "It was an accident, madam. And besides, it's not very expensive."

But Mom was having none of it. She paid and left the store without buying anything, still grabbing my arm firmly.

On our way home I kept glancing at her, but her eyes were fixed on the road. She hadn't spoken to me since I broke the antique. Her jaw was very tight.

"Mom, I'm really sorry...," I tried, but she didn't let me finish.

"Please David, don't say anything until we get home," she said, in a controlled voice.

I hadn't seen her so angry since I burnt that old mattress two years ago. I closed my mouth and looked down, wishing to die.

When we got home she seemed more relaxed.

"Go to your room, David," she said.

I didn't have to be told twice.

I could hear her talking to Dad downstairs, but I couldn't make out what they were saying.

Oh, great, I thought. I bet she's telling Dad. Now I'm really going to get it.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on my door.

"Come in," I said.

Mom and Dad came in and closed the door behind them, altough there was no one else at home. Do they think I'm going to try to escape?, I thought bitterly. Well, at least they don't have the hairbrush. Perhaps, if I do this right, I won't get spanked.

"Mom, Dad, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to break anything. I just liked that pipe for Uncle John and I was trying to get it to show Mom...," I said humbly, looking at the floor.

"We are glad to hear you're sorry, David, but your mother and I have been discusssing your behaviour this morning and we have decided that you need to be spanked for it."

Oh, shit, no! But Dad didn't seem to be angry, he just sounded tired and a bit sad. If I played my cards right I could still talk them out of spanking me. Maybe.

"But daddy, it was an accident, really. I didn't do it on purpose. Please don't spank me," I begged, trying to start crying in order to get some pity. It wasn't difficult.

"We believe you, son. We know you wouldn't do something like that on purpose. We are not going to punish you for breaking the pipe, but for misbehaving and disobeying your mother. We need to know that we can take you to a public place without fearing you'll make a scene. Come here, please," he said, sitting down in my bed.

My hands went instinctively to protect my bottom. "Please, no, please... Mom?" I said, looking at her hopefully.

But she just shook her head, looking as if she'd rather be anywhere else. "Do as your father says, David. It'll be over soon," she said softly.

I just stood there, crying, with my hands on the seat of my jeans, not able to recognize that I was going to be spanked no matter what I did or said.

Finally Mom pushed me gently until I was within my father's reach.

Dad started to unsnap my trousers. I tried to stop him, but he said: "David, don't make this harder than it is," and with a sudden tug he took them down.

I started to bawl right them. I knew that I was acting like a baby, and I hated it, but it only made me cry harder.

He inserted his fingers in the waistband of my underpants. I was a shy boy and didn't let my parents see me naked. I was not spanked very often but, even when I was, it was usually done with the hairbrush over my briefs. I had not been spanked on the bare bottom for at least two years. I closed my eyes, shaking and feeling the strength to resist leaving me. I only wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

However, my father looked at me, consulted Mom with his eyes, and finally left my briefs where they were.

I felt a wave of relief, and my crying subsided. Not for long, though, because Dad was guiding me over his lap. He didn't wait much to begin the spanking.

He wasn't spanking very hard, but it still hurt plenty. He didn't speak, which made sense because I wouldn't have listened anyway.

He always spanked in the middle of my bottom, slapping both my cheeks at the same time. The pain started to build up and I was definitely feeling it now.

"Please, no more," I sobbed. "I'm sorry Dad. Please stop. Pleeeaaase..."

Finally, he stopped. I don't know how long it took or how many spanks I got. I just lay there feeling the heat on my bottom and my face. Soon I stopped crying. I think I had no more tears left. Dad was helping me stand up.

I quickly took up my trousers and looked at him through my tears. He tried to hug me but now that the spanking was over the fear was wearing off and I was starting to feel the anger and humiliation.

I felt like punching him. Of course I didn't, I'm not that crazy. I just rejected his hug and lay down on my bed, looking at the wall.

"Leave me alone, please," I said, as coldly as I could.

They looked at each other and finally decided to leave the room, closing the door after them.

I lay there for hours hating my parents and feeling sorry for myself.

I'm going to run away, I thought. And then they will be sorry for spanking me and they will realize how unfair they are. Or even better, I will kill myself and they will know that I did it because of the way they treated me.

Of course, I had no intention to do anything like that, and I knew it. But it felt good to imagine my parents feeling sorry for punishing me and wishing they hadn't.

Later, I felt bored and I started reading a book. I didn't go out of my room. I had decided not to talk to my parents again.

However, my bottom didn't hurt any more and I was feeling lonely. I wished that my parents would come to make up, although I wasn't sure I would accept.

Finally, there was a knock on my door. It was Mom.

"Honey, dinner is ready. Why don't you come?" she asked.

"I'm not hungry", I said, staring at my book, although I felt some tears in my eyes.

She came to my bed and sat beside me.

"You can come anyway. We would feel sad having dinner without you," she said gently, caressing my hair.

Well, that's almost a surrender, isn't it?, I thought. I considered refusing, but I really didn't want to be left alone. And I was a bit hungry.

So I let her guide me downstairs, although I didn't hug her, as I wanted her to realize that I was still angry.

They had already set the table. And what was that? My favourite cake! They must have cooked it for dessert, while I was in my room hating them!

I looked at them, remembering all the good times we had had together, and I couldn't be angry with them any more. I thought: they might not be perfect, but I surely wouldn't change them for anything.

I hugged both of them for a long time, although this time I managed not to cry.