I don't have the title of this video yet but it looks like Barry's is doing some butt whuppin again! That Gucci belt is getting alot of use! I feel bad for those 3 bad boys bent over that couch!
Showing posts with label Bentover. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bentover. Show all posts
Monday, December 24, 2012
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Over The Chair!
This is a great position for a bad boy to get a butt whuppin.....that ass nice and high and plenty of room to swing that belt! I'd whup his behind just for wearing those lame socks!
Friday, November 25, 2011
Black Butt Spanking Friday!
Hi....I hope you all had a great Spanksgiving! I'm sure there were a few nicely roasted rumps all over the country this year. I'm sure there were a few bad boys who got there butts spanked in front of their whole family and made to sit at the little kids table! I know there are some of you that would love to roast my behind for being gone so long but your gonna have to catch me first!
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Black Betty
By Wynnchester
“I’m going to enjoy this,” Swan said with a smirk. “I don’t know why you put yourself through all this. You never win.” Brother Swan was right. Every time we make a bet I’m always on the short end of the stick, literally. We’re frat guys so we always bet licks, or wood as we say. Sports, cards you name it, we bet. I bet a lot to get better at betting, or so I thought. Swan always bets me because I’m no good at it and he likes swatting my wide, plump rump. “You know the drill, Brother Drew,” Swan said while grinning. “I almost feel sorry for you. What’s this, seven, eight bets in a row? Cuz, I didn't think you had any skin left on dat azz.” I was lucky there was some. Swan knows how to swing wood. He’s made my toes curl on a couple of occasions. The last time he brought smoke! I almost lost it. He hasn’t made me cry yet, however. I was determined this wouldn't be the day, either. The frat house was empty except for us. 
We knew everyone’s schedule so we had a couple of hours before some of the brothers were out of class. We nearly had this down to a science. It’s not like we were trying to hide anything. All the brothers do it as well. We just don’t like having an audience. Our brother’s also like to be hands on. If some wood is being swung, everyone wants a piece of the action. “So, you want me in the usual position,” I asked sheepishly. “Yeeessir,” he said quickly. My room’s at the back of the frat house. I lucked out because even if someone came in, you wouldn't hear anything with the door closed. It’s an old house so the doors are thick as well as the insulation. It’s a large room, big enough to have an arm chair. That’s where Brother Swan wanted me – in that chair. I placed a couple of pillows in the seat cushion. This would raise my butt up nice and high, so Swan could make contact with both cheeks. “Get to gettin’,” he said, anxious for me to receive my punishment. “Don’t rush,” I snapped. “You ain’t the one about to get splinters.” He couldn't hide his amusement. “That’s what you get for losing,” Swan said. “You know you can’t beat me at nuthin’, Cuz. “Really? Seriously, really,” I asked. “I can take more wood than you any day,” I said, nearly yelling. “Sure you can, Cuz,” he said slyly. “Thing is, I never lose so get to gettin’,” this time with his hand on my shoulder trying to force me over in the chair. “And this time you gon’ cry.” “Hold, up, ho-ho-hold up, bruh,” I said. “Tell ya, what,” I said. “I got 20 coming. If you cain’t get me to cry by 20, you take 20. If I cry, you stop at the lick I start crying on and I’ll take 20 more from there.” Swan was interested.
He knew I’d never cried before but the last time I came close, real close. He’s thinking he could get me up to about 17 or 18, really lay one on me and then have 20 more shots. “OK, Cuz, you got it,” Swan said. I took my position, which was pants and drawers around my ankles, knees up on the cushion (one in front of each arm), hands griping the back of the chair and behind lifted up by the pillows. “I’m bout to serve a course of rump roast,” Swan said as he pulled the paddle back like a major league batter. The first swat landed with a booooom! “Yeeeeeeouch,” I screamed. “Whatcha screaming for,” Swan said barely winded. “That was a pop fly. I ain’t got to the home runs yet, Cuz.” Swan killed me with that, “Cuz” stuff. He was also killing me with Black Betty, the board we usually used on pledges. She was old, but hurt like a mutha. It was about three and a half feet long, an inch thick and four inches wide at the business end. There were holes, of course, but countersunk. It was piano black and lacquered. Not a color of our frat, just use black for the drama. Baaammm! Baaammm! Wham! Swan had found his rhythm quickly. He was hitting base hits, doubles and triples on my ass. He was pounding me like Hammering Hank all the while I’m screaming and writhing on the chair in almost unbearable pain. But I made up my mind. I was winning this bet if it meant not sitting for a week. “What’s. . Whop . . The . . Whop . . . matter . . .smack. . Cuz,” Swan said, this time almost breathless. “You ain’t had a beatin’ like this before bro. I’m bringing smoke and got plenty more before the fire starts,” he said in an almost maniacal voice. “I’m loving this dog. . bam. . .bam. . .baaammmm! “Ouch. Oooooo. Ouch, Swan, you killin’ me,” I yelled. My rump felt like is was glowing. That would be a sight. I’m a deep chocolate, but Swan has put some color in dat azz on several occasions. “Whoa, dog, woooooooo.” I hollered. “You trying to get you mama to hear you back in Texas. She cain’t help you Cuz, can she” he asked between licks. “I ain't yo mama but I’m yo daddy, ain’t I, AIN”T I,” Swan yelled. He was enjoying this for sure. So much so, he had lost count. But I hadn't. “That’s 17, ouch. . . .18 . . .ahhhhhyeeohhh . . .19. . . woooooweeeeooh. . .20!!!!!!” I looked back at Swan and he looked puzzled. “Naw, dawg, that cain’t be 20, I just got started,” he said hurriedly. “Naw, Cuz, it’s my turn, dawg,” I said triumphantly. “Wait, now,” Swan said trying to back up. “You know I was just playing, just playing, Cuz. Swan was nervous. I could hear it in his voice. He’d not lost a bet to me in a long, long time. But he wasn’t getting out of this. That latte-colored, arrogant butt was about to get changed to a deep, crimson red. “Naw, Cuz,” putting much emphasis on “Cuz” this time “You lost, get to gettin’. “Aiiiiite, aiiiite,” Swan said as he fumbled with his belt. “Gimme some room, bruh,” he huffed. “I’m gon’ do dis. I pay my debts.” He walks over to the chair and assumes the position I just left. “Like this,” he asked nervously. “Yep,” I said. “That’s perfect. Face the wall and don’t look back. “And now stepping to the plate, recently out of retirement, Mr. Barry Bonds,” I said with a chuckle. “Not Bonds, dawg, awwh come on son” Swan pleaded. I was deaf to that. My sole, singular mission was to hit as many home runs as possible. “Swing batter, batter swing,” I said as I drew the bat behind my head. My follow through was perfect. I hit Swan square in the biscuits. “Kaaaapooow.” My first lick was a grand slam. “Yeeeeeeeeeeooooooooooooooch,” Swan screamed. He was on his feet holding his aching ass. “Man, that ain’t fair. I didn’t hit you that hard, Cuz.” he said. “Oh, you hit me a lot harder than that, bruh. It just hurts worse when you lose. Get back in da cut.” He did so quickly and I continued my rear assault. I put more muscle in the second swing than the first. Ooooohhhh mmmyyyy dddaaaammmmnn,” Swan yelled. He was clutching that arm chair like it was his last brew. The next three were singles and doubles. I felt a little sorry for him because he was begging and pleading so. The next lick was a game winning grand slam that sounded like dynamite. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, Cuz, please,” Swan begged. I had him and I wasn’t letting up this time. “Really, Cuz,” I said a little winded. “We ‘bout to play ‘question and answer,’ son. What’s my name . . .bam. . . .huh. . . .bam, bam, what is it,” I screamed? “It’s Drew, Brother Drew, ooowww, come on bruh,” he said moaning and groaning. “Spell, it Swan, spell it,” I ordered. “Whack. . .D. . .whack. . .R. . .whack, whack. . .E, W, come on man, plee. . eee. . .eee. . ase,” Swan said. I finished his beating with grand slams. His face was buried in the seat cushion. His screams were muffled but still loud. “Last one, Cuz. Get that rump up, make it stand at attention,” I said. He raised his battered bubble butt a little and was perfectly still, as if to say “do your worst.” So I took the challenge. I got in my Ken Griffey stance wiggled the paddle and let fly. I didn’t use the same board Swan did. My personal paddle had our frat’s letters carved in the wood. I did my best Griffey imitation and landed the lick with crushing force. “Wooooooooooiiiiiiieeeeeeeyeeeeoooouch,” 
Swan screamed jumping about three feet in the air holding his red rump. I hit him hard enough to tattoo the letters on his cheeks. They were almost hard to see. He was glowing red on both sides – almost perfect circles. “You wait ‘till the next one, Cuz,” he said gingerly raising his pants over his tail. “Oh, we gon’ bet on something again,” I asked. “I ain’t goin’ out like this Drew,” Swan said. “Bruh, now it’s on!”
We knew everyone’s schedule so we had a couple of hours before some of the brothers were out of class. We nearly had this down to a science. It’s not like we were trying to hide anything. All the brothers do it as well. We just don’t like having an audience. Our brother’s also like to be hands on. If some wood is being swung, everyone wants a piece of the action. “So, you want me in the usual position,” I asked sheepishly. “Yeeessir,” he said quickly. My room’s at the back of the frat house. I lucked out because even if someone came in, you wouldn't hear anything with the door closed. It’s an old house so the doors are thick as well as the insulation. It’s a large room, big enough to have an arm chair. That’s where Brother Swan wanted me – in that chair. I placed a couple of pillows in the seat cushion. This would raise my butt up nice and high, so Swan could make contact with both cheeks. “Get to gettin’,” he said, anxious for me to receive my punishment. “Don’t rush,” I snapped. “You ain’t the one about to get splinters.” He couldn't hide his amusement. “That’s what you get for losing,” Swan said. “You know you can’t beat me at nuthin’, Cuz. “Really? Seriously, really,” I asked. “I can take more wood than you any day,” I said, nearly yelling. “Sure you can, Cuz,” he said slyly. “Thing is, I never lose so get to gettin’,” this time with his hand on my shoulder trying to force me over in the chair. “And this time you gon’ cry.” “Hold, up, ho-ho-hold up, bruh,” I said. “Tell ya, what,” I said. “I got 20 coming. If you cain’t get me to cry by 20, you take 20. If I cry, you stop at the lick I start crying on and I’ll take 20 more from there.” Swan was interested. He knew I’d never cried before but the last time I came close, real close. He’s thinking he could get me up to about 17 or 18, really lay one on me and then have 20 more shots. “OK, Cuz, you got it,” Swan said. I took my position, which was pants and drawers around my ankles, knees up on the cushion (one in front of each arm), hands griping the back of the chair and behind lifted up by the pillows. “I’m bout to serve a course of rump roast,” Swan said as he pulled the paddle back like a major league batter. The first swat landed with a booooom! “Yeeeeeeouch,” I screamed. “Whatcha screaming for,” Swan said barely winded. “That was a pop fly. I ain’t got to the home runs yet, Cuz.” Swan killed me with that, “Cuz” stuff. He was also killing me with Black Betty, the board we usually used on pledges. She was old, but hurt like a mutha. It was about three and a half feet long, an inch thick and four inches wide at the business end. There were holes, of course, but countersunk. It was piano black and lacquered. Not a color of our frat, just use black for the drama. Baaammm! Baaammm! Wham! Swan had found his rhythm quickly. He was hitting base hits, doubles and triples on my ass. He was pounding me like Hammering Hank all the while I’m screaming and writhing on the chair in almost unbearable pain. But I made up my mind. I was winning this bet if it meant not sitting for a week. “What’s. . Whop . . The . . Whop . . . matter . . .smack. . Cuz,” Swan said, this time almost breathless. “You ain’t had a beatin’ like this before bro. I’m bringing smoke and got plenty more before the fire starts,” he said in an almost maniacal voice. “I’m loving this dog. . bam. . .bam. . .baaammmm! “Ouch. Oooooo. Ouch, Swan, you killin’ me,” I yelled. My rump felt like is was glowing. That would be a sight. I’m a deep chocolate, but Swan has put some color in dat azz on several occasions. “Whoa, dog, woooooooo.” I hollered. “You trying to get you mama to hear you back in Texas. She cain’t help you Cuz, can she” he asked between licks. “I ain't yo mama but I’m yo daddy, ain’t I, AIN”T I,” Swan yelled. He was enjoying this for sure. So much so, he had lost count. But I hadn't. “That’s 17, ouch. . . .18 . . .ahhhhhyeeohhh . . .19. . . woooooweeeeooh. . .20!!!!!!” I looked back at Swan and he looked puzzled. “Naw, dawg, that cain’t be 20, I just got started,” he said hurriedly. “Naw, Cuz, it’s my turn, dawg,” I said triumphantly. “Wait, now,” Swan said trying to back up. “You know I was just playing, just playing, Cuz. Swan was nervous. I could hear it in his voice. He’d not lost a bet to me in a long, long time. But he wasn’t getting out of this. That latte-colored, arrogant butt was about to get changed to a deep, crimson red. “Naw, Cuz,” putting much emphasis on “Cuz” this time “You lost, get to gettin’. “Aiiiiite, aiiiite,” Swan said as he fumbled with his belt. “Gimme some room, bruh,” he huffed. “I’m gon’ do dis. I pay my debts.” He walks over to the chair and assumes the position I just left. “Like this,” he asked nervously. “Yep,” I said. “That’s perfect. Face the wall and don’t look back. “And now stepping to the plate, recently out of retirement, Mr. Barry Bonds,” I said with a chuckle. “Not Bonds, dawg, awwh come on son” Swan pleaded. I was deaf to that. My sole, singular mission was to hit as many home runs as possible. “Swing batter, batter swing,” I said as I drew the bat behind my head. My follow through was perfect. I hit Swan square in the biscuits. “Kaaaapooow.” My first lick was a grand slam. “Yeeeeeeeeeeooooooooooooooch,” Swan screamed. He was on his feet holding his aching ass. “Man, that ain’t fair. I didn’t hit you that hard, Cuz.” he said. “Oh, you hit me a lot harder than that, bruh. It just hurts worse when you lose. Get back in da cut.” He did so quickly and I continued my rear assault. I put more muscle in the second swing than the first. Ooooohhhh mmmyyyy dddaaaammmmnn,” Swan yelled. He was clutching that arm chair like it was his last brew. The next three were singles and doubles. I felt a little sorry for him because he was begging and pleading so. The next lick was a game winning grand slam that sounded like dynamite. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, Cuz, please,” Swan begged. I had him and I wasn’t letting up this time. “Really, Cuz,” I said a little winded. “We ‘bout to play ‘question and answer,’ son. What’s my name . . .bam. . . .huh. . . .bam, bam, what is it,” I screamed? “It’s Drew, Brother Drew, ooowww, come on bruh,” he said moaning and groaning. “Spell, it Swan, spell it,” I ordered. “Whack. . .D. . .whack. . .R. . .whack, whack. . .E, W, come on man, plee. . eee. . .eee. . ase,” Swan said. I finished his beating with grand slams. His face was buried in the seat cushion. His screams were muffled but still loud. “Last one, Cuz. Get that rump up, make it stand at attention,” I said. He raised his battered bubble butt a little and was perfectly still, as if to say “do your worst.” So I took the challenge. I got in my Ken Griffey stance wiggled the paddle and let fly. I didn’t use the same board Swan did. My personal paddle had our frat’s letters carved in the wood. I did my best Griffey imitation and landed the lick with crushing force. “Wooooooooooiiiiiiieeeeeeeyeeeeoooouch,” Swan screamed jumping about three feet in the air holding his red rump. I hit him hard enough to tattoo the letters on his cheeks. They were almost hard to see. He was glowing red on both sides – almost perfect circles. “You wait ‘till the next one, Cuz,” he said gingerly raising his pants over his tail. “Oh, we gon’ bet on something again,” I asked. “I ain’t goin’ out like this Drew,” Swan said. “Bruh, now it’s on!” Sunday, January 23, 2011
The Barbershop
I never did like going to the local barbershop to get my hair cut when I was a kid and this is one of the main reasons why! Now I never got my but whupped in the barbershop but just the thought of that razor strap dangling just inches away always gave me chills! I would always notice another strap that hung off a hook behind the barber chair and I would think that it had a special purpose!
I don't know why but I would always would make a fuss about getting my hair cut mostly because my father would make me get one whether I wanted it or not.......I would constantly move my head while I was in the chair and yell that he was cutting it to short (damn....maybe I did need a whuppin) I think back now about all those old men that are always hanging out in the barbershop along with my dad and uncles and fearing that someone would say "that boy needs a good butt whuppin".....there would be no escape! 
Could you imagine getting my fifteen year old butt bared and bent over the chair while my dad whupped my ass in front of everybody in the shop! I can even imagine the bell on the door jingle every time someone came in which means that more people are watching me get it! Back then it was the fear of getting the strap but now it's more of a fantasy!
Could you imagine getting my fifteen year old butt bared and bent over the chair while my dad whupped my ass in front of everybody in the shop! I can even imagine the bell on the door jingle every time someone came in which means that more people are watching me get it! Back then it was the fear of getting the strap but now it's more of a fantasy! 
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Spankable Butt Of The Week #1 For 2011
OMG, OMG, OMG!
Oh Barry! Should I go ahead and just award him as the winner for the year right now? I nearly passed out when I received these....it was the best Christmas gift ever and it has been killing me not to post them until now (you have no idea)! I know I'm a little biased but I can't help myself when it comes to Barry and his sexy, spankable butt! Here are a few recent photos of Barry after receiving the birch.....man that looks like it stings but he seems to take it very well! The good news is that there might be a video released sometime this year...YEAH! I'll pass the info on to all of you as soon as get get more info about it but for now enjoy the first spankable butt of 2011!
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Spankable Butt Of The Week #4
This has got to be a Coaches dream come true! This big beefy football player is up on all fours and ready for the Coach to deliver some well deserved punishment! Being naked and totally exposed is part of the punishment for this young man so whoever is still in the locker room is going to get an eye full! This isn't the first time this young man has gotten a taste of the paddle so this time the Coach needs to get his attention and figure out which paddle to use to bring this bad boy to tears!
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Waiting For You
Butt naked and in position awaiting your punishment! You told him as soon as you get home your gonna deal with his bad behind so he figured he'd better be ready when you got there!
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