I had been living with Mark for about six months, after moving in when I couldn't find a job. He worked in a bank at a high salary, and so had no difficulty supporting both of us. Eventually, when we both realized that I would not soon find employment in my chosen field--ichtheology--we agreed that I would stay home and take care of the house, while he provided the funds for food and other necessities.
The arrangement worked quite adequately. We both got along well together, and only occasionally did he have to discipline me for my "breaking the rules"--not keeping the house in order, neglecting the laundry, or not having a meal prepared by dinner time.
These occasional discipline sessions could be painful, but I was aware of the fact that I always deserved them. And, after my bottom was bared and the appropriate number of strokes applied with an old leather strap or a now-worn fraternity paddle, Mark always accepted my apologies with no further penalties.
But then, one day, his teen-age brother arrived. Mark had told me his little brother (more than ten years younger than he) was coming to visit for a couple of days. So I prepared a bed for the fifteen-year-old in the spare guest room.
Its not often that I take an immediate dislike to a person, but so it was this teenager when he arrived. There was nothing about Jim that I found pleasant. He was a large and gangly youth with unkempt hair and clothes that didn't fit him. Furthermore, he seemed to have no manners, at least when he spoke to me. But he was a much loved brother to Mark, who apparently saw none of his faults. That first evening, after the dinner meal, they went out together on the town while I stayed to do the dishes and clean up.
The next morning Mark arose at the usual time and I prepared breakfast for the two of us before he went to work. The teenager slept in and didn't get up until about three hours later. Then he came downstairs and asked me what there was to eat. He certainly was a lazy boy, making no effort to prepare his own breakfast after I had shown him where the cereal, toast, and other items could be found. So I fried some eggs and bacon for him at his request. After all, he was Mark's brother and he would only be staying a couple of days.
Jim then left the house and I settled into my daily routine of making my and Mark's beds, dusting, and watching some daytime TV. At noon Jim came home and I made lunch for the two of us. After he went up to his room to get something, he returned and asked why his bed had not been made.
"Don't you make your own bed at home?" I queried.
"Not if I can help it," he replied with a sneer. "And, anyway, Mark tells me that you're the one who does the housework around here."
"Well it's about time you started making your own bed," I said, ignoring his comment about my role in the household. I then turned away from miserable "twerp" and began to clear the dishes from the table and put them into the dishwasher.
Jim didn't say anything more about the matter and soon left the house without doing anything about the mess in his room. He returned about a half an hour before his brother got home from work, and after Mark arrived, the two of them sat in the living room talking. I didn't hear what they were saying because I was in the kitchen preparing the evening meal.
Mark then came into the kitchen, followed by Jim, and asked me, "Why didn't you make Jim's bed this morning?"
"I think he is old enough to make his own bed," I replied. As soon as this statement was out of my mouth, I realized that it was the wrong thing to have said.
"What did you say?" The tone in Mark's voice was one of anger. "Jim's my brother and my guest, and I expect you to take care of his bed and room in the same way you take care of mine."
"All right," I replied, showing my irritation at this request, "I'll make up the bed right after dinner."
"No," Mark was firm, "you'll do it right now, and we're going to discuss this matter further after we've eaten."
This sounded like a threat. I decided it was best to comply, and put down the spoon with which I was stirring some gravy to go upstairs to the guest room. Mark and Jim followed me.
The room was a mess. Not only was the bed unmade, but there were dirty clothes lying on the floor. After I made the bed, I turned to leave. But Mark stopped me, "What's that sock and underwear doing there?" he asked.
"I guess it needs to be washed," I replied, carefully removing the irritation from my voice as I said this.
"So why aren't they already in the washer?"
"I didn't realize I was supposed to take care of Jim's things," I said, "but I will do so from now on." I began to pick up the dirty laundry. From the looks of the underwear, I doubted if Jim had changed his briefs in more than a week. This kid was not only a pain but a dirty one at that. The other sock was way under the bed and I had to lie down on the floor to reach it.
I took the laundry downstairs to the washer-drier and dumped them into it. Then I started the machine working and returned to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. Eventually all three of us sat down to eat, and I had to listen to Jim's rather tedious rendition of his visit to various tourist sites that day.
After I finished washing the dishes, cleaning the kitchen, and taking Jim's clothes out of the drier and putting them in his room, I went into the living room where Mark and his brother were apparently waiting for me. On a chair in the middle of the room was Mark's old fraternity paddle. I immediately sensed that it was going to be used on me.
Mark told me he was very disappointed in my behavior--that Jim was his brother and his guest--that I should have shown him the same respect I was expected to show all guests, even if Jim was only fifteen years old--that Jim would be staying a couple of days and that he didn't want me to demonstrate any more disrespect toward him. And, with that, he said he was going to have to teach me a lesson. He picked up the paddle from the chair and told me to bend over it with my hands flat on the seat.
"Not here, please. Not in front of your brother," I pleaded. Mark had never before paddled me in front of anyone, particularly someone almost half my age. It was bad enough to get paddled by Mark in private, but I was certain that there was no need to make a public display of the event.
"Bend over," Mark pointed to the chair.
I moved, as if in a trance, into position. No further words were necessary. I had to obey, in order to keep my relationship with Mark. But I felt it was a great injustice to be punished in front of his little brother. With my hands on the seat of the chair, I felt him reach around my waist and begin to undo the trouser clasp and zipper.
"Please, Mark, not in front of Jim," I pleaded in desperation.
"You offended him, and so he has a right to stay," Mark replied with deliberation.
He then reached inside my trousers to search for the flap button. He found it, and I shivered from the draft as my slacks dropped. I always hated this part of the punishment procedure. I was, of course, perfectly capable of baring my own ass, but Mark often insisted on the psychological torture and utter humiliation imposed by undressing me at his own pace.
Slowly, his hands slid under my shirt and over my underpants as he felt for the waistband. My entire body was acutely aware of my increasing pulse rate as his fingers tugged at the elastic, slowly exposing my buttocks to Jim's and his view. The humiliation was intense, and he hadn't even applied the paddle yet.
But I didn't have to wait long. The first slap of the paddle resounded in my ears before I really felt the pain. Then the sting made me almost scream out, but I held myself in check so that Jim would not realize how much it hurt. I grunted at the next stroke because this hurt even more. And then, with various muffled noises, I endured six more of the eight blistering blows to my upturned bottom and injured pride.
When the assault on my posterior ended, Mark told me to stand up and apologize to his brother.
I turned and hobbled to stand in front of Jim, my pants and briefs still tangled around my ankles. "I'm very sorry to have been rude to you," I said to him. "I will not let it happen again, and I am glad you are visiting Mark. Please forgive me." I tried as best I could to say this with a tone of sincerity in my voice, but it was almost impossible because I was addressing a boy so much my junior. And as I looked at Jim, I noticed a bulge at his crotch that clearly indicated the event he had just witnessed was exciting to him.
Somewhat flustered by the scene, Jim merely replied, "O. K., forget it."
"You can pull up your trousers now," Mark said. "Jim and I are going to talk and watch some TV. Stay if you like."
I declined, however, and went to my own room to survey the damage. I didn't want to sit down. This hurt too much. So I stood and read for awhile, and then went to bed. I slept that night on my stomach. I was glad that Jim wouldn't be staying with us too long.
The next morning I prepared breakfast for myself and Mark. Jim didn't rise until about ten, long after Mark left for work. I prepared him breakfast, made the beds, did some cleaning, and then went into the living room to watch TV. Jim left shortly thereafter to do some more sightseeing.
Both Jim and Mark must have met each other later in the day because they came home together. At the dinner table Mark turned to me and said, "I understand that you have been rather lazy today."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You sat all morning watching TV instead of doing your chores."
"I finished the chores first," I replied. "Then there was nothing to do but watch TV or read."
"Nothing to do?" Mark had a tone of clear disapproval in his voice. "What about washing and waxing the floors? What about taking care of the garden? It sounds like you are goofing off, and just finding excuses not to do any housework. This has got to stop."
"But I keep the floors clean. They don't need to be washed and waxed every week. And I did all the garden weeding just two days ago." I was desperately trying to justify my activity that day, but somehow I knew I wasn't getting through to Mark. And the little tattletale, Jim, was just sitting there with a big smile on his face.
"You're not going to get away with all this laziness anymore," Mark continued, "and I'm going to make sure of that right after supper. So be prepared to be disciplined."
I groaned inwardly. My bottom was still a little sore from the evening before. If I thought I could have gotten away with it, I would have thrown Jim out of the house right then and there. The teenager certainly was a trouble maker.
"I'm going to make out a list of things that need to be done around here," said Mark, "and I expect you to start on them tomorrow. Furthermore, Jim has kindly agreed to stay here tomorrow to see that you get them done properly."
A supervisor? The thought sent shivers up and down my spine. We finished supper in silence, and without further comment Mark and Jim left for the living room. I took my time in clearing the table, putting the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, and straightening up the kitchen. I knew I had to make my appearance in the living room and face Mark's discipline, but I didn't have to rush to judgment.
Finally, everything done, I made my appearance. Mark and Jim were sitting on the couch watching some TV program. As I entered the room, Mark got up and turned off the television.
"You certainly took your time getting here," he said.
"I had to straighten out the kitchen, sir." This was clearly one of the occasions when it was wisest to use the term "sir" rather than Mark's name. Too much familiarity might cause him increase the punishment in order to remind me who was boss.
"You're getting much too lazy, not holding up your end of the work. That's clear. You probably have been goofing off every day while I'm away at work. It's good that Jim was here today to catch you at it."
"I'm sorry, sir," I said in the most apologetic manner I could muster. "I won't let it happen again."
At this point Mark told me he was going to make sure of that this very evening. And then he told me to drop my pants and bend over the arm of the couch. There was nothing to do but comply. Mark had his leather strap in hand and I knew I would get nowhere arguing against Jim being in the room as an observer. I undid my belt buckle and lowered my pants and underwear. Then I moved into position over the arm rest of the couch, my arms stretched out in front of me and my feet on the floor. Mark took his stand to my side, a position that gave him an easy target of my ass.
When the strap landed the first time I felt a sharp stinging burn in my butt. There were a few seconds wait and then another blistering blow lashed my tender bottom, close to the first. The blows continued with a short wait between each. There were too many of them to keep count, and I moved from moans and groans to outright blubbering like a baby. The pain that the strap produced made it impossible to control the muscles in my posterior, and it took all my efforts to keep my arms outstretched so my hands wouldn't move into position to try to protect my ass from further punishment. It seemed as though each cheek was trying to run in opposite directions in order to get away.
Each stroke added to my agony as the strap danced over my bare bottom, sometimes striking untouched flesh like the back of my thighs or the edges of my hips, but mostly hitting the same area over and over. Only a person who has experienced the terror of anticipating a strap closing the distance between itself and one's naked ass, knowing that nothing can stop its progress and that the end of it's journey will result in an explosion of pain, can understand how time can seemingly stand still during the seconds between each lashing.
My tears left a wet spot on the couch before Mark finally relented. Then he told me to stand up, go to the wall behind the television set and face it with my toes and nose touching the wall. I was to keep my hands away from my bruised bottom and to stand there until I he told me I could move away. Jim produced a safety pin to hold my shirt tail up above my red, almost purple, ass.
For the next two hours I had to stand in this position while Mark and Jim watched various programs on television. Their view of the screen included a direct view of my exposed posterior. From time to time, Mark spoke to Jim about how he hoped I had learned my lesson from this encounter with the strap, and Jim made remarks about how red my bottom was and how sore it must be.
When Mark finally let me stand away from the wall, he asked me if I was ready to apologize to him for my behavior, and I then had to go through the humiliating procedure of apologizing to both him and to his little brother.
Then, before I could leave the room, Mark said that when Jim supervised me the next day, I was to refer to Jim as "sir," because he would be the boss for the day. I assented but left the room wondering how I could endure a day of being supervised by a teen-age brat like Jim and wondering if it would be possible to avoid addressing him, in which case I would have to use the term "sir."
It was a miserable night. My bottom ached and ached. Then, when I got up to prepare breakfast for Mark, he entered the kitchen with Jim in tow. No chance to avoid the fifteen-year-old during the extra hours he usually stayed in bed in the morning.
"Today you will wash and wax the kitchen floor, put new shelf paper on the pantry shelves, and dust all the books and shelves in the living room," Mark told me. "And if you get finished with those jobs before dinner time, I have given Jim a list of other tasks that need doing."
"Yes, sir," I replied, carefully looking only at Mark and not at his brother.
After Mark left for work and I completed the usual tasks of dishes and beds, I got the mop and pail to wash the kitchen floor. Jim came and stood in the doorway to watch my work. "You're working pretty slow," he said. "Come on, speed it up."
"I'm going as fast as I can," I replied.
"What did you say?" There was a note of anger in Jim's voice.
I suddenly remembered he was to be addressed as sir. "I'm doing the best I can, sir," I said. Until then I hadn't realized that he was holding the fraternity paddle in his hand.
He came over to me and landed a stroke on my backside, which produced an "ouch" from my mouth. "Speed it up. You have a lot more to do today."
I began immediately to wash the floor with great vigor. There was no way of knowing how far he would go with this boss business.
The floor mopped, I got on my hands and knees to spread the wax. Then I felt the whap of the paddle as Jim pointed out that I had missed putting wax on a spot in the corner. I groaned. I took two more swats before the floor was completed. Then Jim told me to immediately go into the living room to dust the books and shelves.
I couldn't get through this job either without feeling the paddle once or twice more on my already too-sore posterior. Also, though I much resented it, every time he addressed me or asked me a question he expected me to respond with the title, "sir." He didn't even let me take a five minute break between jobs, so that by the end of the day my arms and back, and, of course, bottom were terribly sore.
Fortunately Mark returned from work before I dropped from sheer exhaustion. Mark insisted on inspecting my bottom prior to dinner. He made me drop my pants so he could examine the marks left by Jim's paddling. Mark ran his fingers over each cheek to feel the heat, while Jim watched from the sidelines. Again, when I looked at Jim out of the corner of my eye, I could see by the bulge in his trousers that the whole process was quite exciting to him.
That evening I did join them in the living room for television viewing, although I had to keep shifting my position on the couch in my attempt to sit without too much pain. At the end of the evening Mark said to me, "Tomorrow I want you to paint the bathroom. And Jim has kindly agreed to stay home again to see that it is done right. You'll find the paint cans that I bought some weeks ago on the bench in the basement."
"Yes, sir," I answered him, thinking to myself that I was glad Jim would be leaving soon. The couple of days he said he would be here had already stretched into three and tomorrow would make it four.
"And I don't want you to ruin your clothes by getting them all covered with paint, so you should plan to do the work buck naked."
The statement came as a shock. "I won't get paint on myself," I said in protest.
"Buck naked!" Mark said with emphasis and an implied threat in his voice if I should disobey.
"Yes, sir," I answered, feeling a twinge in my guts. As I turned to leave, I could see the hint of an evil smile on Jim's face.
I didn't sleep well that night. I was kept awake by the thought of painting in the nude while being stared at by the nasty teenage brother. I would be in a most vulnerable position, one in which I could imagine all sorts of ways he might abuse me. I prayed he would go home soon.
But I didn't need to worry so much. I got paddled a number of times the next day as I prepared the room for painting and then painted it, but that is all he did to me, except to watch me like a hawk every minute of the day. It was humiliating experience, but I got through it, and he let me put my clothes back on before Mark returned home. Then, of course, Mark made me display my bottom before dinner so he could inspect the damage, and Mark thanked Jim for managing my work so well.
At the dinner table that night Jim announced that he had decided not to go home until school started in September because he thought he might be of some help to his brother during the rest of the summer.
"Wonderful!" cried Mark, and then turning to me, asked, "Isn't that great?"
I tried to smile and nod my head, but internally my stomach was groaning like an old cement mixer.