Devon walked down the hallway, headed to his room. The sunlight seemed too bright, making him realize he had left the shades open. Perhaps the window too, he couldn't remember after seven Coors last night. The seven Coors he had been forbidden to drink, even though he was already 21. When he reached his bedroom door, he realized he had been right... the window was wide open. Ignoring his headache, he closed the glass panes and sat down on his bed, lowering his forhead to his hands... grimacing from the sharp pains near his temple.
"Shhhhhit!" he yelled, squinching his eyes. "My head hurts!" The sound echoed from the walls. After about eight minutes of resting his head, he stood up to look about. Clothes laid everywhere around the room in heaps, as well as plates stacking up near his bed. He looked down and shook his head, immediately regretting it because of his hangover.
"You let the cat out," his father's voice boomed from his bedroom door. "He escaped through your window and your brothers and I spent all morning looking for him so he wouldn't be picked up."
Devon looked down, realizing his room was far too messy. His father, Derrick had always been a perfectionist and demanded perfectionism from each of his 5 boys as well. Devon had an identical twin brother named Tommy, a younger brother by 2 years named Aaron, and 2 younger twin brothers who were a year younger than Aaron, named Scott and Mark. Dropping to his knees in front of a pile of clothes, Devon began to clean up the mess.
"I've already seen your room," Derrick assured his son before walking over to him and frowning. "I must say, I expect a lot more out of you than what I've been seeing these past few weeks."
Devon nodded his head and stood up to face his father. He knew his father was angry, and he knew what he would get for it.
"Meet me in the livingroom in ten minutes, Devon," Derrick ordered before leaving Devon's bedroom in disgust. Devon's heart raced and he looked down at the pile of clothes he had tried picking up. What was the use now? His legs cracked as he stood up and walked over to the bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the clock... he waited out 10 minutes.
His father sat on the sofa, watching television when Devon entered the livingroom. Realizing his son was there, Derrick reached for the remote and muted the television. "Ready for your punishment, son?" he asked. Devon nodded slowly, realizing he did need to be spanked.
Derrick stood up and pulled the sofa out from the wall, motioning for Devon to bend over the back of it. Devon quickly did so, feeling his jeans tighten as he stretched to hold onto the cushion. Being 6'5", Devon didn't have far to stretch, but the position still kept it's uncomfortableness to it. Derrick walked over to where Devon could watch him take off his belt. It was always the same ritual. 45 smacks with Derrick's strap, 5 minutes of bending over the couch to cool off, and another 10 with Derrick's hand to rewarm the area.
Devon's eyes squinched tightly as the smacks began. SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK. By ten, Devon had to bite his lip to keep from screaming. Tears welded his eyes and he kept trying to make them stop.
"DON'T YOU EVER COME HOME DRUNK AGAIN!" Derrick shouted. SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK. His right arm kept raising and landing the belt, helping out the 'seat' of the problem. "IF I EVER CATCH YOU DRINKING, THIS WILL FEEL LIKE A GOD_d_a_m_n_ PLEASURE CRUISE!" He kept smacking thoughout the entire 45. At 30, Devon was crying. At 40, he was pleading to be a good boy.
After the 10 warmup spanks, Devon stood up to rub his burning buns. Derrick slipped his belt on and stood before his son.
"I hope you learned a valuable lesson today," he told him.
"Thanks, Dad," Devon whispered and leaned against the wall for relief.