I dont mind telling you that I enjoy getting my big brother into trouble - often. Hes almost thirteen now and until a few months ago, when his new tutor arrived at home, he used to boss me around just because I am 2 years younger than he. Well, now the roles have changed a bit. Its funny. I can tell him to do most anything and hell have to do it.
My brothers name is Billy. When we were fighting, I called him Silly Billy and he would punch me - hard. Now I call him that all the time and laugh when he tries to control his temper because hes not allowed to hit me anymore.
Our mother died many years ago and our father has to go on so many business trips we hardly ever see him. We used to have a nanny but our father decided we should stay home and learn with a private tutor. The tutor had engaged a housekeeper and between the two they ran the house - and us.
The tutors name is Mr. Lissauer (Billy calls him Mr. Hes Sour but only when hes sure hes not around. Sometimes, when Im angry at my brother, I go to the tutor and tell him what Billy called him. Then Billy gets another thrashing. Im allowed to watch and its great fun to see my big brother with his shorts and pants down, twisting and turning, red-faced and crying. He hates it when I watch.
Mr. Lissauer was with us just two days when he showed us his collection of school canes, tawses (as he called the leather straps with two or three nasty -looking tails) and something that looked like a big table tennis racquet except it was elongated, made of very thick black leather and had a long handle. It was horrible to think what he was going to use it for. I saw Billy staring at those items with wide eyes and an open mouth. I think he had a premonition as to who was going to feel these instruments most.
Our tutor had us present when he unpacked so we could see for ourselves how misbehaviour would be punished, and he didnt waste any time in showing us. Billy and I were having a fight again and making a lot of noise when Mr. Lissauer pulled us apart.
I will have no more fighting, you two. Is that understood? His voice was cold and stern and we both nodded silently.
Sarah, you will go to your room and write 50 times I will not fight with my brother. You will do this in your best handwriting or you will have to do it over again until Im satisfied. But before you go, you will stay and watch your brother getting his punishment.
That was the first time I witnessed how Billys punishments were to be carried out and I was fascinated.
Take your shorts down, my boy. You will now feel what happens when you misbehave. Come on, I dont like to be kept waiting.
Billys face turned a deep shade of red and he glanced first at me and then at his tutor. Please, sir, cant Sarah leave?
No, she cant. Now you will do as I say or your punishment will get worse. I advise you to obey my orders without argument or delay.
Billy hesitated just another brief moment and then slowly unbuttoned his shorts. They were so thin and short I wondered why he had to take them down. I was sure a spanking would have hurt almost as much with them on than without them.
And your underpants, snapped our tutor and this ti, me Billy thought better than to argue. Turning his back to me, he slipped down his pants.
Hold your shirt well up and then bend over the desk, was the next order and poor Billy, now almost in tears of humiliation, lowered himself over the edge of the desk. We were in Mr. Lissauers room, or study, as he called it, and it held an old desk of my fathers.
Further over and spread your legs, the tutor ordered and Billy once more obeyed without a word. I positioned myself so that I was out of the way but had a good view of the proceedings. Mr. Lissauer picked up the thick, black leather paddle and tapped it gently against my brothers bare buttocks. I saw Billy twitch as the cold leather made contact with his warm little behind.
I will give you 25 strokes, he announced, now slightly rubbing the paddle across Billys bottom. On each cheek. I heard Billy make a little noise but the tutor ignored him. You will count each stroke and say thank you, sir after each. If you make a mistake or forget to count, or move ever so slightly, you will be awarded 5 extra strokes - on each buttock. You will learn how to take your thrashings in a proper manner or you will suffer even more. Ready?
And so the first thrashing started. At first I watched with interest the effect of the paddle on my brothers backside. The crack was very loud, the flesh bounced visibly and the boy howled. But as the whipping continued, slowly, methodically, the thick leather landing hard and crisply on alternating cheeks, Billys moans gradually increased to cries which became louder and louder as the paddle cracked down again and again, implacably hard each time, until he was wailing frantically.
Nothing affected the tutor who just raised his arm high and brought the paddle down with all his strength. As I saw Billys bare behind getting redder and redder until the whole area turned purple, I started to enjoy the spectacle. Here was my big, bullying brother, across the desk, his backside sticking up and out, howling and screaming as his bottom was thrashed into one big bruise.
Mr. Lissauer administered the 50 whacks, unmoved by his charges pleas and tears. In his agony, Billy miscounted or forgot to count on three occasions and earned himself a further 15 strokes per cheek for a total of 80 really good, hard smacks.
You may get up, Mr. Lissauer said after several minutes as Billy lay draped over the desk like a broken doll. Billy struggled to his feet and stood all weepy, his face wet with tears and snot, not daring to look at me, slightly bent forward and fingering his very hot and very swollen buttocks.
Hands on your head, the tutor roared at the boy, and get into that corner. If you touch your bottom again, I will repeat the punishment.
I guess I should have felt sorry for the boy who now limped awkwardly into the rooms far corner, his legs stiff like an old mans. But all I could feel was elation that I was getting my revenge. I was quite happy to see Billy in pain and hoped this wouldnt be the last time. I neednt have worried. From that day on, Billy was thrashed several times a week and each time I was asked to be present and witness Billys shame.
Nowadays, I sometimes report Billy to the tutor for some minor misdemeanour, disregarding his entreaties not to tell. If Im in a bad mood, I get the tutor to whip Billy and watching his agony, makes me feel much better. I know I shouldnt do this, and each time promise myself to leave Billy alone, but I cant help it. When Billy is whipped for some sin, and Mr. Lissauer comes into my room saying, Sarah, please come into my study and witness Billys punishment, I cant help feeling excited.
This brings me to the present. Earlier this morning during breakfast, Billy said a bad word which I cant repeat here. I told him that he had to wash and dry the dishes this week even though it was turn because I had to go to visit a friend. He refused, saying that he had done these chores already three weeks in a row and it was my turn. I said I would report him to Mr. Lissauer and he said that bad word again. So I reported him.
Now, big brother is in Mr. Lissauers study waiting for his punishment. Although I had been invited to attend, I made an excuse and remained in my room to wrap the present for my friend and get ready for the party. But I could hear Billy scream. It was so loud that even here, on the second floor but right above the study, I could hear the wails and roars . It took a long time before they finally died down, and perhaps thirty minutes later I heard the boys shuffling footsteps passing my room. Billy was slinking back into his own room. I got up and, without knocking, burst into his room.
Hi, Silly Billy, I said cheerfully, had a good time?
He was lying face down on his cot, his shorts still around his ankles. His face was buried in his pillow but I could still hear his sobs. His bottom was a mess. Old stripes from the cane were everywhere, new purple ridges crossed the old ones and fresh bruising ran along both buttocks, low down where they meet the thighs. The thighs themselves had thick marks apparently from the paddle. The boys bottom seemed to have swollen considerably.
Leave me alone, he bleated, raising his face. I hate you.
I laughed and ran down the stairs.
Mr. Lissauer, I called, Billy is insulting and cursing me again. Please make him stop. And he used such foul language again!
I heard the tutor emerging from his study, cane in hand.
Where is he? he asked looking up at me on the stairs.
In his room, I replied. I think hes sleeping.
Sleeping? Hes supposed to be doing his home work. Ill just go and wake him up.
I waited on the stairs until Mr. Lissauer had entered Billys rom. Then I went up as well and listened at Billys door.
Boy, get off that bed this instant! I heard the tutor yell. And you have again insulted your sister. It seems the previous thrashing wasnt severe enough, is that it? You will persist in your bad manners, your vulgar language and your idleness? Very well, then. Get up and get across the chair. Since your shorts are already down, you might as well just take them off. Im going to give you a dozen. One word out of you and Im going to make it two dozen. Over the chair!
As I returned to my room to finish dressing, I heard Billys pathetic cries, pleading with his tutor to stop. But he didnt stop and Billy was still howling as I left the house, nicely dressed and holding my beautifully wrapped gift package. It was going to be such an exciting party.