As requested by some and ordered by a couple of others here is an account of my brother's last spanking. Hope you enjoy, as much as I did because goodness knows he sure didn't.
Weird, is it not, how time changes the perception of what one remembers. If I were writing from my view point today it would be to give a blow by blow account of how my brother, 17 and the homecoming king, was suddenly reduced and quieted by the voice and words intoned by my father. However at the time I really wasn't listening to my father. I had heard the words, let alone the tone enough times myself to all but give that 'speech' myself.
What I remember, vividly, is staring at him and being entranced by the changing planes and subtle looks that seemingly danced too and fro across his face. Giving me, not unlike Alice in the looking glass, a window into his inner self, a place that to this point had always been hidden from me. It was as if I had entered Cory's mind and could feel the wild tug of emotions that swirled by so briefly that I really doubt even he was aware of them, and which left me dazed and confused, and yes, excited.
(For reader clarification my brother is almost five years older then me and this combined with the fact I was a late bloomer meant I was seeing through him powerful emotions that I had yet to experience for myself.)
Dragging himself over to the chair and standing there, motionless, like a statue by a master that seemingly wants to spring to life yet never moves, I couldn't help but feeling small. Strange comment I know yet until that moment he had always been just my brother and I had never truly seen him the way the rest of the world did and the sudden awareness of the difference in our sizes and physical abilities tried to overwhelmed me. However the moment passed and without even being aware of what I was doing I got up and moved to the corner of the couch, which left me positioned all but on top of the scene. My brother glared at me with what can only be described as a burning hate. I smiled.
Not knowing of any nice way to phrase maybe it's just best to blurt it out. I was overcome with a sense of power and control that was physical in nature. I, the little brother he had pushed, was the reason he was in this predicament and his look said we both knew it. I shrugged with a carefree smirk.
Cory, like all big brothers before him and since, wasn't thinking when he pushed me as much as he was trying to get the 'pest' away and maybe to establish his own dominance. Regardless of the reason it was the wrong move and at the wrong time especially considering the acting job that ensued. (Brandon eat your heart out!) Anyone walking in and seeing me on the floor, say like Dad, would have sworn I had been slugged and dropped. When in truth; I created the fall myself. Curling into the corner of the couch I settled in and with the concentration of a cat watching a movement in the breeze fixated on my brother.
Cory had a softness about him that was facial only and even that was due to his age. But the angles and luminous eyes, the look that creates the rare handsome blond man was already there and for the briefest of moments, what with the stiffness and erectness of his posture, he looked like the Army's wet dream for a recruiting poster. Slowly, like an old clay pot that has tumbled to the floor, Cory seemingly started to fall apart, piece-by-piece. The first give away that my Dad was now holding the brush was his eyes. And it wasn't something so simple as the light or the shine in them being dimmed or even dulled. It was the absence of any life seemingly being there at all for that moment, as if he were in emotional overload. However all of that changed as the closer my Dad got, the more the expressions upon Cory's face became exaggerated and all but comical. What with the widening of the eyes and the gentle almost baby like smacking movements of his lips as he silently started to stutter. Trying to find those still unknown and magical words that will make one's Dad change their mind. I smiled.
It was a feeling I hadn't felt since being in the theatre and seeing ET for the first time. I was swept away from reality and into a world unknown. I was holding onto the end of the couch so hard that later I would later notice that my hands were both red and strained. Turning my head I almost brushed up against my Dad as he went to sit down in the chair and couldn't help but to feel an intake of air myself after catching sight of the brush in his hand, as well as feeling my own muscles tightening out of instinct.
There was a moment of silence as Dad gathered himself and his thoughts and in this moment I could feel the quiet, maybe deadly anger if you were my brother, that was seething just underneath the surface. Well, I had always wondered what it would take to get my Dad to the breaking point. You know, where his Midwestern stoic nature and self-control were no longer evident and his emotions were on his sleeve? I now knew and it was a scary sight to behold, scary enough that even if I had wanted to say something on my brother's behalf, I would have been afraid to.
In the silence I noticed for the first time how rural if not downright country Cory appeared and wondered if I did as well. The typical lean and hard lanky built just waiting to turn muscular. A white, when he left the house, T-shirt that looked a half size too small, as if to show off his chest and stomach. Worn jeans that fit as snug as hands into warm gloves on a winters day and old boots that gave him an added lift to his step when walking that created the atmosphere of _c_o_c_k_iness. And on his head, as if to top it off, was an old cowboy hat won two summers ago at the state fair. I swear the only thing missing was a piece straw hanging from his bottom lip. Well, that and a twinkle in his eyes.
_d_a_m_n_! It sounded like a sonic boom going off. In reality it was just my Dad smacking the hairbrush into his cupped hand. His way of getting our attention, and boy did it ever! And at moments like this? He was actually intimidating. Surprising in that my Dad is a very average sized man, unless you happen to look close after his sleeves are rolled up, and only then can one notice the layers of muscle that a lifetime of hard word had built up. Even I felt tightness in my throat. And as for what Cory must have been feeling? Well, he sure was swallowing a lot. If saying nothing.
My Dad's tone was low and dangerous sounding, like a submarine under water, however my moment of fear had passed and once again I allowed myself to be swept into a world known but to myself and into a realm of eroticism, a place I had never been. This is not to say that I found Cory erotic or enticing for I didn't, but the drama of the moment must have captured the attention or the spirit of the artist inside me as Cory was to later tell me that my eyes were as wide as saucers and that I never blinked.
I will not bore you with the exact words my father intoned to Cory, you have either heard them yourself before, or have a fixed idea of what should have been said in your mind already. What I will share with you are the facts as they occurred. My father's voice was that eerie kinda calm that reminded me of being in the eye of a hurricane, an almost hushed and drawn whisper that only served to accent his anger! The words were one of disbelief that bordered on disgust, wondering aloud what ever had come over Cory that would cause him to hit his little brother. Maybe an easier way of conveying what was happening was to simple say my brother, having sized up the moment, said nothing, and instead seemingly studied the grain patterns on the floor. I smiled.
Finally the moment came where my father told Cory it was time to get ready. Dad speak for bare your ass, and I am surprised that neither of them heard the small and potentially embarrassing sigh that escaped my lips. It was a sigh born of several factors I suppose. One, I was at the age where some of the boys my own age were starting to develop and I found myself fascinated with the human body and in particular the male body, and two, this was a rare sight in my household. It wasn't unusual to find my bare butt rising high into the air over one of our parent's knees, but for Cory? This was probably his first spanking in over a year and I felt an urgent need to compare his development against that of my friends. And to be fair? In my mind this was a payback for all the times he had been the one watching my spankings; and you know what they say about paybacks! I smiled.
Whether it was instinctual or by conscious thought I don't know, but the first thing Cory did was reach to take off his hat. At first it was an awkward moment as he looked for a place to set it down. Then, for the briefest of moments, I thought he was going to throw it onto floor in a fit of anger, one that was bordering on rage as his harsh body movements accented the unfocused emotions that were starting to overwhelm him. However, fear or common sense overtook him in time and in the end he took a step back and tossed it onto the couch. Cory's actions were at least partly based upon the fact that he was now becoming highly embarrassed. A fact that was readily evident to me not by the bright spots of pink that now dominated his face, or even his body language, but by the fact he was now biting at his lower lip subconsciously, a nervous habit Cory carried with him since childhood.
I almost felt like cheering, or so it seemed, Cory's hands had finally started to move towards his jeans but with the slowness of a child whom is trying to undress himself while all but asleep. I could see the heave of his chest as he started to undo the top button of his jeans as well as feel a tingling in my body akin to a shiver in the cold, and I do not who was more surprised when my dad suddenly spoke, Cory or myself. In true dad speak he had asked Cory one of those questions that required no answer, and had in effect told Cory to take his boots off. (I was to later find out that Cory's last spanking has been almost as painful for my dad as Cory as sometime during the spanking Cory had managed to kick him in the shin.) Even at my age I was struck by the neutral tone in my dad's voice. There was no doubt in his mind that he was going to obey. And he was. It took Cory a moment, I guess it was hard for him to find his balance as he kinda looked like a drunken stork when doing so, but the boots did come off. I smiled.
It wasn't until this moment, minus his hat and boots, that I noticed how humble Cory suddenly looked and had what I considered a flash of insight and wondered, however briefly, how much of his _c_o_c_k_ of the walk attitude was real and how much of it was my perception of him. Insightful or not, that thought, along with all others left my mind at the same time it registered that once again Cory's hands were moving towards his pants.
Funny the little things one catches or remembers from a moment, and in this case it was the slightest of inhales that was required for Cory to get a comfortable grip on the top of his jeans. And while I seriously doubt that I could have heard the sound it made in my mind I heard the softest of poufs, and the feeling this created seemingly soothed and caressed me enough to with stand what was to come.
If time ever stood still for me it was then. I know he wasn't trying to tease me with how long this processes was taking but if nothing else he sure was surprising me. I had expected a defiant Cory. One whom took his jeans downs with a proud flourish as if to silently proclaim his toughness and instead what I was witnessing was a humbled and shy and acutely embarrassed brother. There was a look in his eye, a cast to his expression if you will, that reminded me of nothing if not a cornered or trapped animal. This was not what I had expected. Yet neither was I disappointed. The emotions inside of me, the excitement of seeing Cory getting spanked versus the empathy I was feeling for him left me swirling like I was inside a spinning top with no way of stopping it.
Looking at my father was like grabbing onto a lifeboat when thrown overboard. Here was an expression, the 'look,' that unfortunately was only all too familiar to me. Yet it's very familiarity was strangely enough a comfort. Tight lips that showed their anger by the deepening of the creases that all but encircled them, combined with eyes that never moved from my brother but instead focused intently upon him as if both hypnotizing Cory in place and forcing his compliance. The sudden appearance of white cotton just served to confirmed this fact. And like the bull that sees red in the ring my attention was now focused upon a singular point.
Cory had finally succumbed to the inevitable, first stretching the fabric of his jeans apart at the zipper before beginning the slow tug downward. The tightness of his jeans was creating a swaying motion as Cory was all but forced to ever so gently swing his hips from side to side to comfortably get free of his jeans and the sudden glimpse of flesh just served to refocus my attention.
Ever notice how a setting or circumstances can so change one's perception? It did mine. No way of counting how many times I had seen Cory in shorts or walking out of the bathroom after a shower with nothing more than a towel loosely wrapped around him and never thinking twice about it. Now? It was as if he was a stranger whom had been dropped in our midst.
As the downward pull continued I wasn't seeing anything I hadn't before yet for the first time it was registering in my mind, and with the seriousness of a painter studying the model before committing him to canvas I slowly took Cory in, piece by piece. It wasn't that the diameter of Cory's thighs was unnaturally large; more it was the smooth layers of muscle that were so easily visible. Seemingly accented by the last remnants of a golden hue from the summer's sun, then highlighted by the very fine scattering of blond hair. Cory was now bending all the way over, pushing his jeans down to his ankles and at the sight of his long and lean calves the wild thought of "It's too bad we don't have a swim team," came to my mind.
Now that Cory was standing upright again I noticed that the erect posture that had been so evident before was now gone and instead there was a roll to his shoulders as if there was an invisible yoke of weight upon them. This combined with the fact that his head was all but resting on his chest gave him submissive look and posture like that of a guilty serf whom had been dragged before the king. I had so many thoughts and emotions whirling through at me the same time they were but blimps on a radar screen, however, what was shocking to me was that while by now there was a part of me truly felt bad for Cory? There were hidden emotions inside of me that had suddenly sprang to life and like an unseen whirlpool upon a quiet lake they were suddenly dominating my thoughts and pulling me along as if against my will. I smiled.
In my mind? I think this moment has been seared into my memory for as long as I live. How Cory's hands were on the elastic band of his underwear, trembling oh so slightly, as if he had just now set down a heavy load and if ever there was a moment I knew exactly what Cory was thinking? It was now. The ease with which I was able to relate to the inner fight as his mind was coming to grips with what to do next was all but palpable. And I was feeling as if I had been in line for a ride at Disney Land, and now that it was finally time? Was left to wonder, briefly, if it would live up to my expectations.
I had seen a movie earlier that week in class, something about the day of a flower, and this was how I felt. Like a camera that was set to click every second or so as to record every detail, no matter how minute or even trivial. Click, and it had registered that Cory's hands finally were upon the waistband. Click, and I could feel the bunching in his shoulders as he prepared himself for the downward tug. Then finally, Click, downward movement.
The first thing I did strangely enough was to stare down, as if to confirm that yes, his underwear had indeed been lowered. My head felt heavy and it was a slow pull up as along the way I took a long look at Cory's tapered, almost slender calves, and their downy covering of blond hairs as they slowly widened into his thighs. As my eyes reached his package I found that I had all but climbed onto the arm of the couch and was bracing against any nervous reaction to the point my back was stiff, like I was in the orthodontist chair waiting to have my braces tightened. Then, without warning, stunned to the point of limpness, I sank slowly back into the couch.
Emotionally, subconsciously I had led myself to believe that all my nervous tension was due to a want, an actual physical need to see his manhood and when the thrill I was expecting didn't materialize? I went flat, like a balloon that has been punctured without warning. Not that it kept me from looking on and making mental notes on my brother's development compared to that of my friends whom were now in the throes of puberty. Tilting my head like a diamond dealer trying to get a better light I focused intently upon his package.
Being the mature and knowledgeable twelve year old that I was my expression was one that intentionally bordered on boredom. The truth of matter was this was a valuable lesson in human biology. Start with the color of his pubic hair. Somehow the fact that it was the light coloring of a newborn fawn and not blond had never registered before. My second lesson in male anatomy was the way Cory's balls hung. I had noticed the drop and seemingly added weight to them in some of my friends but compared to Cory theirs was nothing. Last but far from least however was his penis. To me it seemed huge, long and full, and it seemingly demanded my attention the way an Indian warriors lance would have on the plains a few hundred years ago. I smiled.
My blood pressure was on the rise again. The deep rumble that was my fathers voice at times like this was now speaking to and playing my nerves like a virtuoso, violin in hand. There wasn't a false note to be heard. Prying my eyes from Cory I stared at my dad, taking in the minuet details that I never could have seen when it was me in Cory's place. For example how small and focused his eyes were, like a hawk that has spotted it's prey and I was struck with a sudden insight. One that I would carry with me to this day. The reason my dad's voice sounded the way it did? He truly was mad. And this flash of understanding somehow made every spanking I was to get from that day on just a little more bearable.
The new and sudden tone in the conversation caused me to look at Cory again. The rise in his pitch was almost directly correlated to the drop in my dad's and I wondered, briefly, if I was hearing things. As I could have sworn, I just knew that the normal speaking tones of my dad and brother were all but identical.
Cory's face was now as red as if he had fallen asleep under sun lamp and I was not sure what was causing him the greater distress. The acute awareness that he was uncovered and exposed in front of his little brother, as if for my personal enjoyment, or the fact I was hearing, or so it seemed to me, his child like regression as he pleaded with my dad not to spank him. And Cory's voice was rising and falling like an opera singer practicing their scales and his self consciousness was so high that for someone standing in place he sure was doing a whole lot of moving.
My dad wasn't listening to him or if he was he sure didn't care what he was saying as the next move was so slick I almost missed it and any practitioner of slight of hand would have been proud. All I know is one moment my brother was pleading his case as my dad just stared on with that look one gets in church when listening to a particularly boring sermon and then, quicker then a snake can flick it's tongue, he had Cory's arm in a vice grip and was leading him over his lap. And the small wounded sounds that Cory suddenly emitted while assuming his position created a spasm inside of me. And a spankophile was born.
Cory's movements were now like that of a marionette on a string, a jerky spasm here and he was bending at the waist and another twitch there and he was reaching his hand out as if to judge the distance to the floor while his other hand held on to the chair as if for dear life. Or the movement that held my eye the longest was the way he slowly allowed his weight to subtly shift back and forth across my dad's lap, ever so gently, as if putting a baby into it's crib, before finally laying still in defeat. All in all it was an awkward process for someone as co-ordinated as my brother. I smiled.
The scene was all but surreal to me and I found myself fixating on Cory's ass while the wild thought that his jeans had to be oh so tight to hold all of that in such a confined area went zipping through my mind. Cory's ass, when looked at directly, seemed like a cover to one of my sci-fi magazines. Picture two pale moons, each with a pinkish hue, side by side, as if fighting with one another for domination, for one's attention. They sure had mine.
Sudden movement caught my eye and a lesson from my science class suddenly came to mind. For every action there is a reaction and here was proof. My father had shifted his weight ever so subtly, sitting up straighter, giving him a more up and down angle while at the same time my brother's butt cheeks suddenly clinched, clinched hard enough for them to dimple on the sides in response, which only served to bubble his butt even more, as if accenting the target. I smiled.
There was no warning, not even so much as a last word from my dad, just the brush being raised, then brought down. The soft, muted sound that it made, a whomp, surprised me. Almost as much as the seemingly gentle stroke angered me. And I felt the disgust only a younger brother can feel when he knows his older brother is being favoured. Not fair I wanted to scream! As I knew that in my case my father wasted no time swinging quick and hard. Biting my tongue I watch as my father swung with the slowness of a tired farm hand at the end of a long day. However it was during the last of these slow methodical strokes that I noticed something I had never known, or probably ever felt myself before. Just as it appeared that the brush would strike Cory's butt my father was flicking his wrist, giving each stroke just that little extra sting. Interesting.
Maybe there was a pause I didn't catch, or some silent signal that passed between my dad and brother, or maybe it was prior experience, I do not know. All I do know is at the exact same moment my dad decided to start swinging harder Cory tried to tilt his head back while saying a drawn out "Dad." It made no difference. As the next blow of the brush seemingly carried my dad's weight behind it and the sound was like that of a brass drum suddenly being struck. Loud and distinctive. My dad's rhythm was npw becoming faster, though still methodical, and his arm had the same precise swing as a pendulum, only up and then down instead of from side to side. What I did noticed was that it now looked as if my dad was trying to will the brush into Cory's butt, instead of just having the brush land on it. Everything seemed to be happening, to be changing all at once.
Where it seemed like just mere moments before Cory's butt still had a pinkish hue, now it was quickly turning a bright red. Where just seconds before Cory was still laying almost passively, obviously submissively, he was now beginning to sway back and forth. And what was weird was that instead of reacting against the brush it seemed as if his body was locked in time with the brush, like the death dance of a star being slowly pulled into a black hole. Swaying only when the force of the brush caused him to move.
Aware as I was of the change in Cory's voice, the small 'ughs' that were now lightly echoing around me, it was his legs that were holding my attention. No, not their form, but their piston like actions. And truly I mean piston. The silly notion that I had held that when being spanked one's legs kicked up and down was now being discarded. Cory's legs were now moving up and down, sure, but also side-to-side as well as back and forth at the knees, as if he were trying to step out of his pants. And at the rate Cory was going it wasn't going to be long before he managed to kick them off as already one pant leg was almost hanging hanging free, flapping as he kicked. His jeans now looked like a kite attemping to catch the wind. I smiled.
Another one of those weird thoughts that only happen under the strangest of circumstances just went flying through my mind. "So this is what surround sound is like."? Seemingly there was sound coming from every direction, the deep beat of the brush landing, the increasingly plaintiff wails of my brother's cries, sometimes low, sometimes high, all under scored by the heavy breathing of my dad. I felt like I was sitting in the middle of opera. Only one that was actually entertaining. And this feeling was only accented when my brother's voice broke and he let out a scream of "Please! Dad! I'm sorry!" This was also the moment my fascination started to wane and my empathy tried to kicked in. I knew that cry. It was a cry of pain; it was a cry that spoke of the true tears that were just behind it, being held at bay like a dam that has sprung a leak. My brother's plea's didn't seem to affect my dad at all as the strokes continues to land in a steady, rythmatic fashion.
Cory's butt was now so red it almost looked luminous and even as the landing of each new stroke was now all but making me wince I still found myself engrossed in the on goings and the small details. And the one that was currently holding my attention was how deeply the brush seemingly pushed into Cory's butt. Natural padding or not I knew that for his butt to look that flattened at the moment of impact my dad was applying some serious force.
I knew this moment was bound to happen. It was inevitable. Even so it kinda took me by surprise when I heard the real break in Cory's voice, and knew, even without looking, that the _d_a_m_n_ had burst and that the tears were now streaming down his face. What I wasn't mentally prepared for was the voice I heard whenever Cory was able to choke out a plea of "I'm sorry." or "Please dad! Stop!" It wasn't just that it was humble; although I am sure that was part of it. Somehow, or so it seemed, his voice, or maybe it was the emotions expressed within it, had caused Cory to regress to nothing more then a boy. And for the first time in my life I felt like we were equals. I smiled.
At first the sudden quiet caught me by surprise. And quiet is a relative term as Cory was half yelling through his crying, as if unaware that my Dad was no longer spanking him as he continued rocking in all directions as if still trying to avoid the brush. If you have ever seen a fish when it has just been brought to dry land then you can visualize Cory's movements. However, it seemed when it finally entered Cory's mind that my dad had stopped spanking him, that somehow his very being suddenly sighed and he totally slumped over my dad's knee. It seemed amazing to me that my Dad could have Cory in place through his spanking simply put keeping his one arm pinned to his back. Or that my dad had enough strength in one arm, his left one no less, to keep him in place. But he did. Obviously.
My dad wasn't done! Just when I had finally digested the condition of Cory's butt, not raw maybe, but _d_a_m_n_ did it look sore, what with colors and hues that covered the spectrum of pinks and reds to light purple, my Dad, without warning, landed a sudden and intensely strong stroke. Then, as Cory howled again he leaned over as if to speak directly into Cory's ear and began slowly talking to my brother in a deep voice. In a voice that commanded. Telling him how disappointed he was in him and how he had been raised better then that. 'Wham' yet another strong stroke and my dad was telling him how if he thought this spanking was bad, just try pushing him and he would find out what bad really was. It was the last stroke and comment that curled my mouth in open delight though, as only a younger and impish brother's can, when my Dad stated in a question "And if I ever catch you picking on your brother again?" I smiled.
Finally, having elected the responses from my brother that he wanted to hear, voice breaking cries of "Yes Sir!" or "No Sir!" depending on the question, my Dad told Cory he could get up now. As long as he had learned his lesson. I found myself nodding yes in time with Cory. Which was really all he could do at this point. Cry and nod.
Watching Cory trying to get his feet under him was like watching a nature movie where the newborn colt is trying to gets his balance. For a moment his knees seemed as if they would bend and buckle under him and I think it was only the strength of my dad's grip that was holding him up. Before miraculously, just micro seconds later, Cory was balanced. And with his balance came show time. The dance. And what an awkward yet enthralling sight it was. Cory's hands had flown back to rub his butt so quickly if it wasn't for the circumstances it would have been obscene, as his package was thrusting forward and gyrating as he furiously rubbed. If this wasn't bad enough Cory's package was accent even more as he all but hopped up and down as well as back and forth while somehow always ending up in the same spot where he began. It was like watching a really bad country two-step with a twist.
Never mind the way Cory's head was tilted up, and then down, wailing like a prehistoric man around a camp fire. What really held my attention, more then anything, was the dawning realization that Cory, at some level, now maybe consciously, was aware of the sight he was presenting. For if it was possible the flush on his face was now redder then what it had been just moments before. And to make matters even worse I think he as acutely cognitive of the fact that he was no long flaccid as I was. This is not to say he was engorged, he wasn't, but the combined effects of embarrassment and movement were showing. Catching Cory's eye. I smiled.
Maybe it was the distraction of catching my eye and the gleam in the them that caused Cory to almost fall. Or maybe he wasn't as balanced and under control as I thought he was. Regardless, it was only by luck and reflexes that he happened to catch the edge of the couch or else he would have fallen down. And the sudden cry of anguish and frustration that he let out was chilling. It was like a werewolf seeing a full moon for the first time in years.
I guess my dad took that cry as a sign that Cory had learned his lesson as the next thing I heard was Dad's voice telling my brother get dressed and get to his room and stay there until he, my dad, told him otherwise. Cory's hands appeared to be shaking as he struggled getting his underwear pulled back up. And it was surprising to me to see how wet Cory looked. A face so stained by tear tracks it looked painted. And fresh ones still leaking out of the corners as he fought to blink them back. Before slowly rolling down the curves of his cheeks. Cory finally reached the stage where he could stand up straight enough and stay still long enough to put his jeans back on, and I could see him wince as the rough fabric slid across his butt. That done, and as he all but ran from the room............I smiled.
(The End)
(The author would like to thank all of those who saw him through this trip down memory lane. ALSO. This work is not public domain and may not be reprinted without my permission, as is the case with all my stories. _d_a_m_n_, but if I wanted my stories to appear on a pay site I would personally place them there! As well as get paid for them!)