Both Fischer brothers earn yet another spanking from their strict disciplinarian father.
Brothers - Chapters 3 & 4
by Graham
Series: Brothers by Graham
CHAPTER 3
Mr. Fischer woke his two older sons again at 7 a.m. on Sunday morning, to get up, get dressed and ready for Sunday School and church, and help get their little brother and sister ready. Mrs. Fischer had already gone to work, and their Dad was fixing breakfast.
Both young men dressed in khaki pants, with dress shoes and socks. Josh wore an Izod polo shirt, and Joe a Nautica polo shirt – both tucked in with belts. These two older sons looked like strikingly handsome, decent, young men, Ron Fischer thought as they all piled into Josh's Chevy Blazer. At the church, Josh took the little kids to their Sunday School classes, while Joe raced to greet the 7 year-olds coming into class. Josh and his father went to an adult class. They all returned and sat together during the church service.
After Sunday School, and then again after church, Josh's presence plainly caused a stir. He had not been there for several years, when he was considerably younger, having been away so much working with his Dad. Out of the corner of his eye, Ron Fischer spied girls ogling and staring at Josh, while talking to each other. The handsome, hunky, oldest, Fischer son was an attraction, making a splash! Joe seemed amused, with perhaps a tinge of jealousy, over the attention his big brother was garnering.
After church, they drove home, and Ron Fischer fixed a light lunch for them all. They would have a hearty, Sunday dinner in the evening, after Mary returned home frm work. Sunday afternoon, Ron declared over lunch, was a family time – to relax, spend time together, play together – the older kids with the younger ones. Josh and Joe had changed into older jeans and went outside with their little sister and brother to play with them. The two older boys played kick-ball and hide-and-seek, with their small siblings, until everyone was winded and tired from running around in the fresh air.
About 3:30 p.m., Ron Fischer called them all in, and sent them to their respective bedrooms to rest and maybe snooze. Joe was dumbfounded at being dispatched to his bedroom during the afternoon – "to rest." He was just as perplexed to see his big brother, Josh, turn and obey their father's directions, without a word. When they got to their room, Josh immediately pulled off his jeans, and stripped down to his boxers. Joe was surprised and asked Josh what he was doing.
"This is what Dad means – and wants – when he says we're supposed to rest," Josh explained. "He wants us in our beds and available to sleep." Joe realized Josh spoke from ample experience over the long time he had been away, living and working with their father. Grudgingly, Joe followed suit; and soon both boys lay on their bunks, in just their boxers, reading – Josh, a Sports Illustrated, and Joe, a magazine about skateboarding.
"Hey, Josh, . . ." Joe called down from his upper bunk.
"Yeah, Joe, what?"
"Is this something Dad does on Sundays when you're out of town with him?"
"Yep, sure is. Every Sunday. Dad's a creature of habit, pure and simple."
"How d'ya stand it, Josh?" Joe blurted out his question.
"Aw, Joe, it's not so bad. What're we gonna do on a Sunday afternoon, anyway? And you know Dad takes that "remember the Sabbath" seriously. So, we get a forced rest. Does it hurt you?"
"Well, ah, . . . yeah, . . . sure," Joe hastened to reply.
"Really, Joe? How? How're you harmed by getting some rest to gather steam for the coming week?"
"But Josh! We're not little kids!"
"Come on, Joe. Cut it out. That is definitely not the thing to say to Dad. These are not big things after all; and if it pleases Dad, and does us good, too, why are you gonna make a stink about it. It's just better to go along, look for the positive benefit, and move ahead."
"I know, Josh, but . . ."
The telephone was ringing. "Joooosh! Telephone!" their father called out.
Josh slid off his bunk and hurried out of the room, down the stairs, to the phone. "Hello," he answered.
"Josh, this is Teresa Baker, from church. We met this morning. Ah, a bunch of us are getting together this evening at my house, to hang out and have some fun. Can you come?"
Josh's face broke into a bemused smile. "I think so. Just a minute, and I'll check." He put the phone down and walked into the living room, where his Dad was lying on the big recliner, just resting. When Josh walked in, he looked up, "What is it, Josh?"
"Ah, Dad, there's a girl from church on the phone. She's having some people over to her house tonight and invited me. Can I go?"
"Sure, Josh, no problem. Just remember, you've got to be back in time to get your shower tonight and be in bed by 10:30. Just let us know where you'll be, too, okay?"
"Sure, Dad. Thanks. Ah, Dad, can Joe go too?"
"Joshua, you know the answer to that question. Your brother's grounded. Except for work, church, and any errands we need him to run, his feet are not leaving this house for the next 2 weeks."
From his Dad's words, Josh knew better than to press his father's patience, but he felt sorry for his younger brother at the same time. He turned and scurried out of the room, back to the phone. "Yeah, I can do it. What time, and where?"
"About 8, at my house, 44270 Meadowbrook Lane."
"Okay, I'll see you. But I can't stay late. I've got to work early tomorrow."
"That's okay, Josh. Just come for as long as you can," she answered.
Josh was satisfied, and pleased. He could excuse himself in time to get home and comply with his Dad's orders, and yet he felt good about being invited. As he walked back up the stairs to his bedroom, he thought about what he would tell Joe. Back in their bedroom, Josh lay back down on his bunk, on his back, and spoke. "Hey, Joe."
"Yeah, Josh?"
"I just got a call from one of those giggly girls at church. She was inviting us to go to her house, to hang out with some other kids tonight at about 8."
"Are you going? I doubt if Dad's gonna let me," Joe responded.
"Yeah, I know. I told him about it, and asked him to let you go with me – so we could go together; but he refused. He's pretty serious about the grounding."
"I figured as much," Joe replied. "Damn it! I hate this –"
"Be careful, Joe. Don't let Dad hear you," Josh cautioned.
Joe's face reflected the sudden realization of alarm that had momentarily escaped him. "Oh, yeah, ah, sorry – don't tell. Anyway, I don't know what I'm gonna do all evening, but you go, Josh. You haven't been home in a long time to be able to hang out with anybody – and you deserve some time to."
"I know, thanks. But I'm sorry you can't go. I'd really like you to go with me, Joe. You know a lot of those people, and I don't."
Then they heard their Dad calling them to get up and get downstairs to help get the table set for dinner. About 5:30, they sat down to a delicious, Sunday dinner of roast pork, potatoes, carrots, and spinach, and for dessert – strawberry pie. The whole family enjoyed the sumptuous meal – and the two oldest boys had full seconds of everything, including the pie.
As Josh and Joe were helping their Mom clean up the kitchen, Josh stated, "I'm gonna go get a shower now, and get ready to go over to meet with the other kids from church for a while. I'll be back before 10:30."
"Be back and in bed by 10:30, Josh – not a minute later – or else." Josh looked up, startled, and blushed.
"Okay, sure, Dad." Then he bounded up the stairs, and was in the bathroom showering and shampooing and shaving. Returning to the bedroom, he dressed in a clean pair of jeans, a pullover, crew-neck sweater, and tennis shoes. By 7:40, he came down stairs to leave. Joe looked up and whistled, teasing. Josh blushed slightly and turned away heading out to his Blazer. Wistfully, Joe watched him walk out. Josh is really a handsome dude, he thought, noticing the muscular shoulders and arms, narrow, flat stomach and waist, and hard, narrow buttocks of his older brother. Instinctively, Joe looked down comparatively at his own flat, narrow stomach, and his skinny arms.
The evening was long, dull, and boring for Joe. He read some stories to his little brother and sister, and after that, went out and skate-boarded up and down the street in front of their house until it began getting dark. He was about to quit and go back inside when Ron Fischer came outside, down to the street curb and called out, "Joe, come on in now. It's getting dark." His father's voice shouted down the street. Joe cringed at being beckoned like a small child.
He came back, put his skateboard away, and sat down to watch television with his Mom and Dad. They were sitting together on the couch like a couple of love birds, and Joe tried to avoid looking at them as he tried to find something to attract his interest on tv. At 10 p.m., Ron Fischer called over to Joe, "10 o'clock, Joe. You better go get your shower and get ready for bed, son."
His Dad's words set him off steaming inside, but Joe choked down any reaction, and simply answered flatly, "okay," and got up and headed upstairs. By 10:20, Joe was showered, and changed into clean boxers and t-shirt, lying in his bunk looking at more of his skateboarding magazine.
At 10:26, Josh came stomping up the stairs and into their bedroom. Their father was right behind him. "Look, Josh, don't get an attitude with me. You were cutting it pretty close tonight, and you'd better hurry and be in bed by the next 4 minutes. Or I'll be forced to conclude you need more incentive."
Josh's face blanched, knowing that the "incentive" his Dad was talking about was a hard, stinging spanking. He stripped off his clothes, raced into the bathroom, washed his face and hands, brushed his teeth in record time, and was flat on his back in his boxers only, on his bunk, when their Dad came back in. "Okay, boys, sleep good. Things are going to improve and work better around here. You'll see. We all will. Good night."
"'Night, Dad," they both called out as he turned out their light and closed the bedroom door behind him. Immediately, the two brothers began talking about Josh's trip to Teresa Baker's house that evening. Josh tried to explain who was there, and told Joe what happened for the couple of hours he was there.
"All right, boys, knock it off, now, and get to sleep. If I have to remind you again, I'm coming in there!"
The room was suddenly hushed. "Damn, Josh, how can you stand it? This shit is really getting to me," Joe whispered.
"Be quiet, Joe. We can talk another time," Josh whispered a warning back. Then both were silent, and in a while fell to sleep.
The next morning, they were awakened at 6 a.m. by their Dad, Josh to get ready, eat breakfast, and leave with Mr. Fischer; Joe to get ready, help his Mom with his little brother and sister, eat breakfast with them, and then leave for his work.
That evening, it seemed strange to have everybody returning home and eating dinner together. By 8:15, Josh and Joe were cleaning up the kitchen for their Mom, after which they headed up to their bedroom, to lie on their beds and talk for a while. Josh told Joe more about the Sunday evening visit to Teresa Baker's. Joe knew some of the people Josh described, warning his brother to beware of a couple of girls who seemed always looking for the newest guy target that appeared on the scene.
They laughed together for a while, until Joe again asked Josh how he could stand being around, and working with, their father when he is so strict and inflexible and controlling. Josh became quiet, paused, and softly, but firmly, admonished his brother.
"Look, Joe. You're younger, and different. Dad can be strict and demanding, but he's also good. He's been very good to me. He took me into his business, gave me a job and a business, so I can make a living in the business. It'll pay off in the long haul, and I appreciate what Dad's done, and does, for me. So, if I have to be patient, and obedient, so what? It's not the end of the world, and I've got a future with Dad, and because of Dad."
"You didn't ask my advice, but it's to turn your attitude and outlook around, and be appreciative, and you'll find it's not so hard to get along and live with Dad, Joe – and you won't get into trouble so much."
Joe was stunned, and a bit offended, hearing his big brother lecture him about his attitude and behaviour. "I know what you're saying, Josh, but don't you ever just want to live your own life, do your own things, make your own choices, and not be controlled and have to account to your father?"
"Two things, Joe. First, accept it. It's the way things are – the way Dad is – and are gonna be. Second, if you get your head screwed around to doing what he says and wants, it's not that hard, and it avoids a lot of problems – trouble."
"Boys! Shower time! Are you getting ready for bed?" Their father was shouting at them, and they looked up at the clock to see it was 10:03 p.m.
Josh jumped up, raced into the bathroom, and through the shower, and returned. Joe followed suit, but took longer in the shower. At 10:30, Josh was already in bed, his body feeling the need for rest to be prepared for another day of work. Joe was still in the bathroom, however. At 10:35, Ron Fischer came upstairs, walked into the boys' bedroom, and asked, "Where's Joe?"
"I think he's finishing up his shower, Dad," Josh replied. Mr. Fischer did not respond, but stormed out, crossed the hall, and walked in on Joe wrapped in a damp towel.
"What're you doing in here still, young man?!" he demanded. Joe was startled and looked at his father with flinching fear. Holding the venerable hair brush in his right hand, Joe's father, immediately pulled the towel off from around his son, "Pick up your clothes and get to your room, Joseph," he ordered.
When Joe bent over and reached down to pick up his clothes, SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! his father popped his damp, bare bottom with the brush, catapulting Joe upward, off his feet, as he shouted his painful protests. "aaaaaaaaa-ow-ow-ow-ow! Stop it, Daaaad!"
"Hush your mouth, young man. Come with me," he barked, grabbing Joe's arm and directing him out of the bathroom, and into the bedroom.
"Okay, Dad, okaaay, . . . I'm coming. I'm goin to bed, honest, . . . right away. I really ammmm, . . . let me goooo," Joe protested, as his father closed the bedroom door behind them. Joe's eyes widened with knowing fear as Mr. Fischer swiftly pulled out the desk chair again, sat down, and jerked the young man around to his right, hauling the youngster down and across his lap.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! . . .
As Ron Fischer quickly peppered Joe's damp, upturned, rump, the young man jerked and jumped around on his father's lap, hollering in pain from a backside that was still so wounded and very sensitive. As he did, his traitorous penis began getting longer and thicker, popping up and rubbing around all over his father's lap. His father, intent on administering a quick, punishment lesson to his son, was unaware or unconcerned with the simultaneous arousal along with the discipline.
Joe quickly broke, sobbing, begging, pleading, apologizing; and just as quickly, he began calling out to his father to stop because he couldn't control it, couldn't help it, he didn't want to have another embarrassing climax over his Dad's knees in the midst of getting a spanking.
Watching intently, Josh saw how his brother so quickly descended into pain and howling submission, while also becoming aroused. He was afraid for his brother, that he was getting to be a discipline problem and victim with their Dad -- and besides he was having strange sexual reactions in the process.
He grimaced and grit his teeth to try to refrain from speaking out to their father; but finally he blurted out, "Dad! Daaad! You're really hurting Joe, Daaad! This is the 3rd time in four nights, Dad, and he's really hurting, and I think he knows what he did! He's in trouble, Daaaad!"
Their Dad stopped, yanked Joe up off his lap, and stood up. When he was released, Joe began jumping around on his feet, dancing from toe to toe, furiously rubbing his bottom cheeks with both hands, tears running down his face and sobbing uncontrollably, with his boner sticking straight out and up, bobbing and bouncing as he jumped around. He was oblivious to his father and brother watching his remorseful, anguished, but momentarily shameless display.
"Joshua! That's second time in the last few days you've taken it on yourself to interfere, and act like you're the parent in charge around here. Well, you're not, young man, and apparently you need as much reminding of your place, to behave and obey, as your brother. He reached down into the lower bunk, pulled back the sheet and blanket, and dragged a shocked and instantly cowering Josh Fischer out of the bed, and over around with him to the right of the desk chair.
Sitting back down, he dragged his oldest son across his lap, swiftly pulling down the young man's boxers, and applying the same, old brush to Josh's bottom and thighs that had just administered a rapid, stinging spanking to Joe. Josh called out, pleading with their Dad, even as he was being dragged out of bed and over to the chair, and especially while being toppled over his Dad's lap.
As the staccato of the hair brush rang out, striking against Josh's strong, narrow, hard, muscled buttocks and thighs, he tried to explain to his Dad that he wasn't interfering or trying to act like their Dad, he was just wanting to let him know that Joe was in bad shape, and couldn't really take any more, and besides something awful was happening.
Unfortunately, Josh crumbled into defeated, gasping wailing and sobbing, making his words unintelligibly interrupted by gagging shrieks and cries.
When Mr. Fischer had reddened Josh's bottom a deep, tomato red to match his younger brother's behind, he pulled Josh up off his lap with as much quickness and force as he had removed Joe. Like Joe, Josh's hands instantly flew back to his butt, were plastered on his cheeks and thighs, in vain trying to rub away the fiery pain.
"You remember who you are, Joshua – the son, not the Dad – and behave yourself accordingly. Otherwise, you can plan on getting more sessions of real, parental discipline too." Josh just sobbed.
As he bounced around bawling, kneading and massaging his flaming rearend, through tear-filled eyes, Joe saw his big brother replacing him over their father's knees, and weeping while receiving as ferocious a spanking as he had just gotten. He felt miserable – for himself, for the misery, pain, and shame he was experiencing; and for his big brother who had really tried to speak up for him with their Dad.
Mr. Fischer stood up, put the chair back in front of the desk, and ordered both his sons into their beds. Josh dove into the lower bunk, while Joe almost bounded from the floor up to his top bunk. Both boys were sobbing uncontrollably, faces in their pillows, like naughty, punished, little boys, sent to bed after spankings. Later in the night, after the house was quiet, both brothers' bunks rocked and shook, creaking as they sought some calming, soothing balm and relief from a vigorous, vehement wank.
CHAPTER 4
Tuesday morning, the boys were awake before their father called them, having set their cell phones to awaken them. They were both already in the bathroom, washing down their legs, stomachs, and genitals, before dressing, since they knew they'd better not let their Dad hear them in the shower.
By 7 a.m., Josh and his father were in the truck, heading out to work. Ron Fischer had reminded Joe that, since he was off work on Tuesdays, he should get his little brother and sister up and ready for school, take them, and let their Mom sleep in, because she had today off after working the weekend; then he was to return, do the list of chores she had written out for him, and he was not to go anywhere, as he was grounded. Joe felt trapped, but bit his tongue: he had no choice except to comply.
At 7:55, Joe dropped of his little brother and sister at the small, private school they attended, and headed back home. In the kitchen, he drank a glass of orange juice, while eating 2 bowls of cereal. As he ate, he looked down the list his Mom had left him: do laundry, put dishes away and dirty dishes in sink, clean both bathrooms, mop kitchen floor, and vacuum. Wow! He'd be all day doing all this, he thought.
He first gathered his little brother's and sister's laundry, his and Josh's, and his Mom's and Dad's, and started that going. Next, he emptied the dishwasher and put away the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Then he mopped the kitchen floor and the floors of both bathrooms. After that, he attacked cleaning the bathrooms. His Mom was up by 9, and saw he'd begun the laundry. As Joe proceeded through his list of chores for the day, she baked cookies, bread, and prepared a large pan of lasagna for dinner. He stopped for a quick lunch sandwich and went right back to it. Joe had only shortly completed vacuuming, when Josh and their Dad returned at 5 p.m.
He was in the bedroom changing into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, to go skateboarding on the street in the neighbourhood. Josh came in, stripped off his sweaty, dirty clothes, and headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. By 6:30, Joe was back in the house, and the whole family sat down together for a great supper their Mom had fixed.
After supper, Joe helped his Mom clean up the kitchen, then went to his room to read and talk on his cell phone. Josh went out to bowl with some of the people he'd met Sunday evening, and was back before 10 p.m. At 10 p.m., he took another shower to get ready for bed, and Joe followed after, with a much faster shower this night. Both boys were in their bunks, reading, when their Dad called up, "lights out, guys!" In only his boxers, hunky Josh jumped up, shut off the light, and jumped back into bed.
The rest of the week, and the next were like that, but time seemed to pass like a glacier for Joe, being grounded. Saturdays, the boys were awakened by their father at 7 a.m., got up for a big breakfast he cooked, and then began a day of work around the house and yard. Josh went out the first Saturday night, returning at 11:40. Joe, who was bored almost senseless, laid around his room, waiting for Josh to return. Then the boys talked until their Dad shouted at them to get to sleep, or he would be coming in to see that they quieted down.
The second Saturday night, however, Joe showered after Josh, and got ready to go out with him. Dressed in a clean pair of khaki pants, polo shirt hanging out, and flip flops, his face showed his upbeat feelings at being free. Josh was ready ahead of Joe, and they were headed out together.
"Wait a minute, there, Joe. What're you doing?"
"Going out – with Josh," Joe responded in a questioning tone.
"What night is it?"
"Saturday, Dad."
"How long were you grounded for?"
"Two weeks," he answered, wanting to add "long, unbearable" to the answer.
"Well, Joseph, the 14th day is tomorrow. You are still grounded tonight."
"What? C'mon, Dad. It's been long enough! Besides, if I have to wait til tomorrow, then it'll be until next Friday night before I can go out on a weekend!"
"That's right, young man, but that's the price of misbehaving and getting yourself grounded. Tonight, though, you're not going anywhere."
Joe was shocked and felt himself becoming nervous, excited, agitated, and a heated anger flowing up his neck to his face and ears. "That's not fair, Dad! Ever since you came back, you're punishing me and punishing me, and I didn't do anything that bad! C'mon, Daaaad – damn it! – give me a break!"
"Joseph Daniel Fischer! Get yourself up to your room this instant! What I am going to give you is a good, hard whipping, which you've got coming for talking back . . ."
"Nooooooo, Daaaaaaad! You can't keep doing this! It's not faaaaair!" Joe yelled.
"Young man, you better hush up and hustle up to your room, or you can look forward to being grounded for another 2 weeks – besides the spanking."
Joe was frozen in the dilemma. Caught in the colliding emotions of anger and fear, he was close to bubbling over with the former and storming out of the house anyway.
"You better get a move on and get to your room, Joseph, if you don't want another one tomorrow night too." Ron Fischer instructed his son.
Josh turned back and walked over to his younger brother. "Come on, Joe, let's go to the bedroom and talk."
"I don't want to talk, Josh! This is so unfair! . . ." Josh grabbed his brother's arm and with superior strength, muscled him out of the kitchen, escorting him up the stairs and into their bedroom. Closing the door, he pushed Joe to sit down on Josh's bunk.
"Now, you listen up, Joe. Just shut your mouth up – and keep it shut! You're digging a deep hole for yourself, and you don't want to do that. Just be quiet. You incensed Dad with your mouth, and now you've got to deal with what he says you've got coming. You've just got to keep your mouth shut, and try to stay under control. I know it's hard – believe me, I do. But I'm gonna stay right here, and help you, till it's over. Then, tomorrow is the end of your grounding. You can do it, Joe – you have to."
Joe was shocked with misery and disappointment, but also by the almost self-sacrificing attitude of his big brother. "Ooooh, Josh! I can't take this! I wish Dad hadn't come home. Not you, but just his domineering control and punishing . . ."
The door opened and in walked their father with the trusty, old hair brush in his hand. "You know you should be undressed, Joseph. Why aren't you?" he demanded.
"It's my fault, Dad," Josh spoke up. "I was talking to him, and he didn't get a chance."
Pulling out the desk chair again, sitting down, he ordered Joe to stand up and come to him. At the bark of his father's voice, Joe stood up, but walked slowly over to him. Josh, in the meanwhile, replaced Joe sitting quietly on the side of his bunk. When Joe came near his Dad, Mr. Fischer reached over, grabbed the young man's waist, and pulled him right up to him, standing between the seated, older man's legs. Immediately, he lowered his son's pants to his ankles, and swiftly gripped the waistband of his boxers and slipped them down over his hips, down his legs, where they joined his pants at his ankles. Instantly, Joe's penis sprang upward, lengthening and stiffening.
"Step out of the flip flops, and your pants and underpants, right now, son," he commanded. Joe did as he was ordered. Mr. Fischer reached to Joe's polo shirt, and pulled it up over his head and off his arms, followed by his t-shirt. In less than a minute, the young man was standing completely nude in the room, with his flagpole raised in front of him. Mr. Fischer noted the shivering of his naked, younger son standing before him, realizing it was more than the result of cool, night air.
Taking his younger son's arm, Ron Fischer maneuvered him around to his right, and began lowering and pulling the young man across his lap. Joe groaned slightly as his face nearly hit the floor, feeling his engorging penis fall between his father's legs. Without any delay, the spanking began.
His father scolded and lectured him throughout the spanking while Joe reacted vigorously to the effective sting of each application of the brush with hoots and howls and screeches, and a desperate display of dancing, kicking feet and legs, and twisting, squirming, bouncing hips and buttocks.
"Your mother and I will not . . . "
"Ow! Ow! Ow!"
"tolerate that type . . . "
"Ooooo-ow-ow-ooooooo!"
"of behaviour and talk from you, . . . not . . . now . . . or at any time"
"Yeeow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Oooooooo-Daaaaad!"
"Do you understand me? . . . "
"Ow-ow! Ooooo-ow-aaaaa-yeessssss, Daaaaaad!"
"Keep those legs still. . . ."
"Ooooo-ow! Ow! I caaaan't, Dadeeeee! Oooo-ow-ow!"
"You seem to think you can do . . ."
"Oooooh! Ow! Ow-ow-ow!"
"as you please, . . . don't you? . . .Make your own rules, . . . and ignore the rules we set for you! . . . "
"Ow! Ow-ow! Ow!"
"Well you can think again, . . . "
"Ow-ow-ooooo-ow-ow! Ow!"
"young man. . . . "
"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow-ow-ow-oooooo-ow!"
Joe's wriggling, bouncing bottom and quivering thighs were rapidly increasing in redness with each snap of the burning brush against his rump and thighs, and his howls and shrieks were getting louder and louder. With a deliberate and determined goal to deliver an impressive and unforgettable message, his Dad applied the dancing brush to each cheek and each thigh as well as across both bottom cheeks and both thighs.
The brush in their father's hand rose and fell relentlessly, each firm resounding smack echoing throughout the room and accompanied almost instantaneously by loud shrieks and howls from Joe's lips, as Mr. Fischer continued the scolding, admonishing, and lecturing while wielding the dreadful, hated hair brush.
The spanking continued as Joe's father continued chiding and scolding him, and assuring him that it would be a long time before he would be sitting comfortably again, ignoring and oblivious to Joe's howls, screeches, begging, promises, and pleas. He just kept on administering the licking he told Joe he had coming, reminding him to keep his legs still, even though the bouncing brush was causing them to jump and dance and flail around in direct response to the tremendous stinging of the punishing smacks. All the bouncing around on his father's lap freed Joe's penis to bounce and rub, becoming more stimulated with each swat and reacting motion.
Sitting silently, watching, Josh felt sick to his stomach. His younger brother had gotten a little bit out of line – he knew what their Dad was thinking – but he didn't deserve – didn't need – this much, this bad of a whipping. He also felt fearful for Joe, realizing now that it seemed like every time Joe got a spanking, he got a boner; and if it lasted long enough, he'd ejaculate during the spanking.
Each time the brush landed on his bare butt, the helpless, upended boy screamed. Ron Fischer wasn't holding anything back. This boy – this younger son of his – deserved – and needed – a spanking bad; and he was going to get one, and his father was not going to take it easy on him. Joe just hooted, hollered, and bucked across their father's lap reacting to the brush's blistering bites. The pain concentrated on the left cheek, in the soft-skin sit-spot just above his thigh. It felt like someone had touched him with a white-hot poker each time that brush made contact with his raw, angry, red flesh.
Joe's cries, howls, and screeches formed a crescendo of rising-pitched sounds. He had no time to adjust to each emphatic stroke of the hairbrush, and soon the bawling and sobbing were accompanied by flowing tears. He was desperately trying to plead with his father to stop, because of the overriding pain that was blistering his behind, but also because he felt his dick and balls gathering momentum as he grew closer and closer to the edge of release. The constant barrage of hairbrush smacks prevented him from completing words and sentences, however.
Although their Dad unquestionably heard the howls, saw his younger son's inflamed, squirming bottom, and knew from past experience that he might be aroused in the process, Ron Fischer was not deterred from his task. He alone was the one who would decide when to stop. He continued, but cranked-up, applying the hairbrush to Joe's bouncing, bare bottom that was glowing crimson red and burning like it was on fire, spreading the spanks around a large area to avoid blistering and bruising as much as possible.
As his bottom bounced and twisted and squirmed across his father's lap, Joe was now a very sorry, young man, regretting the serious misbehaviour of his talking back. His legs flailed and kicked and danced uncontrollably in every direction, in response to the fierce impact of the solid hairbrush. He howled and screamed in earnest as he felt the hard wood burning his flesh with each loud smack. His bare buttocks and thighs were hot and raw and bright scarlet red in colour, and his penis was aflame with craving, sensitive stimulation.
Joe's father concentrated on his son's bare bottom, but did not neglect his upper thighs which received more than their fair share of strokes as well. Joe's yelling and hollering became so loud that there could be no doubt that everyone in the house, and even the neighbours, could hear him being taught this lesson. That didn't bother Ron Fischer, however. Determined to make his point, he applied the wooden brush with speed, intensity, but also variety, to ensure that the lesson would not soon be forgotten.
Joe was lurching around wildly in the restraints of his father, thrashing about to try to avoid the scalding pain, but also to avoid what sooner or later would be inevitable if his father kept up the spanking. Joe's penis was clamouring for release, and he could feel it cumming. All at once, however, his father stopped, leaving Joe dangling, sobbing, and shaking uncontrollably over his Dad's lap.
By the time his Dad had put the hairbrush aside, Joe had long been reduced to a hysterical, sobbing, remorseful, quivering, little boy, crying out in child-like, unintelligible gasps, and his bottom and thighs were a mass of welts and bruises intermingled with the bright, glowing, crimson red bottom cheeks and thighs.
For the longest time he was kept lying there, until Ron Fischer helped him up. When he was finally released from hanging restrained across his father's lap, Joe jumped to his feet dancing from foot to foot, furiously rubbing his bottom cheeks with both hands, tears running down his face and sobbing uncontrollably, his rod still fully erect and wet with seeping fluid. He was mindless that his sorrowful, yet shameless, spectacle was broadcast before his father and big brother.
After a few minutes of the "spanked-boy-dance," Ron Fischer reached over, took hold of, and embraced his sobbing son, pulling him in towards him, and placed the wincing young man's incinerated bottom back down to sit on his Dad's right leg. He held his 22 year-old son, now reduced to a punished little boy, cradling him in his arms, letting him cry, while engulfing him tightly in a hug and patting the back of his head. Instinctively, Joe threw his arms around his Dad's neck, buried his face and head in his chest, and sobbed inconsolably, yet securely, in his father's arms.
The young man was overwhelmed. The spanking had left him physically exhausted and emotionally drained. He was ashamed and devastated to be taken in hand, and again turned over his father's lap, bare butt, and spanked so severely. Nevertheless, he also felt so secure – and comforted – in the arms of his Dad. Despite having just gotten a trouncing spanking he hated, he knew, and could feel, deep down that he was truly loved by his Dad.
Josh was amazed, but also a bit uncomfortably embarrassed to be observing his brother obviously accepting being cradled in the arms of their father, who had just spanked him harshly. As Joe sobbed into their father's chest, Josh felt good that, after the unsparing spankings their father had given Joe recently, he was also showing him the fatherly kindness, warmth, and love that Josh knew their Dad genuinely had for his sons. With this relief easing his mind, Josh quietly stood up and walked out of the room, down the stairs, and left for his evening plans. He was back before midnight, however.
As he held his weeping, younger son in his arms, in Ron Fischer's mind there was little doubt that this whipping would have its memorable effect on Joe; and, after this session with the detested, old hair brush, the young man would be much wiser and more eager to be on his best behaviour for a long time, or face more sessions of strict, parental discipline.
When he had settled down and his father left him to get showered and into bed, Joe hurried into and out of the shower -- but took long enough to give relief to his frustrated, previously denied penis. The burst of ejaculate, spurting out over and over into the shower, brought an immediate calming to the jangled nerves and feelings of a 22 year-old having just been spanked, and then cuddled close, by his Dad. Then he was done and in his bunk, flat out on his stomach, for the night.
Graham