In part 6 of the series, frustrated younger brother Joe gets a bare-ass spanking from his usually cool-headed older brother for mouthing off. Then the Fischer brothers earn another bare-assed spanking from their stern father.
Brothers - Part 6 & 7
by Graham
Series: Brothers by Graham
PART 6
The work at the hotel along the interstate was steady, and ended up extending an additional month. So, Josh and their father were home even a month longer than anticipated. That meant for Josh more time to work on the relationship that was developing between him and Mandy Stevens, one of the girls from church with whom he had been spending a lot of time – many evenings and weekends. It was the first time in almost 8 years he'd had time to cultivate a relationship, and he found himself getting to enjoy it.
It also meant that their father would continue the short, tight leash on his sons for at least another month. Josh, who was pretty accustomed to living by their Dad's rules, was glad to have the additional time at home. Joe, however, reacted with obvious irritation when Josh told him they would be remaining at home at least a month longer. He was sick of having to be in bed at 10:30 Sunday through Thursday nights, at home by midnight on Fridays and Saturdays, taking naps on Sunday afternoons, and informing his parents where he was going, with whom, what he was going to do, and when he'd be back home.
"Damn it!" Joe exclaimed. "I'm sick of being treated like a little kid, having Dad control my every move, everything I say or do. I don't deserve this shit! I'm not a bad kid, Josh, damn it!"
Josh quickly grabbed his younger brother in his muscled grip, placed his strong hand over Joe's mouth, and began dragging him out of their bedroom, down the stairs to Josh's Blazer. Joe was still muttering muffled protests and commands to Josh to "let go of me, let me go"; but Josh was unheeding of his younger brother's rash, reckless talk.
"Be quiet, Joe! Keep your mouth shut!" he ordered, as he opened the passenger door, shoved Joe in, and hastened around to get in behind the wheel. They backed out hurriedly and drove off to a thick, shady, tree-covered park, adjacent to a long, empty field. Josh parked over in a wooded area with picnic tables, and hopped out, taking the keys with him. Joe sat fuming for a minute or two, but then got out and followed his big brother.
Josh sat on the bench with his back to the table. Joe was standing, pacing in front of him. Josh tried to calm his younger brother, cautioning him that acting and speaking out of turn like he'd been doing could result in him being grounded over the last couple of months that their father and Josh were home, besides getting a whipping. Joe's pent-up frustrations erupted.
"I guess I should've expected that from you – Josh, the good son, the fair-haired boy, the ass-kissing, whipped dog that licks Dad's boots and then tells everyone 'it's not so bad, . . . it doesn't hurt, . . . it's good for you actually.' Well, I don't buy it – not from you, and not from Dad! I'm 22, an adult, I don't get in trouble, and I should be allowed some rights, some freedom – not kept on a choke-chain of control, threats, and punishment – all the time."
Listening to his brother, Josh was instantly offended – as if Joe had slapped and spit in his face. He was trying to keep Joe from getting in trouble, and his brother attacked and insulted him while he was doing so.
"Maybe you just love being Dad's lackey to kick around and whip over every little thing, to show he can control you and jerk you around while you smile, enjoying it, like his puppet. But I don't. It makes me . . ."
Before he could complete the next sentence, Josh was on his feet, grabbing his lean, younger brother's arms at his shoulders, and pulling him along with him while he backed towards the picnic table, and sat down again on the bench. Even in Josh's unwelcome, controlling grip, Joe marveled at how strong and over-powering his big brother was.
"Let go of me, Josh! You're just Dad's masochist, willing to – and loving to – have him kick you, and beat your butt, and . . . Heeeeey! What d'ya think you're dooooing?!" Joe was interrupted again as his hunky, muscular, big brother pulled him downward, hauling him roughly across his lap.
"Oh, no you don't! You can't do this, and you know it, 'cause . . . STOP! Stop it! Nooooooo!" Joe screamed bloody murder as he felt Josh reach under his abdomen, unbuckle his belt and pull it out of the loops, unsnapping, unzipping Joe's jeans. Then grabbing the crotch, Josh yanked them down the slim, young man's hips and legs to gather wadded at his feet, followed instantly by his white boxers with thin, vertical, blue stripes.
Doubling the belt in his hand, and shifting his brother around slanted, with elevated rump, Josh began slamming the belt into Joe's bare behind. Joe struggled and fought, trying to free himself from the powerful hold of his big brother, only to become more frustrated and angry – then worried and afraid – when he couldn't escape.
Even-tempered, self-controlled Josh Fischer was angry, upset, and insulted. He had tried to coach Joe how to accommodate and get along with their Dad, and avoid getting in trouble with him. He continued snapping the belt to bite the flesh of his younger brother's buttocks and thighs – still bearing the fading signs of a recent spanking by their father. Josh harshly lectured, while whipping Joe, who was now squalling and crying, but unable to kick his legs much secured as they were with his tangled boxers and jeans.
"I've tried to help you, Joe, to keep you out of trouble with Dad, and to make it easier for you, and me, to get along with him. Instead, you call me 'an ass-kisser' and a 'whipped dog,' and accuse me of liking to be punished by Dad. You don't see me getting boners and coming whenever Dad spanks me; and I'm not getting whippings every week – or more – and having to sit at home 'cause I'm grounded." Joe was now wailing heavy, choking sobs.
"I wanted you to avoid that, too, Joe. But you won't listen, and then you act out, shoot off your mouth, and insult me. That's your gratitude, Joe. Well, maybe you need to learn you can't treat me like that and get away with it. Maybe you need some more spankings that you can get all turned on from and shoot a load from. Maybe Dad's right, you have gotten way out-of-hand and need some strict discipline to shape you up."
Josh – maybe a closer acorn from their father's oak tree than suspected – got fully involved in the punishing of his younger brother, delivering a licking with Joe's belt that would have rivaled their Dad's spankings. He turned his younger brother buttocks and thighs, inner and outer, along with his sit spots, a hot, raw, dark, angry red – without caring or feeling sorry for Joe, who was wailing and shrieking with helpless abandon.
Joe was humiliated and outraged that his big brother was treating him like a bad-behaving kid – just like their Dad administered to him – and he was also ashamed and embarrassed about Josh's mentioning his unexplained erections and orgasms during spankings. He was shrieking and shouting, begging, pleading, apologizing, promising.
In surprisingly short time, Joe yielded to Josh's unquestionably superior strength and dominance, slumping over his big brother's left knee and leg, resigned to getting another blistering, just like on their Dad's lap. He squalled and sobbed, in pitches way higher than his 22 year-old voice, and in broken, unintelligible utterances.
As Joe screamed with pain and humiliation, rocking and bucking and bouncing all over his big brother's lap, something was happening to his rising pole. Despite his trying to will it to diminish, it was becoming desperately aroused, sticking out and up, rubbing around against the denim covering Josh's hard, muscled legs. Joe squealed and shouted from the painful spanking, and from fear that he was about to lose control and ejaculate. Once again his super-sensitive, aroused penis compelled his awareness of its erect, clamouring hunger, poking against Josh's leg and lean, flat abdomen, leaking as he slid and rubbed along Josh's lap.
Being hauled over, and positioned on, his big brother's knee, with bare bottom upended and thrashed soundly, was very much like the many lickings he had been getting when their father took him over his knees. He was just as humiliated, just as outraged, just as blistered and pained, and just as helpless once it happened. Yet, it was also different. For one thing, it felt different.
Across his big brother's hard, muscled legs, held tightly with strong muscled arms confining him inescapably in place against Josh's flat, tight abdomen, he also felt a strange kind of closeness to his hot, hunky stud – his big brother – who was delivering an unrelenting whipping to his singed, scorched rump. It was humbling enough to have their father take him across his knees and spank him 'til he cried uncontrollably; but to be subjected to the same position, and punishment, by his big brother, Josh, was far more humiliating and demeaning. Yet, he was conflicted with converging, simultaneous emotions: anger, sorrow, fear, pain, admiration, and pride – all focusing on his big brother, Josh.
Also, he realized he had hurt his big brother deeply, the searing pain of the belt whipping was accompanied by a deep, inner pain that spread throughout his body. That deep pain was rocking him to the core, and at the same time he was acutely aware, as Josh had to be, with the way he was grinding himself into Josh's firm, flat abdomen and hard, muscled, lean leg, that his rod was growing in length and stiffness and voracious hunger, combining the fire that was now burning with him, with that searing all over his butt and upper legs.
Josh ignited Joe's behind and legs, launching his younger brother forward and back across the powerful brother's lap. Joe felt a stirring and gather in his groin, and thought an unspoken prayer, Oh, God, don't let me shoot on Josh's lap. He tried to hold back the flowing juices he felt welling up from his scrotum, but suddenly stiffened, screamed out, and began twitching and thrusting as his penis exploded, shooting and slinging load after load of sperm all over Josh's lap and legs with each additional bite of the belt on his burning flesh.
Josh knew at once what was happening, and while it worried him, it also angered him. So, he let loose an even harder outpouring of lashes with the belt. Having just discharged his load, Joe was more vulnerable now, his nerve endings on edge, his attention undivided to the excruciating, fiery pain afflicting his rearend, and he just bawled and shrieked, unashamed and uninhibited, hanging, dangling, quivering, weeping in abject defeat.
When Josh had finished, Joe was one humbled, punished, contrite, younger brother. His fury spent, Josh held his brother firmly and gently in place, hanging upended on his knee. Joe, forcefully pinned upside down on his hunky, big brother's knee and brawny leg, kept apologizing over and over through his panting, gasping weeping. Finally, pulled up off Josh's lap, Joe stomped and danced around, doubled over, his hands plastered on his agonizing behind. Josh reached down and pulled up Joe's boxers, and then his jeans, while his brother winced and yelped at the scraping touches on his upper legs and butt. Then, he resumed rubbing and kneading his thin, small buttocks through the seat of his jeans.
Standing up, Josh looked with dismay at the multiple, sticky, wet spots on the pant legs and lap of his own jeans. How was he going to deal with that? he wondered. He knew for sure he needed to take care of it before he went home.
Next thing Josh knew, Joe's arms were around his neck, hugging him and leaning into him like a little kid, weeping and telling him he loved him, he was so sorry, he was his best friend, he'd never do that again. Josh sat back down again on the bench. Joe, pulled down with him, flinched as his bottom uncomfortably met the bench. With Joe sitting right beside him on the bench, leaning into him and sobbing out his sorrow and regret, Josh held him firmly and tenderly close to him, his strong right arm encircling his younger brother's shoulders, until the young man's grief subsided.
PART 7
After Joe had finally cried himself empty, quietly leaning into his big brother's chest, Josh firmly, but kindly, stood back up and with his arm still around Joe's shoulders, lifted the younger brother up. With one hand clamped on, massaging, the seat of his jeans, Joe wiped his eyes and face with his other hand several time. Then, the boys got into Josh's Blazer, with Josh behind the wheel, starting the engine. They drove off to a car wash, where Josh pulled the Blazer into the wash space.
He shut off the engine, told Joe to get out, and he hopped out as well. After pushing quarters into the machine, the hose spray began, and Josh picked it up and started spraying down the Blazer. Once he had soaped and rinsed down the truck and its wheels, he suddenly turned the forceful water on his unsuspecting, younger brother.
"Heeeey! Watch it, Josh! What're you doooing?! Heeeeey! You're doing that on purpose!" Joe looked up as the first blasts of water sprayed him, then jumped around – despite his aching butt and thighs – trying to evade the water. When he couldn't, and was getting thoroughly soaked, he quit trying to avoid it. Instead, he rushed his big brother, who held the hose aimed at Joe.
When Joe was upon him, Josh paused to let his younger brother come right up to him. Grabbing Joe with his strong, left arm, Josh took the hose and pushed it down the back of the neck of Joe's t-shirt, soaking him down into his shirt and pants, down his legs. Joe shouted and jumped back, reacting to the surprise of the cold water drenching his entire back. Josh grabbed the front waist of Joe's jeans, sticking the hose nozzle down inside them, soaking Joe from his waist to his feet. Joe jumped and his shouts became higher squeals, as the cold water doused his genitals, running down his legs. Finally, Josh, pulled it out and held it upward, dousing Joe's chest, neck, and face with the spray, making Joe jump backward.
Now thoroughly drenched, Joe no longer cared about the cold water or the blasting spray. He jumped up on Josh's back, wrapping his arms around Josh's neck and his legs around his waist, forcing his big brother backward, twisting, as he brought Josh falling down on his side and on top of Joe on the waterlogged cement. Joe struggled to try to take the hose from Josh, and the fight resulted in water spraying and splashing everywhere, soaking them both.
In an instant, Joe slid out from under Josh, grabbed the hose away from Josh's hand, and jumped up, turning it on his big brother, deluging the stronger hunk who for a moment was at the disadvantage of lying on his stomach on the wet concrete floor, looking up at the wide, forceful spray that was saturating him. In less than 2 minutes, Josh was on his feet again, and dove on his younger brother, bringing him back down onto the floor, grabbing the hose away from him.
The two brothers rolled and scrambled around in the water on the wet cement floor, fighting and laughing as they did. As they wrestled in the water, Joe realized again how muscular a hunk his big brother was, as Josh's long, strong arms and legs wrapped and trapped his younger brother in the wet. That momentarily triggered Joe's memory of how he had been controlled by Josh as he spanked him (like being in the control of their Dad); but that thought was also displaced by the comfortably familiar and secure feeling in the powerful clutches of the big brother whom he looked up to, admired, and trusted.
For his part, Josh was no longer angry with Joe, but was simply having fun once more besting his younger brother in the water fight. As he held Joe squashed down flat on the watery cement, Josh took the hose and stuck it in the back of Joe's jeans, pouring water down the slim, young man's butt and legs, down to his feet. Joe squirmed and wriggled as the water coursed through his boxers and jeans, down his butt and legs.
When the time had expired and the water stopped, both brothers stood up, completely and thoroughly soaked, as if they had both jumped into a lake, laughing together and at each other. They.pulled off their t-shirts and wrung them out, pulled off their shoes and socks, and Josh got a paint dropcloth out of the back of the now-clean Bronco for them to sit on in the front. Piling back into the Blazer, they drove home.
On the way, in the midst of their still laughing about the water fight at the car wash, Joe told Josh he was sorry about what he'd said, and Josh reassured his younger brother he forgave him, while also congratulating himself on the success of his quick scheme to get rid of the evidence of Joe's ejaculation – and of Josh's spanking him.
They came into the kitchen through the garage, carrying their wet t-shirts and shoes and socks. Their Mom, setting the table for dinner, looked up: "Where did you boys go? . . . What happened to you both? Your both soaked through . . . oh, noooo, you don't! You're not walking through this house dripping water all the way. You boys get out of those clothes in the garage, and Dad'll get you some towels." Ron Fischer stood up from the kitchen table where he was sitting, shook his head while looking at his two waterlogged sons, and went to get a couple of bath towels for them.
In the meanwhile, Josh realized that if they were to get naked in the garage, in all likelihood Joe's blistered behind would be seen. That would lead to questions neither one of them wanted to have to deal with. He whispered to Joe, "Stay dressed 'til we get the towels."
When their father returned, he was surprised to see both boys still standing in their wet jeans. "Come on, boys, hurry up and get out of those clothes and dry off, so you can get dressed again for supper." He tossed a towel to each of them, then stood their waiting for them to move. Both sons looked at each other, then slowly began unzipping and skinning down their wet jeans to their feet, and bent over to step out of them. They next slid their wet boxers down their hips and legs to fall at their feet, and immediately wrapped the towels around their waists. Then, picking up their wet clothes, they padded barefoot through the house, upstairs to the bathroom to wring out the clothes in the sink, and then to their bedroom to get dressed.
"Whew! That was close," Joe whispered to Josh, as they began unwrapping their towels to pull on dry, clean boxers and t-shirts. Josh had pulled is boxers up before Joe, when suddenly they looked at the doorway where their father was standing, his shadow falling across the room. Observing his scurrying son, he noticed Joe's red-marked buttocks and upper legs.
"Hey! Just a minute, Joseph! What happened to you, young man?" he demanded.
Joe quickly pulled up his boxers over his sore thighs and butt. "Ah, nothing, Dad. You know, you've been whipping me ever since you and Josh came home to work, and I guess my butt just stays red," he tried to explain.
"That's bull-oney, Joe, and you know it. You haven't gotten spanked in almost 2 weeks now – even though you came very close last Sunday. Now where did you get that? Who did it – and why?"
"Nobody, Daaad. It's gotta be from you, 'cause . . ."
"Cut out the crap, Joe. I'm gonna call Mr. Reynolds and find out what you did at work that ended up getting your rearend blistered, and you can just plan on getting another here for whatever it was. You hear me, boy?"
Joe cringed. He was caught in a dilemma. "Daaad, please. Don't call Mr. Reynolds!" If his Dad did that, then everybody at work would know he was still getting spankings from his Dad. "Come on, Daaad! Don't do that."
"I guess you should have worried about that before you misbehaved in the workplace and had to get a licking for being bad."
"Nooooo, Daaaaaad! It's not like that! It's not what you think!" Joe was desperately trying to find some way to explain his predicament, avoid disclosing to his boss and co-workers that he was still getting spankings, but yet not implicate his big brother..
"Enough, Joseph. You are hiding something, and I'm going to find out what, and you better be prepared to pay with your backside when I do."
"No, Dad. Don't do that. I can explain it for Joe," Josh spoke up softly, with obvious reluctance. "He didn't get that at work. I did it, Dad. I spanked him."
"What?! How many times do I have to impress on you, Joshua, that you are not the parent in this family – you're a child. Discipline and punishment are my job, not yours. "Now just what did you think was so important that you had to interfere with disciplining your brother."
Now Josh was in a quandary. He really didn't want to tell their Dad about Joe's reaction and statements when he found out they were staying in town, and at home, longer. At the same time, he knew for sure he was headed for a butt-blistering with his Dad finding out about him spanking Joe.
Joe interrupted and spoke up. "Ah, Dad, listen. I said some, ah, really rotten, mean things to Josh. I didn't mean it, but I was mad and flew off at him. He took it for a while, and tried to get me to calm down and stop, but I didn't. Finally, he did what you do: he whipped my butt so bad I stopped and realized what I'd done wrong. I told him I'm sorry, Dad. But he really did have a right to be upset with me, Dad. It was my fault, really. Not Josh's. I'm not mad at him, Dad."
Both Josh and their father, Ron Fischer, were surprised to hear these admissions from Joe.
"Well, this is what we're going to do. We're going to go down to eat supper, and not keep your Mom waiting any longer. After supper, we're heading back up here, and you're each getting a damn, good licking – you, Joe, for more impulsive, hot-headed, uncontrolled behaviour; and you, Josh, for taking it on yourself to deal with Joe's mouth, instead of informing me about the matter and letting me deal with it, as the Dad of both of you. Understand, boys?"
Suddenly, both boys' outlook was gloomy. In dejected, sullen tones, they replied in unison, "Ye-es, sir." Finishing dressing – in clean, but old jeans and t-shirts – and combing their hair, they hurriedly followed their father down stairs to the kitchen, to sit down – Joe somewhat gingerly – for supper. They were both unusually quiet during dinner. When it was over, their father instructed them to clear the table, rinse the dishes, and put them in the dishwasher for their mother; and afterward, to skedaddle up to their bedroom and wait for him.
Both Josh and Joe were immediately animated in carrying out their Dad's orders. In the bedroom, the boys were softly talking openly with each other. Joe stated he didn't want another spanking – didn't think he could take it – because he was still sore from the whipping Josh had given him, and also apologizing again to Josh for how he'd acted and talked, and that now Josh was going to get his butt tanned too. He wondered aloud fleetingly if they should just take off – run away – but Josh chimed in with sensible questions like to where? What would they do when their father found them and made them come back home with him? How much worse would their punishment be then?
Ron Fischer stomped up the stairs so his two oldest sons would be sure to know he was coming. Josh already had his t-shirt and jeans off, waiting in just his clean, argyle plaid, cotton boxers. Joe just began pulling his t-shirt off when he heard their Dad coming. Once again, the domestic, disciplinary ritual the boys both knew well now, and expected their father to follow, unfolded before them. Their Dad pulled out the armless, desk chair, called his oldest son over to him, pulled down the young man's clean boxers and told him to step out of them. Joe backed away towards the wall and window, staring at the handsome, hunky, fit, nude body of his big brother, who submissively was ineluctably guided forward and downward across their father's lap.
Ron Fischer jostled his oldest son on his knee, positioning him for the spanking that was forthcoming. Then as the first smack of the hair brush made contact, the young man's chastened buttocks clenched, as an incredible fire surged up from Josh's behind. His eyes widened and his brain reacted with the jolt of the fiery smack to his backside. His head and shoulders involuntarily jolted backwards, as the sting registered. Sucking in a rapid gulp of breath, he muffled a yelp in pain! He twitched involuntarily, perhaps sensing in a fleeting second that he was going to get a very harsh spanking. Then the rapid-fire assault began.
With a stern series of lectures, punctuated by the harder, faster, stinging smacks of the hairbrush on Josh's bare, upended rearend, their Dad delivered a hard, unforgettable spanking to his oldest son's bottom, until the young man was bawling and sobbing – interjected with shrieking cries and incoherent utterance – until he was beside himself with pain, shame, and regret. When it was over, he was yanked roughly off their father's lap, held tightly in his engulfing arms for a few minutes, while he sobbed uncontrollably. Then, after a few minutes, he was dispatched directly into his bed, bare, for the night.
Turning to look for his next oldest son, Ron Fischer spied Joe standing by the window, now in just his boxers which were tented straight out by the youngster's erect penis. Staring straight at Joe, he tapped his right leg and watched the young man, already weeping softly from seeing his big brother trounced so severely, slowly trudge toward him.
When he was before his Dad, Joe stood still, trembling and weeping, but his rod was protruding straight out in his boxers. As if it were the first time this had occurred, Ron Fischer grasped the young man's stiff, engorged member through his boxers, demanding, "What's this, Joseph? Do you think this is all fun and games? Is this something you really like?" He steered the young man around to the right of him like having hold of a hard, extended handle.
Joe cried out, broken by sobs, "No-oooo-aaaaa-Daaaaad-uh-uh-I doooon't-uh-knooooow whyyyyy this happens-aaaa-uh-uh-but I haaaaat-huh-uh-it-uh-sooooo-uh-uh-much-aaaaa-uh-I can't-uh-uh-taaaaaake it-aaaaaa-Daaaaad! Pleeeeez, uh, Duhaaaaa-uh-deeeeee-uh-no-oooo-spaaaangkeeeng! Dadeeeee, pleeeeeeeez," he was begging – begging like a little boy begs his father. He felt so humiliated, standing there, nearly naked as the day he was born, except for his boxers, with his cock jutting out and up, poking the front of his boxers, but now held and maneuvered like a joy-stick in his father's grip, as he moved his son around into position for an over-the-knee spanking.
Ron Fischer let loose of Joe's thick rod, and yanked the boy's boxers down over his small, flat butt, and his perpendicular penis. Next thing Joe knew, he was pulled down and forward over his father's lap. His feet flew out behind him, and he lay draped across their Dad's lap, his palms fell flat to the floor, his feet dangling in the air. "Wheeewweeeee, boy! Your brother really whaled on your behind! What did you say to him?! It must have been pretty bad to get this kind of blistering?"
Now hanging across his father's lap and facing the floor, Joe felt the first of the fiery, fast barrage of smacks to his buttocks and upper legs. He looked up fleetingly to spy himself upside down in the mirror, trying to twist and turn and wriggle and squirm, to avoid the mounting pain of the recurring smacks. As he did, he felt his dick intensely arouse and harden and extend forward and upward, itching at the base. He was trapped in a setting that presented double trouble for him.
The spanking quickly brought his already whipped bottom to hot, super-sensitive pain, driving the young man to swift submission and bawling sobs; but it also sent the sprawling youth squirming and sliding around, and back and forth, on his father's lap from the swats blistering his backside, which simultaneously heightened the stimulating arousal of his member. The spanking drove Joe to abject surrender, wailing and sobbing; and over the edge of self-control, exploding like a fire hose that burst forth shedding and spreading its spray everywhere. After that, the spanking became torment that hurt so bad it beat his conscious awareness into a nether realm to be able to endure the inferno and shame.
At the end, Mr. Fischer yanked his younger, adult son up off his lap, onto is bare feet, with a rump that was dark, angry red, and stomach, penis, and legs, wet with sticky semen. "Go stand over in that corner, until I decide whether I'm really finished with you," he ordered Joe, who stumbled amidst his stomping over to face the now-familiar corner of after-spanking contemplation. He stood there, nose buried in the corner, not daring to look around, while his big brother spied him through tear-filled eyes from his bed, and while their father sat thinking quietly on the same, armless, desk chair.
After nearly 30 minutes, Ron Fischer stood up. "Joseph. You can come out of the corner. I want you to go take a quick shower and clean yourself up. Then come in here and clean up the mess you made in this room. Then it's straight to bed with you for the night."
Joe almost jumped out of the corner and dashed out of the room to the bathroom to shower. While he was gone, Mr. Fischer picked up Joe's boxers that he'd yanked off him, and cleaned off the sticky wet spots on his pants from his younger son. "I don't know what's wrong with Joe," he spoke to Josh who was lying on his stomach, face resting on his pillow. "Do you think he likes getting spanked?"
"Oh, no, Dad. That's what got him so mad at me, 'cause he said he was sick of getting spanked all the time since we came home to work and live. He hates it, can't take it."
"Then why's he getting so excited and having orgasms while he's getting spanked? It's crazy."
"I don't know, Dad. I know he's always so embarrassed about it, but I don't know why he springs a boner every time you put him over your knee and spank him. He sure cries hard, and now he avoids getting spanked like it was curtains for him," Josh said.
"Well, then, I don't know why he gets a hard on and then ends up ejaculating while he's getting his butt and legs blistered," Ron Fischer mused.
"I don't either, Dad. I don't think he can help it, but I don't know why."
"Well, that's two of us son. But we've got to think of something that makes sure a spanking really registers as punishment – not pleasure – for Joe."
"Okay, Dad. But don't forget, Joe's really a good guy. He doesn't get in trouble, he helps out at home, teaches that Sunday School class, and the little kids love him. So, keep that in mind too, Dad."
"Right, Josh, thanks. I will. You're a good, big brother to him, Josh. I do know that."
At that moment, Joe walked back in naked, but dry, from having showered again. "Get some underwear on, Joseph, and get yourself into bed. You're both there until morning. Good night. And don't let me hear you boys talking, or I'll be back up here and there'll be another session tonight."
"Okay, Dad," they both chimed in as Joe pulled on a pair of boxers and climbed up onto his upper bunk.
Mr. Fischer turned off the light, walked out, and closed the door, leaving both of his young men sons in bed at 7:45 that evening. After his footsteps were heard descending the stairs, the two young men were on their sides, pumping and stroking their erect flagpoles until they burst with relief, releasing some of the boys' emotions and tensions.
"How can you go again, Joe, when you already came all over Dad's lap?" Josh asked breathlessly, as both boys lay recovering from their wanking.
"You, ah, said it was okay, Josh, and you do it too," Joe responded. "And, like you said, it's the only thing that helps, makes you feel better, gives some relief for a while, after a whipping."
"Okay, Joe," Josh replied. "Go to sleep now. Tomorrow's another day – and better one."
"Thanks, Josh. I'm sorry, Josh. I love you," Joe added in a whisper.
"Okay. Me too," Josh whispered back. "Now go to sleep."
Graham