Joe earns himself another vicious spanking when his father learns of his behavior at the bar.
Brothers - Part 11
by Graham
Series: Brothers by Graham
Exhausted and frazzled from the events of the preceding night, from hours in jail, and from the unsparingly severe whipping he’d received less than 2 hours earlier, Joe collapsed into a deep, unhinged, turbulent sleep. While he slept, his big brother, Josh and their Dad drove off in Mr. Fischer’s truck to retrieve Joe’s Bronco from Hernando’s.
When they walked in, the bouncer, Bill, took one look at Josh and knew immediately what had brought these two in. "If it’s about the Bronco, see the manager behind the bar. He’s got the keys," he advised.
Josh and their Dad walked up to the bar, and when the bartender turned to them, Josh spoke:" We’re here about my brother’s Bronco, the one you have the keys to."
"Let me see some ID, young fella. Last thing I need is that mouthy hothead accusing me of letting somebody steal his truck." Josh pulled out his wallet, took out his driver’s license, and handed it to the bartender. "Who’s he?" he replied, looking up at Ron Fischer.
"This is our Dad," Josh spoke up. "I’m Joe’s big brother. We’re here to drive Joe’s Bronco home."
"Is that right? Well, I hope you’re more mature, and listen better – and are better behaved – than your brother last night." Josh blushed on the spot, self-conscious to be hearing his brother denounced so, and even more uncomfortable that it was with their Dad standing there listening too.
"He was belligerent and mouthy with Bill last night," and he pointed to the huge bouncer, "even though Bill was trying to look out for him, and help keep him out of danger or trouble." Ron Fischer’s eyes narrowed as he listened to this news from the bartender. "Bill finally had to take your brother over his knee and warm the seat of his pants, before the kid would calm down. We took his keys so he couldn’t drive, but he stormed outta here on foot."
Josh blushed even more at hearing that his brother had been spanked by the big bouncer in the restaurant. Ron Fischer’s face just became set into a very sad, but grim look. The bartender handed Josh back his driver’s license along with Joe’s key ring that had the Bronco key on it. "Thank you, sir, for looking out for Joe and taking care of his truck," Josh replied.
"And also for having to put up with a misbehaving, young brat. He’s already been punished for part of last night’s misbehaviour, but, believe me, he will feel more for how he carried on here – and he’ll be back to apologize. You can count on it," Ron Fischer replied.
The bartender paused, stared at Ron Fischer, then at his oldest son standing their red-faced and tongue-tied, before answering. "Okay. I’m sure you’ve got the young hothead – probably all your young men – well in hand. He definitely shouldn’t do again what he was doing Saturday night – it’s not right – or safe."
"Oh, you can believe he definitely will not again," Ron Fischer replied taciturnly. Then he and Josh walked out of Hernando’s, found Joe’s Bronco in the parking lot, and Josh opened and started it, then drove it home. Back at home, Josh parked Joe’s truck, then went inside to shower and get ready to go out to see the girlfriend from church he’d been seeing. As he was leaving, he noticed their Dad was still striding around the house, pretty upset.
"Hey, Dad. I’m leaving to go see Beth for a while. I’ll be back by midnight."
"Before midnight, Josh," his father batted back.
"Right, before midnight, Dad. Don’t worry – and try to calm down, Dad. Bye, Mom." Then he was gone and they heard his Blazer backing out of the driveway.
Josh was back, in the house, by 11:50, and everyone else was in bed before 12:30.
The next morning, the boys were awakened by their Dad. Joe, whose bottom and back thighs were bruised and smarting, hurried into the bathroom to clean up and get ready for Sunday school and church. They all ate breakfast together, and then Mr. Fischer helped the younger children get ready, while Joe and Josh left early in Josh’s Blazer. During the 11 minute ride, Joe was withdrawn and preoccupied with his own, private thoughts, while shifting and moving around on the seat to try to lessen the discomfort on his backside.
When the rest of the family arrived, Josh was waiting for them, but Joe was already in the kids’ Sunday school class that he taught. After Sunday School, they all met up and sat together in a pew for church – except that Mr. Fischer made Joe sit next to him, on his left, with the little kids in between their Mom (on his right) and Josh to the right of her. Joe realized he was being singled out for close, strict supervision by their Dad.
After church, Beth and some other girls came up to speak to Josh, and Mr. Fischer made Joe ride home with the rest of the family, leaving Josh to chat for a while.
After Sunday dinner, Ron Fischer surprised Joe further by telling him he was to get into bed right away, for the afternoon, and stay there until he came for him. Joe was shamefaced and sullen, but not willing to risk further discipline for speaking out of turn. Trudging up the stairs into his bedroom, he pulled off his clothes, and climbed onto his upper bunk bed in just his boxers.
The rest of the family spent time together, with Josh heading up a soccer game in the backyard. From the top bunk, Joe listened to the family fun and activity until just after 3:30, when Josh came up, stripped off his clothes to his boxers, and crawled into the lower bunk. Both boys drifted off to sleep and were roused by their father two hours later, as he marched up the stairs to retrieve both of his adult sons.
Josh jumped out of bed, startled. "Oh, man! I overslept! I’m supposed to be at Beth’s house for a cookout with her family by 6!" He hurried into the bathroom to freshen up, then raced back to get dressed to go out. Joe, of course, was already awake, but did not dare leave his top bunk, while waiting for his Dad to release him from his confinement in bed. "You can get up, Joseph, and get yourself downstairs to help your mother."
Inside the house, the rest of the family was gathering in the kitchen for supper, though Josh was in the boys’ bedroom pulling on some clean jeans. a polo shirt, and deck shoes to head out. He was about to exit when his father told him to sit down and wait, which he did, on the side of his bed, the lower bunk.
Joe, meanwhile, was so busy sulking and grumbling under his breath, he did not heed his father’s command. Ron Fischer was not a patient man. When he observed this younger, adult son of his not moving quickly enough to suit him, he pulled the young man roughly down from his bunk and began swatting the baggy seat of Joe’s plaid boxers every few steps he took, swatting him firmly along the way to the bathroom, to teach the youngster a lesson, while interjecting a no-nonsense lecture.
Once Joe had urinated, and washed his face and hands, his father firmly grasped Joe’s thin arm, forcefully pushing him out of the bathroom, along the hall, back to the boys’ bedroom, through the open door into the room, deliberately leaving it open, to allow ready hearing to all below of what was about to transpire. This only elevated Joe’s nervous, upset anxiety. Few things are more galling and mortifying to a young man than knowing his little brother and sister, and his Mom, can freely eavesdrop on his punishment.
Not that this thought ever cross their father’s mind. To his thinking, this boy’s flagrant behaviour on proved that he was way out of line, with body to blame but himself. Besides breaking the hard and clear rules – that he knew without question – he had become mouthy with his father, and now had deviated into scandalous behaviour like a young hooligan. Well, Joe’s Dad was now determined not only to administer a serious, lasting lesson to his son, but to impart with it a good measure of humility and to drive it home with an anxious, contrite aversion to ever doing such a thing again.
In the course of being pulled across the room, Joe’s bravado began collapsing, evidenced by the whiny, scared timbre to his hollow demands. "Noooo, Daaaaaaa! Not again! No moooore! C’monnnnn, Daaaaad! I’m too old for this! – to keep getting this!"
It was strange and astonishing to Ron Fischer how – despite the many months of evidence to the contrary now – Joe sounded like he really and truly believed this. Knowing, and having witnessed, and been included with, his big brother still getting his behind whipped at 25, what folly could deceive this boy into thinking that he should be exempt, that he was special, that because he was 22, an adult, a man, he shouldn’t be subject to the same punishment?
Well, this kid who seemed constantly to get himself into trouble – and this time far and deep into the bog – and also from time to time detouring into flashes of brash, uppity, impertinence, knew better; and he was about to re-learn that he was not the boss, was not in charge, did not set the rules or make the orders, did not just go out and disregard them with impunity, but was expected to obey like everyone else, or receive the customary punishment that was dispensed to everyone else who failed to do so.
Sitting down in the same desk chair that almost never seemed to be left long enough to cool down, Ron Fischer, pulled his second son forward, towards him, and quickly – before Joe knew what had happened – firmly and instantly finished undressing his son by yanking down the boy’s boxers. The young man’s face openly reflected his hatred, fear, and scarcely restrained resistance, along with his depleted self-concept, at being rendered totally naked before his father, stripped like a powerless, defenseless, little boy.
Despite those emotions, the young man was further mortified as his pole began growing and extending, bobbing and oscillating with arousal.
Although his father recognized the countenance, and the feelings producing it, and spied the full-blown woody saluting from the young man’s pelvis, he held the young man still, standing completely naked before him. The young man twitched with a couple of tremours of chill, fear, nervousness, and stimulation before being brusquely and unceremoniously hauled upside down over his father’s lap.
Without delay, the familiar smack of the hair brush against the tender, soft, young flesh of this upended boy began popping around the room as it made repetitive contact with the boy’s buttocks and thighs, inner, outer, and under. By now much-too-acquainted with the procedure and the experience, Joe began grunting and calling out, protesting, begging, racing to that well-known breaking point, of-no-return, where the pain and shame totally occupy the consciousness, producing convulsive, uncontrollable tears and sobs and speechless shrieks and wails.
When his big brother, and their Dad, had first come home to take the interstate hotel job, Joe had been a handsome, cocky, rambunctious, stubborn, young man; but he was none of those things now. Instead, he was tearful, sorry, remorseful, pouty, with an unvaried reaction to being spanked of bucking wildly, flailing and kicking his feet and legs, while twisting and shifting his his hips as he ground down on and humped his father’s knee and leg – all the while seemingly oblivious to the ample eyeful of his lean nudity and inflamed arousal that he presented to his father and big brother. His thick, stiff, erect, dribbling rod was bobbing and swinging before them. At that moment, however, that was the least of his concerns.
At that same moment, his hips and pelvis were rocking and rotating and grinding into his father’s left knee, as each excruciating strike of the brush against his aching bottom launched a lurching, humping thrust that, rubbing, stimulated his engorged erection with mind-conquering, pleasuring need for climax. Insensible to the scalding pain and quivering of his butt and upper legs, he drove on towards orgasm. He cried out, trying to give voice to a warning that was overrun by the enthralled ecstasy of release, and his semen burst forth, splattering his bare stomach and legs, his father’s jeans, and the floor.
His father did not pause. Although at a loss to understand why his son suffered these sexual discharges while he being disciplined, he nevertheless understood that the momentary bliss of this badly behaved, young man would end the instant his gun fired its last round, when the cognizance of the fiery torment to his posterior would return and recapture his consciousness. Joe would soon be far sorrier than the transient, sexual pleasure that had washed over him, or than even the now-too-familiar dread of being spanked over his father’s knee. The nerve-endings of his buttocks and thighs, more sensitive now, were erupting through his brain in screams and screeches that overrode his ability to form intelligible word and sentences.
"Daaa-aaaad! Haugh-uh-uh-ow! Ow! Ow-huhuh-Daaaad-huh-uh-staaaahp! Puh-huh-uh-leeeez, Daaaad! Pleeeez! I’ll behave. I willllllll! Daaaady, Pleeeez! I’ll beeeeel-huh-uh-goooood! I promise! I promise, Daddy! I PROMISSSSSS Ooooooo-uh-huh-waaaaaaaa!"
His father ignored the yowling and begging, and then eventually the sobbing, as the young man quickly forgot the vanished pleasure in his loins and focused on the pain in his bottom. Ron Fischer kept on peppering Joe’s wounded, red-hot, bare backside, as the young man hollered and screamed, with shorter breaths, and shorter, fractured phrases, in boyish, higher-ascending pitched tones, collapsing and resigning his rebellion, sobbing, shaking, choking through gagging gasps and incoherent cries. Joseph Daniel Fischer was getting another spanking from his Dad, no matter how much he resisted and tried to fight against it, no matter now much it hurt, no matter how much he hated it, no matter how outraged the shameful humiliation was to this 22 year-old, adult male.
When he spanked his sons, their Dad expected this howling, pleading, bawling, and wailing. It was as it should be. He reddened Joe’s small, fleshy bottom and thighs until the palm of their father’s right hand was as hot pink as the skin covering the youth’s backside. When he finally stopped, he let the sobbing young man hang dangling over his legs, weeping and choking and dripping tears and snot onto the floor to mix with the puddles of semen.
Heaving and and gasping heavily, amidst gulping sobs, he suddenly found himself torn off his father’s knees, and placed on his own bare feet. Standing immediately in front of his father, naked, with reddened eyes and face streaked with tears, sticky wet ejaculate on his stomach, groin, and front thighs, and a fiery, hot, red butt, Joe bawled more and louder, rubbing and squeezing his hot, blistered, little bottom.
Suddenly, his father stood up and began removing his thick, black, leather belt from the loops of his pants. It was a belt that both, adult sons recognized from having it toast their behinds more times than they could recall.
"Nuh-uh-nooooo-uh-Daaaa-uh-uh-deeee, pleeeeeze!" he begged shamelessly. "Daaaa-deeee, pleeeease! Not the belt! I don’t need the belt, Daddy! I’ve learned! Daddy, I’ve learned! I mean it! I swear, Daddy! Oh pleeeeez-huhuh-noooooo-uh-Daaaaa-uh-deeeee-uh-waaaaaaa!"
"I know you too well to believe that; and what’s more, it is not your place to tell me what to do when I’ve just finished putting you over my knee, Joseph Daniel Fischer." Without another word, he pulled the boy over to the corner, near the window, placing the boys nose in the corner, and his hands on either wall, directing him to stick out his hot, red, bare rump.
"
Huh-uh-aaaugh-uh-noooooo-uh-uh-Daaaaa-huh-uh-deeeee-uh-pleeeez! Daaaaa – uh-deeeee-huh-uh-noooooo-uh-okay! Okay! Okaaaaay! I’ll go back over you kneeees, waaaaa, uh, Daddy! Pleeeez, Daaaaddy! I’ll go back over your kneeees! I wanna go back over your kneeeees, huh-uh, Daaaa-deeeee, waaaaa-uh-ooooo-uh-pleeeeeez-uh-noooooo-uh-waaaaaaa!"
"I’m sure you do, Joseph – and you may, yet, again. But not now. For now, you just keep sticking that butt out there." With the boys’ bedroom window facing the street, and the light illuminating the young man’s naked, red bottom on display, jutting out from the corner, no one – not a soul driving or walking by – could fail to see that Joe Fischer was getting another whipping.
At that instant, Josh stood up and asked, "Dad, can I go now? I’m already late. I’m just going to Beth’s house for a cookout – and I’ll be back by 10, Dad, don’t worry." His father nodded to his oldest son his approval, who bolted from the room and down the stairs, outside to his truck. Their father, in the interim, turned and began unleashing the licking belt lashes on his second son’s bare backside and upper legs.
This greater pain and shame seemed to open a new reservoir of stored up, suppressed, intense, boyish emotions needing to be freed, unloosed and surging forward, bursting forward to release. The humbled youth howled, and wailed and shrieked, while dancing in place as the belt repeatedly struck his buttocks, sit-spots, and thighs.
His hips were thrusting forward and gyrating left and right, in a futile attempt to escape the lashes. He added bouncing and jumping to the pelvic twist, opening up glimpses of the space between his butt cheeks as it became visible, and his father aimed the belt to sting them too, including walloping the young man’s virgin, boy-hole. By the time he had finished, his second son’s bottom was deep, steaming hot crimson, and his previously thick, stiff, erect, bobbing penis had shrunk to a little stub nestled in sandy, pubic hair.
Still bending to keep his face in the corner, Joe dropped his hands from the walls to clutch his bottom, stomping his feet and legs and wailing as his father closed the curtains. The agonizing youngster must have continued blubbering for another ten full minutes. Once he began to calm down somewhat, he was now a meek, chastened, young man as their father walked the naked, spanked, his adult, young on back to his bed. At that moment, he seemed so small, so humbled, demeaned, and little-boy like. He just stood there quietly, head hanging down, whimpering softly, as his father deposited the weeping young man back up onto his bed, sobbing, with he applied 4 sharp, smart smacks to Joe’s tortured butt.
"That’s it, now, Joseph: you’re in bed for the night – you’ve forfeited supper again – and besides that, you’re grounded for the next month. Except for looking for a job, taking the little kids to school and picking them up, running errands we give you, and going to church, your feet are glued to home. Since you’re out of a job, you will spend your time at home doing the chores your Mom and I assign you. "
"Lastly, you’re getting a spanking every Friday night for the next month, to make sure you get the message. I can’t impress on your mind, and bottom, too sharply or too severely the searing hurt that is going to be inflicted, repeatedly and relentlessly, if you keep up this kind of behaviour."
Joe could only weep and wail, as he heard is father pronounce his prolonged punishment, vowing and promising never to have to have another licking from their Dad once this was over. Mr. Fischer was not impressed; and before the week was out, the youth had earned still an additional one. It was almost as if he couldn’t help himself – or, despite overtly despising and opposing it, was subconsciously actually wanting and seeking it.
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