Ronald Fisher's young sons think that they're too old to get a spanking but Ronald believes its never too late to teach the brothers' a good old fashioned bare-ass spanking lesson.

Brothers – Chapters 1 & 2
by Graham
Series: Brothers by Graham


Brothers Spanked by their FatherJoseph and Joshua Fischer were brothers. Joe was thin and lanky, with dishwater blond, curly hair and pale, but sparkling, blue eyes. He was 5'11", and weighed 150 lbs. Joe was basically a good kid, pretty carefree, light-hearted, 22 year old.

Josh was 25, and worked with their father, Ronald Fisher, along with two other men who had worked over the years with Ron Fischer's Painting, Inc. – now Ron Fischer & Son Painting, Inc. Josh was lanky like Joe, but taller and a bit heavier with muscles developed from working in their father's business for 7 years. He was 6'1", weighed 185 lbs, and had dark brown hair, but pale, crystaline, blue eyes like Joe. Josh, at 25, was overall a bit more serious and focused than his younger brother.

Both boys had graduated from high school and lived with their family in a modest four-bedroom house. Joe shared a bedroom with Josh. Joe had the top bunk, Josh the bottom. The boys had been rivals and opponents while growing up. In high school, Joe had secretly looked up to his brother, but Josh didn't realize it, and regarded Joe as an immature pain. Now, however, whenever they were able to be together, they were best friends.

The rest of the kids, who were more than a decade younger, occupied the other two bedrooms, while Joe's Mom and Dad had the master bedroom.

Their father, Ron, a commercial painter, was well known and respected, and was steadily engaged in work on large projects, most of them out of town – some a long distance away. It was not unusual for Ron Fischer to be away from home for several weeks at a time, working at projects he had undertaken. Josh was gone as often with their father working on projects with him.

Ron Fischer and Josh had been away for 6 weeks, working on a long-term project. Joe and his mother, Mary, and the younger children, did not know when Ron and Josh might return. In the meanwhile, Joe had become the man of the family, and of the house. When there were questions or matters of concern that ordinarily Mary Fischer would turn to Ron to answer or deal with, she now looked to Joe.

Joe worked part-time, 4 days a week, at an electrical contractors business, and he hoped to be able to learn enough to sit for the test and earn a license on his own. He usually worked Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. On Tuesday, his Mom would leave him a list of work to be done, and Joe was ordinarily conscientious about doing the jobs left for him.

One Friday morning about 6:30, Joe was awakened by his Mom bringing his cell phone in to him. He had left it downstairs Thursday night, by his keys, and it rang while his Mom was getting ready to go to work. It was Joe's boss. Because business was so slow, he was calling to tell Joe he would not be needed that day. Joe was surprised, and a little bit worried, but also happy to be able to stay in bed a while longer. He hung up the phone and put it down on the bed table, then got up and padded to the bathroom to relieve his bladder, and jumped back into bed, snuggling down into sleep.

Over three hours later, he awoke again. He got up, used the bathroom, and went downstairs to the kitchen. He found a note from his Mom on the kitchen table: "Joe, since you're off work today, please clean the leaves off the roof, mow the yard and blow off the sidewalk, then vacuum the house and empty the dishwasher. Thanks, Mom." Oh, gee whiz! he thought. He had just cleaned up the garage on Tuesday, and he really wanted to take advantage of this day off to go to the beach. It was only a 25 minute drive.

He poured two, successive bowls of cereal and inhaled them for his breakfast. While he sat eating, and looking through a Sports Illustrated he had borrowed from work, he thought, he could vacuum the house and empty the dishwasher pretty quick, then get cleaned up to go to the beach; and leave the roof and lawn until tomorrow. He ran the vacuum quickly, but very carefully, shaking and straightening the rugs afterward. Then, he emptied the dishwasher and put the dirty cups, dishes, and silverware in, making sure to leave the sink clean.

He sped up the stairs into the bathroom, showered, shampooed his hair, shaved his light beard quickly, and was out drying himself. He pulled on a pair of older, thin, short boxer briefs, then a pair of board shorts he had bought a couple of months ago, along with an old OP t-shirt, stepped into his flip flops, and grabbed an older beach towel from the bathroom closet. He walked through the garage out to his old Bronco, got in and started it up, and was off to the beach where he arrived about 1:30 p.m.

Joe was surprised that there were so few people there, until he remembered it was Friday, a work day. The only guys around his age were the two lifeguards seated on the two platform towers on the beach. Everybody else was older, or looked like families with children. Except there was a group of girls that looked like they might have been from a sorority. They had brought lunch, and were swimming and sunbathing for the afternoon.

Joe set up his site, laying out his towel, less than 100' away, where he could keep visual contact with them. He decided to go for a swim, and pulled off his OP t-shirt, stepped out of his flipflops, and walked down to the water. Although slim and lanky, his flat stomach and abdomen, and fairly firm buttocks, made him every bit as eye-catching as the two lifeguards who periodically walked along the shoreline. He felt that intuitive sense that eyes were riveted on his body as he ambled down to the water.

He walked in to the water until it was at his thighs, then dove straight ahead, swimming out and away from the shore. Joe was a good swimmer and his lean frame glided through the waves as his strong shoulders and legs pulled and propelled him along. After about 30 minutes of fairly continuous, hard swimming, he decided to come out on to land to dry off. As he walked from the water up to his towel, the wet, board shorts were sunk down his front pelvic area, clinging tightly to his firm butt, and his penis poking slightly out in front.

Sitting down on his towel, he looked around at the girls who were chatting together, and swimming in the water, though not as far out as he had swum. About 2:30 p.m., he was drying off in the warm, sunny air, but his flat, empty stomach began alerting him that he was hungry. He got up, and walking past the group of girls, smiled at some of them, as he headed to the concession stand. He bought a whole pizza, and a cup of lemonade. He sat down at a picnic table near the concession stand and swiftly ate his lunch.

Afterward, Joe got up, went in to use the bathroom, and returned walking back to his towel. Most of the girls were sitting up on the beach, and he could almost feel their eyes on his body as he walked past. He sat down, stared out at the lake, then over at the girls, down the beach (taking in the two lifeguard towers), and then back out at the lake. Lying back he kept his knees bent for a while, until he fell asleep.

He awoke suddenly, lying straight out on his back, his arms at his side, but with a raging bone tenting up in the front of his board shorts. As he shook off the drowsiness, he became aware that he was presenting a view of his sleeping wood to everyone on the beach.

He quickly rolled over, only to realize that he was lying on his rod, which was now sticking straight up, with the head peeking up past the waistband of his board shorts. He couldn't help wriggling a little as he reached under himself and pushed his thick, engorged member downward in his boxer briefs and board shorts. Glancing to his right, he saw several of the girls staring at him and talking to each other. Joe looked down immediately, his face and neck burning scarlet red.

Lying still on his chest and stomach for a few minutes, his boner deflated so he could roll over again, and stand up. He was up and heading back down to the water. As he looked over, he saw that most of the girls were gone, and looking back at the lake, he saw that they were swimming. Wading in up past his crotch, he dove straight out again and began another session of strenuous swimming.

By the time he stopped again, most of the girls were back up on the beach, and looked like they were beginning to pack up to leave. Joe trudged back out of the water, up to his towel, catching eyes with a couple of the girls. As he sat down to wait for the air to dry him again, he hungrily watched the pretty coeds as they packed up and began to leave the beach for the parking lot.

A short while later, Joe looked at his watch and was stunned to see that it was almost 5:30 p.m. He had plans for that evening, and realized that he needed to be going back, to get ready to go out. He picked up his towel, shook it off, pulled his t-shirt over his head and arms, and realized that he had gotten some sunburn while he had fallen asleep. His chest, arms, legs, and feet, were a deep pink. At the Bronco, he folded the towel on the seat to sit on with his damp board shorts, and cranked up the engine to head on home.

When he pulled up, he parked in front of the house. As he walked up the driveway to the garage, he spotted his father's truck – a surprise. Dad and Josh must be home, he thought. Heading straight into his room, he stripped off his shorts, briefs, and t-shirt, grabbed another towel, and headed for the shower in the bathroom. Turning on the water, he stepped in, and it felt great on his body, which began to relax in the downpour.

He began soaping himself up, when thoughts about some of the girls he had seen at the beach began to take over and he felt himself becoming aroused. His hand slid viscous soap suds up and down, up and down, as his abdomen sunk in and his head, neck, and shoulders leaned back. Breathing heavily, his hips and pelvis tilting forward and backward with the sliding, pumping strokes on his hard, stiff shaft, he was entering an exciting, erotic reverie.

Suddenly, he heard the bathroom door open. Immediately, he stopped wanking and turned away, with his back towards the shower doors. The shower door was pulled open, and there stood Josh.

"Wha-at are you doing here?" Joe asked without turning around.

"We finished the job and got home a little while ago. You better stop what you're doing and get outta there. Dad's been waiting for you, and he's pissed."

"What about?" Joe asked. He didn't have long to wonder. Ron Fischer stormed into the bathroom, pushing Josh aside like he was a small boy. Peering in the shower, and then down at Joe, he shouted, "What are you doing in there, boy?!"

Joe's face instantly turned crimson red. His father reached in, shut off the water, and yanked his 22 year-old son out of the shower. With a strong, clamped grasp on Joe's left arm, he dragged the dripping wet, naked, young man, with bobbing, stiff penis, out of the bathroom and across the hall into the boys' bedroom.

"Heeeeey, Daaaaaad, where're we going?! What's wrong, Daaaaaaad?!" Joe asked loudly, with a fearful, emotional, and apprehensive tone in his voice.

Once in the bedroom, Ron Fischer waved the note Joe's Mom had left for him that morning, in the backing away face of the young man. "This is what's wrong, boy," he declared. "Your mother gave you a list of things to do – since you weren't working today – and you deliberately ignored her."

"Not deliberately, Daaad. I did some of them, and . . . the rest I left for tomorrow."

"Left for tomorrow? Is that what Mom told you to do – leave them for tomorrow? Since when do you think you make the rules around here? She gave you a list of things to do – today – and those were your orders, young man."

"Daaaad, it's not a big deal! I'll finish them tomorrow!" Joe yelled back. Glancing at Josh who had followed them into the bedroom, Joe knew immediately from his brother's expression and head-shaking that he had made a big mistake. He had crossed the line: you don't talk back to their father. Oh, great! Now he'd done it! he thought to himself. He'd be grounded forever by his Dad – at least until the next time they left for another job.

Staring at his mouthy, young son with cold, grey eyes, Ron Fischer pulled the naked youth along with him, by the arm. Walking two steps toward the boys' desk, he grabbed the chair in front of it, picked it up like paper, and set it down in the center of the bedroom. At once, he sat down, and in one, powerful move, yanked his younger son over his knee.

Having been dragged out of the shower, Joe was still soaking wet from the shower when his father pulled him over his knee. He was also still aroused, and his erection, at almost full-mast, ground into his father's thigh. It was more than a little embarrassing, and Joe was stunned with unsuspecting shock at how fast this whole thing was happening. Looking backwards and up over his right shoulder, he saw his father pull out of his pocket, and grasp in his right hand, the hated, old hair brush.

"Daaaaad, nooo! Nooooo!" he exclaimed, trying to avoid the vulnerable position he was suddenly now in.

"Be quiet, Joe. You are out of control, and nothing else seems to work. We've tried grounding you, taking away the car – and you go right on not listening, not obeying. It seems pretty obvious that you've been let go, without corrective discipline, for way too long, and the only way to get through to you – and your brother – is with a good old fashioned spanking! Like any boys in need of straightening up, nothing gets you young men back in shape, and on the straight and narrow, better – and faster – than a good, long, hard spanking now and then."

Josh blanched, then blushed deep red. He couldn't believe it. Their father had just informed Joe, Josh's younger brother, that Josh still got spankings from their Dad. Even though, at home, he had managed to avoid a whipping for almost 4 years now, it was still true. While they were away on jobs, their father frequently tanned Josh's fanny.

Maybe it was the tension of the job, and of being away from home, and working and living so close together. At any rate, almost every week, Josh Fischer ended up over Ron Fischer's lap, getting his bare behind blistered with the same, stinging hair brush for something he did or didn't do, or occasionally for something he said, or otherwise acting too big for his britches. But Joe didn't know that – until now. Now he did. Josh was mortified, even as his eyes were riveted on watching his brother's spanking.

As for Joe, he hadn't been spanked in more than 3 years himself, and now he couldn't believe what was happening. Here he was lying over his Dad's knee, completely naked with his bare end up in the air. He was facing only inches from the floor, but when he looked up he had a full view of himself in the long mirror before him on the wall. His heart was pounding rapidly and his pulse was racing as he lay sprawled across the lap of his father.

"Oh, no! No, Dad, noooo, please, nooooo! Not thisss! No waaaay! I'll do anything. Please don't. I'm too old to be spanked! Dooooon't! Noooooo!" he yelled. At that point, he was thinking only about how he wanted to avoid getting a spanking any way he could.

"You do not tell me 'no', Joseph Daniel Fischer. You know that. You know better." In the mirror, he saw his Dad raise his hand and then bring the wooden hair brush down on his overturned rearend.

"Owwww!" Joe yelped. The sound of the brush hitting his wet butt resounded with a "pop" throughout the room, as the initial sting registered instantly from his poor, wet bottom to his brain. His face and eyes reflected the shock, yet not surprising, pain of the He didn't waste time, however, and again the wooden brush in his hand went up. The mirror showed the volley of arm-raising and swats down on Joe's stinging, wet, bare bottom. In uninterrupted succession, that dreaded brush was dancing all over his behind.

"Owwww, Daaaad. Please! Ow! Ooooo-ow-ow! I'm too oooooold! Daaaaaad! Staaahp! Ow-ow!"

Ron Fischer did not respond verbally, but accelerated the administration of the brush's smacks against his younger son's reddening rump. Joe was writhing and struggling against his father's hold, fighting and thrashing about furiously, trying to get off his father's lap, get up onto his feet, and get away from the stinging volley peppering his wet, bare, soapy behind. As wildly as he fought, he was effectively restrained across his father's lap and could not break free. Soon, the fury of his indignity and rising pain depleted his energy and he lay wriggling and squirming, hanging exhausted, while the brush continued raising the inferno on his rump.

"Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-owwww! Daaaad! Pleeeez! Stop! Nooooo! I'm too oooooold! Ooooo-hoooo-ow-ow-nooooo-I'm too ooooooold! Ow! Ow!"

The minutes crept by as his spanking continued, hard and firm. He shouted and called out whenever his father smacked his sit-spot. As he worked that area well for a while, Joe's father could see his young son flinch whenever he smacked hard there. Then, every other spank was landing in the same spot. Joe responded to his father's tactics by kicking his legs like a ten year old. The brush in his father's hand was spanking full force, and Joe's legs and feet were kicking with each spank. His bottom was a low-stoking fire at this point, as he squirmed and thrashed about with a stiffy that always sprung up whenever he was spanked.

"Ow! Ow-ow-ow! Ooooo-aaaa-ow-ow! Nooooo-hoooo-uh-ow-ow-ow!"

Looking up at the mirror, Joe noticed for the first time that Josh was standing behind them, his eyes fastened on the drama unfolding over their Dad's knees.

"If you disobey . . . "

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Daaaad!"

"or break the rules, . . ."

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Oooo-owwww!"

"Then, you will get a spanking, . . ."

"Ow! Ow! Oooo-ow-ow-ow! Oh-uh-no-uh-Daaaaa-aaaaad!"

"It's just that plain and simple."


"I don't care . . . how old . . .you are!" he spoke as firmly and matter of fact as the blasts of the hair brush were attacking his scalded backside.


"As your brother knows full well" Josh cringed, even as he stood there entranced in observing Joe receive a bare-bottom spanking.

"You . . . are definitely not . . . too old . . . to be taken over my knees . . . and spanked, . . . good . . . and long . . . and hard"

"Are you listening, young man?!"

"Ooooo-uh-ow-ow-haugh-uh-uh-waaaaaa-huh-uh-Daaa-aaad-ow-ow-ow-uh-uh-waaaaaa!" Joe was bawling now.

"Do you understand me,. . . young man?!"

His Dad insisted on an answer as he unleashed a faster, firmer onslaught to Joe's afflicted rump. It soon became painfully clear that not answering him was a critical mistake.


Joe turned his head and looked backward through tear-filled eyes at Josh, who was standing in the doorway behind them with a mixed from and smirk on his face. Mockingly, he reached back, rubbing the seat of his jeans over and over.

Joe's intended resolve to take the whipping his father was dispensing was fast crumbling. He squirmed, and wriggled, and thrashed around, in vain trying to evade that hot, horrible brush that was scalding his butt and upper legs. Each new smack brought another revelation of heat and sting – and discomfort becoming pain. Ron Fischer spanked the tops of his son's cheeks, the sides, the middles and the undersides. He spanked across the bottom. He spanked in the very center. He returned again and again to the hyper-sensitive sit-spots. Then he started all over again. The boys knew full well that their Dad was a believer in "leave no inch unspanked."

Josh had moved forward, closer to the action, almost hypnotized by the spectacle before him. He was close enough to get a front-row view of his younger brother sprawled, hanging bare bottom up, over their Dad's lap, feet kicking, balls and aroused dick flopping around, and butt bouncing and bucking around, getting redder and redder as Joe kicked with every spank.

It was hurting bad – like his bottom had been set on fire! His legs were thrusting out, kicking, and bucking over his father's lap, and he was pleading under the blazing spanking that was torching his behind. He could see the top of his behind in the mirror as his Dad spanked. The young man's butt and thighs were deepening red as his legs flailed up and out, and wide and closed. Maybe it was because he was still wet, but it seemed like the flesh on his bottom was on fire and the flames were searing into his brain, exploding tears from his eyes, mucous from his nose, and screams from his mouth.

It was incessant, and Joe was screaming, pleading with him to stop, apologizing, begging for forgiveness, promising he would never again do anything like this – would always listen to his Mom, and him, and do whatever they said. He bucked and lurched as far as his father's hold would permit. He hollered, screamed, and shrieked – louder, and higher pitched, frantic, desperate, hopeless to get this inferno pounding his rump to stop. But things got worse.

Their Dad stopped a moment, then began smacking the young man's highly sensitive, inner thighs. His legs shot apart in shock, only to be launched to higher, more horrific outrage as his father raised his right hand, bringing the dreaded brush down hard, over and over, on the young man's inner buttocks and anus. It was like being attached to electrical current, and Joe jolted, flailed, and jumped (going nowhere, of course).

"OWWWWWWW! OOOOOWWWWWW! OOOOWWWWW-HAAAA-OWWWWW! OOOOOWWWWWAAAAAOWWWWW!" He shrieked, and almost flew off his father's knee, howling, wailing, and sobbing unintelligible outbursts. That's when he finally broke down, collapsing into defeat, and really started to bawl. His gagging sobs strangled the mangled attempts to speak words, leading to senseless fragments, overrun with heaving, shuddering, screeching, bawling, and sobbing gasps.

"Ooooh, uh-uh-pleeeez-uh-Daaaa-uh-uh-deeeeee-uh-pleeeeez! Awww-uh-oooo-uh-waaaaaa!" he sobbed. "I promissss-huh-uh-ooooo-uh-I'll-uh-never-uh-uh-dooooo-huh-uh–uh-it-uh-augh-uh-ow-uh-uh-ow-uh-uh-gaaaaain! Duh-uh-aaaaa-uh-deeee! Uh-huh-uh-waaaaaaa-uh-uh-pleeeeez-uh-uh-Daaaadeeee-uh-nooooo-uh-uh-mooooore!"

The tears were pouring now, and he was shaking and shuddering as he gasped and gagged through squalling sobs.

He was broken – down from the plane of a cocky, 22 year-old who had foolishly entertained the thought that he was a man, and could do whatever he wanted, to a wailing, bad boy hauled to the woodshed for his misbehaviour. Joe was kicking like a little kid again, and he knew it hadn't even been a minute. He jumped and squirmed, but mostly sobbed and choked and gasped, and kicked his feet, as he hung over his father's lap who continued pummeling his behind.

Incredibly, their Dad kept on delivering the blistering spanking, only ratcheting it up harder and faster. Joe forgot about his brother's presence, about feeling humiliated, and thinking he was too old for this. At that moment, he was 12 years old, getting a blazing spanking from his father, and all he could think about was how much it hurt, how long it was hurting, and how he could get it stopped.

It must have gone on for nearly a half-an-hour. Ron Fischer finally stopped spanking, and ripped his younger son off his lap, placing him back onto his bare feet. Completely naked before him, Joe was stomping and bouncing up and down on his bare feet, with both hands plastered on his hot, red rump, rubbing and rubbing, trying to extinguish the fiery burning. Next to his burning, tomato-red backside, the rest of Joe's sunburned body looked pale.

At the same time, he was again so humiliated at seeing his brother in the mirror reflection staring, watching him, after their Dad had taken him over his knee and spanked his bare behind, and now was crying and jumping around, clasping his throbbing butt. Still he continued rubbing – he couldn't help it – trying to extinguish the inferno of pain, not really caring what kind of show he was putting on for his father and brother.

After a few minutes, their father put his mighty hand around the back of Joe's neck, squeezed, telling him to start getting himself composed. He sobbed and whined that he was trying, but couldn't. Their father asked Joe if he wanted more, to give him a reason to continue wailing and carrying on. The choking, sobbing young man just cried and whimpered "Uh-nuh-uh-nooooo-uh-waaaaaa! Noooo-uh-uh-I-uh-doooon't! Uh-uh-waaaaa-uh-oooooo-uh-pleeeez-uh-nooooo-uh-uh-mooooor-uh-waaaaaaa!"

His father released him, put the chair back by the desk, and turned back to Joe. "You get into bed and stay put. You're there for the night, and you stay there until I tell you you can leave. Do you understand me, Joe?"

"Huh-uhnuh-augh-oooo-uh-ye-ess-uh-sirrrrr-uh-uh," Joe replied still choking in sobs.

Then, turning toward the door, he walked past Josh as if here weren't there, and walked out the door.

Slowly Josh walked around behind Joe, who was still standing and shaking and sobbing. Josh looked at his young brother's deep, angry, fire-engine red bottom and thighs. "Wow, man, I've never been spanked that hard – and on your bare butt! Whooaaaa!"

"Get out, you asshole!" Joe shouted at his brother.

Josh simply raised a cautionary hand before Joe's face. "I'd be careful if I were you, or you'll get another spanking." Joe's face blanched, thinking maybe their father had heard him. Josh looked sternly at Joe and said, "And not necessarily from Dad. Another outburst like that, and I'll give you the next one myself." Josh sounded stern and threatening, like their Dad.

Through eyes still tear-filled, Joe peered back at his brother, a hesitant, crestfallen look on his face. He really wanted to challenge Josh, dare him, defy him, tell him flat out there was no way. But deep inside he wasn't so sure – especially if their Dad found out.

That unanticipated threat from his older brother was interrupted, however, by the return of Ron Fischer, striding angrily back into the bedroom. He grabbed his younger son's arm again, bringing to a halt for a moment the naked, pogo-stick jumping up and down.

His rock-strong hand fired off rapid series of smacks to the boy's scorched, bare behind. Joe jumped as much as he could in his father's grip, erupting into louder, howling sobs, while is still semi-erect penis bobbed around.

"You are getting another spanking – tomorrow night. You know I don't tolerate that kind of language from any of my sons; and tomorrow night, you're getting another one for using that language. And I'm not gonna go easy on you, either. You've been asking for a serious tanning – now two of 'em – and you're going to get them. Don't expect to be sitting down any time soon, young man!"

Joe stood frozen still, with his face fixed on the floor, trying in vain to suppress his sobs and cries of "Haughuh-uh-noooooo-huh-uh-nooooo-uh-waaaa-uh-not-uh-uh-nother one! Nooooo, pleeeeez!"

"You're getting spanked, young man! Keep up the protest, and you'll get a third one Sunday night too."

That warning just toppled Joe off the dam and he began to wail bawling tears.

"Your brother and I are home now for at least 4 months. We're starting a hotel job out by the Interstate. And things are going to be different, improve. I expect both you boys to behave, and listen, and obey. Otherwise, in this house, what happens when you break the rules?"

Joe looked down, struggling with the myriad of emotions that had seized him during and after this unanticipated, strong, hard licking. He was terribly upset, shamed, humbled, sorrowful and hurting badly, angry within the confining limits of his crushed, young male ego, and at the moment terrified of any more being inflicted on him. To be compelled to respond by uttering the embarrassing 's' word was wrenching him with humiliating turmoil.

"Answer me, Joseph," his father's demand was also a warning.

Unsuccessfully struggling to gain control of his emotions and stop his bawling sobs, he stammered, "Uh-huh-uh, we, uh, get, uh-uh, spaaaanked, huh-uh-ooooo-uh-waaaaaa-uh-uh!" he broke down into further sobbing.

"But Dad, that's not fair!" The voice was not Joe's, but that of Josh who had continued to be the silent observer of their father's pronouncement of further punishment for his younger brother. "Geez, Daaaad! Nobody else my age gets spanked. And you're always busting my butt, too – like almost every week!" Now, he'd done it himself: confirmed what their father had already let slip, that he still got spankings from their Dad.

Ron Fischer was surprised to hear his older son's voice, remembering at once that he was still present. Still gripping Joe and holding him still, he turned his focus toward Josh.

"And whose fault is that? Hmm, Josh? You break the rules, you go over my knee – and get a spanking. It's that simple." Turning back to Joe who was still held firmly in his grip, he released him, ordering, "You get into your bed this instant, young man!" Joe almost launched himself from his still bouncing feet up onto the top bunk, sliding down under the sheet and blanket on his stomach and face, burying his weeping face in his pillow.

"Now, Joshua Caleb Fischer, you know full well this is fair, because you just admitted it when you just threatened to spank your younger brother. But, once again, you're getting too big for your britches, young man. If you need to be told, threatening your brother with a spanking, Mr. Bigshot, is grounds for getting one yourself. In this house, I do the spanking; and you and Joe will be the ones getting spanked whenever it's needed. You have no right to treat Joe as if he were the child to be punished, and you were the adult to do it. Do I make myself clear?"

"Ye-es, sir, ah, Dad." His face was reflecting the consternation of being the target of a severe scolding.

"Right now, young man, you've just earned yourself a quick trip over my knees, to remind you, and help remember, that while you live in this house, you're not too old or too big: you act up, and get out of line, and you're going to be turned upside down and get your fanny warmed up a rich shade of red." He pulled the same desk chair back into the center of the bedroom, and sat down. "Okay, Josh, it's your turn. Get over here! Let's get you outta those jeans right away – and get the show on the road!"

Josh was devastated. In an hour's time, he had gone from being the older brother, working with their Dad, who'd come home, to having his younger brother learn that he still was getting spanked by their father, to now actually getting a spanking in the presence of his brother, in their bedroom. Instinctively, he started to back away.

"Josh, how many times have I told you, when it's time to get a spanking, you better surrender to it right away – or it'll be a lot worse?! You get over here right now. We're going to get to the bottom of this attitude of yours right now."

Josh's face registered the jarring recognition of his Dad's warning. The young man stopped in his tracks. He just stood there, paralyzed with shame and fear, horrified and humiliated beyond imagining. When he didn't move right away, his father stood up and yanked his older son's arm, pulling him closer to him, then sat back down in the chair again. "Get those clothes – including your shoes and socks – off immediately, and get yourself over my knees," he barked.

"Aaugh-uh-wha-uht?! Noooo, Daaaad! Not-uh-naaaak-uh-ed – and not heeeere!"

"You heard me, Josh. Now you take them off – or I will; but if I do, you won't like it. It'll cost you a lot more, young man."

Josh realized all too well that he was going to be spanked by their father, whom he knew by now understood how to control and discipline him – and it would be totally naked in front of his younger brother – who had just gotten spanked himself – right here in their bedroom; and there was nothing he could do about it.

It was hard to believe he was about to get another spanking so fast, after all the ones he'd been getting over the past months and years. Yet, he also knew by now it was inevitable, and he felt sick at the thought of getting another one.

Nervous, but yielding, he turned away, with his back towards their father (and the bunk beds where Joe was lying on top), and began taking off his shirt, then his t-shirt, bending over and taking off his shoes and socks, then unfastening his jeans, all the time saying nothing as he continued to undress completely. As he was bending over, stepping out of his boxers, Joe peeked from the top bunk where he was lying, spying the fading marks on his brother's bottom from a recent spanking.

Josh turned around to face his father, and Joe eased his face back from the edge of the bunk. Standing there, completely naked, Josh began shivering, evidencing how much younger – and weaker – he looked, and felt, and was, in the presence of their father. Memories of past sessions, anticipation of what was forthcoming, and fear were tying Josh's churning stomach into knots, while an overload of thoughts threatened to consume him. Even though he was standing there completely stripped, naked, he glanced towards the bedroom door for a fleeting second, wondering if there was any hope of escape.

As he stood there, waiting, he started apologizing. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to say that to Joe. I'm sorry, Daaad. I'll never do it again – I promise, Daaaad," he pleaded, hoping against history that he could somehow short-circuit the whipping he knew he had coming.

"Your apology is too late, son, and you know it," their father lectured him. "I intend to give you a licking you'll remember for a long, long time, Josh," he admonished. "Get over here, and across my lap," he commanded with soft, steely, emotionless tone.

Slowly, as if walking to his execution, this naked, young man padded around, standing to the right of his father seated on the desk chair. Slowly, he began to ease himself downward to stretch across his father's lap. Joe was astonished at how quickly and easily his big brother submitted to their father. The next thing that happened, in lightening seconds, was their strong father reached up, grasped Josh's back and arm, and firmly and forcefully finished hauling the 25 year-old down and over his lap, dumping him head first over the older man's left leg.

"You'd think you'd be embarrassed to keep having to have this done at your age, but you brought it on yourself, and you will learn – the hard way." Josh winced more because his brother was hearing this, since their father almost always said something like this just before he blistered the 25 year-old's behind. He drew back his arm with the same old hair brush, and began whacking Josh's naked – and obviously not long previously whipped – rearend hard! Josh grimaced and winced, and emitted an audible gasp. The crack of the hair brush against his bare fanny reverberated around the little bedroom.

The pain of the first swat was hard and stinging, but comparatively lighter than the pain of the second, third, fourth, and continuing smacks, igniting shockwaves of pain from Josh's already recently wounded rump to his brain. Again, and again, his father drew back and walloped his oldest son's rearend. For an instant, Josh sucked in some air, trying to be stoical and tough, especially with his younger brother present; but their father whacked the young man's backside again, and again, and again, and again, and again.

Ron Fischer was a man on a mission, and in a hurry. He stepped up his oldest son's spanking, whacking the reddening rearend hard and more intensely each time. In less than three minutes, Josh went from whimpering, to yelping: "Please, oh, pleeeez, Daaaaad! Haughuh-pleeeeez-uh-noooo-uh-mooooor-uh-ooooo, I'm sorry! Ooooo-huh-uh-pleeeeez-uh-stopit! Pleeeeez, it hurrrrrrtz! Huhuh-uh-ooooo-ow-ow! It's hurrrrrteeeeng!"

"Not enough – not yet, young man! You're not as sorry as you should – and will – be. You know it's supposed to hurt, Josh! That's why it's punishment. You know I love you boys, but we have rules in this house for a reason . . . and I expect . . . you both . . .to follow the rules . . . and I mean all the rules . . . not the ones you pick and choose . . . and I mean all the time, . . . not just when it's convenient. Is that clear?"


Despite just having been reduced, suddenly, and totally unexpected, to the status of a squalling, spanked child himself, by his father; it was now Joe's turn to watch his big brother being taken down several levels as well. Lying flat on his stomach, he furtively spied down from the top bunk, watching with stunned, awe-struck amazement, his adult, big brother getting a spanking as if he were a small boy. He couldn't believe he was watching his big brother being treated with the same discipline that he had just gotten.

Joe was amazed at their father's technique – methodically business-like, almost merciless, allowing just enough time for one surge of pain to subside before delivering another. He was spanking Josh's rearend at a rate of about a stroke every three seconds. Both boys lost track of how many times he swatted the 25 year-old's rump. Sweat streamed down Josh's back and shoulders, as tears began gathering. Hanging there across his father's leg, and dangling on his left knee, naked as a newborn, with his steaming, red butt aimed high on display, he was humiliated, embarrassed, and being rapidly reduced from the oldest of the young men in the family, to a squalling, blubbering child getting a spanking for talking badly and out of turn.

The pain swiftly filled Josh's conscious thinking, overwhelming any other thoughts, pre-empting anything else by the fierce fire that was igniting him from his bottom up through his being to his brain. "Oooooh, nooooo, uh, noooooo! I can't taaaaake it, uh, uh, oh, oooooh, uh, pleeeeeez!" Frantically, he kicked, banging his feet against the floor, bucking and bouncing around on his Dad's lap, trying to jiggle some of the pain away – which didn't work. "Pleeeeez, Daaaa-uh-aaaaad! Daaa-aaaaad, pleeeeez! Oooo-uh-uh-lis-huh-uh-uh-sen-uh-toooo-uh-uh-meeeeee-uh-ooooo-uh-pleeeeeeez! Aughuh-uh-huhuh-uh-uh-noooooo-uh-haughuh-uh-noooooo-aaaaaughu-waaaaaaaaa!"

Joe noticed his brother's voice, which was ordinarily fuller and deeper than his own, giving way to more hysterical crescendos that rose higher in pitch as the spanking progressed. It almost seemed as if his older brother were reaching down deep within himself, to confront or make contact with a bad, disobedient boy long suppressed, to drag him forward and get him to admit – and stop – the reason he was getting spanked – and to avoid it in the future.

Ron Fischer was not deterred, however. He kept up the pummeling of his oldest son's red, raw bottom, determined to teach him a lasting lesson. Within three minutes Josh could not hold back or withstand surrendering any longer. He broke down crying from the pain and shame of the licking, screaming and wailing like a 10 year-old. As many more good, hard swats were delivered, Josh howled and shrieked with each one, which only reinforced his defeated submission and surrender.


Waaaaaaa! Uh-uh-guh-oooo-uh-uh'll-beeeee-uh-ooooo-uh-puh-uh-leeeeez-uh-gooood —

uh-nuh-uh-everrrr-augh-uh-Duh-aaaa-uh-uh-deeeee-uh-uh-waaaaaaaa-haughuh-huh-uh-waaaaaaaa! Huh-uh-noooo-uh-spaaaang-guh-uh-puh-uh-leeeez-uh-Daaaaa-uh-deeeeee! Haughuh-waaaaa-uh-beeeee-uh-guh-ooooood-uh-oooooo-uh-Daaa-uh-deeeee-uh-waaaaaaaaaaa!"

The smacks with the brush kept coming. Josh was delirious with pain, sobbing, shrieking, and screeching and howling like a banshee, unconscious of when the spanking finally stopped.

Joe was astonished at how little, in comparison, Josh had resisted or fought against the spanking his father was delivering, and how quickly and completely he had capitulated and been brought to a low, juvenile level of sorrow, crying, and resignation to the pain and punishment their father was administering to Josh's bottom. To see his big brother so vanquished and subdued to childish words and movements overwhelmed Joe's own emotions, and he began sobbing harder and louder again. At the same time, he noticed, to his own embarrassment, that Josh had not sprouted wood, and his dick and balls just flopped around as he bounced and bucked on their father's lap.

For more than five minutes, Josh lay there, dangling, stretched across his father's legs, sobbing and shaking. Ron Fischer looked up for a moment, aware of the additional wailing sound in the room, and saw Joe bawling again as he lay on his stomach, with his head turned to observe his older brother.

In a bit, Josh started to calm down, and stammered a babyish plea – "Daaa-uh-uh-deee-uh-pleeez-uh-uh-can-uh-I-uh-uh-ge-et-uh-uhp-uh-uh? Pleeez-uh-uh-Daaaa-deeeee" – for their father to let him up. He only sobbed more, however, as his father kept him confined there, hanging, sprawled across his Dad's knees, roasted red bottom upended in plain view. Joe's wretching sobs continued as he watched his brother kept draped over their father's knees, weeping and squalling with trounced buttocks and thighs.

Finally, Ron Fischer's strong arms reached under his oldest son's sweat-soaked underarms, pulling him up off his lap, to stand on his bare feet. Josh was crying and tears were falling down his face. His hands flew back fast to become plastered on his rump, feverishly trying to rub away the intense, fiery pain – except it seemed to make it worse. It was now Josh's turn to bounce and jump around, up and down, his face contorted in pain.

Their Dad stopped Josh, grabbed him by the back of his neck, turned him sideways giving him more spanks with the brush on his blistered, sore rearend, renewing his bawling. "Aiiiieeeeeaaaaa-uh-uh-waaaaaaa-aughuh-uh-waaaaaaa-uh-uh-ooooo-uh-uh-waaaaaaaa!"

"You're joining your brother in bed for the night, Josh. And, just like him, you stay put there until I tell you you can leave. Do you think you can finally listen and obey and behave?! You better remember – and heed, buddy," his father spoke firmly, but also surprisingly gently to his oldest son.

Josh nodded his head up and down while he continued to dance up and down, massaging his flaming behind. Mr. Fischer, pulled the sheet and blanket down on the lower bunk for Josh to get in, and the hunky, muscled young man almost dove face down into the bed, weeping and crying inconsolably. Their father pulled them back up over the bare young man sobbing before him.

As he turned to leave the small bedroom, he called out,"Good night, boys. Tomorrow's a new day. Make it a better one." He walked out, closing the door tightly behind him.

At 7:20 p.m. on Friday evening, both boys lay in their bunks, the evening light fading, absorbed in their similar, but respective worlds of conscious pain, humiliation, anxiety, resentment, and regret. After a while, they were both asleep.

It was after midnight, when Josh was awakened by the violent movements, rocking and writhing back and forth hard from the upper bunk. Lying on his stomach, with a throbbing hard on, he knew for sure what his brother, Joe, was doing. Josh tried to turn silently over onto his side, but when he did so, Joe stopped, frozen.

"Joe! Joe!" Josh called out in a whisper. "It's okay, man. I've got to do the same thing myself. It's the only thing that makes you feel better, and seems to help, for a while."

Josh then began pulling, pumping, and sliding his hand up and down, from the crown of his rod, to the base, swirling his pole until he was violently thrusting his hips and penis, faster at first, then slowing down, slower, slower, slower. Finally squeezing the elongated, hard, shaft, he pulled the pin on his grenade until it detonated, wildly exploding blast after blast of semen out onto the sheet. Exhausted and panting, he felt a tranquilizing release that eased the upset turmoil and nervous, jittery agitation in his mind and emotions.

As he lay still, breathing heavily, relishing the transient relief that this wank produced, he heard Joe's furious rocking back and forth on the creaky upper bunk until he too slowed down, and then stopped. Josh heard Joe breathing deeply like he'd just run a few miles.

Then the room quieted down to the previous tranquility. As each boy turned over back onto his stomach, to slide back down the chute of slumber, Josh called out, "G'night, Joe."

"'Night, Josh," he heard his younger brother call back. Then all was quiet until they were awakened by their father calling them at 7 the next morning.


When Ron Fischer called to his two sons, Josh and Joe, to get up at 7 a.m. on Saturday, morning, they were more like two kids 8 and 11, so eager were they to get out of their beds.

"You both can get up now, and get to the bathroom. Then, quick showers for both of you – Josh first – and I mean quick ones, boys; then down to breakfast. Your Mom's already gone – she has to work this weekend – so I'm fixing breakfast before we set out on a full day of work around this house."

The boys slid out on their stomachs, Joe dropping down from the upper bunk, to stand there naked, each of them with a deep-coloured, bruised bottom and upper legs. They took off racing each other to the bathroom, and although Joe got there first, Josh pushed him out of the way of the toilet, to use it first. Then Joe relieved himself.

After that, Josh turned on the shower and got in, hastening to shampoo, shower, and shave his thin, dark shadow. He was out in about 8 minutes, grabbing a towel to dry, while Joe jumped in.

About 15 minutes later Joe was still in the shower. Josh was already dressed for the day, in jeans, an older t-shirt that snugly revealed his muscular upper body, and old tennis shoes and socks. He returned to the bathroom and called out, "You better hurry up and get outta there, Joe. Dad's not gonna like your taking a long time, and he getting breakfast waiting."

Joe hurriedly shut off the shower, stepped and grabbed a towel and rapidly dried himself while Josh stood there waiting. "Come on, Joe, hurry it up. I don't want to go down stairs without you, 'cause that'll just make Dad aware that you're still upstairs – after he told us to hurry."

"Okay, okay," Joe concurred as he ran naked from the bathroom to their bedroom, pulled on a pair of boxers, jeans, and a loose, old t-shirt, stepped into flipflops, and was ready to join his older brother in going downstairs for breakfast.

"You better put some shoes and socks on, 'cause Dad'll think you aren't planning on working, and that's not a good idea," once again Josh gave cautionary guidance to Joe.
Joe made an irritated face, but seeing how serious and intent Josh was, he kicked off his flipflops and pulled on a pair of socks and shoes.

"Boys! Where are you?! Breakfast is ready! Get down here now!" It was their father shouting upstairs to them. They looked at each other with a knowing, oh-oh look, and raced downstairs.

"Alright, there you are. We're going to have an IHOP-type breakfast this morning, guys. Pancakes, eggs, sausage, orange juice." Joe was very surprised at how enthusiastic their father was about making them breakfast. Having spent so much time with their father over the past 7 years, Josh knew that breakfast – and good eating and good meals in general – was important to their Dad.

Ron Fischer had plates with steaming hot cakes, eggs, and sausage, on the tables for his sons, and he sat down first. Both young men were reluctant about sitting down on the hard, wooden seats of the kitchen chairs. Josh was about to ease his bottom carefully onto the seat when Joe spoke up. "Ah, Daaad. I think I'd rather stand to eat," he said while looking down sheepishly.

"Well, I know your brother and I have been away a lot, but you know, young man, we don't stand up and stand around eating in this house. Now sit down. If your backside's sore from getting it whipped – that's your fault, and your problem, Joe. Now, sit down."

Joe saw Josh cringe, but go ahead and sit down. Grimacing, Joe did the same thing. The breakfast was delicious – especially for two, hungry young men who'd missed supper the night before. They ate ravenously, and their father refilled their plates with seconds, even as they were squirming around trying to find less uncomfortable positions to sit. While they all ate, their father dispensed information.

"We're here, at home, for at least the next four months, Josh and I. So, I'll be around a lot more – at night, and on weekends. Things are going to shape up, boys. First, off, though, Joe: you're grounded for the next two weeks."

"What?! Why?! You can't do that, Dad!" Joe blurted out. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Josh, sitting next to him, make an alarmed face.

"I sure can – and I have, Joe."

"But, Dad, you already hurt me bad last night . . ."

"It's what you had coming, Joe. Just like tonight's is for your nasty mouth afterwards."

Joe squinted his eyes in dread as he heard the reminder of what was forthcoming at the end of the day. "Come on, Dad. Enough's enough already."

"You better watch your mouth again. You know I'm the one who determines what's enough, Joseph," their father warned him. As the name became longer, they knew their father's patience was growing shorter.

"But, Daaad, two weeks! Plus two spankings! Why don't you just shoot me or hang me – it's killing me, Daaaad," Joe argued back. Josh had become very quiet.

"It's not killing you. In fact, it'll do you a world of good, young man, and it's sure plain to me it's what you've been lacking for way too long. Now this is it. You're getting another spanking tonight, and starting Sunday, you're grounded for two straight weeks. No more backtalk about it, or we'll add another spanking Sunday night, and add another week to the grounding."

Joe was in shock! He hadn't been treated like this in a long time. He looked over a Josh, who was just sitting quietly, staring at his plate. Is this what Josh has to put up with when he's off working with Dad, he wondered wordlessly. The silent tension was palpable.

"And, another thing. From now on, you boys are to be home, and in the house, by midnight on Friday and Saturday nights – and in bed by 10:30 Sunday through Thursday nights. Oh, and since we have just the two bathrooms in this house, you boys need to take your showers at night, so one bathroom is free for your Mom and me, and the other for the little kids, in the morning. But that doesn't mean long showers at night, 'cause you still have to be done and in bed by 10:30."

Again, Joe was stunned. "Midnight? 10:30? Dad! We're in our 20's, not 10 or 12."

He looked over at Josh, hoping he might jump in and add some support; but his older brother kept looking down, silently, at his empty plate.

"I don't care if your in your 40's, Joe. There's nothing but trouble out there for you boys after midnight, and I won't have it. If you're gonna live in this house, you're gonna be home by midnight on Fridays and Saturdays. And during the week, you both will be working – Josh, really hard, as he knows full well – and you need your sleep, to be rested and strong to work hard and well the next day. So, that's that. No questions. Anybody who breaks the rules gets his fanny tanned real good."

Joe felt sick, like the bottom had fallen out of his stomach. He tried again. "But Daaad, . . . we're not bad guys. We don't get in trouble. We do what you say – er, most of the time. I'm a good kid, Daaad, . . . really, I am."

"Yeah, you boys basically are good kids. And I'm so glad and grateful about that, . . . and I want you to stay that way. That's why you've got your old Dad to look out for you, and worry about you, and make sure you stay safe, and good, and on the right track."

Joe felt his frustration growing, knowing what their father was saying, and knowing that he really couldn't do anything to stop it while he was living in this house.

"That also reminds me, Joe. Josh and I work fulltime – long hours every day. You're working just part-time. So, you help out around here more, and like yesterday, when you're off, you ask your Mom for things to do to help her; you look for things you can do; and on Tuesday mornings, you get your sister and brother up and ready for school, and even take them, instead of Mom."

No more sleeping in on Tuesday mornings, Joe thought unhappily.

"That's just part of evening out the load that your older brother carries very handily, and, most of the time, without complaint." Ron Fischer looked at his oldest son, sitting quietly and dutifully. He knew Josh was compliant and obedient without back talk most of the time; and after last night, he'd be even more careful.

Joe was floored, feeling trapped and frustrated. He wanted to say he had been doing all of that, and more, all the time their father and Josh were away and gone, and he didn't need a lot of restrictions and regulations to do so. But he thought, maybe I'll talk with Josh about this first.

"Alright, Joe, finish your breakfast, so we can get started today. Josh and I are going to clean off the roof and the gutters – which Mom asked you to do yesterday." He had to add that dig, Joe thought. "You can mow, then clean out the beds, and blow off everything afterward. We'll stop for a solid lunch, but then keep on until we've got it all done. Everybody understand?"

"Yes, sir, Dad," Josh spoke up softly, and Joe just nodded as he finished his pancakes and downed his orange juice.

After breakfast, their father sent them back upstairs to the bathroom, to brush their teeth, and hurry back down to begin.

Josh got out the extension ladder, along with rakes and brooms, to begin ascending to the high, two-level roof. His father stepped in front of him and climbed up first, as Josh held the ladder steady. Joe was removing debris in the yard before mowing when their father called, "Joe, come hold the ladder while Josh climbs up." Joe bounded over, and grabbed the sides, to hold it securely in place as Josh began climbing up the long ladder.

Looking up, immediately under Josh, Joe was struck at how lean and fit and muscular his big brother was, with strong thighs and calves on lanky, long legs, and lean, hard, steely-looking, muscled buttocks cramming the seat of his old jeans, leading up to a narrow waist and indented back, and up further to a widening back and shoulders of lean muscle. Joe looked down at his own, thin legs in comparison, and thought how he still admired, and looked up to, his big brother.

Then his father and big brother were up on the roof, and Joe returned to getting the yard ready to mow, and started mowing. After a while, both boys were sweating, and pulled off their t-shirts, Joe laying his on the porch, and Josh dropping his off the roof onto a bush. The boys continued their respective chores, bare from the waist up; and even in the older neighbourhood where they lived, they were undoubtedly dessert to the eyes of ladies who just happened to stand at their windows, or step outside, watching the lanky, blondish, young man mowing and raking all around the yard; and the rangy, taller, dark-haired, young hunk twisting and bending around on the rooftop.

By noon, the roof and gutters were cleared and clean, and Josh was down on the ground helping to rake up the fallen material, removing it to the street for pick-up. Ronald Fischer called his sons to stop and come in for lunch, which he fixed for them. They ate, resting their sweaty bodies (and sore behinds). Then, their father told them to clear the table and put away the dishes in the dishwasher, before returning to their work outside.

After lunch, Joe was making frequent trips to the same location with debris from the beds he was raking. After co-incidentally meeting at the curb with their loads a couple of times, the boys began purposely timing their trips to meet briefly while they emptied out debris at street side.

Joe initiated the inquiry. "Josh, how do you do it, man? Being gone so long, and working and living so close, with Dad? He's so demanding and controlling. I mean, look at you, you're a damn good-looking, capable man. Yet, he treats you like you're a little kid. How do you stand it?"

Josh paused, looked up and peered into his younger brother's eyes. For a split second, Joe thought he detected a glimpse of sadness, maybe even fear, in his handsome, big brother's eyes. "Look, Joe. Dad is a good man. He does well, means well, and he cares about us, a lot – even if he is a little strict, . . ."

"A LITTLE strict?!" Joe interrupted him. "Dad hasn't been home 24 hours, and he's turned my world – and me – upside down, imposing restrictions, rules, and discipline, threatening whippings for not obeying him."

"Listen, Joe, he's the boss. He's in charge. It's best to remember that, and try to appreciate it, and go along – because there's nothing you can do otherwise, anyway, and nothing's going to be different."

"Why, Josh? We're good kids, you work hard, and I do help out Mom all the times you're gone – and you're 25, and I'm 22. We deserve to be allowed to make our own choices – like adults."

"You're just asking for more of what you're already getting, Joe. Dad's a great guy, but he's not a man of great patience. He doesn't mess around. If you don't do what you're told, you're in hot water with him right away. It's better to just do what he says, try to go along, and stay outta trouble. Life's easier if you just please him."

Joe couldn't believe he was hearing such acquiescence being advised by his older brother.

"You boys gonna spend the day standing at the road talking? Maybe I better find some more for you both to do, to keep you busier." Their father was chiding them for pausing to engage in their discussion.

For Joe, the rest of the day just dragged on and on, each hour a stronger harbinger of what was in store for him. There was nothing worse for Ron Fischer's sons than knowing that they were going to get a spanking, and having to wait for it. By late afternoon, Joe was weary from the hard work, but also wound up tightly inside. Probably due to his better conditioning, Josh was not so tired and, of course, had nothing imminent to dread.

It was almost 6:30 p.m. when the boys were putting everything away in the garage and their father came up. "You boys go on in now, and get your showers. Josh, first, and quick; and then Joe – and you better be quick about it too, mister. Your Mom's home from work and getting dinner ready, so we don't want to keep her waiting.

"Tomorrow, Mom has to work again, so we'll be getting up, getting breakfast, getting the younger kids ready, and all going off to Sunday School and church together."

"Ah, Dad, I teach 7 year-olds in Sunday School," Joe added.

"You do? I didn't know that, Joe. Well, good for you. So, we'll all need to leave a little earlier so you can be ready to go with them."

Joe felt a flush of pleasure from his father's approval.

"All right, then, guys, skedaddle inside and get cleaned up for dinner, and for the night. And after dinner, we'll have another talk, Joe."

The pleasure instantly vanished, replaced by the doom of humiliation and fear. The two young men raced each other into the house, up the stairs to their bedroom, out of their clothes, and into the bathroom. Josh took the prerogative that his father had dictated, and showered first; then, Joe. Two, freshly showered young men scampered down the stairs to the kitchen to meet their mother, and their little sisters and brother, for dinner. Their father, also freshly scrubbed, was already waiting for them.

They all sat down to a hardy, delicious meal, followed by a pineapple upside down cake that their mother had baked. It was a rare family time, relaxed and enjoyable together around the dinner table, with their father and big brother present – and to be present with them for a while. Except Joe couldn't let go, relax, and enjoy himself and everyone else, with his emotions coiled in anticipation of getting another whipping from their Dad.

As the family comraderie wound down sometime after 8, Ron Fischer spoke up: "Josh, you get the truck stocked for Monday morning before you head up to your room. Joe, you go ahead on up there, and wait for me. I'll be up shortly."

Josh immediately got up, took his dishes to the sink and rinsed them off, and then headed out to the garage to make sure all the supplies, equipment, and materials were ready on the truck for the morning. Much more slowly, Joe stood up, took his dishes to the sink and rinsed them, and put them along with Josh's in the dishwasher. Then, turning to look at his Mom and Dad still sitting at the table, enjoying each other's company, he sighed and began a dolorous-faced trek up the stairs to his bedroom.

Inside the bedroom, he closed the door quietly, then climbed up and sat carefully down on the upper bed, hanging his head in his hands, sensing a grief-stricken sorrow that he was in such a horrible situation. How'd I get in this situation, he asked himself; but he remembered his outburst to his brother the previous evening. After going all day long with the spectre of another spanking hanging over his mind, he now had to sit and wait still longer – almost 30 minutes, it turned out.

The door opened, and Joe looked up with apprehensiveness. It was Josh. He had finished his task before their father had gotten around to coming upstairs to administer Joe's second dose of corporal discipline. Joe immediately became nervous, and defensive. "Why're you here, Josh? Do you need something?"

"Only to get ready for bed and read for a while. It's my room, too, Joe." He undressed down to his boxers, and flopped onto his back on the lower bunk.

"Can't you read downstairs?" Joe challenged.

"Not really, with the little kids still up," Josh replied honestly.

"Yeah, but you know what's gonna happen soon. Why do you have to be here?"

"Look, Joe, we both know what's going to happen; it's happened to both of us – and will again, in the future. So, let's cut the crap and be honest with each other."

Joe knew his big brother was right, but he didn't want to face it right now, despising as he did the fact that this was happening to him, again, not to mention having somebody else – even Josh – present.

Suddenly the door opened widely. "Alright, Joe, why're you still dressed?" They were interrupted as their father walked into the room, carrying the venerable hair brush in his hand.

"Daaaad, please. You don't have to do this. I'm sorry. I learned my lesson last night."

"This is because of your mouth and words last night, Joe – nasty, vile words hurled at your brother. That is not – never will be – allowed by my sons. This is going to make sure it won't ever happen again. Understand? Now get your clothes off – pronto."

"Awww, Daaaaad, not bare!"

Ron Fischer walked over to the bed, reached up and grasped his son's leg and arm, and dragged the young man right down off the bed, dropping onto his feet as he twisted around facing away from his Dad. Ron Fischer's granite-like hand paddled the seat of his son's jeans.

Their father began rapidly and roughly undressing his reluctant son, and Joe, shifting and squirming, began joining in, hurrying to do more of it himself – before his father had stripped him completely. As his pants were unzipped and pulled down, Joe's penis began tenting the front of his boxers; and as they were pulled down to drop to his feet, his lengthening rod popped up to salute. His face flushed with scarlet embarrassment.

Ron Fischer seemed not to notice his now nude son standing erect before him. He reached over to the same old desk chair, lifted it up and placed it back in the center of the room. Sitting down, he gestured to Joe to get himself over his father's knees. Slowly, Joe lowered himself across his father' lap, tucking his stiff penis so it hung down between his father's legs.

He felt himself being bobbled as his father positioned him properly to present his bottom at the best height and angle for the punishment it was about to get. Then the spanking started. He was shocked to find his already sore and painful bottom being smacked by his father's powerful hand, instead of the hair brush he had expected. He looked up with embarrassed chagrin to view himself in the same mirror, hanging over and on his father's knee again.

There was no conversation between them during this spanking. Both Joe and his father knew exactly why he was in this position. His Dad took a firm grip around his son's chest with his left arm, while he started smacking the young man's naked butt cheeks with his strong right hand.

Joe was startled, feeling a hot hand slapping the tender, sensitive skin of his already hurting and bruised behind. At age 22, the hard smacking of a hand spanking was not enough initially to make him cry, but, oh, man, it still smarted! And it was so humiliating! Their father didn't spank really hard, apparently wanting to make Joe's rump sting more, but he did spank a lot. Joe was kept over his Dad's knees for a good 15 minutes of steady hand-slapping, which quickly got Joe's bottom going from toasty hot to smarting burns, all over, buttocks, hips and every place that his Dad's cement-like hand could reach.

After having been licked with the hair brush last night, the single slap of a hand on a bare bottom didn't hurt that much. But the results were cumulative, and many, many swats all over a guy's behind quickly add up to a pretty sore bottom – not to mention the humbling shame of getting a hand-spanking on your bare butt like a little kid.

Josh quickly and quietly slid on his stomach under his covers, and scooted back toward the wall, lying on his bunk, his eyes peering out past his pillow, filled with the ordeal his younger brother was undergoing.

When their father paused for almost a minute, the room suddenly became overpoweringly silent. Ron Fischer picked up the hair brush and began striking Joe's bottom and upper legs swiftly and intensely. Joe howled at once from the fresh pain on his wounded rump from last night's spanking.

Ron Fischer was in a hurry this time, and pretty much confined his swats to Joe's lower buttocks, sit-spots, thighs, inner buttocks and inner thighs – the areas that touch a chair or seat whenever he sat down. Oooooo-wow-ow-ow! Did they hurt – and the hurt lasted! It would make sure he remembered this spanking every time he sat down. His buttocks were so agonizingly sore.

At this stage, despite his age of 22, Joe started crying heavily, and in earnest. He was beside himself with the feelings of pain, shame, humiliation, and helpless frustration. As the torment of the brush scorching his flaming butt increased, he felt his erection getting harder and more insistent. He tried to think of something – anything – to distract himself from the spanking he was getting, and especially the growing, gnawing hunger of his gathering hard-on.

Steadily and unrelentingly, the fire on his bottom and upper legs overtook, and consumed, his consciousness. As he bucked and bounced and thrashed around, his penis stretched up toward his abdomen, and was rubbing and touching and stroking all over his father's lap. Besides the mind-jangling pain and shame of this spanking, strangely, a persistent awareness and anxiousness of his engorged penis grew with each, burning swat, bringing him closer to orgasm. He was becoming unraveled with fear, embarrassment, desperation, and a feeling of helpless loss of control melting away from him.

"Daaaad, pleeeez! Stop! Stopit! Stopit! Daddy, please, I'm, uh, uh, ooooo, uh, . . ."

Completely naked, fully aroused, there was no place to hide; but his father did not respond or stop. He increased the spanking – faster and stronger!

If possible, these ones were stinging even more, and Joe's erection was becoming so sensitive now that even as he jerked upward, his erection grew with each slide along his father's lap. "Daaaa-haugh-aaaad, uh-uh-pleeeez, huh-uh-I'm-uh-uh-gon-uh-uh . . . ow! Ow! Ooooo-uh-Daaaad-uh-uh, . . ." Joe was frantic to avoid what he was headed – being driven – to. "Nooooo-uh-uh-Daaaaa-uh-deeee-uh-uh-I-uhm-oooo-gonna-uh-nooooo-uh-stopit! Stopit! Staaaahpit-huh-uh-pleeeez-I'm-uh-uh-bout-uh-gonna-uh-uh-staaaaahp!" he pleaded.

Josh became alarmed for his younger brother, as he watched Joe's butt becoming blistering raw and red, but even more so as he realized his brother was being pushed to the edge of sexual arousal. He had never seen Joe's dick so big, so long, so hard, so thick – and the dazed look of almost crazed panic on his younger brother's face.

With each faster, harder, hotter and more intense smack of the brush against his burning, throbbing bottom, Joe jumped involuntarily and his rod kept rising up, extending further, growing in size and hardness. In his writhing and thrusting, he caught a glimpse of his rabid member in the mirror and cried out in fearful desperation. The spanking continued.

As he writhed and bucked and lurched around on their father's lap, he became aware of a weird, accelerating, mushrooming craving and lust for release – he needed, wanted, to cum. The brush was igniting his rump, and Joe cried out in agonizing pain; but the sensation in his balls and cock was becoming as intense as the pain on his spanked bottom and thighs. His wailing and bawling from the fiery pain were interjected by frenzied, emotional moans emitted from his mounting, stimulated arousal. The boys' father still seemed not to notice his son's feverish thrashing about becoming a grinding humping on the father's thigh and leg; he just kept up the intense, hard, rapid swats.

Just as the blazing, blistering paddle propelled him to collapse and surrender, his over-stimulated, super-sensitive, distended, hot penis stretched up and out, tense, yearning for release. In torment and ecstasy, the shock waves of pain and shame that fired to his brain, somehow were also stirring him from the root of his shaft and balls. He was about to explode, and his erection screamed for release as his butt was burning hotter and hotter, bouncing, bucking, glowing with beet-red heat.

In wailing desperation, he cried out,"Awwwaaaugh-uh-nooooo-aaaaa-staaaahp-uh-uh-nooooo-uh-aaaaaa-huh-uh-aaaaaaa-uh-aaaaaaaaah-huh-uh-uh-oooooooooooo!"

Joe's head jerked upwards. His body arched backward and upward, frozen upward and backward into a tensed, steeled, convex paralysis. His mouth burst open wide, and he screamed – shrieked &ndash -- wailed -- crumbling, weeping and sobbing, tears cascading from his eyes, streaking down his face, his nose running with them. His bare legs and feet were kicking and bucking as furiously as they could. He collapsed over his father's knees, surrendering to the terrible, seemingly unending thrashing being inflicted on his bare fanny.

"Oooaraughaaa-uh-uh-puh-uh-leeeez! Arnnnrgghaaa-oooo-uh-ow-ow-uh-waaaaa! I'm-uh-uh-sorry! Uh-uh-I'm-uh-sar-uh-eeeee! I'llbegood! Haughuh-uh-I'llbegood! I'llbegood! Awaaaa-uh-waaaaaaaa-uh-arghaaoooo-uh-uh-I'll-uh-never-uh-ow-ow-doitagaaain! Uh-uh, waaaaaaa-uh-Daaad-uh-never! Huh-uh-Daaa-aaad-uh-uh-nev-uh-errrr-uh-gaaain! Pleeeez-uh-aw-uh-waaaaaa! Augharghaaaa-uh-youuu-uh-you're-uh-hurrrrting-uh-meeeee! Oooooo-uh-waaaaaa-uh-augh-uh-Daaa-aaaad-uh-uh-pleeeez! You're-aaa-hurrrting-aaa-meeeeee! Ooooo-aw-uh-uh-waaaaaaa! Waaaaaa-uh-uh-it-uh-hurrrtz! It HURRRTZ! Agh-ahwaaa! I'llbegood! I promise! I'llbegood! I'llbegood! I'llbegooooooood! Oooarrghaaa! Daaa-aaaad! Uh-uh, Daddy! Oweeeuh-uh-ow-uh-waaaaa-uh-I-uh-woooon't-uh-uh-doooo-uh-it-oooooo-uh-Daaaa-uh-deeee! Owow! Pleeez-uh-uh, Daaaa-uh-uh-deeeeee-uh-uh-pleeeeez! Ow! Ow! Ow! Owowow-awuh-waaaaaaa!"

At that moment, driven to the point of climax, unconscious and oblivious, his elongated grenade detonated, firing round after round of almost unending, pent-up ejaculate. Suspended, arched upwards and backwards, a thick stream of cum forcefully shot out of his cock, spraying on his father's lap, and flying across the bedroom leaving a trail along the floor. Joe's firing rocket spewed more and more with each swat, but he didn't care at that moment. His butt was being incinerated, on fire; and he was having the most incredible, uncontrollable orgasm of his life – exploding, firing, shooting. Pain, agony, euphoria, release, and relief. He began jerking upward with each swat, but his erection was finally being emptied.

Josh was stunned. Even at 25, he had never witnessed anything like that before. To see his brother being whipped so badly, yet at the same time become so aroused his penis exploded blast after blast of semen, was beyond Josh's imagination. Although he was shocked, he also felt a deep pity for the horrified shame and embarrassment his brother was encountering.

Joe wept, sobbing, gasping, choking, shaking, heaving – no longer able to speak – while his legs continued flailing involuntarily. Freed from the throes of the hungering arousal that had driven and thrust him around, each successive, branding smack of the brush against his burning bottom now jolted him like electrical shock, launching him lurching forward across his father's lap, as far as the restraint would allow.

"Oooaraughaaa-uh-uh-puh-uh-leeeez! Arnnnrgghaaa-oooo-uh-ow-ow-uh-waaaaa! I'm-uh-uh-sorry! Uh-uh-I'm-uh-sar-uh-eeeee! I'llbegood! Haughuh-uh-I'llbegood! I'llbegood! Awaaaa-uh-waaaaaaaa-uh-arghaaoooo-uh-uh-I'll-uh-never-uh-ow-ow-doitagaaain! Uh-uh, waaaaaaa-uh-Daaad-uh-never! Huh-uh-Daaa-aaad-uh-uh-nev-uh-errrr-uh-gaaain! Pleeeez-uh-aw-uh-waaaaaa! Augharghaaaa-uh-youuu-uh-you're-uh-hurrrrting-uh-meeeee! Oooooo-uh-waaaaaa-uh-augh-uh-Daaa-aaaad-uh-uh-pleeeez! You're-aaa-hurrrting-aaa-meeeeee! Ooooo-aw-uh-uh-waaaaaaa! Waaaaaa-uh-uh-it-uh-hurrrtz! It HURRRTZ! Agh-ahwaaa! I'llbegood! I promise! I'llbegood! I'llbegood! I'llbegooooooood! Oooarrghaaa! Daaa-aaaad! Uh-uh, Daddy! Oweeeuh-uh-ow-uh-waaaaa-uh-I-uh-woooon't-uh-uh-doooo-uh-it-oooooo-uh-Daaaa-uh-deeee! Augh-uh-oooo-ow-ow-pleeez-uh-uh-I'm-uh-sar-uh-eeee-uh- Daaaa-uh-uh-deeeeee-uh-uh-pleeeeez! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow-ow-ow-awuh-waaaaaaaaa!"

The pain was too much. The humiliation was too much. He wailed and howled with agony, no longer aware of his juvenile, pleading cries and gagging for breath. Not only had he been spanked bare butt in front of his big brother, and got an erection during it, but he had an orgasm – in front of everyone – their Dad, and Josh. Why had this happened? What was wrong with him? Joe agonized inwardly.

When their father finally stopped the spanking, Joe collapsed over his lap completely humiliated, and crying like a little child. Once he was satisfied he had torched his son's entire lower bottom, Ron Fischer sat holding Joe in place on his lap, waiting for the broken young man to regain some composure. Then, he let Joe get up.

"Look at you – and this mess – young man! What's going on with you, Joe?!"

"Huh-uh-uh-I-uh-duh-ooon't-uh-uh-knoooow-uh-Daaaa-uh-uh-deeeee,"Joe howled, bawling.

"You and I have got to go get cleaned up all over again. You get your butt in that shower and out faster than I can count to 10! Do you hear me?! You disobey, Joe, and dilly dally around, and you'll get yourself a doubleheader tonight, mister. You understand?!"

Joe was terrified. "Haugh-uh-uh-ye-es-uh-uh-Daaa-uh-deee, uh-uh-yesssss!" I'm-uh-suh-ar-huh-uh-eeeee-uh-Daaa-uh-deeee," he wailed, and raced buck naked out of the bedroom down to the bathroom. Their father picked up the chair and returned it to the front of their desk.

A quick, few minutes later, Joe was back in the bedroom with another wet towel wrapped around him. Avoiding looking over to the bottom bunk, where he knew Josh was lying, Joe unwrapped the towel from around himself and hung it on the chair, pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of clean boxers, and climbed up onto his upper bunk. As he stretched out lengthily on his face and stomach, he began whimpering softly, which accelerated his descent into sleep and heavy breathing.

For Josh, on the other hand, sleep did not come soon or readily. He lay on his stomach, facing out to a view of the moon through the window. He felt a nagging concern and confusion about his brother. Joe may have gotten a bit out of line while he and their father had been away so much, but Joe was really, always a good kid. It upset Josh to see Joe getting the kind of lickings that Josh had become acquainted with over the long period of time he had been away with their father. Seeing Joe sprouting hard wood during the whippings– to the point of losing it and ejaculating all over – was disturbing and troubling to Josh. He wondered how that might affect the way their father would treat Joe in the future.

The more he replayed in his mind Joe's second spanking in – and especially the explosive orgasm during it – the more startled, yet stimulated, Josh himself became. In his own mind he wondered why he was getting turned on just thinking about his brother's spanking and wanking, and blowing dynamite.

Listening to Joe's heavy breathing slumber from up top, Josh turned over on his side and his erect, perpendicular pole poked out the front of his boxers. Grasping it with his hand, he began rub and slide sounds, rocking and writhing back and forth hard on the bed. Thrashing forward and backward on his side, his narrow, hard, muscled buttocks tightened and clenched, pressing forward and out, and then back against the seat of his boxers, as he thrust his hips and penis into and out of his hand. Moaning softly; his own breathing was rapid and labored. He rocked the bunk violently, finally pulling the pin on his wanking grenade until it detonated, exploding blast after blast.

Exhausted and panting, Josh felt a tranquilizing release easing the upset turmoil and nervous, jittery agitation in his mind and emotions. His movements began to subside, then all at once stopped. A couple of minutes later, soothed and decompressed, he turned back over onto his chest and stomach, buried his face in his pillow, and at last dropped off to sleep.



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