Spanked by My Brother

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All the characters of the story are over 18-years-old. This is the first story I published, comments are appreciated.


Our Dad is the family disciplinarian. He is very strict when it comes to raising me and my older brother. When we got into trouble that meant we would get undressed and bend over his knee for a spanking. We fear the pain of being repeatedly slapped in the bare bottom with his calloused hand, or worse, being whipped with his leather tawse. That’s why my brother and I did our best to stay out of trouble most of the time. We get to witness Mom being spanked for misbehaving too, but that’s a story I will tell for another time.

One time when me and my twin brother are eighteen-years-old, Dad got into a minor accident while at work. The doctor said that his right arm had to remain in a cast for more than a month. Being right-handed, his boss allowed him to take a paid leave in order to heal his broken arm. He mostly stays in the couch watching television. Although I stayed in my best behavior as always, I thought that he would be unable to spank us if we ever managed to do something wrong. Mom is not interested punishing us for wrongdoing either, for she just leaves the punishing to our Dad. What I did on that day humiliated me greatly, and I will tell you why.

It was a Saturday. The only people in our house is me, Dad, and Brandon. Mom works at the local hospital as a nurse.

Being the only female left in the house means that I was not able to get a well-deserved rest after five days at school. At around seven o’clock in the morning Dad barged in my bedroom, pulled my blanket with his left hand, and yelled, “Emily, wake up from your damned beauty sleep and clean the house.”

Still drowsy enough to stop myself from standing, Dad then slapped my butt with his left hand in order to coerce me to stand up. “Hurry up or else you’ll get a spanking.”

“But how would you spank me if your right arm is broken?” I didn’t mean to talk back. I was just curious. He wasn’t very good with his left arm. Ever since his right arm broke he has trouble using the utensils while eating, using the TV remote, typing on his computer, and as he claims, wiping his ass. Even the way he slapped by bottom is feeble.

“No talking back. Go eat your breakfast and do your chores now.”

And so after I eat my breakfast I wash the dishes—Mom cooked breakfast for us but hasn’t had the time to wash it, so the dishes just lie in the kitchen sink—did the laundry, wipe the windows clean, clean the bathrooms, and vacuum the floor. Meanwhile Dad just sat there watching TV. When I was about to vacuum the floor he simply lifted his leg up to let the vacuum cleaner izmir escort bayan pass by.

“That’s my girl,” he smiles.

Soon I have to clean the bedrooms. Brandon is still sleeping in his bedroom. Ugh, why is that guy allowed to sleep all day I while I slave away doing chores? (“It’s because you’re the girl,” Dad would say.)

His bedroom floor is pretty much a junkyard. Empty packs of junk food, pieces of junk food, crumpled paper, and sheets of paper are scattered all over the floor. As quietly as possible I picked up the detritus and depose them in the garbage bag I am currently holding. I suppose I have to vacuum his bedroom later. I left the room with Brandon still snoring loudly.

I gathered up the litter from garbage bins all over our home and went outside to throw them in the dumpster.

“I’m all done,” I told Dad after cleaning up the second floor, hoping to finally take a sit and relax as I plan to do on a Saturday.

Then suddenly Brandon came marching down the stairs.

“Who cleaned up my bedroom?” he demands, although he already knew from the way he is looking at me.

“I did,” I confirm.

“Crap,” he shouts in anger, “Where did you threw it?”

“The dumpster,” although it is obvious as to where we throw out our trash.

“CRAP! It was the application form for college!”

The look of anger in his face made me understand that this is no laughing matter.

“Emily,” Dad interrogates me, “Did you throw out Brandon’s college application form?”

The possibility of being punished shook me to the bone. I tried to remember what I did on Brandon’s bedroom just half an hour ago. Then I remembered that the one of the sheets of paper lying on the bedroom floor must be the application form, face down.

“I must have saw it on the floor, surrounded with other trash, so I might have mistook it for one,” I explain calmly. “I’m terribly sorry, Brandon.”

“The application form was not on the floor,” Brandon testifies angrily. “I had placed it on my desk, as always!”

“Your window was open!” I realize. “A breeze must have blew it to the floor, where I picked it up and mistook it for litter.”

He stares at me with fury “So you’re blaming the wind over what you did?”

“I’m sorry,” I said miserably. When I turn my head to look at Dad, he is as angry as Brandon.

“Can you just get another one?”

“I NEED TO PASS THAT FORM THIS MONDAY AND I COULDN’T JUST GET ANOTHER ONE!” He is practically shouting now, enough for tears to begin welling in my eyes.

“Emily,” Dad articulates, “Have you realized what you done? We drove to Alton College to obtain that form, and we have escort izmir no more time to acquire another one. The receptionist told us that any application forms passed past Monday will not be accepted anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologize tearfully.

“She needs to be punished,” Brandon insists.

Punish me? Who would punish me? I don’t think Dad would be capable of spanking me with his left hand.

What Dad spoke next shocked me. “Brandon, you’re the one Emily wronged and since my ‘spanking arm’ is on a cast right now, you should be the one to give her a spanking.” “Dad, no please,” I beg. “Don’t let Brandon spank me!” We have a long history of sibling rivalry and if whether one of us is being punished, the other one would laugh and mock at the punished sibling. It’s embarrassing enough for Brandon to witness me being spanked by Dad when I misbehave.

Not only that, he also has a habit of slapping girls’ butts, including mine. I remember one embarrassing moment when we were in the beach. I was in a bikini, and then Brandon slapped my bottom in front of my parents, in public. Mom chastised him, but Dad kept laughing and congratulated Brandon with a pat on the shoulder. “Now that’s my son!” Dad then waved off my complaints, saying “Boys will be boys.”

Now this time Dad permitted Brandon to spank me. “You did something terrible Emily, and you deserved to be punished.”

Brandon smiles wickedly at the thought of spanking me. What a pervert.

“Please Dad,” I plead. “Please punish me in another way.”

“A thorough and proper spanking is the only punishment in this house,” Dad asserts. He ignored my tears and told my brother, “Brandon, grab that chair and sit on it.”

Brandon did as he was told, grabbing one of the chairs that surround the dining table and placing it on the living room.

“Now Emily,” Dad orders me, “I want you to approach your brother and tell him what you did.”

Dad always does this to us before he commence spanking as a way to further humiliate us for our wrongdoing. Doing this in front of Brandon seems more humiliating that doing this in front of Dad.

I don’t have any choice. Still crying, I gathered whatever voice left inside of me and approach my brother. “Brandon, I accidentally threw away your college application form. I’m terribly sorry if you can’t be accepted into Alton College because of me.”

I saw the bulge in his pants. Still smiling, Brandon said nothing. “…And?”

My eyes begin to tear, “Please spank me.”

Dad gives one final direction, “Brandon, pull down her shorts and bend her over your knee. Since you’re the one who Emily wronged by throwing away your college izmir escort degree form, you’ll be the one to decide how painful and how long the spanking will last. Make sure her ass becomes ruddy.”

Brandon then pulls down the zipper of my shorts without hesitation and pulls it down with my panties. I immediately move my hands to cover my privates as another wave of wailing overcame me from the humiliation.

Using his hands, he grasps my hips and guides me into bending over his knee. Without warning, he begins slapping my bottom, one slap on each cheek, in rapid repetition. Without even warming up like Dad always do, his smacks are already painful from the very beginning.

“Please stop!” I beg, I howl, I shriek, but Brandon heeds no attention.

I tried to escape but Brandon locks both of my hands into my sides using his left arm. He stops spanking for a moment to position me so that my feet can’t touch the ground, essentially trapping me. He then resumes spanking. Minutes pass by and I couldn’t do nothing but wail for mercy.

“Use this,” I hear Dad say. I turned my head around to see that he is holding a hairbrush, which Brandon gladly accepts and spanks me with it.

When Brandon is finally done, I was wailing at full volume, like there is no tomorrow. It took me a long time to finally calm down from my wailing, and it was difficult for me to stand up.

“Brandon,” Dad says. “Tell your sister that she is forgiven.”

“I forgive you Emily,” Brandon repeats, and kisses me in the face like Dad always do. Just as I am about to take my shorts and put it back on, Dad said. “Leave your shorts on the floor. Stay in your panties. That and your ruddy ass will serve as a reminder to not throw away anything important in the trash.”

The added humiliation made me weep again. “Wipe your tears and go cook us lunch,” Dad orders, “I’m hungry.”

I sooth my bottom while walking on the way to the kitchen, trying to ignore Brandon’s snickering.

That evening on dinner, Brandon tells Dad that he managed to download another form from the Internet, saving his enrollment for college.

“Why, what happened to your previous form?” Mom asks. She went home in the evening carrying take-out, still unaware with what happened.

“Emily accidentally threw out Brandon’s form while she was cleaning,” Dad explains. “She was spanked for that.”

“No wonder you are uncomfortable in your chair,” Mom observes, but goes back to talking with Dad. “How did you manage to spank her, though? Used your left arm?”

“Dad made me spank her,” Brandon mentions proudly, making me lose my appetite in embarrassment.”

“You made Brandon spank her sister?” Mom asks Dad, upset.

“She deserves it.” Dad clarifies with a smile. “Now, you better stay in line yourself or I’ll have my son spank his mother.” Brandon smirks. Mom, who was about to say something, decided to clamp her mouth.

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