The following story is fiction and contains scenes of spankings. If this subject is offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.
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I'm glad and fortunate that my father does well and makes a nice living. We live in a small, but adequate, house. The 'we' is my family: Dad, Mom and the twins, Sam and Pat, who are four years younger than I. Because our house sits on a rock formation the basement is very small and just has room for some infrastructure and a bit of storage. The ground level has the usual living and kitchen stuff. Upstairs my folks have the big master bedroom, the twins share the big (second) bedroom and I have the smaller one (which is quite adequate). We also have an extra – an old carriage house which escaped the fire that ravaged the old nineteenth century house even before I was born. The lower level is now the garage but the upper level is for fun. Rather than making it into a lumber room, it has been carpeted and a small bathroom and kitchenette have been installed. We use it for our playroom. It's really great since there nothing to break and the folks don't care how much noise we make there. I've been promised that I might move there when I get older – certainly if I go the local college and maybe, just maybe, when I'm a senior, if my grades are super through my junior year.
My wonderful play space suddenly got taken from me a few months ago by my Uncle Bruce, Dad's kid brother. I heard my folks talking about him for years so I know a lot about him. Simply put, he does not make a good enough living to support just himself, even poorly. Last year he became unemployed and moved into my space. Dad said that he might stay there rent free until he found work and could contribute. He also said that since job hunting is not a full time task that he was to work about the house and yard. That part of the deal was very good for me since I got out of a lot of chores (especially yard work), that the twins are too small to do, which gave me more time to study (and, incidentally, to play). Dad always said getting a good education is the key to success and explained that Bruce dropped out of school and now is suffering for it.
My family believes in spanking as the primary discipline tool. Dad told me that Uncle Bruce and he had gotten spanked by their father and uncles when they had been naughty boys. But even before that, my grandfather and great uncles had been spanked by their fathers in the same ways. It was a very old custom. There was also the tradition that the eldest son fills-in for his father (to deal with his younger siblings) which meant that Dad had spanked Uncle Bruce when they were youngsters. The first time was when Dad was just fourteen and Uncle was ten. Bruce had mouthed off to Grandma and she was furious. Dad tells that he just grabbed Bruce by the arm and sat down on a kitchen chair. Then with Grandma watching, he pulled down Bruce's shorts and briefs before turning him over his lap. A thorough hand spanking followed. He said that because Grandma was so mad that she encouraged him and even handed him a wooden spoon to use. The spoon got Bruce crying in a few minutes. His spending an hour standing in the corner with his britches down finished the job to Grandma's exacting standards. When we spoke privately, Dad confided that it was most thrilling to spank his brother. He quickly added that spanking me and the twins was painful to do. It was not until I spanked the twins that I could understand both of these feelings and I even deduced why Dad told me – it's all about growing up.
I've even had the unpleasant duty to spank the twins when Mom and Dad were away. They would not go to bed when they were supposed to. I caught them and dragged them to their bedroom. Then sitting with the chair blocking the door, I took them each over my lap in turn. I did not beat them but gave each of them ten sharp spanks each. Not nearly as hard as Dad did it to them but hard enough to deliver the message. They went right to bed then and even apologized in the morning for misbehaving.
Of course, that time with Grandma watching certainly was not the last time Dad spanked Bruce. When Bruce was my age (fourteen) he had already been promoted to the strap by Grandpa. (Unfortunately, he was not prompted in school.) Bruce was rebellious and Dad said he had a hard time with him as did their parents. He refused to go to the shed in the rear yard and Dad had to wrestle and overpower him. After he got him pined down, he tied his arms together and marched him out to the shed. Once there, Bruce had his pants and underpants taken down and was pushed over the spanking rail. Dad said he gave him a dozen hard whacks with the strap and Bruce really yelled a lot. Dad untied him and told him that strapping was for his insolence shown by resisting and he was still due the original strapping. Dad gave him twenty-four hours to come ask for it or he would get a reminder and still be due the original spanking.© YLeeCoyote
Uncle Bruce did come but pleaded for another day delay because his butt was so sore. (I'll bet that there was expletive in that sentence when Bruce said it.) Dad told him to wait in the shed and he would be there in a few minutes. Ten minutes later he went to the shed and Bruce was ready. His butt was still very red and swollen so Dad let him put it off another day. That changed him in two ways for he never was insolent like that again and he was actually grateful for the delay. The original misdeed had only called for six strokes which he got. They would have hurt a lot less if he had not had the dozen strokes two days earlier. There were other times, naturally.
Uncle Bruce usually ate dinner (the best meal) with us although not many other meals for he tended to loaf a lot. Dad was constantly on his case about job hunting and that he should be doing the chores about the house as agreed. Once I even heard Dad tell him among other things: "I can still bust your lazy ass like I used to, young man, so you better get on the ball." That had an effect for a couple of days and then Bruce relapsed. It was a Saturday morning and I heard Dad giving Bruce a scolding about not job hunting very much and neglecting his chores. Finally, he told him: "I'm going to give you a strapping like in the old days. And you, young man, had better shape up." Uncle Bruce was outraged and so Dad gave him the option of moving on or getting strapped right now. Uncle Bruce was broke and the strapping was better than the street so Dad led him back to his room. I got my own ass up to my room and lay on my bed with my binoculars. As you surely guessed, I could see into that room perfectly. It was a warm day so the windows were open and I could hear stuff also.
Uncle Bruce was, how can I put it nicely, quite messy. As there was not a reason to watch before so I really hadn't noticed it. Dad lectured him some more then ordered him to strip completely and then opened his own belt. He even started to pull it out but stopped and re-buckled it. That was puzzling until he barked an order and Bruce jumped. He got something off the wall and handed it to Dad. Then I could see what it was. A paddle. It looked just like Dad's fraternity paddle that he had kept and told stories about. (This paddle had belonged to one of Uncle's roommates for Bruce had not gone to college.) Bruce was unhappy about this but Dad would not listen to his complaint. He was slapping the palm of his hand with the paddle and soon Bruce bent over and held his ankles as Dad ordered. Actually, he gripped his shins since he had a bit of a beer belly. Dad adjusted his position and started to paddle Bruce. From the crack I heard and how Bruce jumped, it must have been quite hard. I'm not sure but it was at least six and maybe as many as eight pops. I had trouble counting. Dad dropped the paddle and left Bruce alone. Bruce collapsed kneeling on the floor and partly on his bed. Sort of the position that Dad makes me take for the strap. I could see how red Bruce's butt was and imagined the heat radiating from it. I put the binoculars away and sat by the computer in case dad came up so I would look like I was doing homework. A little later I stepped out to use the john, and heard my parents talking about Bruce. They were hoping things would get better.
Well, not much really changed. Bruce did clean up his room an hour later. He did his chores and even some job hunting for a month. Then Dad had to take a two-week business trip and Bruce immediately slacked off. Mom told him that some of her friends were coming over on Friday afternoon and she wanted the lawn cut and raked for her company. Also, he was to help setting up the tables and chairs. You can guess since I'm mentioning this, it did not happen. On Thursday, I have band practice and when I got home I had homework that was essential to do. (I was not negligent – it was only assigned on Thursday for Friday.) When I got home on Friday, Mother was pissed. Bruce had gone boozing and couldn't stand, much less help moving bridge tables or chairs. Mom was embarrassed about her guests having to help with the tables and that the grass was too long. As my father was away, it was my duty to deal with my delinquent Uncle.
I thought about it in my room for a while and even looked at Bruce through the window. He was a slovenly person; he lay on his bed, almost naked, drinking beer, watching television and scratching his balls. He was pitiful. He was like a child who, when not being watched, reverts to infancy. I knew of only one way to deal with that; the family way; the way Father would deal with it. I filled a pitcher with ice water and made my way to the garage. I stopped and killed the power so as not to have to deal with the TV. There was enough natural light there anyway. I barged in and yelled at him. "Bruce, your conduct is untenable. You are a drunken slob. You embarrassed Mother today by not doing your chores and by not helping her. Since Father is not here, I'm going to strap you." He gave some incoherent response and did not move. "GET UP, REMOVE YOUR FILTHY BRIEFS AND ASSUME THE POSITION BRUCE ROLAND SADLER."
He laughed and I emptied the pitcher on his face. That got him mad and up and I grabbed him. I had anticipated resistance so I had a piece of rope ready. I easily got a loop of a rope about one of his wrists and yanked it tight with the slipknot. The second loop I got about his other wrist as I spun him around and also yanked it tight. I was prepared; fourteen and in good shape; he was a slob of thirty-eight in bad shape. In seconds, he was over his bed, butt up and with his wrists tied behind his back. I yanked his briefs down. I wished that I had gloves because of the disgusting piss stains, skid marks and cum stains. He was yelling but I swung my belt (yanked from my jeans) as hard as I could. It connected right across his ass. He howled and I gave him a second whack. After four strokes he was begging me to stop and the red stripes were merging. I was going to give him a full dose. After eight cuts he was promising to be good and do his chores. Before I finished the dozen, he was crying like a baby. I wondered if he remembered the first time, my Dad, his brother had strapped him like this. I untied the rope and picked up the pitcher and left. I restored the power as I left the garage.
Back with Mother we spoke alone. "I did what the man of the house had to do, Mother." I told her. "He was good for a month after Father paddled him. Hopefully he'll be good until Dad returns and can deal with him." In the morning, he was cutting the lawn.
When Father returned, he said I did exactly what had to be done and praised me for being so adult. He admitted that he was at his wits end, just like my grandparents were, about what to do with or about my uncle.
© Copyright A.I.L., January 15, 2009
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Last updated: September 15, 2023