Brandon was lying on his bed, feeling totally miserable and for the hundredth time that evening his went through the events of the day. He had made so many mistakes and on top of all that there was still that lie dad didn’t know about. Brenda hadn’t been the only one drinking at Donna’s party. He had let her take the rap for it, but he had even more to drink there than his sister had. He had felt like such a hypocrite when their parents left, telling them he would keep an eye on Bren.

No, he knew he deserved everything dad would dish out, but did it have to be a spanking? Not that he liked being grounded, but a spanking sounded so, well, so childish. But the whole idea made him feel a little scared too. And then there was the question how dad would do it. Over the knee like a little boy? Or bending over? Would dad let him keep his pants or would he have to pull them down? And what would dad spank him with? He knew granddad used to use a paddle, but he didn’t think dad had a paddle somewhere. Or at least he hoped. God, he hoped he wouldn’t cry. He vowed to himself he’d take whatever he’d get as a man.

This waiting was killing him. He heard footsteps in the hall and he nearly jumped, but the footsteps passed his room and he heard his twin’s door opened. He tried not to listen, but only moments later he heard a distinctive smacking sound and he heard Brenda cry out. She was pleading and begging between yelps and cries, but mom didn’t seem to let up one bit. The smacks came in a certain rhythm and he was sure Brenda was getting them on her bare butt.

God, didn’t they know how excruciating it was to be here, hearing his sister get the spanking of her life (the only one actually), knowing he was going to get the same? Sure they knew, he told himself, that was probably the whole idea.

Oh, he wished dad would come up to get this over with, but when the door suddenly opened and dad came in, carrying a wide, thick leather belt, those thoughts were replaced by a sense of panic. He gasped at the sight of that belt. He swallowed hard and slowly got to his feet. He still couldn’t look his dad in the eye.

“I don’t think I need to tell you how disappointed I am, do I?”

“No sir” Brandon answered, eyes glued to his shoes, he was sure his dad could hear the pounding of his heart.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Jim Walsh said quietly, but very stern and Brandon forced himself to look his dad in the eye, or tried to anyway.

“Now, there’s something I don’t understand. When you were 15 and got drunk at the lake in Minnesota and threw up, you promised me, but more so you promised yourself, you would never drink again. Was that a lie? And if it wasn’t then how did this happen? Did you suddenly decide it would be okay now, since you 16? Did you thing that a year older would make a difference? And don’t give me that line again that someone spiked your drink. Because I’m not buying that. Just like I don’t believe anymore Brenda was the only one drinking at Donna’s party. So you better start talking, mister and it better be the truth!”

He hadn’t given Brandon a chance to answer up till now, but now he was looking pointedly at his son. Brandon was tempted to lie again, but knew that if he wanted his father to ever start trusting him again, he would have to come clean. Confessing wasn’t going to be easy though.

He took a deep breath, looked at the floor again and slowly and reluctantly started to tell about Donna’s party. When he was finished he looked at his dad’s face and when he saw the anger mixed with disappointment he almost got sick again.

“I can’t believe you lied to me. You actually lied to me and your mother. You let your sister take the blame alone. I didn’t expect that from you, Brandon. But it’s not going to happen ever again. You hear. I’m going to take care of this the way my dad did and the way I obviously should have done a lot earlier.”

With those words Jim Walsh pointed to the armchair and told Brandon to stand next to it. With the belt doubled over in his hand he walked over. He yanked Brandon pajama trousers and boxershorts down and pushed him forward over the arm of the chair.

Brandon felt very exposed and vulnerable. He was actually going to get spanked, well more like whipped. In moments he wouldn’t have to wonder how much it would hurt, he’d know and every fiber of his soul told him he didn’t want to find out, told him to run, but he stayed bent over over the chair.

He heard his father take up position on his left and he gritted his teeth. He heard the swishing of the belt and time seemed suspended.

SSSMMMAAACCCKKKK!!!!

When it connected he sucked in his breath at the unbelievable pain. This was much more than he expected and more than he could take. All he could think was “I will not yell, I will not yell”.

SSMMAAACCKKK, SMAAAAACK, SSSMMMMAAAACCKKKK, SSSMMAAAAAACCCKKK, SSSSMMMMAAAACCCKKKK

As his dad found a rhythm for Brandon the rest of the world seemed to cease to exist. There was just this unthinkable, unending pain.

SSSMMMMAAAACCCKKKK, SSSMMMAAACCCKKK, SSMMAAACCCKKKK

Hot tears were running down his cheeks, falling on the cushions and he was gasping and hissing with each hard smack of that belt.

SSSMMMAAACCCCKKK, SSSMMMAAACCCKKKK, SSMMMMAAAAACCCCHHHH

He couldn’t help it, he was starting to moan and he was writhing and jerking with each impact. Hoping he could avoid the steady blows, but he couldn’t and it became harder and harder not to yell.

SSMMMAAACKKK, SSMMMAAAACCCCKKKK, SSMMMAAACCCKKKK

Suddenly dad picked up the pace and the blows now came in rapid succession

CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK

And suddenly he couldn’t hold out anymore

AAAHHH, YEEAAOOWW, AAAAAUUUUWWW

He was crying hard now and yelling with every burning blow. His butt was on fire.

CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK

CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CCCRRRRRAAAACCCCKKK!!

It took minutes before he realized his dad had stopped. He was sobbing his eyes out. He tried to pull himself together, but without success. He felt his dad’s hand on his shoulder as he helped him to his feet. Brandon was rubbing his behind furiously to help to get the sting out, but it didn’t work. He knew he wouldn’t be sitting anytime soon. His dad was holding him without talking until he had composed himself a little. He pulled up his boxers, wincing as he did so and decided to forget about putting on his pajama-trousers, it just hurt too much.

“I hope you’ve learned something from this, son, because I don’t ever want to have to repeat this lesson again.”

“That makes two of us, dad”, Brandon tried to joke a little, but he was still sniffing.

“Well, you better get some rest, you’ve got some tough days coming with the court case and not to mention all the cleaning up you and your sister have to do. Go to sleep.”

And with those words Jim Walsh left his son, who laid himself down on the bed on his stomach and buried his hot face in the pillow. Now he knew how a spanking felt like and like he told his dad, he never wanted to repeat this again. Not ever. New tears fell on his pillow and he cried himself to sleep.

The end