The following story is fiction about domestic discipline.  The story contains scenes of spanking and strapping.  If these subjects are offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.

This work is copyright by the author and commercial use is prohibited without permission.  Personal/private copies are permitted only if complete including the copyright notice.

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Demoted to Kid Brother

By

YLeeCoyote@juno.com

I had no idea what I was getting myself into and now I'm trapped in this terrible situation from which there is not any escape.  I'm doomed to be under Pat's control until I move out of the house.  Well before all this started, less than a year ago, I would have just said that Pat is my kid brother who almost thirteen and two years younger than I am.  Now I can't say that because, shamefully, for all practical purposes I'm the kid brother.

It was almost a year ago that a couple of my buds and I got into trouble BIG TIME.  We were taken home by the cops.  Let me tell you that being in the back of a fuzzmobile is not any fun at all.  It is all fixed up like a mini-cell – a miniature jail cell – with heavy steel mesh all around and there ain't any door handles.  Sure it is like having a chauffeur and a guy riding shotgun but it ain't anything like being in a stretch limo (or at least what I imagine one to be like).  The feeling is even worse as they take you back to your 'rents like a lost dog or, worse, a parcel.  I was the last to be delivered.  Even from inside the cell, I could see my buds' fathers blowing their stacks.  I probably would have heard their yells as their fathers, their butts and their belts had three-way discussions if the cops had not driven me away.

My dad was no longer with us.  The cop had the discussion with mother and Pat was there to witness everything.  Mom was both upset and exasperated with me.  Both of us appreciated the cops' offer not to take me back to the station and lock me up until the juvenile authorities could take custody of my miserable self.  The catch was he needed assurance that I would be punished.  What he meant was that I needed to be spanked in an age appropriate way, i.e., paddled or strapped.  Both mother and I liked that for it meant that I would not have a record.

Mother said that she just was not up to spanking a fourteen-year-old (I would be fifteen in four months) boy and asked the policeman to please do it.  Certainly, I would have preferred mom to do it rather than that hunk of a mean cop with those big muscles not that I was asked.  "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but regulations forbid me to strap or paddle your son as much as he richly deserves it."  I'm sure he was thinking: «Although I would love to do it to the good-for-nothing brat.» as I heard the regret in his voice.  He asked about someone else doing the job and mom did not have a substitute to propose.  "Sorry, Ma'am, but I guess I will have to take him to the lockup." he said.

It was then that Pat spoke.  "Mother, I'm sure that I can do a proper job so as to keep my naughty brother out of jail."  All of us were surprised.  Mom expressed some doubts and the cop said he would stay to make sure the job was done properly and that I also had to agree.  It was pretty much of a no brainier – go to jail or get spanked by my kid brother.  I quickly agreed.© YLeeCoyote

Mom decided that a spanking was men's work and she went to her room.  The cop warned me that I had best cooperate or he would take me to jail.  Pat was looking very happy.

"We have just the thing for a naughty boy." said Pat and continued: "Dad told us about it.  I'll get it."  In just a couple of minutes he was back with Grandfather's Irish Strap that had warmed Dad's butt many times according to the stories he told us.  It certainly looked meaner now that it was about to kiss my butt.

"Great-grand father brought this over with him on the boat and his father used it on him many times, Mr. Officer.  When grandfather was a boy he felt it and so did father.  Dad promised that when we became teens, we too would feel it.  Will this do, Sir?"  The cop agreed readily. "OK, naughty boy, strip and get over the end of the couch so I can strap you and the nice policeman can get back to work." Pat said with more authority in his voice than I had ever heard before.  It was a bit late to have any objections especially since Mother was gone, so I stripped.  "Get over the couch arm." Pat ordered while pointing.

The cop helped Pat to find the proper position.  I was not prepared for the UNBELIEVABLE PAIN when our old Irish Strap first connected with my bare butt.  The pain and shock were more than I had ever experienced.  It felt like a red-hot plate had hit my bottom for the pain and force reverberated back and forth.  I yelled louder than I ever had before as I jumped up.  Pat immediately told me to get back into position.  (Not that I was able to keep track of the time very well.)  Then came the second stroke.  I reacted in the same way still very shocked that Pat was able to inflict such extreme pain on me like this.  I only half heard the cop praising and encouraging Pat's assault on my ass.

I lost track of the count from the intense pain and my crying.  The cop asked how old I was and I gave the usual answer of fifteen so I got another three.  "One per year." said the cop and Pat obliged him.

I lay there crying for some time.  When I looked up the cop was gone and Pat had a huge grin.  He was playing with the strap.  Mother came in and even her gentle touch caused me to howl.  She wanted to get some cream but Pat said she should not reduce the effect of the strapping.  I was sent to bed.  I slept prone.

In the morning, my ass was still red and very painful.  Also, my pillow was wet.  Pat had already gone out but Mother was there to discuss my horrid behavior.  It was the standard lecture.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was a week later that I began slipping down the slippery slope.  I forgot to do my chores and mother decided not to yell at me.  When I got home from school, I found a note explaining my sins of commission and of omission and that she was tired of yelling at me.  That I could understand.  It was the final line that got to me.  "… so you are to ask your brother to give you an appropriate spanking…"

It was pretty bad getting strapped by my kid brother with the cop about but then I had a great incentive – not to go to jail.  I was not happy about this at all.  Unfortunately, Mother realized that and set some conditions like I was grounded, no allowance and no food until I did.  I was trapped once again.  When Pat got home, I struggled to ask him for a spanking.  He was shocked.  He thought that I was trying to trick him in someway so that he would get into trouble.  It was only after I showed him Mom's note that he would even consider it.

We talked about it and eventually I yielded and humiliatingly begged him:

It was very, very difficult to say all that.

Pat did not have any problem replying.  He was all smiles.  "Certainly, brother, I will help you as you need to be helped."  I wanted to strangle him at that moment but I restrained myself.  I undressed as he ordered.  He made me lean on the bed and proceeded to beat my ass with the strop.  Six friggen hard cuts that had me howling like a banshee.  I even had wet cheeks from the tears.

I thought that it was over but he had more planned for me.  He sat on the bed and had me get over his lap.  Actually, I was over only one thigh as he put his other leg over mine and pushed one of my wrists up my back so I couldn't move.  I couldn't believe how hard his hand spanks were.  I guess it was because I was tenderized by the strop.  He kept had it a long time.  Over and over his hand came down on my sore and sensitive and aching cheeks.  He soon reduced me to a bawling little boy who was very sorry that he had earned a bare bottom spanking from his kid brother.

A couple of weeks later, Pat said to me.  "You have neglected your chores again."  He had the strop in his hand and continued.  "Get undressed."  I objected and he just asked: "You need to wait for Mother to tell you?  If you do, I'll be harder on you."  I was trapped for Mother surely would have agreed.  I undressed and again bent over the bed and he gave me eight hard cuts.  I resolved to do my chores without fail.

That set me up for disaster as it was only a couple of weeks later that Mom made a scary comment at dinner.  She looked right at me and said: "I think that you are behaving better since your brother been disciplining you."  I was horrified.  Pat, was smiling broadly.  There really was not anything for him to say.  That was the last time I thought of him as "my kid brother" for the simple reason that one's kid brother does not discipline one.

It was shortly after this that the midterm grades came out.  I kept my report card from my brother but I had to show it to Mom to get it signed.  She was not happy about it and Pat took one look and said the obvious truth that it was terrible.  I was absolutely shocked by what came next.  "It is clear, young man, that you have been neglecting your school work.  This has earned you a good hard strapping.  Also, to make sure that you have time for your school work, your curfew is now dinner time on school nights and nine on the others.  Come along, we and the Irish Strap have to have a little talk."

Mother did not say a word but she was smiling as Pat dragged me to our room.  The discussion was not long as measured by the clock although from my point of view it was extremely long.  As always, I had to strip so that Pat could roast my tail with the strap.  He split the session into parts.  He started by giving me eight stingers which got me crying and very attentive to him.  Next, he repeated the new rules and made me write them out so that I would not forget them.  Last, he gave me another eight stingers leaving me a whimpering baby.  He promised that he would be more attentive to my school work and to be most generous with spanking me should I fail to improve.  I knew that he meant every word and that I had better change my ways.

I have slid to the bottom of the slippery slope for Pat is now totally in charge of me and the well oiled Irish Strap now hangs in my closet.

The End

© Copyright A.I.L. January 23, 2012

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