The following story is fiction about domestic discipline and role reversal.  The story contains a scene of a strapping.  If this subject is offensive, uninteresting or if you are a minor (i.e., child) please leave now.

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It was foul wether as sailors say and the game was called right after it started.  My friend Kelly and I were lucky because our transportation was still there.  Kelly’s brother had decided to watch the game with us and so I was home two hours early.  The storm was raging as I entered the house.  Just as I closed the door there was a thunder clap so that effectively muffled the sound – not that I slammed the door, mind you.

I left my dripping stuff in the entryway (to avoid Mom’s wrath) and stepped into the kitchen.  Before I could call out to announce my return I heard the all too familiar sound of a strapping.  My first thoughts were of Reed, my older brother, getting his fat ass roasted.  He has been getting spanked two or three times a month since I can remember.  It is a show that I never grow tired of no matter how many repeats I get to watch with delight.

Most of the time I miss the very first scene where Mom or Dad have summoned Reed into the family room.  Actually, it is better that I do for if I am in the family room I get sent to my room with a reminder to respect my sibling’s privacy.  When I miss it, I can then sneak down and watch from the doorway peeking into the room.  Of course, Reed does the same thing when he can so it is OK and fair.

I try to ignore the lecture because it painfully similar to the ones I get and anxiously await his losing his pants.  His belt is opened.  His pants are unbuttoned.  His pants are unzipped.  His pants are lowered.  And then the climax – his underpants are also lowered exposing all.  It makes my heart race just thinking about it.  It could be a time for a strapping so he would have to lie on the sofa arm with his butt up and I would have had a great view as the belt had its way with him, painting red stripe after red stripe until his tail was bright red.  I would rush away at this point so as not to get caught spying.

Or perhaps it would be an OTK spanking and Mom or Dad would pull Reed over her/his lap.  Then I would watch as a hand or hairbrush did a number on his ass.  Each spank would leave a red handprint or red oval imprint and they would merge leaving Reed with a bright red butt just like the strap does.© YLeeCoyote

I loved seeing it.  All the above played in my mind before I could even take a couple of steps.  The sounds would be exactly like those when it was my butt being roasted.

Maybe, just maybe it would be my sister Robyn getting it.  That would mean it was Mom since Dad never spanks her and this was most unusual since it wasn’t in her bedroom behind a locked door.  For some reason she is granted privacy while neither my brother nor I get such an entitlement.  That is terribly unfair since I constantly hear about equal right for woman.  She is allowed to see my junk so why aren’t I allowed to see her slit?  Doesn’t equal rights mean the same exposure?

I pussyfooted it down the hall and crouched by the doorway to the family room.  That I was shocked is the understatement of the year.  I’m even having trouble finding the right words now for what I saw.  It was not Reed over the couch arm nor Robyn over Mom’s lap but FATHER naked and bent over with his hands on the ottoman.  It was unbelievable.  I saw that he had already received three cuts from the heavy strap for there were already three red stripes on his butt.  I could not believe I was seeing my father’s behind like this.

My shock was redoubled when I saw that it was Reed who had the strap upraised ready for the next cut.  It happened as I watched totally unprepared for this.  The sound was louder than I heard when it was my brother getting it as the strap crashed down on Father’s butt impressing a fourth crossing the first three.  “Four, Sir.  Thank you, Sir.  May I have another, Sir?” said my dad adding to my confusion.

Dad was taking it very well for the only sounds he was making were the required words.  I was certainly impressed by that.  By the time the count had reached a dozen, his rear end was dark red.  I’m sure that there must have been an inferno raging inside.

When the count reached twenty-five it changed and he did not ask for another but was sent to the corner.  He stood there with his extra dark red-hot tail heating the room.  My brother’s pants were tented and he reached into them to adjust his junk.

My head was spinning.  I was terribly confused to say the least.  I’m was certain that it would be terrible if I was caught watching so I immediately rushed back to the kitchen as fast as I could.  The storm was now relatively quiet and I opened the door and slammed it shut as hard as I could.  I yelled “I’m home.”

“Get dressed promptly, Dad.”  I heard Reed say softy and when he came into the hall “Rusty, you are home early.”

“Yes.  The sudden thunder storms caused them to cancel the game and as Kelly’s brother was with us we returned right away although driving slowly because of the downpour.”

“Dad and I are about to watch the game from the Olympiastadion, Berlin.” said my brother as he loaded a tray with snacks and drinks.  “Join us, Rusty.  This pro exhibition game should be terrific.”

“Great.” I replied feeling safe since I was not discovered spying.  That, after all, is a strapping offence which damn well hurts terribly.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t concentrate on the game because I keep wondering what was going on with that strapping.

Dad was happy that Manchester United won and was very good at hiding his surely very sore butt.  It has been a couple of years but I’m still afraid to ask what it is all about.

The End

© Copyright A.I.L. September 1, 2020

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