From: arcane@nwiowa.com Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking Subject: Anything For My Brother (M|F) Date: 22 Apr 1995 04:45:02 GMT I promised Ginger that I'd do this type of story. It's not really my favorite type of story, but I found out that as I was writing it, I really began to get into it. Now I wish that I'd had a younger sister. Enjoy! Anything For My Brother I've always been close to my brother, Paul. When we were just children (he's two years older than I am) we used to do everything together. We even got our spankings together. Of course, mom stopped that practice when our bodies began to fill out (the spanking together, not the spankings themselves); I guess she didn't want us to question our differences too much. It didn't really matter, though, I had seen his naked male body while he showered and I'm sure he'd taken a peek at my feminine charms more than once. I had just gone through a really tough divorce and had asked him if I could live at his place for a while. He, of course, said that I was always welcome. Paul had the quintessential bachelor pad. When I first entered the rather large apartment, I immediately noticed the spots where posters or pictures that had probably been on the walls for months were suddenly and obviously bare. The paint just didn't quite match. (I found out later that he had quickly taken down his posters of women that were dressed in, shall we say, outfits that one might find in those wonderful Victoria's Secrets catalogs." At first we talked about old times and steered clear of the topic of my recent divorce. We laughed and laughed about the memories of some of the spankings that we had received from our mother. She always had a pattern to her spankings. First she'd sit us down in the living room and proceed to lecture on whatever we had done wrong. Then she would very eloquently explain the reasons for our needing a spanking. Of course, at that time, we had no interest in how well she had spoken. We had been just plain scared about the upcoming event. After her lecture and explanations were finished, she would send one of us (whomever was sitting on the right side of the sofa) after the paddle. Actually, it was a small breadboard made out of walnut. Then she would sit herself on the sofa and grab whichever one of us had retrieved the paddle. Our pants and underwear would be lowered and we would then be placed squarely over her knees. Then she would lecture for just a bit longer on the upcoming punishment. She would always proceed to blister our asses right in the middle of a sentence. I think she thought it would take us by surprise; it did. Depending on the severity of our misconduct, we could receive anywhere from about twenty-five to thousands (well, not really, but it seemed like it) of smacks with the paddle. Never once did either my brother or I fail to be bawling like a child when she finished. Then she would repeat the sequence on the next victim. We had a lot of laughs over those memories. It was funny now, as most things usually are, but back then we certainly found nothing to laugh about. Whew! I told you all of that because it helps you to understand what happened later on that year. I don't know why I did it. I really don't. I was always up in the mornings way before my brother. Since I was the houseguest of sorts, I would take it upon myself to get the coffee made and the breakfast on the table. I did this every day except Sundays. Sundays we both slept in (but I was still up before him). I remember quite clearly that it was a Saturday in June. Since both of us are teachers, we get a nice long vacation just like our students. I remember that we had planned to visit our mother's grave later that afternoon and take some flowers. Now I never went into his room (unless he asked me to) for any reason. Not even to wake him up. He always told me that if he didn't get up, then it was his own fault. I remember that I was in the kitchen and had just put the coffee on. I heard this grunt-sound that came from his room. I was concerned that he might have gotten a touch of the flu that had been going around the school. I went over to his door and opened it. I was afraid that he might have gotten sick on the bed or something. Nope. There he was. Legs spread wide on his bed and hand pumping furiously. I was very embarrassed. Of course I know that men masturbate. Being married to a man will teach you that rather quickly. I've even played with myself on a few rather lonely evenings. What really shocked me was the fact that he had my high school graduation picture in his non-pumping hand and was probably jacking off to some fantasy that concerned me. I must have let out a little gasp or something because his head (the big one, not the little one) whipped around and spied me. It was at that moment that nature had chosen to finish him off and he shot all over my picture. My eyes flew wide and I quickly slammed the door and ran back to the kitchen. My face must have been beet-red. Instead of pouring myself a cup of coffee, I grabbed one of the bottles from our "private stock" (little airline bottles of whiskey) and downed two in quick succession. He came out of the room a few minutes later. His face was red also. "I...uh..." were his words. I couldn't look at him. I just couldn't. "I'm sorry," was all I could think to say. I was. I was sorry that I had opened the damned door in the first place. Not because I was angry with him for jacking off to a picture of me, but because he had unknowingly mirrored some of my own fantasies of him. "Uh..." for an English teacher, he was certainly struggling with his words. Neither of us said anything for a long time. We just sat there and drank our coffee. Usually the breakfast table was a place for us to discuss the plans of the day. Not today. "Look, 'Chelle, I'm really sorry. I don't know what came over me." He didn't know? I was very sure that he did. ('Chelle, short for Michelle, by the way.) "Look, Paul, I...I, uh...I'm sorry for invading your privacy." "'Chelle, I'm the one who needs to apologize. I shouldn't have been doing that." "Why? All men do it." "But not with their sister in mind." Well, I certainly had no retort for that. "What were you fantasizing about me?" "Uh...I'm not sure." I snapped. "Bullshit, Paul. You know exactly what you were thinking about. Now tell me exactly how I've come to be viewed by you as another one of your bedroom whores." His face went white at that. He probably didn't think i knew about a few of the women he had snuck into his room. "I...uh..." "Well? What was I doing in your fantasy? Sucking your cock and swallowing your cum? On all fours while you fucked my tight ass? Maybe I was riding your cock, huh?" "Damn it, 'Chelle! I'm trying to apologize." "I don't want an apology. I want to know how you saw me in your dreamworld." He shouted out the last thing I expected. "I was spanking you, ok!" I rocked back in the chair, stunned beyond all reason. His eyes had become glued to the floor and his face was almost redder than the packs of Marlboros that we always shared. I started to giggle. "What's so funny," he demanded. "That. The spanking part, I mean." "It's funny?" He was confused now, just like a man should be. "Well, not in the way that you think. I'll let you in on a little secret, big brother. I've fantasized about you spanking me, too." "Huh?" "Ever since we talked about the spankings we received when we were young, I've fantasized about you turning me over your knee and blistering my bare bottom." "Really? Uh...I don't know what to say..." "Oh, stop with the stupid act, Paul. You know exactly what you want to say." "Well, uh..." I saw that he would have to be led into the situation. It was so like a man. Offer them what they want and they don't know how to deal with it. "You want to tell me that I should be spanked for going into your room without your permission." "Oh, yeah." Finally. Now he suddenly realized what I was offering. His face took on a stern look. He had been quite an actor in college, so once I gave him the situation, he took to the scene immediately. "Listen, 'Chelle, you know that I've told you never to enter my room without my permission. I've respected your privacy and I expected you to do the same. I guess it was just too much to ask of you. I should just let you off with a warning, but I can't be sure that you won't do it again. You're going to have to be taught a lesson." I lowered my head as if in shame. "I'm sorry, Paul. Please don't spank my bare bottom." "Pleading is going to do you no good. Either you take what's coming to you or you can move out. Your choice." "Please, Paul. Please let me stay with you. I'll be good, I promise." "Spanking or moving?" "I'll take the spanking," I whispered in a low and sexy voice. He stood up and went back to his room. I saw his erection when he walked by me. He was getting into this, too. I hurried to the living room and sat on the sofa (the right side, of course). He came out of his room and walked into where I was sitting. In his hand he held mom's paddle. "Where did you get that," I breathed. "It was in a box from the old house. I think Aunt Jenny put it in the stuff that was supposed to go to me by mistake. It really should have gone to you or to her, but I didn't say anything when I found it. Do you want to do this just like mom used to do it, or do you want something different?" "Like momma." "Ok. Thanks, sis. This really means a lot to me." "To me, too, Paul. Maybe afterwards we might explore a few more fantasies." I smiled a little mischievously and his eyes got really big. "You mean it?" I nodded seductively and I think he could've came in his pants right then and there. "I'm going to put this on the kitchen counter. You know what to do when the time comes." He hurried out to the kitchen and then came back. He began to pace back and forth. "Look, 'Chelle, you know that respect for other people's privacy is very important. Barging in on someone unannounced has got to be the worst form of manners. Now I know that I...er...mom brought you up better than that. You can't be invading the privacy of another individual when it suits some whim of yours. You know that, don't you?" "Yes, sir," I murmured and looked down at my feet. Inside, my stomach was doing flip-flops and I could feel my panties growing very wet. "Now this is what is going to happen. You're going to get a good spanking in just a moment. It's going to happen, 'Chelle, and nothing you do or say is going to change that. Do you understand?" I nodded, never looking at him. "Good. Now go get the paddle, young lady, and get your fanny right back here before I count to five. One..." I ran as fast as I could. I quickly grabbed the paddle and hurried back. "Four...good. Now come over here." I stepped toward him. He was already sitting on the sofa. I moved to his right side. He grabbed my jeans and undid the button. Then he slid down my zipper and allowed the jeans to slide off of my legs. He then grabbed my panties and pulled them down as well. He actually stopped for a moment and stared dead into my crotch. He was overwhelmed by the sight of my hairy pussy. He shook off his thoughts and took the paddle from my hand. He then pulled me over his knee and properly centered me. I could feel his erection pressing into my belly. I tingled all over from the thought of what was about to happen. "'Chelle, I want you to know that I'm not spanking you because you were bad. And I'm not spanking you because I want to cause you pain. I'm spanking you because you deserve it and because I love you. Do you understand that?" "Yes, sir," I throatily replied. "Now I want you to know that when this is over, I will..." SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! He certainly caught me by surprise, just like mom had done when she had been the one giving the spanking. As a result, I wasn't prepared for the pain and I quickly started bawling. SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! Ooooo. He was really going to blister my fanny. I kicked and bawled, but he just kept cracking that paddle over my bare ass. It hurt so badly; it felt so good. SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! SMACK!! I think he stopped when he saw that I was beginning to bruise. I didn't even know that he had stopped. I was still crying and promising to be good. It was only after a long time that I noticed that his hands were rubbing my blistered ass and the crotch of his jeans was wet. I got up from his lap and sank to my knees, tears still streaming down my face. I undid his jeans and found that he had came in his shorts. I smiled at him and lowered my head into his lap. I licked up what remained of the semen on his long pole and then slid it into my mouth. He let out bark of surprise when I immediately applied a lot of suction to his cock. "My God, 'Chelle! Back off a little. You're going to pull my balls right out through my cock." Of course, I ignored him and continued my vacuum cleaner imitation. He grunted and moaned impressively and finally shot another salty load right down my throat. I purposely let a little dribble out of my mouth when I stood up. It excited the hell out of him. I was in a bad way, myself, but I decided that I could wait a little while longer. "What now," he asked. "First lunch, then we'll see where it goes from there," I said and gave a very obvious and meaningful glance towards his bedroom It was a very memorable lunch, I remember. I think that was because I had to stand all through it.