A touch of starch

My husband is the second oldest of five. He has an older brother and three younger sisters. His family owns a building supply and home improvement centre in our area, a business started by his mom and dad and now run by his brother. All three of his sisters also work in the business and the plan is for my hub to do the same once his pension from the school district he works in is fully vested.

My hub and I have two girls, 22 and 20, both attending the large public university that is in our town, though they both live in an apartment near campus and are out of the house. My husband’s brother is the only other sibling to have kids – a girl around the same age as my youngest, a boy who is now a high school sophomore and a girl who is nearing the end of seventh grade.

My hub and his sibs are a tight-knit group, and while their loyalty to each other is admirable, there are occasions when it can leave you feeling like an outsider, no matter that you have been apart of the family for years. That’s one of the reasons I developed such a tight bond with the wife of my hub’s brother. It is nice having someone who understands the dynamics and how you feel sometimes.

Another reason I feel close to her is that she shares my views on parenting and discipline. In these parts, spanking can be a taboo topic. Though I believe a good number of parents still use it, there is a stigma that has been attached to it by a lot of well-intentioned folks who confuse or can’t differentiate loving discipline from abuse that comes from anger and rage.

In any case, my sister in law confided to me one time several years ago that she had spanked her oldest girl, then around 10, and that spanking was one of the tools she had kept on the table because when she used it, it worked. I confessed that I also still spanked, not with anywhere near the first-response frequency I had experienced growing up, but sometimes it seemed to be the most efficient and effective option. Beyond my mom and sis, this was the only other person I shared this with.

This event took place when my sister-in-law asked if her then 13-year-old son and 11-year-old daughter could stay with us for a week so the boy could attend basketball camp while they took their oldest girl to tour colleges.

They came over on a Sunday and the boy attended his camp each day Monday through Thursday. All had gone well until Friday afternoon, when my nephew was almost an hour past the time I had ask him to be home. He told me he was playing ball at a friend’s house and lost track of time. I was upset but was going to let him off with a warning until I received a call from the mother of the friend, a teacher at my daughters’ old school.

She told me her son had been with my nephew at my nephew’s house, and asked if I had given permission for that. I told her I certainly had not. He was absolutely not allowed to be there unsupervised and certainly not allowed to have anyone else over. She told me her son had come home with the faint smell of beer on him though he denied drinking any. I thanked her for letting me know and assured her I would speak with my nephew.

I went to the room my nephew was staying in and asked why he lied to me. He said he had been playing at the park, but stopped over at his house because he needed to get something. Of course, he could not remember what that something was, and I told him that his friend’s mom said her son said they were there the whole time.

I told my nephew I was going to call his parents and ask how they wanted me to handle this. I left him alone in his room sitting on the bed and went out to call his folks. I reached his mom and told her what I knew and what I had been told. She said she definitely would spank for something like this, especially because he directly disobeyed and lying was involved.

I left him to stew for about 10 minutes before I went back to his room, stopping by my room along the way to retrieve the hairbrush from my vanity. It’s a solid mahogany hairbrush – about 5in long and 4in wide, with a long handle – that I used on my girls. My mom used the same brush on us growing up and it had been used on her, and her siblings, before that. My nephew’s eyes locked on it when I walked into the room. I had spanked him once before, but it was a few years earlier when he was acting up at our house and it was with the wooden spoon.

I told him to stand up while I seated myself on a bench that used to serve as a toy box for my girls. Though I knew the answer, I asked him if he was spanked at home. He nodded and said ‘yes’, and I asked him when his last time was. He said it had been a couple of months earlier for back-talking to his mom.

I asked how she did it. “I had to go over her knee. She used the wooden spoon.” “Did she make you take your pants down?” He gave me an embarrassed look and mumbled a ‘yes’. “OK,” I said, pointing at his nylon sports shorts. “get them down.” 

Very haltingly, he undid the drawstring and slid down his shorts, which promptly pooled around his ankles. “Those too,” I added, pointing to his black boxer briefs. I could see he had a ‘touch of starch’, and his boxers were tenting at the front. He gave a pained look as he reached inside the waistband and bent over to lower his underwear.

When he stood up, I could see that he was fully erect and his penis was sticking straight out. The last time I spanked him, he had not yet entered puberty, but now he had a mat of light brown pubic hair and a full scrotum. He look positively mortified. I could only imagine how embarrassing that moment of truth was in baring your bottom and how much exponentially worse it was in that condition.

I did my best to keep my composure and began my lecture with him standing next to me. He moved his hands over to cover his front, but I told him to keep them at his sides.

I told him how disappointed I was that he had disobeyed and deceived me. It had been a long time since I spanked a boy and I had to work through the practicalities caused by his erection. I had him go over my knee and I parted my legs slightly to accommodate him. He was average size for this age but he had the build of the men in my hub’s family – athletic, wide shouldered, muscular legs and firm round butt. His palms were flat and his toes touched the floor.

I brought the hairbrush down with a firm crack on his right cheek. If you’ve never experienced the hairbrush, you are not prepared for the jolt it can deliver, and the involuntary bucking and writhing I got from him told me it was making an impact. I paced the swats for maximum effect and I alternated from side to side, then two or three in the same spot on each side.

He did not count swats out loud. Evidently, that was not a thing at his house. I had never made my girls count (as we were required to do by my mom) and I had no set number of swats in mind. I tended to give three times the number of their years when my girls were that age, and that is what I decided for him – rounded up to a nice even 40. Every 10 swats, I reserved a spank for each of the very tops of his thighs, which elicited howls well above the yelps I had been getting.

When I felt he had enough of the hairbrush, I told him to stand. To my surprise, the erection was still in place. He did not cry, but there were some tears in his eyes and his face was flushed and nearly as red as his rear end. I sent him to the corner, telling him we were not done yet, before I closed the door and left the room.

The room he was staying in was on the first floor, down a short hall from the living room. When I exited, I saw my youngest and his little sister on the couch watching TV. From the looks on their faces, they had heard his spanking – and if they hadn’t, well, the hairbrush in my hand was a giveaway.

I went back to my room and put the brush away, then went to my closet, where I kept one of my hub’s old dress belts hanging on a hook. It was a black leather belt that he had worn for a long time before his waistline expanded and it no longer fit. It was well broken in, about 2in wide, and it folded over nicely. I had used it on my daughters a few times when I had caught them in a lie, and now my nephew was about to experience it as well.

I walked back through the living room, belt in hand, passing my niece and daughter, who both had an ‘oh shit’ look on their faces. I walked back into the room my nephew was in, finding him where I left him, nose in the corner and cherry red bottom on full display. I noticed he had lost his shorts altogether and his boxer briefs were now down around his ankles.

I called him over, and when he turned he spotted the belt in my hand and gave me a look of mild distress. His penis had lost its starch and was now in a soft state. His scrotum had also lost its fullness and his testicles were now hanging low.

I had him bend over and put his hands on the chest I had sat on before. “This is for lying to me,” I said. With that, I drew back the belt and brought it down across the middle of his bottom, where it landed with a sharp crack. His knees buckled some and he thrust forward, but he took the lick without a sound.

I waited for the sting to sink in before drawing back the belt and delivering a second crack, which fell just slightly below the first. I gave another eight, which he took stoically, except for the one that caught his thigh (which was not my intent). For that, he let out a yelp and sucked in his breath.

After I delivered the tenth lick, I kept him bent over for a moment so I could see the results of my work. At the edges of his bum there were some distinct horizontal ridges and welts that I suspected he would be feeling for a good bit, especially when he sat down.

I told him to stand up and get dressed, and that he could come out whenever he was ready. About 15 minutes later, I heard him exit the room and go to the bathroom. He came out to the living room looking sheepish as he sat down gingerly with his sister and cousin.

Getting the belt from me was not the end of my nephew’s troubles. I found out later that his dad had done a beer count before they left on their trip and the garage fridge was a couple of brews light when he got back. Those missing beers cost my nephew a session with his father’s belt.

Contributor: Lauren

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