Spanked For The Love Of Nicole And The Real Truth About The Fuller Brush Man

Nicole and I had been dating for over a year when this event occurred at her parent’s house. We were both eighteen and in our senior year in high school. I was still at the nearby boarding school and Nicole attended the girl’s Catholic high school which was less than a mile from our all boys’ school. We had an intense physical attraction from the instant we met at a classmate’s house. That first meeting had brought about my “first hairbrush spanking” from Dave’s (my best friend) mother, my adopted mom as related in a previous story.

It was a rainy evening and Nicole’s parents were attending a church board meeting. They left with the belief we were going to the movies at a nearby small town. Her father mentioned that he thought the storm might get worse so we should be careful driving. The rules at Nicole’s house were the same as at Dave’s house. It was very simple, no closed bedroom doors, and we were frequently checked on if in the bedroom with a girl. It was often just easier to sit in the living room or preferably to walk on the ranch to one of the barns or clump of shade trees. We had been resourceful in fixing up one of the abandoned ranch hand houses in a far off section of the land. Understand that both Dave’s father and Nicole’s father had family ranches from the homestead days of the mid-eighteen hundred that had grown to over 10,000 acres. The small abandoned house had become a haven to fix up, paint, and furnish with a few chairs, couch and eventually a fairly comfortable bed. Heavy petting and making out started almost immediately in our relationship, but we had become fully sexually active over the past few months. To Dave’s surprise I had often discussed my evolving relationship with Dad and Mom during dinner conversations. Dad had taken several opportunities to provide guidance, especially along the lines of maintaining family trust and responsibility. He knew we were sexually active and fully expected I would always take appropriate precautions given the fact we were still high school students and had a long ways to go until independence.

Nicole’s parents had only been gone ten minutes when the sky just seemed to let go with a heavy burst of continuous heavy down pour. The wind had picked up and the temperature dropped dramatically. There was a tornado warning so we decided to stay home and light a comfy fire in the massive fireplace. We had the entire house to ourselves as Nicole’s brother, Billy, was away at his first year of college. Nicole was such a beautiful girl with silky long hair, gleaming large eyes, perfect firm breasts, creamy soft skin and voluptuous lips. She had a perfect model body with shapely hips and butt that drove me nuts with sexual energy every time my hands glided across its soft skin surface.  We started to make out with the mutual intention not to go beyond heavy caressing. Alright, I admit it, this was entirely mythical thinking. As soon as we began the deep feeling hugging and probing of our most sensitive body parts, I was ready to pole vault out of my “tidy whites”.  Nicole’s breasts were firm with a sensuous responsiveness that sent my lustful fantasy to wild heights of pleasure seeking—don’t you just love those late teen hormones that reduce your rational brain to pee size?  Her bedroom was upstairs on the third floor of the old family ranch house and her parent’s bedroom was just a few steps from the living room with the warmth of the radiating fireplace. Neither of us had any thought of family parental respect in the heated state of passion as we too easily found ourselves in her parent’s bedroom. The outside rain was pounding on the porch and all around the house with a consistent roar.

We were so deeply engrossed in each other that we did not hear the car or the door open in the kitchen. The church board meeting had been canceled and her parents were home. I was on top of Nicole who only had her scanty panties on with me in only my “tidy whites”. We both were jolted back to reality at the sound of her father’s voice, (calm, firm and intense), “What possibly gave you two the nerve to…...”  “Oh, daddy, I’m so sorry, please…”. “Not a word more young lady, there is no explanation that will due”, injected her mother with an intense fiery stare glaring from her eyes”. I had jumped from the bed and stood there like a young boy “guilty” with his hand in the cookie jar, or should I say, “Nicole’s cookie”. My gut was twisting in knots and my head was spinning with wild overwhelming thoughts, none of which produced any potential coherent words of explanation---there simply wasn’t one. Nicole’s mom calmly walked over to the dresser drawer and pulled out a hairbrush. ****, are you kidding me, did all the ranch grandmothers go to the same “Fuller Brush” house party and buy the identical rosewood hairbrush, oval in shape, six to seven inches at the head and four inches wide with a long handle and over a half inch thick of heavy dense rosewood. Her intent needed no verbalization, but it got one. “Young lady, I haven’t spanked you in two years, but now you’re going to feel this brush on your bare bottom until you can’t sit for a week”. “No, please mom, you don’t need to do that, not with Sam here”, Nicole begged and pleaded to no avail.

Nicole’s father looked at me and calmly said, “Come with me to the kitchen”. I went to put on my clothes, but he said, “Don’t bother with those for now”.  That statement sent my gut fear through the roof as my entire body began to shake. When we got to the kitchen I could began to hear the wails of pain coming from the bedroom accompanied by the distinctive crack of each whack on Nicole’s bare soft cheeks. Tears began to roll down my cheeks in empathy of deep love from within my soul. “Sam, you know that we like you and have trusted you with our daughter”. “I don’t hold you solely responsible for tonight’s debacle, you are both equally responsible”. I now managed to get out a shaky, “Yes, Sir”. “You violated the sanctity of our home and our family home rules, therefore; you’ll will get three choices for your punishment: 1) get your bare bottom spanking from Nicole’s mother as she is now getting; 2) I will give you a bare bottom hand spanking followed by the razor strap, just like your father would do; 3) call your father and he will choose to do the same while I watch. My first flash of thought was, “Hell, I’m eighteen and don’t have to do this”. Then that fantasy easily shriveled into unrecognizable bits of stupidity. That would be the end of my relationship with the love of my life. Being spanked bare bottom by another non-family middle-age woman was absolutely out of the question as that was way beyond the tolerance of any embarrassment I could endure. Nicole’s mother was a large German woman with strong arms and shoulders, nowhere as beautiful as my adoptive mom. “Strong like ranch bull” was a good descriptive phrase for her. She could bale hay with the best of men in the harvest, slaughter cattle and heard them with the best of any ranch hand. Growing up she was expected to hold her own on her father’s ranch along with her brothers.  Besides, I couldn’t expect the same level of unconditional love, caring and respect as with my adoptive mom. Being spanked by Nicole’s father made much more sense, after all, he was a man I could respect in a “Man to Man” way. I quickly ruled this option out too. My dad clearly loved me, would deliver the deserved firm punishment and then comfort me while I recovered. There was a lingering possibility that dad wouldn’t be as invested in this spanking recourse. This thought process of alternatives raced through my mind as I continued to hear whack, after whack, after whack with Nicole’s pleading and sobbing, an all too familiar sound given mine and Dave’s previous encounters with that damn rosewood hairbrush.

My senses were calming down as I made the business decision, “I would call my dad”.  The phone rang and mom answered, “Mom, can I please talk to Dad?” “What’s wrong, were you in a car accident, referring to the heavy storm”. “No, I’m ok; can I please speak to Dad?” “Honey, Sam is on the phone, there is something wrong.” Mom’s intuition easily read between the lines and the tone of voice. I went through the whole story as Dad patiently listened and detailed the three choices I had been given. Dad then reasoned with me, not a response I wanted to hear. “When you and Dave have done something that warrants this type of punishment and “believe me this does” (****), you each have gotten the same spanking from the same parent”.  “Sam, remember when the two of you raced and damaged the fence, injured the horse, and endangered your lives?” “Yes, Sir”, I respectfully responded. How the heck could I have forgotten? “You wanted mom to intervene with my responsibility toward you and Dave”.   “Nicole is getting punished by her mother with the hairbrush and I think you deserve the same punishment”. My guts were again in knots as I saw no way out of Dad’s decision. I handed the phone to Nicole’s dad who lightly chatted; it seemed, with my dad for a few minutes. Neither seemed surprised at the predicament we had created. When he got off the phone having agreed with my dad he said, “Well you sit here until Nicole is done with her spanking. I’ll give you each your privacy while being punished. There was silence from the bedroom now. I simply sat with my head held in my hands crying. Then without expectation the sound of whacks and wails restarted. I looked with puzzlement in my eyes at Nicole’s father. He said, “You can expect a long and hard spanking with that hairbrush. You will get spanked for five or ten minutes; be given time facing the wall to cry it out; and then restart the routine four or five times until mother thinks it’s enough”. “Nicole always asked for my spankings to avoid the hairbrush and be done without the prolonged process that mother thinks is necessary”. “God yea, she’s not stupid”, I thought as the harsh reality of this punishment was sinking in my brain with astonishment. A long hard “hairbrush” bare bottom spanking combined with a new embarrassment fully exposed to Nicole’s mom. “****, God help me!”

“Sam, I need to ask you a question, likely embarrassing. You seem to be a very mature hairy guy for your age. Nicole’s mom had our son shave his butt for his last spanking for getting into trouble at college last month because she believes in spanking that “little boy smooth butt” so have you had to shave for your spankings at home?” I did turn white with embarrassment as I briefly recounted my last spanking experience from Dad. “Ok, I suggest that you go in the bathroom and prepare yourself. I sheepishly responded with “I can’t see what I’m doing”. “Well, you can wait for mother to do it or I can help if you choose.” That was easy, “You better do it”, I quickly said. Somehow, I wasn’t even surprised at the request. My fantasy had me totally convinced that these mothers not only went to the same Fuller Brush party, but also attended the “Fuller Brush School of Teen Discipline”. This insured they all knew how to use the rosewood hairbrush to inflict maximum bare butt pain while leaving no bruises, just several days of red fiery butt stinging and burning. There had to be a set of Fuller Brush spanking rules. Rule #1:  Spanking only on a clean, smooth, hairless boy teen butt. “Yep, this just had to be!” I followed Nicole’s father to the bathroom where he picked up his straight razor and began honing the edge sharp on the well oiled razor strop hanging from the wall. His strap looked wider and thicker than my dad’s strop, about three inches compared to 2.5 inches wide, but the same length of 22 inch thick saddle leather. “Thank God I wasn’t going to feel that strap to my bare butt today”, I thought and breathed a sigh of relief. He was very fast and proficient so I wasn’t scared at all. “Take your underwear off, spread your legs wide apart and hold onto the bathtub edge, and don’t move at all as I don’t want to nick you”.  Good thought! He quickly lathered the shaving cup and spread the warm cream all over my bare butt and upper legs down to just above the back of my knees. “Wow”, I said. “Don’t worry, she won’t go down that far, but I’m making sure”.  He quickly shaved each cheek smooth, parted my cheeks with his fingers as he worked the blade down between my legs on both sides and down the back of each leg. He then gave me a warm, wet shaving towel to clean up. As I pulled my “tidy-whites” up he said, “Why don’t you wrap that towel around your waist as that underwear will soon be totally off anyway.” I respectfully commented something about keeping some dignity for a few minutes longer and wrapped the towel around my waist with my underwear still safely hugging my secure bare flesh for a while. He laughed and so did I.

Nicole came into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around her breasts and covering her lower private parts. She was still sobbing as my arms enveloped her body. I began to cry saying that I was sorry. She said, “Me too, it’s not your fault”. Mother said, “Go up to bed and I’ll come with some ice to cool the burn”. “Nice touch just like my mom”, I thought. Father said¸ “Sam has chosen to get the same punishment from you as Nicole. Although, not exactly. We had a discussion with his dad and Charles recommended that they be treated equally.” Nicole’s mother looked thoughtful and said, “Well, if that’s the case I want to treat him as we would treat our son given he’s a young man too”. That sounded good initially as it meant that I was accepted as part of this family too and wouldn’t be excluded from seeing Nicole---I read between the lines with hopeful relief. “He’ll get the same punishment that Billy got last month when he came home from college”, she calmly and firmly stated. “Dear, I gave Sam three choices for his spanking. The first was from you with the hairbrush as Nicole got it; the second was from me with my hand and razor strap; and the third was from his dad. “Charles said he should get what Nicole got which means to me as we would do in our family”, mum firmly repeated again. I was a little bewildered at the conversation and didn’t quite understand the problem. Nicole’s father looked straight into my eyes and said, “I’m sorry, but this means our son gets the hairbrush from mother followed by the razor strap from me”.  I was frozen in place and thought, “Oh, ****. How did the “Fuller Brush Rules” get thrown out?”  “Sam, do you understand and accept this”, father said. I know what I wanted to say, but could only utter, “Yes, sir”, being caught in a vise of Nicole’s family rules. My fate was written in stone.

I was then told to go to the bedroom to await my sentence in the flames of hell. When mother finally came in she sat on the bed and gave me the lecture and spanking guidelines. “You and Nicole are equally responsibly for your behaviors. You each disrespected us and this family”, she started. “Yes, Mum”. “I’m going to make sure this will never be a choice again”. “Yes, Mum”. “This will be a long, hard spanking on your bare bottom. I will start with my hand. 

[Great, this sounded familiar from the severity of the “tractor races” with dad’s decision to administer firmer consequences including his hand, mom’s hairbrush, and his razor strap, my mind wondered. Little hope in believing that Nicole’s father would lighten his strapping, feeling bad about the severity of the hairbrush aftermath on my bare bottom given this family’s dynamics.]  

When you have cried enough from that, I will switch to the hairbrush. Every five minutes you will be sent to stand facing the wall to think and cry it out.  You then will come back over my knee for the next round. We may do this five to ten times until I think from the level of your tears and reactions that the point is learned and you have true contrition.” This is how I make sure you actually think about these consequences instead of quickly having a spanking without time to think about how you got into the situation.  “You can cry and yell all you want; just remain respectful and follow every order”. “Yes, Mum”. I was now shaking and breathing hard with fear running like blood through my veins over the impending start. Mum got up and came back with several towels, one of which was placed over her large lap with a valley pushed in between her strong legs. “You may be embarrassed in a minute, but I assure you my nineteen year-old son has the same equipment between his legs”. I was clearly faint and blushing at the same time. “He sometimes has a “manly” accident when I spank him, so I put down a towel just in case.” My eyes were wide with her bluntness. “Are you ready or do you have any questions?”

“I’m ready, Mum”, I faintly commented. “Ok, take that towel off from around your waist and keep your hands to your side”. I easily removed the towel without hesitation. “Now drop those “tidy-whites” to the floor and step out of them”. I hesitated with embarrassment and concern about the possible uncontrollable erect sexual response and asked, “Can I lie across your lap and you take them down?” “No, embarrassment is part of being a little spanked boy again. So drop them and keep your hands to the sides or it will be an extra five minutes with the hairbrush immediately”.  My “tidy-whites” were down and on the floor in a flash. I didn’t want to risk her anger response on my butt at this point. Thank God I didn’t have an erection as she had the full frontal view of my hairy package. “Lay across the middle of my lap so your butt is right here”, she pointed. “Good, I see father has you prepared perfectly nice and smooth. Soon you will be eight-years-old again.” Mum began to rub cooling lotion all over my butt, sit spot, between my legs and all the way down where father had shaved me. I was still shaking and breathing hard again. Mom said to calm down, take several deep breaths, accept the fact it will hurt and don’t hold back the tears as she gently continued rubbing the lotion into the skin. “I’m making sure you won’t have any bruises caused by the brush impacting dry skin”. Mum had big heavy hands like my dad with huge plump fingers.

 I was calming down taking her advice and almost had attained normal breathing. Then it happened, I had half an erect response pressing into the valley of the towel between Mum’s firm legs. I was several shades of white with anticipation and hoping that my sexual response wouldn’t continue to climax. If my growing hardness was felt between her legs, it was totally ignored. She stopped rubbing in the lotion and directed me to breathe normally. The initial hand swats impacted just below the sit spot going down half way to above the knee bend between the beginning of my butt cheeks, across and up the other leg. Each whack became increasingly harder but at the same measured pace. My legs were getting hotter with a burning sting as that large, tough hand alternated back and forth evenly to each leg. The tears began to flow more and more with each harder whack now accompanied by wailing pleas. Whack, “aaah”, whack, ”aaah”, whack, crack “I’m sorry”, whack, thwack, whack, “Please stop”, whack, crack, “Oh my legs” as the pain of each swat became almost unbearable. I so hated and feared getting spanked below my sit spot, which was bad enough. The sobbing came from deep within me and the howls grew louder. Mum’s strength and hand thrusts shifted from the most sensitive leg spots to the sit spots below each cheek and squarely onto the center of my freshly shaven bare butt flesh. Clearly, there would be no white shades of flesh left through the blaring pink-reddish tones. The intense rhythm alternating from center cheek to cheek kept driving my now fully erect penis up and down between her legs and the natural hole provided by the divided towel. I was trying to ignore the pain but yelling to stop repeatedly hoping I could control the late teen hormone excitation. “Please don’t let this happen again” raced through my mind. My posterior lurched up and down as I exploded fluids in multiple bursts into the towel. My teen sexual energy had been stimulated by Nicole without climatic relief and a middle-age female working the sensitive parts of my anatomy was too much to reasonably control. Teen hormonal energy won out again! I turned white with shame, moaning, writhing, and sobbing at the same time. My entire body went limp with resigned exhaustion. I was an eight year-old little boy again bare bottomed and thoroughly spanked with the “man” part of me completely expelled too. The regression was complete and I hadn’t even felt the hairbrush yet. Mum never missed a beat, but kept the steady hand spanking going never acknowledging every cry for mercy and my obvious ***********.  

The hand spanking stopped suddenly with mum rubbing my back and more lotion into my by now multi-colored bright red butt and leg skin. The pink burning fire was evenly spread all over my bare flesh. Her hand spanking proved to be as bad or worse as dad’s. She said, “You’re taking this like a man so stand up facing the wall and cry it out. The hairbrush is next.” A shutter of fear went through my gut and body.  Facing the wall thinking about the rosewood hairbrush was like a vivid nightmare. I was utterly afraid because Mum seemed as strong as dad would be with the hairbrush. The lotion and Mum’s words of encouragement felt good but did little to relieve the reality of my foreboding plight.  All this had taken less than five to eight minutes. Mum was experienced at keeping her teens in strict line, or else! God, there was no way out of hell. I was captive to Dante’s inferno a now familiar place.

My tears slowed and I was in kind of a meditative trance just staring at a spot on the wall when mum’s voice jolted me back to reality. I turned around to see the hairbrush in hand and mum tapping her thigh as a signal to resume my supplicant position. “I won’t use this brush on your legs so you don’t have to worry about that severe pain and marks it would leave. I respected how you handled the hand spanking, so just continue to be a young man accepting your just rewards”.  This would now be my fourth hairbrush spanking, two from my adoptive mom, one from dad, and now the unknown. The uncertainty of unpredictability sent chilling shivers throughout my entire body as I settled into spanking position. “This will be the worst part of your punishment so do not move out of position or this won’t count. Just cry and yell as much as you need too”, mum directed. I sighed, took in a deep breath resolved not to be curled up on the floor like my brother had done in our pervious spanking. The rosewood initially reverberated on the center of each bare cheek landing with even firmness and with a corresponding wail. Each crack of the brush has a frightening resonance constantly echoing in the airwaves throughout the room. Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, alternating from the center bare cheeks to lower sit spots with each impact acting as a blow torch of fiery-burning pain. My litany of prayers and pleading intertwined with each whack, “Stop”, “ayah”, “please”, “ayah”, “ayah”, “help”, “aaah”, “I’m sorry”, “aaah”, “Stop, please stop”, “I won’t do it again”, “I promise".  Thwack, “ayah”, whack, “aaah”, crack, “ayah”, crack, “Oh, God”, whack, “aaah”, whack, “Please, no more Mum”. Within five to eight minutes of swats and echoes of retort I was completely exhausted and limp across the matrons lap (or so it seemed). As mum began to rub lotion over the bright red cheeks my mind couldn’t contemplate the impending continuation of this intended spanking. My eight-year-old little boy laid there sobbing, crying and sobbing with half short breaths. “   “Sam, you have done a remarkable job accepting this spanking. I think I’ll have you finish crying this out while facing the wall. Then you will come back for just one more hairbrush round. It will be the hard part with very intense and rapid hairbrush swats.” I knew this sounded like mom’s routine second round of hard rapid spanking. “See, the grandmothers did attend the same teen discipline school.” At least I now knew what to anticipate which lowered the uncertainty of expectations, but not the fear related to the severity of the impending hard-hitting punishment.  

Once again I entered into a meditative trance grateful that I didn’t have to face five rounds of hairbrush punishment. How any teen could endure such tough discipline was way beyond my psyche of understanding. My breathing calmed and my sobbing tears had slowed when I was called to the waiting lap again. Mum said, “Now stay still as this will be very hard and fast. Keep doing as you have been and it will be ok.” My heart rate and breathing went off the scales and Mum gently rubbed my back saying to take slow deep breaths. When I settled the rosewood met my already burning cheeks with rapid firm impact. “Oh, God I prayed. Please don’t let me wriggle off her lap like Dave would have done. I kept repeating the mantra, (I can take it. I can take it. It’s almost over.)”. Mum’s rhythm and strength of each swat remained consistent as I wailed in unison to create a choir of pleas. Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, crack within every five or so seconds of rapid-fire pain in “only” five or six minutes of hell on earth. “Well done, Mum.” I was again regressed to that exhausted limp eight-year-old sobbing uncontrollably. Mum was rubbing cooling lotion on my ignited fiery-red bare “little boy” cheeks calmly repeating, “You’re ok, cry it out, calm down, you’ve done fine young man, I’m proud of you”, until I was quiet. “My son has never had such a short session of punishment. You sincerely accepted and convinced me of learning your lesson with contrition. I’m sure you will never do this again.” Mum was right about that. I didn’t need two shots at mum’s court for wayward teens. I often thought with the wrong head, but never repeated the same transgression twice. Hell, I wish my stupid mistakes didn’t reach this level of deserved punishments. Now I had to get through father’s razor strapping. The big question was a paradox, “how”?  My last would-be stropping from dad met with an unexpected reprieve because of how blistered and hot my bare butt had looked to dad following his use of mom’s hairbrush. I was beyond the hope of any such forgiveness in the current situation. Resolve and acceptance was the only realistic recourse. At least my love didn’t have to face the “man” consequences like me and her brother.

 “Welcome to Nicole’s family, Sam!”

Mum told me to lie on the bed to await father. I was still whimpering softly with my bare butt tingeing from the stinging when he came into the bedroom. I was frozen in place as he sat beside me and began rubbing my back softly and caringly. “I can see you’ve taken a hard hairbrush thrashing from mother. Since you had the unexpected additional punishment ticked onto my initial decision, I’m going to give you a choice. You can take the strap from me now or chose to come back tomorrow after a night’s rest. Don’t answer until I explain exactly what you can expect. You’re going to get twenty strokes across the center of your bare bottom and twenty just two inches below the cheeks at the center of your sit spot. Now that is forty all together and you can choose alternating locations or take  all given totally on one then the other location”, father carefully and calmly stated the rules of his discipline. “You can spend the night in Billy’s room and we’ll finish this first thing in the morning. I’ll call your parents and I’m sure they will agree.” I was exhausted physically and emotionally at this point and didn’t move at all. Sleeping through the night sounded good, but the idea of waiting seemed unbearable. Driving back home with a freshly blistered butt tonight wasn’t very inviting either, especially facing mom and dad when I got there.  “I want to get this over with tonight but can I rest for a little while longer”, I hopefully requested. Father replied reassuringly, “Sure that sounds fair to me. I’ll be back in an hour.” I further added to my request, “Would you please call my dad so I can stay the night after it’s all over?” “No problem”, was the reply. I soon entered into a deep slumber- half awake and half fitful dream state with my body totally tranquil except my bare butt cheeks from the physical ordeal. So this is what purgatory must be like.

I was aware an hour later as Nicole’s father entered the room. He gently touched my back saying it was time unless I wanted to wait until morning. He was being awfully kind given what his strap was about to do to my bare bottom. I calmly replied, “No I want to do this tonight”. I knew what to expect given the fact I had experienced the crack of leather from my dad on several previous occasions. “Gather your clothes and wrap that towel around yourself. We’ll do this in Billy’s room and you can go right to sleep afterwards, if you choose”, father stated. I don’t remember the walk to Billy’s room but stood there totally bare not the least bit ashamed. Father again offered a choice; lay across the bed length wise with my butt propped up by a pillow in spanking presentation or standing bent over in dad’s style holding on to the bed rail. I didn’t want to risk jumping up and down in the “spanked boy dance” so I chose the prone bed position. Father laid the towel over a large pillow and had me adjusted with my limp penis right in the middle with my posterior elevated perfectly for delivery of the leather strap. “Before we start you have one last decision; alternating between center butt and lower or….?” I answered “alternating” before he could finish the question. “Remember to not move out of position or I’ll repeat the stroke”. “Yea, that much I already knew from dad’s lessons with his strap”. Father touched my back one last time encouraging me to calmly breathe and accept this like a young man. I was beginning to hate those words as it meant I was about to feel that intense burning and stinging response from my bare butt surface neurons. This was going to hurt with forty of the best crashing down on my waiting already pinkish-red cheeks. “I’m ready, I contritely uttered”.

The air parted with a distinct whistle as the razor strap was delivered with an even solid impact across my center cheeks. I pulled my legs together in response and regretfully yelled, “Oh, (Fuuu-k), that hurts”, at the top of my voice. I was right! That strap was three inches wide and made of much heavier saddle leather than dad’s razor strop. The message was clearly communicated, “There would be no holding back and no hope of reprieve”. Father now firmly lectured, “Sam, that language will not be tolerated and you are to keep those legs apart. Now you are   getting three immediate extra hard whacks for that language”. I respectfully replied, “Yes, Sir”.  Whoosh-crack; “Ayah”, Whoosh-crack; “Ayah”, Whoosh-crack; “Ayah”, all delivered with his full strength. “Oh God”, “I’m in such trouble”. I prepared again resolved not to wail and yell uselessly to deaf walls. The leather whistled again with another solid whack impacting across both cheeks conforming to the contour of my bare butt; crack, “aah”, pause allowing the exact amount of time for the burning sting to radiate throughout my bare cheeks distributing pain evenly. Rancher and farmer dads didn’t need to attend the Fuller Brush School of Discipline. After a century and generations of being disciplined themselves the techniques were genetically engrained passed on from grandfathers to fathers to sons, and so on. Each swing was a full 180 degree rotation perfectly alternating from two inches below the middle cheeks and overlapping back directly to the middle bare cheeks. Father was fixed in his mission of “son” discipline and I was resolved in acceptance. Whack, “aaah”, crack, “ayah”, whack, “aaah” crack, “ayah”, every whack applied with the same full-on vigor. The anticipatory “whooshing” or “whistling” sound sent waves of shaking fear throughout my waiting body. There were no useless prayers, just sobbing tears coming from so deep within my body’s soul. Previous experience didn’t change the painful vigorous response.  I knew what to expect and wasn’t in the least to be disappointed. “Welcome home, Sam, only a different bed and a varied position.”  Whistle-crack, whistle-whack, whistle-crack, whistle-snap, whistle-whack repeated with a muffled verbal retort “aaah” or “ayah” between each unyielding leather wallop. “That’s twenty. You’re doing fine”, father calmly stated. My tears and sobbing continued hardly acknowledging the half-way journey into the canyons of hell, or was it an erupting volcano. The onslaught of leather strikes continued in exact rhythm producing an ignited growing red flame that I never had from dad. Warning to horny male teens—“Rancher’s daughters are sacred territory with a very high price tag should you disrespect them or (heaven forbid) their mothers.” This was father’s only daughter and although she joined equally in the transgression he took the opportunity to give me a clear understanding of his protective instincts. Older teen hormones just don’t allow much of a pause to engage “pee-brain” forethought. Hairbrush spankings reduce teen boys to crying eight-year-olds and fathers with razor straps train you to be a tough mature man.  I lay there tolerating every thrust the leather had to offer as this cognitive rationale made the most perfect sense to me. My mind always had to think through every detail of the punishment process. Whack, crack, whack, crack, whack and the last five swats of penance were delivered with the same balanced vitality of force as the first five. Father sat down on the bed and gently rubbed my back as I continued to deeply sob. He was the same calm determined father as when he started and I now knew as caring to his kids as my dad. When I had calmed my breathing and tears were reduced to soft whimpers he patted my back saying before he left, “I’m so proud of you young man”. There were those infallible words again! Mum arrived like the caring angel and laid a towel carefully over my red-fiery bottom followed by a sorely needed ice pack. “Here is a pair of Billy’s PJs to wear when you’re ready. I’m taking all your clothes to launder so they are nice and fresh for breakfast. I know you’re not hungry now, but you can get up during the night for a snack. Nicole went to sleep worrying about you too. I respect you, Sam.” Wow! This was beyond my expectation.

Given the series of spankings that followed my passionate experience with Nicole I quickly dropped off into a dream world sleeping nine straight hours. I heard Mum calling me to breakfast. I looked around for my clothes then remembered putting on the provided PJs. When I entered the kitchen Nicole greeted me and we stood gazing into each other eyes saying in almost unison, “Are you ok?” “Everything except my butt, want to see”, she laughed? I looked at her father wide eyed. He said, “For Christ’s sake, give her a hug the world hasn’t ended”. “You couldn’t fool my butt with that line”, I laughed more. “Aaaaaah”, I uttered sitting gently down on the wood chair. When breakfast was served father said we needed to talk. “You’re mother and I aren’t stupid and know you two have been sexually active for some months”, began the conversation. I darted a look at Nicole, who stated, “I haven’t said a word, Sam”. Mum quickly added, “You’re my daughter and didn’t have too”. “Nicole, your mother and I never came close to having sex in our parent’s houses when we were dating our last two years of high school”. Mum shot a hard look at her dad. “Well, ok; let’s just say we came very close”, he corrected the former statement. We laughed as I told Nicole it was time to hold her ears and do the “la, la, la, la, la, awkward routine.” “We want you to simply respect each other and know the limits given the fact your still seniors in high school”. “We don’t know if you two will marry in the future, but you will be glad if you follow family guidelines”. With that last comment the lecture of sorts was over and we continued with the meal. “Father, I now called him directly, I want to thank you for treating me like Billy”. I just have to know the answer to one question “Is your razor strop wider and thicker than my Dad’s”? That statement sent roars of laughter around the room. “The strap is hanging in its place in that bathroom. Just go get it”, he directed. As I felt the soft and hard side of the strop the leather was clearly heavier saddle grade. “It’s from England so the standard is in millimeters making it between 2.5 and less than three inches”, commented Dad. “The weight of English saddle leather is also heavier because it’s also calculated in millimeters. My father had one that wore out over the years and likely on our butts, mine and my brothers, so I replaced it on a mail order years ago. It gives a quick sharp edge to the straight razor.” I said, “Yea, it also gives a bare butt a redder-fiery glow”. It’s amazing how things can be funny after such serious situations.

When I showered and took my first look at my still stinging butt. I could see a series of small welts across four distinct lines from the impact of the almost three inches width of leather. It was very sensitive to the touch. The drive home was a little scary knowing I had to face my parents and their possible consequences. They greeted at the door and each gave me a big hug. “Dad, do I have to go upstairs now”, I asked fully expecting so? “No son, you’ve had enough and properly accepted your punishment from Nicole’s parents”, stated Dad with a nod from mom. “Thanks Mom and Dad”, I said with relief. There wasn’t to be an expected second spanking. Dave came downstairs, gave me a hug too; then sarcastically said, “Your **** has done it again”. He got a good shot in the arm in retaliation. Mom sat down and directed me over to her, saying to loosen my pants. “Come on, mom”, I said. “Loosen them”, she more firmly stated. She eased my “tidy whites” down and sighed in shock. “Dad, look at this. You never leave red welts”. Dave couldn’t resist a look, “Holy ****, Sam”. “Honey, I want you to call Nicole’s father about this”, mom vehemently stated. “No”, I interjected. This is my agreement and business with him and Nicole’s mother. I had the choice, well almost,” I retorted to mom. “He’s right. Leave it be mother,” supported dad. “Don’t worry mom, this will never happen again”, I tried to comfort the tear in her eye and gave her a long hug.

Epilog: 

Months later it was mid-February when dad got the call from the Dean of Students at school, Mr. Heatherton. “James, this is Fred. I’m sorry to have to bother you but we have a situation here at school. Dave and Sam are here in my office. I seldom have to discipline seniors this close to graduation but here is what happened…..”.  “Now the senior boys normally get ten swats on bare bottom with the large paddle or are given the option to have their fathers spank them at home which is generally much worse. Most of our ranch boys choose the paddle here, but Dave wants his punishment at home. I know. I tried to convince him otherwise to no avail. Yes, the other three boys have already gotten their punishment. Yes, it’s the same school paddle. Oh, I don’t know, maybe forty years or so. Sam is insisting that you’re now his father. Frankly, I’ve never met his step-father or natural mother. I don’t think they have ever visited in the four years since he has been enrolled. I don’t know what is proper at this point. No, Sam is one of our model honors students. (Dave shot me that “goody-two-shoe” look with his boyish smirk). No, it doesn’t affect their grades. Yes, Dave remains a solid B student. I wouldn’t worry about it because I find it often takes a year or two into college.” Dave and I heard only one side of the conversation. “Well, yes he is eighteen. Yes, I guess you’re right. He has the right to make the choice”. Mr. Heatherton handed Dave the phone. “Yes, sir”, was the only comment after listening for a brief few moments. Dave handed me the phone. “Yes, Sir,” again the only possible response as I turned faint white. I looked at Dave then the Dean. I first addressed Dave, “This is really bad”. Then to the Dean, “Sir, we have to take the ten swats bare bottom right now from you. Except Dad says you are to give us eighteen swats to bring us up to the proper age of maturity. You’re not to hold back at all (Dad and the Dean sounded like old friends from the tone of his voice). Then we get the razor strap from dad again tonight.” “That doesn’t surprise me boys. Get undressed. I’m sorry I have to do this”, he calmly commented with actual regret in his voice. “****,” I thought as he took the 24 inch long hard oak wood paddle, 4 inches wide, more than an half-inch thick with holes down from its holy place of display. The half-inch holes were perfectly separated counter sunk to a smooth quarter-inch circular holes on the first 15 inches of the hard wood to allow the best flow of air. I’m sure some shop teacher or student made it a long time ago. Over the years many a boy had been educated with that board. No embarrassment at stripping down as the Dean was also our wrestling coach and completely muscle toned. I had gone almost four years without ever feeling the school paddle. Dave had gotten it twice his freshman year and likely the reason for choosing a home spanking, I initially thought. I had followed Dave down the wrong road again. Dave removed his shoes, socks, pants, shirt and tee shirt and stood there in his “tidy whites”. So I followed suit. Some hope, maybe Dave knew something I missed and we would feel the wood with our underwear on. There were already tears in Dave’s eyes as he was always first with the water works. I was vowing not to cry as a senior.  “Dave, you bend over that end of the desk; Sam, you bend over the other,” directed the dean. “Dave, May I”, the Dean respectfully asked as he put his thumbs in his waist band. “Yes, Sir”, was the reply. He lowered Dave’s “tidy whites” to the ankles and on to the floor revealing his perfect bubble butt and to my surprise his huge tool’s full-on erection which was totally ignored. I received the same courtesy. My “tidy whites” quickly followed with legs spread apart in the bare butt spanking position but I was limp with fear. So much for the fantasy of hope! Then the expected directions were given. “This will be very hard as you are older seniors”. I will alternate with one each swat and back to the other so the stinging- burn sets in well.” We both stood bent over as expected “men seniors” to accept our earned consequences. I looked with wide-eyed fear as the paddle whooshed through the air with its own distinctive sound landing on Dave’s bare butt with a loud, hard-hitting crack. “Aaaah, Dave yelled as he winched and counted; One, Sir”. That ended his teen adrenaline response between his legs. I was next holding hard to the edges of the desk. My eyes were fixed on Dave’s shaking and crying looking away from the impending first swat as I heard the “whoosh” instantly followed by the resounding “crack”. “Oh, God; One Sir” and the tears gushed forth too with the impact almost pushing me completely down on the desk igniting that burning cheek flesh-pain again. Hell, that’s all another story!

 

4549fc 4549fc
41-45
9 Responses May 17, 2012

I only saw a Fuller brush man one time, though my parents and grandparents talked about them all the time.

If anyone came near my privates with a straight razor, I'd either be screeching in a corner or have jumped out a widow! My father used one for while. (And forbid me to touch it.) You can cut someone's throat to the spine with one of those. One slip around your privates, and oops!---nuts on the floor! I still can't sit straight since reading that (!!)

Oh, I think there is a mus-interpretation of the shaving. My bare butt was shaved, not my "privates", something I wouldn't have stood for at all and wouldn't have made sense. Hope your enjoying the other stories too.

The butt is way too close to the privates. Gets me all worked up :( Don't need a straight razor anywhere down there. (Yep--reading the others.)

Wow... just...wow. It's not often that a story can leave me sitting tip-toed. Great story...and god I love that title. It's sooo perfect. I'm honestly jealous.

Jealous? Did you want to have the same level of punishment? Thanks for appreciating the story and taking the time to follow-up with my longer-detailed reads.

I had severe canings, but it kept me from be listed as a criminal.

For someone who never got spanked as a kid I think you got above and beyond that in your teen years. Holy Hell!!! First I have to say I felt completely embarrassed for you in regards to having to be shaved! Are you serious??? Eeek!!! Then having Nicole's mom use that hairbrush on your now bare boyish bum, but even worse end up climaxing during that entire experience on a towel laying across her lap? Eeesh!!! Did it at least ease the pain for that short moment of pleasure? (sorry I had to ask, LOL) That must have been one weird combo sensation. I couldn't help but giggle at different things you put in here. But my favorite line was "The Fuller Brush School of Teenage Discipline" I actually laughed out loud...That experience sounded completely awful, but then to have to endure a razor strapping after that??? CHECK PLEASE!!! You obviously really loved Nicole...And you have some pretty high tolerence for pain...Furthermore, I don't know how you were able to have breakfast the next morning with them either and have some laughs. I would have sooner gone to that breakfast table with a bag over my head to cover my face because I would have been sooooo uncomfortable. And the other thing I have to comment on is the fact that they praised you for doing so well. "I'm so proud of you?" Bleh, that would have annoyed me. I hated when my father would say things before, during, and afterwards. Not "I'm so proud of you," It was things like, "what do you have to say for yourself?" "If you ever do this again..." "I will not tolerate this behavior, do you understand me?" "What were you thinking?" Etc. I have to say you write extremely well, you could be a writer and publish your works...Seriously...I also liked that you left off with an epilogue...I guess now I'll just have to read that next.

Once again I really appreciate your insights and great responses to my writing. Thanks for your encouragement. You are right about teen love. She was my first real love so I would have gone to hell not to loose her. Well, I guess I did go to hell and did get to keep her, so even as I look back on this it was still worth it. Even getting caught in her parent's bed was worth it (that's everything prior to getting caught). Those intense making out sessions still remain the best in my experiences. Nicole eventually married a good local friend and we still comunicate today. We were all a close knit group given the small private schools. Oh, yes! The short pleasure was a nice distraction, but also proved to be the most embarrassing part of the experience.

Glad you enjoyed my Fuller Brush school as it was my only explanation as to how at least four of my friends mothers had the same family hair brush. I never did confirm that they all went to a Fuller Brush party to buy supplies. Who knows? You have me interested in telling a story related from Dave's 13 year-old experience with mom's hair brush. I didn't experience it at the time as I didn't know Dave then, but his description his rather hysterical. I often wonder if finding the humorous side in these spankings was part of coping through our teen years.

You are welcome, it's hard not to write a lengthy response because your memories are like short stories. I thought mine were too long when I started sharing them. But I like to give a background story as to what led to the experience. So it's nice that there is someone else on here who likes to write lengthy memories as well. :-) One of my worst memories well worst thing I ever did was my Freshman year in high school. To understand that you could also read "The Note" then "History-Bad Choice=Never Assume Your Too Old For Your Fathers Belt" If you feel like it. I plan on reading more of yours, I literally drank a beer while reading yours last night. :-) And on that note I shall go run some much needed errands.

Thanks again. I check out your other stories soon.

K-K :-)

1 More Response

Excellent writing. As English is my 2nd, almost 3rd language it took me a long time to read, but I appreciated it totally. <br />
It's an prefect example of spanking given with love and excepted as such.<br />
Sorry if I missed it, but why the epilogue spanking?

the epilogue was to let the interested readers know that I was going to write about my school discipline experience that didn't come until my seniior year of high school. Just a style of writing that I choose. Glad you enjoyed the story and thanks for your interest and support.

Thanks for your reply. I enjoy reading your stories.

Thanks for rating up the story. Glad you appreciated it.

well crafted story

Thanks for your support and hope you like my other stories.

Here is what you have all been waiting for--full circle from a year before when my initial meeting of Nicole lead to my "First Real Spanking at Age Seventeen". Horny eighteen year old boys just continue to think with the wrong head, I guess. Looking forward to your comments once again. Thanks for being the great audience.

That would have gotten me in a worse situation, as it's not something one would think of doing in that family.