Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.
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About the REAL LIFE SPANKING SeriesThe RLS Series is a collection of _real-life_ stories retold by the Flogmaster. Names and places have been _changed_ to protect the naughty. All are based on the personal memories of individuals and are written in the first person. Literary license may have been taken for a more dramatic presentation.
Please send me your spanking experiences! I will rewrite and publish the most interesting as part of the RLS series. Your anonymity _will_ be preserved. The Flogmaster
Real Life Spanking Series #29--Twins
(*****, FM/fm, Severe, Children punishment)
A brother and sister make a big mistake -- and pay the price. (Approximately 4,340 words. Originally published 1998-10.)
My brother Brian and I are twins, and as such, we are usually very close and share everything. Just a few weeks ago we were talking and a particular spanking memory surfaced. I hadn't forgotten the experience, of course, but I had forgotten that we had never discussed it. Well, we talked and he told his side of the story and I told him mine and it was a wonderful, warm moment between us -- very special. Anyway, here is what happened, all those years ago, in both our voices.
"Why don't you come sit up here with me and let's go for a drive," Mother said, and I knew from the tone in her voice that there was no arguing with her. "I think your father wants to speak with Brian," she half-whispered as I watched my brother and father walking up toward the house. Nervously, I sat back as my mother began to drive. My mind replayed the horrible events of last evening that had led me to this unenviable situation.
It had all begun with a lie. We'd told our parents we were going to the library to study for our research papers. (We were both in the same advanced English class.) In reality we'd gone to the Michaelson's house for Tina's party. Her parents were gone, it was a Friday night in April, and we were juniors at Wiltmore High -- what do you think happened?
Brian got drunk, of course. I'd warned him but he wouldn't listen, so I did my best to remain sober -- I nursed _one_ beer the entire evening. Anyway, I got to drive us home. It was the only safe choice. We conveniently overlooked the fact that I had failed on my driving test and _still_ lacked a valid driver's license.
Calling Mom and Dad from the police station was the worst thing I'd ever had to do. I could hear the worry in Dad's voice and Mom's frantic shouting at him in the background, "Are they okay? Are they hurt? Please tell me they're okay!"
Finally the whole story came out. I told them about the other car, the smash-up, the police, everything. "It was a minor accident, Dad. The car still runs and everything. No one was hurt."
"Then why are you at the police station!"
"Well, er, Brian wasn't driving. I was."
"You? But you don't have your driver's license yet."
"Yeah, I know. The cops noticed too."
"Don't get smart with me young lady! You're not too old to be taken across my knee!"
I blushed scarlet at that comment even though no one in the police station could possibly have heard Dad's side of the conversation. How humiliating. I was seventeen years old! "Uh, sorry, Dad."
"Why wasn't Brian driving?"
There was no tactful way to put this. "He was a little drunk." I am certain everyone in the police station heard my Dad's response to that comment. He bellowed at me for a full minute. "But, Dad, I did it for safety! You wouldn't want us to drive drunk, would you?"
"I wouldn't want you to drive, period! What the hell were you doing with alcohol anyway? Why didn't you call your mother or me to come and pick you up?"
There was no good answer to those questions, of course. "Can you come and pick us up?"
The answer was a click and silence. I worried for a long time that maybe he was going to leave us there overnight to teach us a lesson. I was incredibly relieved when Dad and Mom came in through the door. Then I saw Dad's furious expression and I wasn't so sure.
So now I rode with Mom while we drove around the city for a while. We stopped at Poke Park at the top of the hillside and got out and walked, admiring the view over the city. Mom didn't say anything for a while.
"You really blew it, tonight. You know that, don't you, dear?" I nodded, ashamed. I looked out over the city and wished I was far away. "Your father and I were dreadfully worried when you didn't come home on time. We called the library but it was closed. None of your friends would say where you were."
"I know, Mom. I'm sorry. We shouldn't have done it. We won't do it again, trust me."
"Promises come easy with the threat of punishment hanging over your head."
"It has nothing to do with that, Mom. When that car came at us I thought we were dead -- I just knew we were. It really scared me, Mom. All I could think about was that we were going to die and you and Dad didn't even know where we were! I never want to go through an experience like that again!"
I began to cry and threw my arms around my mother and she hugged me and kissed my forehead and smiled at me. "I know, dear. I know. It's hard to admit you made a mistake and suffer the consequences. Can you imagine, though, if Brian had been killed? Or seriously injured, perhaps paralyzed? All because you two wanted to go to some silly party! Could you live with yourself?"
I cried and cried and Mom hugged me and didn't say anything for a while. Finally she looked at her watch and said we should be getting back. I nodded and we rode home in silence. When we were almost home she said to me, "When he get inside I want you to go straight to your room and change into something comfortable -- a T-shirt and your gym shorts would be ideal -- and come to my room. We have something to discuss and I think your father wants to take a drive with Brian."
When Dad told me to change clothes I knew something serious was up. It didn't make any sense, especially shorts. It was winter for Pete's sake! Sure, we're in sunny California but it's still chilly.
The door to my parents bedroom was open so I walked in. I was trying to be brave and strong, but when I saw Dad standing by the dresser with a long leather belt in his hand... well, I think I swallowed my gum.
"Sit on the bed a minute, son. I want to talk to you." I obeyed, moving like a robot. I couldn't take my eyes off that belt. It was thick and heavy and I knew without a doubt what it was for. I couldn't believe it -- it had been years since Sis or I got licked. I had to admit that this was certainly an occasion that called for punishment, but the belt? I mean, I'm an adult!
"I know you think you're an adult, Brian," Dad was saying calmly, "but your actions last night certainly didn't show it. You deliberately deceived us, you went to a party we had forbidden you to go to, you drank alcohol at that party, you got _drunk_, you allowed your unlicensed sister to drive, and you and your sister got arrested by the police! Do you know what this is going to do to our insurance rates? I am not only furious with you, Brian, but I'm really ashamed!"
"But Dad -- "
"No butts excepts yours, bare and soundly thrashed! I'm going to whip you now, Brian -- not another word! After we're done with the whipping you and I will take a drive and we will talk about this. For now, turn around, drop your shorts, and bend over the foot of the bed."
Tears were blurring my vision. I stood up slowly, my face so red it hurt. I had never felt so angry with myself. I felt miserable and ashamed and the worst of it was that Dad was absolutely right. Everything he said was true. I knew I deserved to be whipped from here till Sunday, but I prayed he'd have mercy. I resolved to be a man and take my punishment bravely.
With a deep breath a grabbed my shorts and underwear and pulled them down in one swoop. I felt a cool flush of air across my naked buttocks and exposed genitals and it embarrassed me. Even worse, my dick grew a little hard. I wasn't used to being seen naked.
That quickly became the least of my problems. In a moment my ass was a quivering inferno. The strokes came hard and fast and the stinging was far worse than I had imagined. I was seventeen now -- I thought I could tough it out. Was I wrong!
I bit my tongue to keep from screaming. I couldn't help but make some sounds, however. I quivered and begged Dad to stop, that it really hurt, that I'd had enough. Tears burned my eyes and dripped down my face. I tried to shut them off but I couldn't. The lashing belt struck across my bare thighs with searing strokes that sent a huge rock in my stomach churning. I felt like I would die. I desperately wanted this to be over. Sure, I knew I deserved it, but I wished so bad I had already taken the whipping, that it was done and I could look back on it, feel the soreness and remember the pain, but not have to endure the ever-escalating torment.
Suddenly I heard a strange sound, and it took me a moment to realize it was Dad speaking to me. He had stopped strapping me. The belt was lying on the bed and he was seated, watching me.
"I _said_, pull your shorts up, son. You look ridiculous!"
I carefully obeyed, the skin of my legs and bottom blistered and agony to the touch. The brush of my underpants made me want to scream. "Let's go for a drive," Dad said quietly, and I obeyed with a word of protest.
We waited in the living room for about five minutes. Then Brandy and Mom came in. Brandy barely looked at me but went straight upstairs. Mom glanced at Dad and handed him the keys. Then she went upstairs. Dad motioned to me and we went out to the car.
We drove for a while without speaking. I spent the first ten minutes just trying to find a comfortable sitting position. I failed miserably. My thighs and butt were hot and welted. Every bump in the road sent agony through my body.
"You seem a little uncomfortable, Brian," Dad said suddenly, a slight grin on his face.
"I'm fine." I made my face stiff and hard.
"Oh? Didn't I strap you enough?"
I flashed him a look of sheer panic. My heart thumped loudly and I felt sweaty. "D-dad, please, I've had enough. I-I won't forget, I _promise_."
He laughed loudly, and I felt as small as a snail. I glared out the window. We were up above the city at Polk Park. It had been a couple months since I'd been up here -- I was surprised how beautiful the city looked. Dad parked and I eagerly got out -- until I realized I was wearing shorts. It wasn't that it was cold -- my skin felt hot, anyway -- but my thighs were streaked with heavy red welts. It would be obvious to anyone I'd been whipped.
"Do you know why I whipped you?"
I stared at my father. "Of course. For lying, going to the party -- "
"No, I mean, do you know why I chose whipping rather than some other form of punishment?" I shook my head. "This is your first _adult_ mistake and punishment, son. The problem with making mistakes as an adult is that they are usually much more serious than the mistakes of a child."
"The consequences of adult mistakes can live with you the rest of your life. Just think how much more serious that accident could have been." I nodded. Dad continued. "What you did last night is going to affect you for years. I wanted your punishment to be over with quickly -- a whipping is painful but temporary. In a week the marks will be gone but the memory should last much longer. In real life the consequences are much more serious and rarely temporary. Your sister -- or you -- could have been killed. Or killed someone else. Do you understand what I am saying?"
"Uh, I, well... thanks for getting it over with."
There was a short pause as Dad looked at me, his face a grim mask. "It's not over with yet, son."
After I'd changed into "comfortable" clothes -- weren't my jeans comfortable enough? -- I went to Mom's room. She was sitting on her big bed looking serious. I paused at the door and waited. She didn't say anything for a minute and then she smiled at me.
"Let's get this over with, dear."
I wasn't sure what she meant but then I saw her pick up the wooden paddle with her right hand. It had been lying on the bed next to her and I hadn't noticed it. I felt a chill pass through my body and my heart began to beat wildly.
"This can't be happening," I thought with a growing sense of terror. "She's bluffing, trying to make me lose my cool." I stared at that paddle with a memory of real hatred. It had been years, but I would never forget those few times I had felt that terrible instrument of punishment across my rump. Mom couldn't be serious. I was seventeen!
"Over my lap, darling," said Mom quietly. "I'll pull your shorts down." I found myself moving toward her, walking like a zombie. I was lost in daze. I kept shaking my head, telling myself this was a dream, some horrible nightmare.
Then I felt the strong hands tugging at my shorts and cool breeze across my bare bottom. I shivered and trembled. "Mom, please, you can't be serious!" I exclaimed.
"Hush, Brandy. You are going to be spanked long and hard, so don't fight it. You'll just make it worse for yourself."
Her answer was a sharp wallop to my butt. I felt the pressure of the blow first, a force pushing me down. Then I heard the horrible sound, a frightening slap. And then I felt the rush of an incredible stinging. The skin of my ass was on fire!
"Yowwww!" I hollered, but Mom didn't pause. Her left hand pushed down the small of my back and kept me from squirming off her lap. My bottom blazed as her right hand slammed down that heavy paddle again and again and again. In just seconds I was sobbing and kicking and struggling like she was cutting me with a knife.
I had never felt such terror, such panic, such raw and exposed fear. I wept like there was no tomorrow. "Please!" I screamed. "Enough! That's *ENOUGH*!" But Mom didn't even pause. That hand kept going up and down like an oil rig -- a ceaseless machine.
I have no idea how long it lasted. It seemed like hours at the time. I had never felt so much pain in all my life. The worst was that there was nothing I could do about it, nothing to alleviate the pain even for a second. I could only lie there wagging my fanny and screaming my lungs out.
Then suddenly it was over. I sobbed and crawled off my mother's lap and stretched out on her bed and just wept. I couldn't believe how much my body throbbed. My ass felt like hell. My skin just _trembled_ with pain. I felt exhausted and sweaty and I longed for a cool breeze.
Instead, Mom told me to hurry up and put my shorts back on (they had somehow been kicked across the room) because I was going to go on a ride with Daddy at any moment.
He and Brian arrived home a few minutes later. I had just managed to get into the bathroom and cleaned up a little when Daddy was knocking on the bathroom door and telling me he wanted to take me on a little drive.
In the car he didn't say much. I was beginning to realize what this was all about. They were switch hitting. One of them would spank us and they would take turns lecturing us. Great. Just what I needed.
Dad left with Brandy and I was alone with Mom. I blushed and tried not to look at her. I was extremely ashamed. Of course she knew that Dad had whipped me -- they always cooperated on discipline. How embarrassing, to be punished like a child.
"Mom? I'm really sorry," I said suddenly, impulsively. I hesitated. My instinct was to run and throw myself in her arms, curl up in her lap and sob, and let her run her fingers through my hair and whisper soothing words to me. She hadn't done that since I was eight years old, but I wasn't feeling much older today.
"I know," she said. "You and your sister realize how badly you screwed up."
"We do." I couldn't look at her, the sorrow in her voice cutting me deep in my leaden chest. It was difficult to breathe.
"But being sorry doesn't excuse your punishment."
I looked up in surprise. Didn't she know? "I know. Dad, uh, took care of it," I mumbled, my face going red.
"Your father took care of _half_ of it," she said sternly. "Come to my bedroom."
Bewildered, I obeyed. When I saw the paddle on the big bed I froze. She couldn't be serious. She couldn't!
"Mom, please... Dad already... I mean, I'm _really_ sore!"
She didn't say anything but sat on the edge of the bed and patted her lap. Still protesting, I moved forward. I found myself stretching across her legs, my hands in front of me, bracing my body against the carpet. Mom's fingers grasped the waistband of my shorts.
"Lift yourself up a bit, Brian," she said.
"Oh, please," I whispered, nearly begging, to my eternal shame. But somehow I obeyed, lifting my hips so she could draw my shorts and underwear down to my knees. Immediately I felt my cock stiffen as it brushed against her thigh. My cheeks went crimson and I froze in horror. Surely this wasn't happening!
Thankfully, my mother began to paddle my ass just then. I forgot about my cock, my nakedness, my seventeen-year-old body. I was just a small child being spanked for naughtiness, and I cried and howled like any baby. The pain was horrendous. Every stroke of that paddle made my bottom explode with agony. I shrieked, sobbed, and pleaded for mercy. I tried to compose myself, to gain control, to take it like a man, but it was too much. I was overwhelmed by shame and humiliation. I felt I couldn't endure anything, and the spanking just hurt _so bad_. I couldn't stop weeping.
It went on and on, God knows how long. Then it was over and I was lying there crying and shouting and Mom was just sitting watching me writhe and struggle.
"You may get up now, Brian. I trust we won't have to do this again?"
"Never!" I shouted, rolling off her lap and yanking my shorts up in one movement. Tears flowed down my face and I brushed them off angrily. "I'm really sorry, Mom. Really."
"I know, dear." She smiled at me and it was like a beam of sunlight, warm and refreshing. Her eyes were filled with sadness but tender with forgiveness.
I stopped crying and moved forward and hugged her. I'd been too adult to do that for years, but suddenly I didn't care. She was my mother and I loved her and she loved me. I'd been bad and she'd punished me, and now it was over, and we were mother and son again.
Finally she broke the tight embrace. "You're father and sister will be back shortly. Why don't you go wash your face and then you and I will have a little drive?"
I nodded, smiling. My heart felt a thousand times lighter. My ass hurt like hell as I walked, but I didn't care. I'd deserved every ounce of what I'd got, probably more. The thought of permanently losing my sister or killing some stranger chilled me.
A sore ass was nothing, I thought as I looked at my tear-streaked face in the bathroom mirror. I was damn lucky to have parents concerned enough to protect me from my own stupidity.
Dad pulled into the now-familiar Poke Park and parked. I didn't move. My ass itched something terrible and I felt engulfed by Dad's presence. He seemed to dominate the entire car, looming over me, though he hadn't moved and wasn't saying anything.
After a long silence, his voice was loud and jarring. "Do I need to say anything, Brandy?"
I couldn't take it any more. The disdain in his voice was like a slap to my face. I burst into tears.
"I'm sorry, Daddy! I'm really, _really_ sorry! Sorrier than I've ever been in my whole life about anything."
He pulled me to him, his arm around my head, pressing me against his hard chest. I sobbed, tears wetting his shirt. He held me tightly, his arm shaking. Suddenly I looked up and saw he was crying, his body trembling. It was the worst moment of my entire life. I'd made my strong, all-powerful father weep!
"Oh, God no," I moaned, throwing my arms around him. "Please don't cry, Daddy! Please don't! Anything but that. Anything!"
With sudden inspiration I reached for the belt buckle at his waist. "Take off your belt and whip me. Do it! Daddy, please!" I stared at his stunned face and began to cry again. "Please do it. Do it for me. Cleanse me of this horrible feeling inside. I can't bear to look at you. I can't bear to live!"
"Brandy, Honey, it's okay, I'm sorry," he whispered, reaching for me. "I didn't mean to frighten you. It's just I love you so much and the thought of losing you last night..."
I pulled away, opening my car door and getting out. I walked to the other side of the car and bent across the hood of the car. "Right here. Whip me hard. Mom already spanked me, I'm sure you know that. I think you took care of Brian, but I need your forgiveness too. Please, just do it, before I lose my nerve."
My father had opened the car door and stood watching me. His gray eyes were moist with tears and I swear he looked at me with love and adoration and a touch of pride. That wasn't how I felt at all. I felt like a filthy, vile thing, unclean, evil. I wanted him to hurt me, fill me with unendurable physical pain. Anything was better than this gnawing ache inside me, this heavy void that threatened to swallow me from the inside.
"Not here, Honey. Back at home." My father nervously glanced around at the deserted park. It was still early and other than a lone jogger we hadn't seen anyone.
"Do it now. I don't care about anyone seeing us. I just need this now, Daddy. Please."
Slowly, I saw him coming around. Suddenly he slammed the car door shut and came at me. His face had gone hard, his eyes cold. "This is going to hurt," he whispered. "I won't hold back."
His belt hissed as it slid through the loops of his pants. I cringed in anticipation. I felt his hands at my waist. Then my shorts and panties were tugged downward, baring my body. I shivered, both in fear and at the chill. I hadn't expected that. My face burned with shame and I couldn't help but look around to see if anyone was watching. It didn't matter if they were -- it was too late to escape now. Suddenly I was nervous, wondering if I'd done the right thing. Couldn't Daddy just hug me instead?
But inside I knew that would never work. I didn't relish the pain, but I knew it was needed. Like agonizing heat to cauterize a wound, my soul needed discipline to heal.
Then it came, waves of lashing pain. Every stroke took my breath away. I wanted to scream but couldn't. I felt like I was being choked the pain was so overwhelming. That horrible stinging tongue of torment kept licking at me, again and again and again. It felt like it would never stop.
I moaned suddenly, the sound coming from deep within me, without conscious control. I writhed against the hard, chilled metal of the car. My buttocks and thighs blazed with dancing lines of fire. My tears dashed against the hood and I suddenly found myself howling in anguish.
Then it was quiet. I lay sobbing. My shorts and panties had fallen to my ankles and one foot had stepped out of them. I bent and struggled to get them back on. Then my father was there, his strong hands on mine, steadying my shaking limbs and guiding me from behind. Carefully I stepped back into my panties and shorts and drew them up. My butt throbbed fiercely. I ignored it, wiping tears from my eyes and turning and embracing my father.
"Thank you, Daddy," I whispered.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm really sorry I had to do this."
"It's not your fault. I'm the one who's at fault."
He was crying again, but this time he was smiling, and I felt a warmth inside I'd thought I'd never feel again after last night. He was mine again, my own father, big and strong and protecting me from everything, including my foolish self.
"I love you, Daddy."
"I know, Sugar. I know."