Rude awakening (F/M story)

As Becky entered the room and flicked on the light, she had to shake her head as she watched her brother put his arm over his face to continue sleeping. "Get up, sleepyhead," she said, not remotely as nicely as she had been almost an hour ago, when she had first tried to wake him. "It's almost ten, and it's a beautiful day today." She loved it when Andrew visited her, and she knew that he liked to get out of their parents' house and spend a week or two with her, but she hated that he spent most of the day sleeping.

He rolled over on his stomach, not even bothering to answer her. His duvet was in a pile on the floor, so the only thing keeping him warm was a pair of old, grey boxers. She planted a quick smack on the seat of his underwear, causing him to jerk his head up. When she was sure she had his attention, she continued. "Why don't you hop into the shower, and I'll see if I can have breakfast ready when you're done."

"Fine, I'll get up," he said, not sounding very pleased. Just before he headed into the bathroom, he looked at her. "You don't have to be a bitch about it, though." And then, with a final slam of the door, he headed off into the shower.

Becky glared at the door, as if she hoped her gaze would go through the door and make the brat on the other side feel really bad about himself. That was the final straw. She hadn't wanted to spank Andrew – he didn't visit all that often, and she didn't want to spend that time punishing him – but there was a line she wouldn't let him cross, and he crossed it as if he wanted a golden medal for the effort. She couldn't let him get away with it.

She opened a drawer, pulling out an old bath-brush that she'd painted the words "Attitude Adjuster" on. The letters were almost worn off, and she'd soon wear them away even more. She patted the brush against her palm. It was solid wood, and probably stung quite a bit when applied to the right place.

She considered marching into the bathroom straight away to deal with him – he never locked the door when he showered – but two things told her to wait. First of all, she was still too upset with his behaviour, and she never spanked in anger. That would be unsafe. Second, she wasn't about to pull him out of the shower once she'd finally gotten him in.

No matter. He would be finished soon. And she would be waiting.

He'd turned off the water, and had just started drying himself off when she entered. He glared at her, about to tell her to get out, but the words caught in his throat at the look on her face. The brush she held in her hand told the rest of the story.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately, recognizing that he was in a very bad situation. "I'm really sorry for..." And he stopped, trying to figure out what he was about to be punished for. She wasn't too surprised.

She grabbed him by the ear, picking up a towel before dragging him into her bedroom. Throwing the towel over her legs to keep the freshly-showered boy from getting water all over her skirt, she patted her lap. "Over my knee," she told him. He obeyed immediately – he knew better than to argue with her when she was in this mood.

She picked up the brush, patting it against his quivering cheeks. As she now had his complete attention, she decided to tell him where he'd gone wrong. "You stayed up far too late last night, and slept all morning," she lectured. "When I came to wake you, you were rude and refused to answer me, and you even called me a dirty word." She patted his bottom again, almost giggling as she watched his cheeks clench. "Let's see if we can remove that word from your vocabulary."

She brought the brush down hard, raining spanks down on his unprotected backside. He was soon kicking his legs, protesting loudly at every solid smack. In a few minutes, his pale skin had turned pink.

"I don't want to do this," she told him sternly. "And I don't think you want me to do this either." He was struggling to hold back tears, arching his back to escape the pain. "But until you learn to behave yourself, I will keep this brush nearby to remind you."

Andrew was sobbing, pleading with her that he'd learned his lesson and would behave from now on. He always did. But she kept spanking, making sure she covered every inch from the top of his thighs to his upper cheeks – paying particular attention to his sit spots: she wanted him to remember this spanking.

Finally, once he'd been reduced to a tear-faced, red-bottomed wreck, she put the brush down, picking him up for a hug as he cried into her shoulder. Once he'd calmed down a bit, she helped him to his feet.

"I'm fixing breakfast," she told him. "You go get dressed."

She considered whether she'd let him have a pillow during breakfast. Those wooden chairs could be awfully hard, but he hadn't done much to earn it.