Brother's disappointment (m/f)

I know that a lot of siblings don’t like each other very much when they’re growing up. I know that many argue and fight and generally enjoy getting each other into trouble. But my brother Jack and I were different. We were, in spite of being siblings, very good friends.

One of the reasons for this was we had similar interests. We played the same videogames, we read the same books, we enjoyed the same movies, and we both had a firmly held belief that you were never too old for a decent treehouse.

Another reason was that we lived far from our nearest neighbours, so there weren’t many other children around. When your brother is the only playmate you have, you tend to be nice to him. A third reason was that, as twins, we were naturally close to each other.

One of the greatest differences between us was that, while I tended to be caught up in the moment and do what sounded like the most fun at the time, regardless of what consequences this might bring, my brother always wanted to do what was right. This meant that, whenever the two of us got into trouble (which, I must admit, wasn’t as often as we deserved), I was usually to blame. But he would often join me in mischief; he was the kind of guy that would always be at your side.

This is the story of my strangest punishment. Strange because I asked for it. And strange because I was punished by my brother.

Shortly after our fifteenth birthday, I ignored my teacher’s orders to be quiet in class one time too many, and was rewarded with detention. This meant that, in addition to staying after school for two hours, I had to get my parents to sign a slip so that they were told what had happened. The slip didn’t worry me; I had been able to sign my parents' signatures for as long as I can remember. The trouble was trying to explain why my brother and I had been late home from school (whenever I got detention, Jack would wait for me in the library). As we were heading home, I bounced ideas off him; he would spot the faults of my plans long before I could. I suggested many ideas, but he shot them down immediately. In the end, I suggested that I could say that we both stayed at the library to work.

"Wouldn’t work, Jill," my brother replied. Yes, we are named Jack and Jill; our parents have a strange sense of humour. "Staying at school to work is not your style. They wouldn’t believe you."

"Of course not," I said. "But they would believe YOU."

He slowly turned to look at me. I knew why; Jack had always had a strong dislike for lying. "Pleeeease?" I said in my most pathetic voice. "C’mon, Jack. You don’t want me to get punished, do you? When I’m grounded, you have no one to play with."

"I still don’t like it."

"C’mon Jack, they can see right through me. You’re the better liar. I NEED your help!"

Most people seem to think that Jack never lies. I understand why they believe that, since he expresses such dislike of it. The truth is, he lies very rarely. But when he does, he is the most convincing liar I have ever met. Mainly because people expect him to tell the truth, but also because he has an unmatched control over his facial expressions.

"Okay," he said. That was all he said, but it was clear that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. I followed his wishes, and we walked in silence.

The talk around the dinner table went as I expected. Our mother wondered why we were late, and wanted to know if we had gotten into trouble. I told her that we had stayed to work on a project in the library. She asked my brother if that was true. He looked her in the eye and lied. "Actually, I was working in the library. She waited for me. She was giggling with some of her friends."

I suddenly realized how much more likely that sounded, and tried to pretend that was what happened. Our mother accepted the story. But my eyes met Jack’s, and he looked at me with more disappointment than I have ever seen in his eyes.

The rest of the day, he acted more coolly towards me than usual. No one else would be able to see it, but I was close enough to my brother to know what he felt, and there was still an invisible wall between us. I knew why; he didn’t care about me potentially getting us into trouble. But I had made him lie for me, and that disappointed him. Lying was his pet peeve, and he hated it. I knew that, and I still made him lie for me.

At bedtime, the wall between us was still there, and I had enough. On the rare occasions that Jack was disappointed in me, I always felt guilty, and I felt isolated. When other people were upset with me, I had my brother’s unflinching support, but when he was disappointed in me, I was alone.

I couldn’t sleep. The feeling in my stomach was still there, and it had gotten worse. I needed to make him forgive me, so I got up and went into his room. Jack was reading in his bed, and looked at me with a coolness I had never seen in his eyes. He then focused on the book again.

"Please forgive me," I said in a pathetic voice. "I know I disappointed you, but I need you to forgive me."

He didn't even look up from the book.

"You know we’re home free, right? They’ll never catch us. They trust your word."

"And do you know why? I’m honest, and they know it. You should try it."

"Why won’t you forgive me?"

"You got into trouble, and you made me lie to avoid punishment. That’s why."

"Why don’t you punish me?"

He looked at me, clearly unsure if he had heard what he thought he had heard.

"You’re the offended party, right? You’re the one that needs to forgive me. Why shouldn’t you punish me?"

He put his book away. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well…" I said and thought about it. "What about a spanking?" He didn’t reply, just looked at me with an expressionless face. "It’s quick, then it’s over. You put me over your knee, spank me, and I’m forgiven, right?"

He considered it. "If I agree to this mad proposal, it’s going to be a real spanking. A long spanking, a hard spanking, until you cry, and on your bare bottom."

"Yes," I replied. "But it will be worth it if you forgive me."

He sat on the edge of the bed and patted his lap. "Come here."

I looked at him in fear. "What – here? Now?"

"Why not?"

"What if our parents hear?" I asked.

"They’re in the basement. We’re on the second floor. There is no way they can hear us. Now come here."

I moved to his right side, and leaned over his lap. He pushed me forward until my bottom was raised over his lap. He then raised my nightdress, lowered my panties, and started the spanking.

Neither of us were very strong, but we were fast, and Jack used his speed to his advantage. He covered my bottom in fast, light smacks, and I could quickly feel heat building up. He gave about four spanks a second, going from the bottom of my left cheek to the top, then from the bottom of the right cheek to the top, before starting over from the bottom of the left cheek. I buried my face in his pillow, wanting to minimize the already small chance of our parents hearing.

The heat in my bottom started to build up, and tears started to form in my eyes. He smacked quickly, not wasting time on any lecturing; we both knew very well what I had done.

Five minutes into the spanking, I had managed to kick my panties to the other side of the room, and Jack held his arm around my waist to keep me from kicking off his lap. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, and my bottom really hurt.

Ten minutes later, my bottom felt like it was on fire, and I was crying freely. It felt like I had been over his lap forever by the time he stopped. He kept me over his lap while I cried for a few minutes, then he picked me up and carried me to my bed. He tucked me in, and kissed me on the forehead before he went back to his book. The pain in my stomach was gone, replaced with a pain in my rear, and I fell asleep almost immediately, even though I’m not used to sleeping on my stomach.

That wasn’t the last time Jack spanked me, but it was the first, and in many ways, it was the strangest punishment I have ever had.