Chuck Goodman 3: Naughty Big Brother

It was a pleasant Saturday afternoon. Things had been a bit hectic at times, but it was now late afternoon or early evening. Glancing out the window, I could see that darkness was approaching, but not quite yet here. I was upstairs, playing chess with KC, with Tim McDonald watching, when the phone rang.

"Hello, Jack," I heard, after answering the phone. "It’s Freddie Goodman."

"Hello, Freddie. How’s everything?"

"Okay in general, but I have a little problem."

"Something I can help with?" I asked without hesitation. Freddie has always been a good neighbor, and her sons have been close friends with my kids since their father was arrested for abuse and domestic violence over a year ago.

"Yes, though you might not want to. I’m having some trouble with Chuck."

That was a little hard for me to believe because Chuck is not only a good-hearted kid (which most boys are), but he also takes his responsibilities very seriously.

"What happened?" I prodded her.

"He hit Clint."

There was a pause and I started to ask something, but she continued after a few seconds.

"I don’t think it’s anything major. He knows he shouldn’t have done it, and I was willing to let it go at that. He’s upset with himself, though, so I was going to ground him for a bit. Jack, he says he deserves a whuppin’."

I could hear her sigh before she went on.

"I told him one hit, especially when it’s just on the arm, isn’t huge a deal between brothers, but I think he’s afraid that he’s going to turn into his father. I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but I just can’t spank him anymore, Jack. He’s nearly as big as me, and I never really liked doing it. But he respects you so much, and… Well, I hate to put you in this kind of position…"

"Nonsense, Freddie. If you’re right about what Chuck’s thinking, then I agree with you that he’s wrong. However, that doesn’t change the way that he feels. If a sore bottom’s what he needs to deal with this, then I’ll be happy to help him."

And you can’t say that that statement wasn’t one hundred percent honest.

I explained to KC that I was going to have to pause our game for a while, and I left him and Tim setting up a Pente game.

Downstairs, I went out the front door and only had a few seconds to wait before I saw Chuck headed my way. I was a bit surprised to see his little brother in tow, but I didn’t think it was a big deal. As a matter of fact, the little boy tagging along, knowing why Chuck was coming, boded well to make the next bit of time more interesting.

When they came closer, I could see that Chuck looked very upset, but that Clint mostly looked confused and unsure. Without addressing the problem, I invited them both inside and led them to my office. Being taken to my office didn’t do anything to make Clint look more comfortable, though it didn’t seem to bother Chuck.

I pulled the straight-backed, armless, wooden desk chair from my writing desk, turned it to face the room, and had a seat, gesturing for the two boys to stand in front of me; then I took a second to study them.

The boys were dressed for the cooler weather, both of them in jeans and sneakers, and Chuck was wearing a red Gap long-sleeved shirt that was a size or two too large, while Clint was wearing a weird, gray-and-blue layered hoodie.

After giving Chuck a second to squirm, I asked for his version of what had happened.

"I was just in my room reading. I’d done all my chores and stuff, and I’d been over at Topher’s house for a while, and I was tired and just wanted to relax."

"Well," he continued, "I’d only been in there for a little while when Clint came in, wantin’ me to play with him. I told him I was tired and didn’t feel like it, and he should go find one of his friends, but he said they were all busy."

I guess that had been while Van and Parker were still at their soccer games, or maybe while they were taking their own turns over my lap. Chuck had been looking indignant for a minute as he talked about his brother bugging him, but now he looked away from me and was looking a bit embarrassed.

"I talked to him for a minute, then told him I’d mess with him later, but that wasn’t good enough for him. When I started reading again, he grabbed my magazine and tried to yank it away from me. He tore it a little and…." His voice suddenly dropped so low I could barely hear it. "And I hit him," he finally finished in a rush, after a long pause and a deep breath.

I waited to see if he was finished before I said anything. I also glanced at Clint, who was looking very embarrassed and uncomfortable himself.

"Is that about how things happened, Clint?"

He blushed and nodded.

"Chuck, your mom said that Clint wasn’t really hurt and she was going to put you on restriction, but you said that wasn’t good enough."

He shook his head.

"Huh-uh. I know I shouldn’t a hit him. It’s not my place to correct him, and even if it was, I know that hitting ‘cause you’re mad ain’t the same as spanking someone that deserves it. He just made me mad, so I hit him. I deserve a really hard spanking."

He looked up at me now. I’d been fairly sure of it, just because of his voice, but now I could see his eyes were already watery.

"You should use the brush so I really learn a lesson, Jack."

"Your mom asked if I was willing to handle this before she sent you over here, Chuck, so that’s what I’m going to do. I understand why you feel like this is something you deserve." And the honest truth is, I probably understood it better than he did, since I’d had to live through an abusive (step) father, and it was easy for me to see how he might react to seeing himself get mad at someone and hit him.

"However," I went on, carefully looking him in the eye, "if I’m going to handle it, then I’m going to handle it. You say you deserve a spanking, and I’m going to respect that, but you don’t get to decide how it’ll be given or with what. If you don’t like that, you can go home now. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," he replied, his voice mixed between upset at not getting what he thought he deserved and relief that he didn’t have to face the brush.

"All right then, let’s get this over with. Get your jeans off please, and you’ll probably need to take off that shirt, too."

I watched Chuck, as he bent down to untie his sneakers. He actually looks like he could be part of my family—not that he resembles me a lot, but he has the same basic coloring most of my brothers and nephews (and Barry) do. He has blue eyes and wears his medium-dark brown hair a bit long and parted in the middle. He won’t be fourteen until January, I think, so he’s slightly older than Barry, though he’s leaner and not quite as tall as Barry; probably about 5’5" and 115 pounds or so.

Clint actually has the same coloring as his big brother but doesn’t look that much like him. You can tell they’re brothers, but I think Chuck favors his mom a bit more, while Clint takes after his father’s side of the family. The younger boy was watching with fascination while his big brother undressed. With his shoes off and placed to the side, Chuck stood and pulled the shirt off, exposing a pale, firm, flat, and hairless belly as his undershirt rode up. At my direction, he dropped the shirt on my computer desk, and then started undoing his jeans. A minute later, the jeans joined the shirt.

Lifting his undershirt over his stomach and chest, completely exposing his red and white checked Aeropostale boxers, Chuck stepped over to me, expecting me to take them down for him. Instead, I crooked my finger at him. Looking a bit confused, he bent down towards me. I took him by the back of the neck, pulled him a bit closer, and whispered to him. He blushed but nodded, then stood straight again, before turning to face his brother.

"Clint, I’m really sorry I hit you. I…" he had to stop to clear his throat, then tried again. "I knew it was wrong. Would you… would you, please… pull my… pull my boxers off, so… so Jack can spank me like I deserve?"

Clint’s eyes went wide, and he looked at me. I nodded, so he reached up and started to pull the boxers down. He was being gentle but slow, and grabbed them more towards the front, so his brother’s patch of pubic hair, much thicker than I remembered the last time I’d spanked him, was exposed first.

I glanced up to see that Chuck had his eyes clenched shut but still avoided looking towards his brother. I gestured at Clint, who watched me for a minute, then moved his hands to his brother’s hips.

The boxers came down much easier that way. Clint’s eyes went wide again as they did, exposing Chuck’s narrow but long penis, which hung down, so the head rested between his balls. The skin was beginning to darken from pink and white, but the hair was just curling around the base of his penis, so his sac only had a few stray wisps around the very upper part.

Clint had obviously not had a close look at his brother in a while and was fascinated, but he didn’t let that stop him from sliding the boxers down his brother’s lightly haired legs.

As soon as the boxers hit his ankles, Chuck stepped out of them. Then he turned back to me. I’d retrieved Black from my drawer while Chuck was undressing. I now raised it so he could place himself over my lap, which he did quickly, almost with a sense of relief at escaping his brother’s eyes. Yet, there was a moment’s hesitation when you could tell he was remembering his previous trips over my lap and suddenly thought about changing his mind.

The hesitation was brief, and I wouldn’t have noticed it if I’d not been watching him so closely. It only took a moment to have him in the right position. When I’d finished adjusting him, I laid Black on his back and started to lightly rub his bottom. Despite the thin cover of hair on his legs, Chuck’s bottom and upper thighs were still smooth. Other than my hand lightly tracing around the soon-to-be-red area, I ignored him.

"Clint, do you know why your brother’s about to get spanked?"

"Because he hit me," the boy replied, not quite making it a question.

"And do you understand that it’s wrong to go around hitting people just because you’re mad at them?"

He nodded.

"And do you understand that there’s a difference between hitting someone because you’re mad at them and spanking someone who’s been misbehaving?"

He nodded again, then added, "’Cause you spank someone so they’ll remember to behave."

This time I nodded. "And do you know why you’re about to watch Chuck get his spanking?"

He looked at me for a second, opened his mouth, then closed it, and finally shook his head.

"Chuck, can you explain that, please."

Chuck jumped a bit when I said his name, and he thought a second before replying.

"Because I know what I did was wrong, and I want you to see that I … umm…"

"That you accepted the consequences?"

"Yeah! I want you to see that I accepted the consequences. I’m sorry I hurt you, and you deserve to see me pay for it."

I’m not sure I agreed with him, and I doubt I would have had the courage to put myself in the position even if I had, but I certainly wasn’t going to tell him no, either. I did, however, intend to be sure Clint understood how precious what his brother was sharing was, and that he understood it wasn’t to be teased about or spread around.

As soon as Chuck had finished the explanation, I waited for Clint to nod his understanding, and then I lifted Black. Chuck went tense as the paddle came off his back, dreading it coming back down.

With the paddle raised over Chuck’s bottom, I paused for a moment. Black is narrower than Red, so I can easily give a four-down pattern with it without much overlap, though I normally don’t. It had been obvious to me, really since Freddie called, how much Chuck needed this. He’d done something he found heinous, and he needed to be broken down to pay for it. If Barry had been in the same situation, there’s no question what I would have done, but as far as I knew, Chuck hadn’t had a spanking in months, and what it took to break him down might be much different from a boy who was in better practice.

Chuck tensed as the paddle smacked down for the first time. The very upper part of his bottom, barely below the top of the crack, whitened, then turned red as I lined up the next swat. Chuck’s legs kicked just a bit, and I saw his upper body shift, probably as he took a better grip on the legs of the chair.

Again and again and again the paddle cracked down, reddening the inner area of both cheeks as it tracked down his crack. He gasped loudly enough for me to hear as the fifth swat landed, this time centered on the top of his left cheek, which caused it to overlap a bit with the already reddened area. As four more swats traced down the left cheek, from top to bottom, and were joined by five on the right cheek, his gasps got louder and more constant. When I went back to his crack and added four more over an already hot and tender area, his gasps became quiet yelps. A couple of swats to the dimples on each side, then one more trip down the crack, and his yelps were getting loud and wet.

Four swats on each leg had him shifting and squirming, and his kicks were much more distinct, but he was still controlling himself admirably. I doubt he’d even noticed that the four swats on his upper thighs were angled to come a bit further to the inside of each leg than normal, but he certainly noticed when I added four more to each leg, coming down on the outside of each. He noticed so much that his gaps and wet yelps became real sobs.

When I returned to his bottom, even though I shifted to a three-down pattern, his tender rear just couldn’t take any more, and he burst into tears before I finished moving back and forth across each cheek. I didn’t let that sway me, and continued to track the paddle up and down and around. I only made one trip down his legs this time, but he was crying hard and loud before the four swats had landed right in the center of each, overlapping all the previous swats.

The boy was right on the edge of a total breakdown when I lined up on his sit spots, which was exactly where I’d wanted him to be. Like I said, Black isn’t quite as wide as the paddles to which I’m accustomed, so I did his sit spots just a little differently. I lined up the first swat carefully and brought it down firmly on his left cheek, on that spot at the lowest part of the bottom, just above where the leg band of a pair of briefs would hit. Then again, on the highest part of the leg, right below where the band of a pair of briefs would hit. And then, a third time, right between the two.

It didn’t take all three to push him over the edge to straight out bawling.

Chuck had been pretty well in control of himself up to that point, even when he started bawling, but as I moved Black to his right check and repeated those three smacks on that side, he started fighting—squirming and kicking enough that I had to tighten my grip around his waist.

I started to move back for a last few swats, then paused. The boy was howling and thrashing and in obvious agony. I was pretty sure he’d gotten everything he needed to forgive himself. He’d finally quit trying to be stoic and gave in to the struggle. I think that said he’d had what he needed, so I dropped the paddle on the desk behind me, and then carefully rolled him up to sit in my lap. Chuck winced as his rear came into contact with my pants, but quickly leaned forward, wrapping his arms around me, and crying against my chest. I held the boy for a short moment, before helping him up and pointing him towards the corner.

As soon as Chuck had his nose against the wall and his shirt held up, exposing those crimson cheeks, I motioned to Clint. I had to wave my hand to get his attention, since it was so focused on his big brother. As soon as he saw me waving, I pulled him over and lifted the younger boy into my lap, so we could talk.



A few minutes later, when Chuck’s bawling had died away to the occasional loud sob and a lot of sniffing, I called him out of the corner. He hesitated a moment, knowing I usually left him there much longer, but then turned to face back into the room. He was very upset when he did.

"No, Jack. Please. It was me."

"I know what you did, Chuck. And while Clint and I were talking about what happened, he admitted what he’d done, too."

"Jack, please. He didn’t do anything…"

Chuck’s pleas were really very pitiable, not just because his voice was rough and wet, but because he was making them for someone else, but I wasn’t going to change my mind because it wasn’t even my decision.

I looked from Chuck, who’d absent mindedly lifted his t-shirt again when I called him from the corner, to his little brother, standing there in nothing but white socks and briefs.

"Do you have something to say to your brother, Clint?"

Clint was looking at me and nodded. Then he looked back at Chuck.

"Jack ‘splained to me how you’re responsible for what you did. I didn’t make you hit me, so you deserved to get spanked. But I knew I shouldn’t keep bugging you. No means no, so I shoulda gone when you told me to. And he says, just cause I want you to play with me doesn’t mean you have to. So if I hadn’t porv… porv…"

"Provoked," I put in.

He looked at me and nodded.

"If I hadn’t provoked you, you wouldn’ta a got in trouble, even though it was still your fault for hitting me. I knew I shouldn’ta done it, and when boys do stuff they’re not supposed to do, they get spankings."

Clint was already on the edge of crying, but he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before going on in a rush, "Would you pull my undies off so Jack can spank me?"

Chuck looked at me, nearly as miserable as his brother was. He’d been almost through crying, but now tears were seeping down his cheeks again.

"Jack, please…"

"Chuck, I didn’t tell Clint to say any of that. He and I talked because I wanted him to understand why you felt like you deserved a spanking and so he wouldn’t go around telling other people or laughing about it. He realized on his own that you weren’t the only one who’d done something wrong, and he decided that he deserved a spanking for what he’d done. You might not agree with him, but I think you need to respect that the same way your mother and I respected your feelings."

And I was telling the literal truth. I’d led Clint to those decisions, but I’d not told him any of them or made him. I simply showed him the flipside of what his brother had done, and he realized his share of it on his own.

Chuck listened to me as I had my say, then a quick sob escaped him, but he knelt down in front of Clint and slid the little boy’s briefs down. Without having to be told, Clint stepped out of them.

I knew that Clint was already having a really hard time, so instead of making him come to me, I stood slightly, gripped him by the waist, pulled him to me, then picked him up and settled him over my lap.

When Clint had told me he deserved a spanking, I’d been a bit excited about getting another chance—a real chance—to try the Texas Tail Blazer. Having Van and Parker both over my knees the day before had sounded good, but hadn’t been a very good test for the new paddle. However, Clint had accidentally talked me out of that, and once I had him positioned properly, I went to work on his little cheeks with my hand.

Clint had a perfect little boy’s bottom—round but firm, well-shaped, but with only miniscule dimples. He was perfect for a hand spanking, and I let my hand start to move around his bottom. I changed the way my hand fell, using palm sometimes for ‘thud’, and fingers other times for sting. None of the swats were particularly hard, but the boy had already been on edge and didn’t have his big brother’s interest in being stoical, and he was soon crying full voice, even before he was really kicking and squirming.

I kept the spanking going though. He didn’t have the same need for this that Chuck had had, but I was sure he’d be hurt and offended if I let him off too easy. His crying reached a plateau quickly, as he shifted from crying because of emotions to crying because of a sore bottom. It was still easy to gauge his reactions, though, as his kicking and squirming became more pronounced.

My hand spankings aren’t as organized as when I use a paddle, and I think the very randomness adds something to them. Swats may fall everywhere, one spot after another, and then suddenly several might land in the same place. I would place several rapid-fire, then another set of slow and steady ones. He didn’t know what to expect, and I had to pause at one point to pin his hand to his back. He was soon kicking hard enough that his stocking feet where nearly blocking my swats.

As his cheeks and upper thighs shifted from rosy to true red, I finally heard what I’d been awaiting. His cries, which had been distressed but steady, suddenly shifted, becoming less constrained. I stopped.

I think Chuck was shocked at the sudden silence. Clint had been crying hard and loud, but Chuck has seen and made enough trips over my lap to know that I usually spank longer than that. He must have been wondering if I was letting his little brother off easy.

And then I reached behind me and picked up Black.

"NO!" Chuck cried.

I looked up at him.

"Your brother felt like he needed to find out what this was like, Chuck, because of his part in your getting spanked. He’s trying very hard to be brave and responsible—to be a big boy. The least you can do is respect his courage."

He didn’t say anything else as I lined the leather paddle up on the boy’s small rear, but he didn’t look away either. With no more warning, I smacked the paddle down on the uppermost slope of Clint’s rear.

He screamed.

Again the paddle crashed down, leaving another scarlet bar across the boy’s red bottom. Again Clint screamed as the paddle cracked down across his sit spots. I was using almost all wrist, so it was mostly sting, but it was still a lot worse than he’d expected. I’d planned on one last swat on the legs, but instead, dropped the paddle behind me and carefully lifted the bawling boy, turning him to rest him between my legs. He was crying as hard as he could, and just lay there in my arms, letting me cuddle him.

I held him for a minute while Chuck watched, seeming to be in as much agony as his little brother. Then I carefully set Clint on his feet and sent him to the corner, sending Chuck to stand next to him.

Maybe I should have warmed Chuck up a bit so the two of them could have shared a cry, but I’m pretty sure there was no way his dark red bottom couldn’t still be throbbing in pain. And honestly, I think his brother’s crying was more punishment than his own would have been.

I sat quietly, organizing my thoughts and making a few notes, while Clint cried himself out. I left the room briefly to fetch a couple of damp cloths, then called them back to me. Clint was still very sore, but was happy enough to let me pull him back into my lap. Once he was snuggled against me, I had Chuck kneel next to us, and he was happy to wrap his arms around us both.

After holding the two of them for a minute, breaking away only far enough to wipe their faces, we talked. Mostly I just repeated what had already been said, about how important it was for them to respect each other. Either one of them could easily have avoided them both getting spanked, and that both of them were responsible for their own spankings, but it took both of them working together to earn them, so both of them working together could avoid them as well.

When I felt I’d made my point (and they probably felt I’d driven it into the ground), I told Chuck to stand and helped Clint back to his feet.

"Clint, why don’t you get dressed," I suggested.

He nodded and let me help him put his clothes back on, since he didn’t feel like bending too much. Chuck started to reach for his own clothes, but I stopped him.

"Just your boxers for now, please, Chuck."

He looked confused and a bit worried, but obeyed me, and was quickly standing in his boxers, with his undershirt hanging down again to cover his belly and the waist of his shorts.

As soon as Clint was dressed, I told him he could use my bathroom to clean up a bit, and then to go play with Parker. Once he was gone, I turned to Chuck.

"You’re getting a bit too big to sit in my lap for long. Think you could manage the couch?"

He stuck his hands down the back of his boxers and rubbed a bit, grimacing, but he also smiled and nodded. I sat down next to him and he cuddled up next to me, then the two of us spent a little time discussing the law of unintended consequences. He’d only meant to pay for his own indiscretion, but he’d ended up teaching his little brother something about accepting responsibility. That was obviously hard on him, but I also pointed out it showed how much Clint loved and admired him, and also how much that was going to mean to them both over the next years. After all, Chuck has his father whom he sees as someone to live down, but Clint has a big brother whom he apparently sees as someone to live up to.

Chuck managed to sum it up admirably as he was dressing to go visit Mickey.

"Oh, man. I guess I’m either going to have to behave, or we’re both going to be coming back over here a lot, huh?"





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