RLS 23: My Little Brother

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1995-2009 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 Series

The 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.

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Real Life Spanking Series #22--My Little Brother

(****, m/f, Edgy, Perverted)

A woman remembers the torture from her brat of a brother. (Approximately 2,652 words. Originally published 1997-10.)

This isn't really a story about spanking. Well, yes it is, but not the kind you think. It's about my little brat of a brother. This happened when I was much younger, of course. I was sixteen at the time, though quite mature. I'm a large woman. Not fat, exactly, at least that's what I keep telling myself. I'm five-foot-seven and a hundred and thirty, okay, forty pounds. But I'm big boned. My breasts are huge and my ass is even larger, but my waist is still narrower than my hips. At least for now. It gets larger as the years go by. But back then, when this story took place, I was quite attractive. I had a number of boyfriends and all of them expressed admiration of my, uh, physical endowments. I suppose that's why I was never that concerned about my weight. I mean guys like a woman with parts they can grab on to, you know what I mean?

Anyway, like I said this happened a long time ago. My little brother was about ten or eleven at the time. He was just starting to notice girls. I had finally gotten my dad to put a lock on the bathroom door because Tommy kept opening it when I was in the shower. He got spanked twice for that but it didn't do much good. The kid was a monster.

Well, one weekend my parents were out of town on business. They left me in charge of Tommy. I was ecstatic. Free! I called up my boyfriend of the moment, a football hunk named Gregory Almondo, and invited him to spend the night. Cheeky, huh?

Saturday morning I heard car doors slamming and slipped out of bed to find to my horror my parents walking up the driveway! They weren't supposed to be back until Sunday! I hissed at Greg and pushed him naked out the door and down the hallway. The front entrance was blocked but I managed to sneak him out the back. He was buck naked and looked awfully cute all embarrassed.

"My clothes!" he hissed. "I need my clothes!"

"Wait out here and I'll get them to you as soon as I can!"

I raced back inside the house and just managed to slip into my room before my parents got the front door unlocked. I tossed Greg's stuff under my blankets and slipped my pjs on and went to greet my parents.

"Hey, what are you doing home?"

"Oh, hi honey," said Mom. "Your father's client baled on us. He claims his secretary scheduled the meeting for _next_ weekend, so we drove for three hours for nothing."

"Well, not exactly for nothing," said my father kissing Mom on the back of the neck and winking broadly at her. Even I understood though the concept didn't exactly please me. Mom had the decency to blush and hugged Dad and said, "Yeah, we did find something to do with the time, huh?"

All I could think about was Greg out in the backyard naked as a statue and waiting for me to bring him his clothes. He really was a decent guy--this wasn't his fault.

"Well, we just had a long drive, dear, I think we're gonna catch up on some sleep. I've gotta go to the office this afternoon and try to straighten this mess up." My parents went into their bedroom. This was my chance!

I went back into my room and lifted the covers on my bed. Greg's clothes weren't there! I looked around the room but they weren't anywhere. "What the--" I said when I saw Tommy standing in my doorway.

"Looking for something?"

"You little rat! Give them back to me!"

"Give _what_ back, Susan? Did you lose something?"

"You know what I'm talking about you demon! Now give them back!"

"Don't you think Daddy would like to see them?"

I gasped. "No! Don't you dare!"

"Hmmm. Yes, I wonder what Daddy would do if he found out you had a _boy_ here last night. Still here, in fact. Does this look like him?" Tommy held out a Polaroid print. It was obviously our backyard. Standing on the porch was a naked boy, again quite obvious, and a panty-clad me, boobies waving in the wind, pushing him out the doorway.

"You little shit!" I exploded.

"I have more," he said with an evil grin.

I stared at him in horror. The kid was a monster!

"All right, what do you want?" I asked in a tired voice.

"I want to see you naked," he said bluntly.

"You're crazy!"

"Definitely," he agreed with another one of those little brat grins. "I want you to show me what girls are made of. That's for the clothes. For the pictures I want you to be my slave. My naked slave."

"Your slave?" I couldn't believe I was hearing this.

"Yeah, you do everything I tell you to do. If you disobey I give you a whipping with Daddy's belt."

* * * * *

To make a long story short I agreed to all of Tommy's demands. I had no real choice. I gave Greg back his clothes and went to Tommy's room and took off my pjs. It was humiliating, but I posed nude for the little runt. I spread my legs and showed him my cunt. I bared my ass for him and let him touch my anus. I let him fondle my breasts and tweak my nipples, though of course he did it too hard. He made me lie on my back on his bed and hold my spread legs wide and in the air so he could explore my pussy at his leisure, and I was forced to explain to him what all the little parts were and how they made me feel when he touched them. Then, to my utter shame and contempt, he brought me to orgasm by fingering my clitoris until I came, wet juices dribbling out of my crotch and onto his sheets.

"That was neat, Sis, do it again!"

* * * * *

The next weekend began the real torture. My parents were gone on their trip again, this time for real, but I didn't have Greg come over. Instead I was my brother's slave for the weekend.

I was naked as I made him dinner, naked as I gave him a bath, naked as I lay on the carpet near him as he watched TV, naked as I read him bedtime stories. He explored my body again, his devilish fingers tormenting but never satisfying. He made me pose in obscene positions for him while he ate supper, and then he had me lick my food off the floor without using my hands.

Early in the evening when I was rather reluctant to cooperate he fetched my father's heavy leather belt from his study--the one Daddy doesn't wear but only uses for whipping us--and threatened me with it. I didn't believe he'd actually do it but he gave me a sharp lick across my naked bottom and I couldn't believe how much it stung! I screamed at him but he gave me a Polaroid and I calmed down. It was a naked picture of Greg waiting in the back yard. I tore it to shreds and Tommy smiled.

"You've earned that one," he laughed. "There are nine others. Are you doing to cooperate or do I give them to Dad?"

I reluctantly knelt and offered him my butt and he whipped me three more times. I was crying when he stopped. "Now you obey me or I'll give you a dozen!" I nodded and obeyed him instantly the rest of that night. I didn't want any more whipping!

But Saturday was even worse. My little brother really turned into a monster and kept me amusing him all day long. Every few hours when I was at the brink of refusing to cooperate with his perverted schemes he'd give me another Polaroid print that I'd tear up and then I'd obey him quickly.

After breakfast and showering--he had me demonstrate how I bathed myself, in slow, intricate detail--he made me go outside. I refused at first but he held up the belt he was always carrying now and so I obeyed. We have a large grove of trees that surrounds our backyard so it was unlikely that any of our neighbors would see me, but I was still quite nervous.

He made me get on my hands and knees on the grass. "You will be my pony," he said straddling on my back and slapping my rump sharply with the belt. I squealed and took off and he pulled my hair to control my direction, steering me all over the back yard. He whipped me constantly, the belt painfully strapping my naked thighs and smacking my bottom.

The grass was damp and slick and it was difficult to crawl with Tommy on my back but I managed, the belt encouraging me to go faster. My breasts dangled heavily beneath me and occasionally scrapped against the grass or bushes. Then Tommy reached under me with his left hand and grabbed onto my tit for the ride, his right hand swinging the belt voraciously. He began to steer me with my tit, pinching and tweaking me the direction he wanted to go.

This torture lasted for nearly an hour, by which time I was nearly delirious with rage. My ass was covered with red marks, and several rather puffy welts. I finally bucked my brother off my back and told him no more. I got up and went into the house, furious and trying to tell myself I didn't care if he told my father about Greg.

However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized I was getting off easy. Sure, it was humiliating being my little brother's slave, but it was rather exciting, too. Running around naked all day, being made to show him exactly how a girl urinates, and letting him finger-fuck me... let's just say it wasn't all bad. I mean it was bad, it just wasn't _all_ bad.

Okay, I admit it. I'm a pervert. Yes, I enjoyed it. Not all of it, but a lot of it. I wished it was sexy Greg doing those things to me, not my runt of a brother, but it was still exciting.

Besides, if my father learned about Greg not only would I get my ass whipped clean off, but I'd be forbidden from seeing Greg, and probably any other boy, until I graduated from college. No, I was better off suffering the brother.

That evening my brother told me I needed a long hard spanking to make up for being a bad horse. Something about the way he said that to me made me all wet down below. I told I would accept a spanking if he wouldn't use the belt, and to my surprise, he agreed.

So after supper, a dinner which I cooked and fed him, I got across his lap on the couch and he began to spank me with his hand. He wasn't exactly a strong kid and this didn't hurt much, so I relaxed, enjoying the light slaps so near a particularly sensitive area of my anatomy. He even rubbed my ass and pussy occasionally, especially when he saw how I reacted.

"You like that, sis?" he said. "It's nice and hot back here. And oh, it's all wet in here. Why is that?"

Then he began to spank me with Mom's hairbrush. I'd forgotten all about her hairbrush. It had been years since she'd spanked me. Dad always used his belt the last few times. But I hadn't told my brother he couldn't use her brush, and he really made it sting. I was surprised, thinking that the belt was the worst pain I'd ever felt. But after a quarter-hour of smacking, the belt seemed light and fluffy compared to that stout oak brush.

Finally my spanking was over. My brother made me take a bath with him, while he washed me all over, and then I had to play with his weewee with my tongue and mouth. I ended up sucking him off twice, which made him very happy. He told me to go look under my bed and there I found another Polaroid of a naked Greg. I tore it up and went to bed, exhausted.

When I got up Sunday morning the house was a mess. The kid was a monster. He'd stayed up half the night watching horror movies on cable and there was popcorn and chocolate syrup everywhere. When I got mad at him, he reminded me that I had been put in charge for the weekend and Daddy would hold me responsible. Of course there'd be no way I could tell my father that my brother had me over a barrel.

"You're tush is gonna be sore!" he cackled.

"There's still time to clean things up," I told him, and set about fixing everything.

Unfortunately, my brother had other plans. He'd found Mom's enema kit in her bathroom and wanted to try it out on me. So I was naked and filled to bursting as I vacuumed and mopped and scrubbed. I had been duly promised a most thorough whipping if I didn't hold in my enema.

When the cramps set in I begged to be allowed to release, but my brother wouldn't allow it. I kept begging, and finally he said I could, but only if I took twelve strokes of the belt across my ass without moving. I immediately agreed and got down on my hands and knees for him to whip me.

The first few strokes actually felt good. They hurt less than my cramps and provided a suitable distraction. But after a few more, I was really in pain. My brother was whipping me as hard as he could, bringing the belt from high above his head and lashing it down with astonishing force. It was somewhere around nine or ten that a particularly harsh blow caught my right thigh -- God, I'll never forget how that burned -- and I writhed in agony.

"You moved!"

"No! No I didn't!"

"Yes, you did. The deal's off."

"No, please! You can't! Please, I need to go so baaaad. Please let me go. I'll take another whipping. I will. You can start over from scratch!"

My brother stared at me thoughtfully. "A dozen across your ass and a dozen across your breasts."

"Yes! Anything!"

"And a dozen across your pussy."

I had very little choice in the matter, did I. I agreed, but made him agree that I didn't have to take them without moving. I knew I would move. I didn't see how I couldn't move.

The next ten minutes were the most bizarre of my life. They were certainly the most painful (at least up until I had my first child), but the experience, while not exactly enjoyable, was enlightening. I found I craved being ordered about, being told to expose my breasts for hard lick of the strap, or spreading my legs wide for what I knew was going to be a mind-bending, star-seeing snap across my pussy lips. I couldn't explain it then and I can't now. I just had to accept it as something that was.

Two hours later I was dressed and eating lunch with my parents and little brother at a local restaurant. The whole thing was surreal. Only the throbbing welts on my ass reminded me that what I thought had happened had happened.

And, of course, the final Polaroid of naked Greg getting dressed in the backyard. I kept that one as a souvenir. I guess I like to live dangerously.

The End

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