Naughty Boy Submits to Older Bro

“Stick your bottom out,” said James, sternly, frustrated at behaviour of the boy in front of him. I did as I was told and pushed my bottom back out. “If I have to tell you again, we will be starting the 18 strokes again. Do you understand?” he continued, tapping the cane against my already welted backside.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, my voice muffled slightly.

It was early July, and I remember the flat was very warm. I was at my brothers flat, which was slap bang in the middle of Southwark. Naturally, considering it’s location, the flat wasn’t the biggest and didn’t have a garden. Not unless you count the small balcony out the back with some potted plants on it. My brother, James, had bought the flat during lockdown, and was very pleased with his purchase.

It was my first visit to his new flat, and it hadn’t taken me long to become accommodated with the living room furniture. Most specifically the dining table, which I was currently stretched across awaiting the next stroke of the cane. I was completely naked, having been stripped of my clothes within minutes of visiting the flat. This wasn’t unexpected, as we’d had a detailed conversation in the coffee shop that morning about what was due to happen this afternoon.

There was just nineteen months between us, but in the way we acted and behaved there was closer to ten years. I was almost twenty-five, but behaved more like a teenage with my laziness, poor attitude towards work and getting on, and liking for a few beers. James had just turned twenty-six, and had a very good job, a settled life and recently bought his own flat. It would be fair to say our lives were a little different.

As I stood in front of him, with the sun beating through the window, I become increasingly aware of the status gap between us. His flat was tidy, with everything in its place and neatly organised. My room, which I rented off a mate, was an absolute state. There were clothes all over the floor, unwashed dishes from over a week ago on the side, and a damp smell that I couldn’t locate the source of.

As he lectured me about the way I was living my life, I couldn’t help but think he was right about so much of what he said. I did behave like a naughty teenager, and as he so accurately put it, a naughty teenager gets punished like a naughty teenager. I couldn’t argue as he removed my t-shirt, shorts and his fingers paused on the waistband of my briefs. They were my white briefs, a size too small, that I always wore to be punished. These didn’t stay on for long, and soon I found myself completely naked in his flat.

As he told me in the coffee shop earlier, and several other tables who no doubt caught every word of our conversation, I would be given a warmup spanking with his hand and the brush before bending over for the cane. We discussed the required strokes, and after I cheekily suggested only six, he tripled it to eighteen. He asked me about my recent behaviour, and knowing better than to try and lie, I owned up to my recent naughtiness.

I told him how I had been late to work four times in the past month. Twice were due to a hangover, once due to oversleeping and once due to not making it home at all after a night out. I continued to explain how I was unfocussed at work, spending more time on my phone than actually completing tasks. I told him I’d gone out fourteen times in the last month, and had spent nearly a thousand pounds on alcohol alone. Finally, I admitted to sneaking out of work early to suck the dick of a 55 year-old-man in the local public toilets. The look on his face didn’t change and when I had finished, he simply shook his head in disappointment.

On the arrival at his flat, he didn’t offer to show me around, instead sending me to the corner of the living room. I knew what this meant and within a few seconds was stood with my nose pressed against the wall and my hands behind my head. He’d instructed the removal of my socks and shoes at the door, and the wooden floor was hot against my bare feet. He had removed his jeans and polo and changed into a pair of grey jogging shorts and a burgundy t-shirt.

“I see you haven’t got any bigger,” he said, sniggering slightly, once he’d removed my briefs and tossed them to one side.

“No, Sir,” I say, my face going red with embarrassment.

“No wonder you bottom with a little dick like that. Might as well have it removed altogether,” he said, laughing now and flicking it hard with his thumb.

Once he’d finished belittling my less than impressive manhood, he put me across his knee for the spanking. It had been the best part of two months since I’d been across his knee, and I knew this was going to hurt. I braced myself, and was right to, as his hand came down hard and fast across my fleshy buttocks. I had always been blessed with a large backside, and it had often been complemented on by men who had spanked me.

The downside of having a large bottom was that it took a lot of spanks to cover the surface area and turn it red. This didn’t deter James, who took on the challenge today with a gusto and passion I hadn’t seen from him before. In just a few minutes, he turned it from white to red and I could feel tears forming in my eyes. The spanks relented, but my relief was short-lived as I felt the cold wooden face of the brush against my hot bottom.

I hated the hairbrush which pleased James enormously when I told him one evening after a hard thrashing from him. Previously he had swapped around with his implements, often choosing the slipper, leather paddle or wooden spoon over the brush. Once he discovered my dislike for it, he ditched the others and purchased several more brushes to give him more variety. Today’s was a long-handle one with a large oval head that would definitely have me in tears in just a few strokes.

I was to be proved right, as just a minute into the brush, I felt the first of my afternoon tears roll down my cheeks. I cried out as he repeatedly brought the wooden implement hard covering all of my cheeks. I could feel the tears falling off my cheeks and gathering in a small pool on the floor. I moved my head to wipe them up, only to be scolded and smacked harder for trying to wriggle away. Attempting to stay as still as possible, I closed my eyes and tried to relax into it.

Eventually, after what felt like hours but in reality, probably only a few minutes, he landed the final blow of the hairbrush and dropped it down on the chair beneath him. My breathing steadied slightly, and I awaited further instructions.

“I think you are suitably warmed up now. I had forgotten just what a good spanking your fat bottom could take,” he said, grabbing the fleshy cheeks and squeezing them tightly. “Return to the corner and think about your behaviour. You will be caned shortly,” he said, slapping my bottom to gesture I should stand up.

Gingerly, I got to my feet and waddled across to the corner. Resisting the strong urge to rub my bottom, I put my hands behind my head and waited. Unbeknown to me at the time, James had settled onto the sofa and slid his right hand into his shorts. He gently slid his hand up and down the shaft as he looked across at my badly beaten bottom. Maybe it was time to take the punishment a step further, he thought, as he felt his cock stiffen beneath his shorts. Only fair he learns how to thank me properly, thought James, as he considered just how long it had been since he’d seen any action.

Realising he still needed to cane the pathetic boy, James rose to his feet and walked into his bedroom. Opening the wardrobe, he took out the four canes that rested to one side beneath his winter coats. He swished each one in turn, before deciding on the thinnest, but whippiest of the four. Sending it through the air twice more, he nodded his head in satisfaction with his choice, and returned to the living room.

I heard his footsteps across the floor and stood up slightly straighter.

“Here, boy,” he instructed clicking his fingers. He had clearly the dining table of papers and had slid it into the centre of the room. “Bend across the table and grab the other end,” he said, and I did as I was told. He parted my legs with his hands and when he was satisfied with my position, moved around the front to address my face.

“You will remain in this position until the end of your caning. You will count and thank me for each stroke. If you fail to follow either rule, we will start the caning again and you will receive extras. Do I make myself clear?” he asked. He remained standing upright as he spoke, not bothering to lower his head to meet my eyes. My eyes landed upon his crotch, and if I wasn’t mistaken, I could see the visible outline of his semi-hard cock. I found myself unable to look away as he spoke.

“Yes, Sir,” I said, remembering the question just before he had to repeat himself. He didn’t respond, and just moved around to the back of me and tapped the cane against my bottom.

WHACK! The first stroke came hard and fast and caught me completely off guard. It took everything I had to grip onto the table and not jump up.

“One, thank you Sir,” I said.

WHACK! The second one I was slightly more prepared for, but it still stung just as much. Once again, I counted and thanked him.

WHACK! The third stroke caught me right across the middle, between the first and second. It stung the most and I found myself almost recoiling away from it.

“T-t-t-three, thank you, Sir,” I squeaked out.

“Bottom up,” he said, tapping my bottom impatiently. I raised my bottom and pushed it out towards him.

The next four strokes came hard and fast and the tears quickly returned to my eyes. They began to run down my face, and I could do nothing but let them drip onto the floor below. After the seventh stroke, the pain really began to shoot through my body. I found myself, without making a conscious decision, tightening my body and bottom.

“Stick your bottom out,” said James, sternly, frustrated at behaviour of the boy in front of him. I did as I was told and pushed my bottom back out. “If I have to tell you again, we will be starting the 18 strokes again. Do you understand?” he continued, tapping the cane against my already welted backside.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, my voice muffled slightly.

Once it was pushed out again, he picked up where he’d left off, and delivered the next eight strokes in rapid fashion. I was expecting them in doses of six, with time to recover, but it was clear he was in no mood to soften the punishment for me. I had managed fifteen strokes, so fortunately just had three to go.

WHACK! The sixteenth was hard and fast, and was right at the top of my lower thighs. I screamed out and for a moment my hands left the end of the table. I quickly returned them and hoped he hadn’t noticed.

“S-s-s-sixteen, thank you, S-s-sir,” I just managed to say.

“Two to come. If your hands leave the table again, then they will be caned too,” he said, moving around and tapping the cane against my knuckles. He didn’t miss a trick, I thought, as I nodded to say I understood.

The final two strokes were delivered with a flourish, and once I had muffled a final thank you, I felt the anxiousness in my stomach begin to fade away. I heard the cane being dropped down, and I knew for now my punishment was over. Behind me, James had slid his hand into his joggers and had made a decision.

“Stand up and kneel in front of me” he instructed, clicking his fingers twice. I released my grip from the table and knelt down on the wooden floor in front of him. He was sitting on the sofa, looking particularly relaxed. I found myself at eye level with his crotch again, and my eyes drawn to his shorts.

“You took your punishment well, lad, and I hope you have learned your lesson?” he said.

“I have, Sir,” I said, my fiery bottom testament to that.

“Let’s hope so. No doubt I will cane you again in the future but that is enough for today. I suggest we finish up here and go for a pint,” he said, glancing outside at the warm sunshine.

“Sounds good, Sir,” I said.

“Before we do, I think you need to learn one final lesson. A lesson in how to thank someone who has given you the punishment you clearly deserve. Do you know how to thank that person, boy?” he said.

“N-n-no, Sir,” I replied, hesitantly.

“You should take his cock in your mouth and suck it until he empties his seed down your throat. Is that clear?” he said, calmly.

“Won’t it be strange, Sir,” I say, a little unsure.

“Alternatively, we can continue your education with the cane. More than happy to deliver another eighteen strokes if you want time to think,”

“No, Sir. No more cane, Sir,” I say, dreading the thought.

“Then you better thank me quicky,” he said, nodding downwards and placing his hands behind his head.

I took a deep breath, and then reached forward and slid my hand into his shorts. I quickly found the outline of his shaft and with a little difficultly, pulled it free of his shorts and boxers. It was bloody massive. Almost ten inches, I estimated, and so thick my hand didn’t stretch around it. It was semi-erect, but already hardening at some rate. I just stared at it for a few seconds, almost in awe.

“It won’t suck itself,” said James, coldly.

I leant forward and opening my mouth, slid the top of his cock inside. The precum that had formed around the top was salty, but I licked it clean all the same. I began to suck on the top, pumping the shaft slightly as I did. After about a minute or so, I felt his hand slide through my hair and take hold of my head. Applying a little pressure, he gently suggested I took more in with each pump. Gradually I did, but I really struggled to take more than a few inches in.

James was the eighth guy I had blown. I was a late developer and didn’t have my first experience with another man until I was twenty. It was at a university party, and after a lot of drinks. I found myself being led to a corner and before I knew it his hands were all over my body as he kissed me. I wasn’t sure, so pushed him away, but two days later I found myself in his bedroom trying to give my first blowjob.

Since that first time, I had experimented with several others of varying types and ages. I didn’t have a particular type and found myself trying to push my boundaries. I had only ever blown guys, and as yet hadn’t gone any further.

“For every inch you don’t try to take you will get three strokes of the cane,” he said, breaking my daydream and returning my focus to the situation. I began to suck harder and quicker, and to my surprise was able to take more and more each time. I couldn’t take it all, but this new tempo had the desired effect as I felt his body tense. Experiencing this before, I kept up the pace and after several grunts, felt the first spurt of cum hit the back of the throat. It had clearly been a little while as wad after wad erupted from the end of his cock. Finally, he was done, and I slowly withdrew my mouth, ensuring I licked up every last drop.

“Put your clothes on and tidy up. I’m going for a shower,” he said, standing up and pushing me away slightly as he did. A little surprised at his sudden departure, I felt a little disappointed as I slid my clothes back on and put the dining table back. A few minutes later he returned, smelling fresh.

“Time to buy me a pint, boy,” he said, clicking his fingers again.

“Yes, Sir,” I say, gingerly heading out the flat with an encouraging spank as I passed him.