Pushed Too Far

My disclaimer:  If you are under 18, you need to leave.  If you don’t like stories about spanking, then please leave.  If you are a close-minded idiot, then please leave.  This story is not true or based on any truth that I have known in my life.  If it happens to somehow offend you, then get over it or move onto another place.  Pleasant and constructive comments, however, are always welcome.  -K
Note:  This was one of those stories that was moving faster in my brain that through my typing fingers, and I have not yet edited it.  It was also one of those stories that started out as something alltogether different than the way it ended.  These things may be reflected sylistically and grammatically.  Please watch out for errors, though I hope that they do not alter your reading enjoyment.  -K 
My parents never spanked us.  I don’t know where he gets it from. 
He is my brother, and we aren’t technically related.  My parents adopted both of us separately, but when they died my brother was 21 and he took over so I wouldn’t have to go to foster care.  I was 14 at the time.  I was a very stupid 14 year old, and after the initial shock and grief of losing my adoptive parents, became excited about having my brother as my guardian. No rules! 
And, for a while, there were none.  I came and went as I pleased, did what I wanted.  My brother did the same.  We rarely saw each other.  I got into trouble a few times at school, and I would sit and nod politely at the counselors and then at my brother at home, who gave me the speech about “knowing what I was going through” and such.  One night, I never came home.  My brother was furious and to me, he looked a little worried, even scared.  He sat me down and again talked to me.  At the end of the conversation he grounded me for two weeks.  I was feeling pretty guilty about that look on his face, so I went upstairs and stayed there for a few days. 
But the guilt quickly wore off, and when a group of my friends went to the mall one night to stalk a super-cute boy, I was there.  I didn’t even have to sneak out.  I walked out the front door. I half expected my brother to show up a tthe mall that night, but he didn’t.  When I came home, he never noticed I had been gone.  And so, I came to learn how to “get-away” with things.  I got into more trouble ,stayed out later, smoked, drank, and all those things that stupid kids do.  I noticed my brother desparately trying to control me during that time, but I didn’t care.  I was having fun.  So much fun.
When I was 15, everything changed.  I stumbled in the front door very late and very drunk on a school night, and my brother was there waiting for me. 
“Where in the hell have you been?” His voice was so cold, I shivered, despite the warm fuzzy effects of the tequila.  I didn’t answer him. It was silent for a few moments. It made me uncormfortable.  I started to walk toward the stairs, and did a terrible job of walking like a sober person.  I tried to focus on the stairs and getting up them.  Suddenly, I felt his hand on my arm.  He grabbed it tightly.  “I am trying very hard to keep my cool,” he said, “so you need to answer my question.”
I knew that this was one of those important moments, but the teenager in me couldn’t resist. “None of your business.”  As soon as it was out, I knew I had slurred badly, but it was still comprehensible. And in that split second, he slapped my face so hard that I seemed to sober up. It stung and I felt blood rushing to my cheek. I looked at his face, searching, but his eyes were cold and hard.  “Where?” He asked the question again, his voice steady.
“A friend’s house,” I said.  I may have still been slurring, but I was mentally aware that this was going to end badly and tried to focus on getting out of the situation.
“Who drove you home?”  His hand was still on my arm, and I could feel his anger.  “I took a cab.  I swear,” I said.
He looked at me for a moment and steered me to the couch.  He sat down and pulled me down next to him. He took a deep breath and then sighed.  As I watched him anxiously, I noticed that my big brother had grown up a lot in the year since my parents died.  He looked so much older than 22. His hair was messed up and his face was tired, but his eyes burned with a blue/gray intensity that I had never bothered to notice before.  Maybe it was the alcohol, but he was even pretty cute. 
He started to speak and my attention snapped back to his voice.  “I am tired of worrying about you, Andrea.  I just spent four hours trying to track you down, only to have you come in drunk, dishelved, and who knows what else.”
“I–” I tried to speak, but he held up his hand and stopped me.  “Don’t say anything.  You listen.  This is not the first night I’ve spent wondering where you are.  I am tired of talking to you.  It’s not doing any good.  Some of my friends are telling me to put you into foster care.”
Tears prickled my eyes.  I dreaded what he would say next.  “I’m not going to do that.  You’re my sister.  We are going to handle things differently from now on.”  Relief flooded me.  But wait, what?  Differently?  I sat silently and waited.
“When you do something wrong, I am going to spank you.”  I inhaled sharply.  He ignored me and contnued talking. “As far as I can tell, tonight, you came home drunk, you are out way too late, you disrespected me, and you lied to me about where you were.  I called your friends.  You weren’t there.”
The whole time he was talking, my heart sank lower and lower.  I didn’t even know what to say.  I just sat there, drunk and stunned.  How had things gone so wrong in less than five minutes?  What the hell did he mean by spanking?  How could I talk myself out of this terrible mess?  “Chris, I–“
“I’m not finished talking.  Do not interrupt me again.  You don’t have a choice here.  This is how it is going to be.  I am your guardian.  Now, if you would like to go to social services and tell them that I am not fit to be a guardian, that is fine.  I can drive you there myself.  But for you to stay here, in this house, with me, you do not have a choice in the situation. Do you understand?
I felt a short stab in my heart.  I loved my brother.  How could he ever think that I’d leave him?  Besides, I could never go back to foster care.  Never.  I nodded.
He studied me carefully for a moment.  “Go to bed.  We will take care of this tomorrow.”
At this point, I burst into tears.  “Please, don’t,” I sobbed.  “Please don’t make me wait.”
He got off the couch.  “I am too pissed to deal with you any more tonight.  You are drunk out of your mind.  Go to bed.  Now.”  He voice was ice cold and clear.  He had never spoken to me like that before.  I walked out of the room and walked up the stairs.  I fell into bed with my clothes on and cried harder than I have ever cried before.  It was like I couldn’t stop.  He was so disappointed in me, I could feel it radiating from him.  Maybe he didn’t love me anymore.  I made his life so much harder just by being here, and then even harder by not being a good kid.  If I kept up, he was going to end up hating me.  I finally either passed out or fell asleep.
The next morning, surprisingly, I didn’t have a hangover.  I guess I had built up a tolerance to the alcohol.  What I did have, however, was this feeling of unease.  Chris fixed me breakfast, and sat down at the table without a word.  He didn’t eat.  I wanted to be stoic and not eat too, but I was starving.  I felt him watching me the whole time.  After I finished, he got up started to clear the dishes.  As he did, he said, “You need to go into the living room, find a corner, and kneel there until I come in there to get you.” 
This caught me by total surprise.  “What do you mean?” I asked.  He didn’t answer, he just continued to clean the kitchen.  I sat and waitied for him to say something, but he didn’t.  I was really confused by this.  “I’m not a little girl, Chris.  I don’t need to stand in a corner.” He stopped what he was doing and looked at me.  I stood up and glared at him. 
Finally, he broke our staring war.  “No choices.”  He went back to what he was doing and ignored me.  The conversation of last night came back to me in a flood of emotions and I slowly went to the living room.  I was humiliated.  I could hearing water running, the dishwasher being opened and closed, and the clink of glasses.  My knees started to hurt and I shifted my weight a little.  I kept reminding myself that this was probably only a one-time thing.  Once he got it out of his system, things could go back to normal.
Finally, I heard him walk in.  Was I supposed to turn around?  “Stand up and come here,” he said.  I guess not. 
I walked over to him and stoof in front of him.  He was sitting on an oversized chair that I had slept in before on night when I got home late.  I would turn on the television and make it look like I fell asleep watching TV so he wouldn’t know I was out so late.  I guess I never fooled him. 
“I don’t have much else more to say than what I said last night.  I am tired of worrying about you and this is my solution.  Do you have any questions?”  I shook my head. 
“All right then.  First, you came in way too late for a fifteen-year-old girl.”  Suddenly, in one motion, I found myself over his lap and staring at the hardwood floor.  Without warning, I felt his hand come down on my ass.  Over and over again.  It stung, but I had my jeans on.  I was determined not to let this get to me.  After about a minute, though, it started to sting and I started to wriggle.  When I wriggled, he stopped.  “Stand up.”
It was over!  That wasn’t bad at all.  I stood up and adjusted my clothes.  “I’m so sorry,” I said, “and I promise to be on time–” He held up his hand.  “Do you think we are finished?  We haven’t even started.  Take down your jeans.”
This was too much.  “What?”  I yelled.  “No fucking way! You didn’t mention any of this last night!”  I wasn’t even halfway through my sentence when I felt myself turned upside down and I felt my jeans being pulled down.  How the hell had he done that without unbuttoning them?  I felt a flurry of spanks rain down over my panties and it was starting to tingle and burn.  “Okay, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry,”I said. 
“You have no choices.  You are out of chances.  Everytime you talk back to me, you are making it worse.”  He was emphasizing his words with spanks.  “I am not going to let my little sister run around town getting into trouble.  I will take care of it.”  I felt him pull down my panties.  It was getting harder for me to breathe evenly.  “No!”  I fought him for my underwear, kicking and squirming, but he got them, and I paid for it dearly when he did. “Secondly, you disrespected me last night and this morning by talking back and telling me ‘no.'”  He stopped talking all together and put his efforts into my spanking.  I managed not to cry, but I had a hard time keeping still and not crying out.  Finally, it stopped.  “Go back to your corner and kneel.”  I did, and fast, just to get away from his hand.  I even forgot my pants and panties on the floor next to the chair. 
Thank god it was over.  That was awful.  But at least I wasn’t going back to foster care.  It was over.  I knelt in my corner and relaxed.  I really wanted to cry, but I would wait until I got to my own bedroom for that.  I didn’t want to embarrass myself by crying in front of him like I had done the night before. 
I heard his voice again.  “Come here.”  Okay, I thought, the last little speech and we are done.  When I turned around, I froze.  What was he holding in his hand?  Was that a belt?  His belt?  “Let’s go, move it,” he said.
I walked over to him.  “What did you just get punished for?” I looked at him blankly.  What was he talking about?  Oh wait, okay he said something about…”Coming home late,” I mumbled.  “And what else?”  He crossed his arms and waited.  “Disrespecting you,” I mumbled even lower.  I felt about two inches tall.  I looked at the floor and fidgeted.
“And what else do we have to take care of today?” Now he was talking conversationally and pleasantly.  Seriously?
“Drinking.”  I wanted to melt into the floor.  My ears felt as hot as my ass.  That reminded me.  I looked around for my jeans and panties.  Where had they gone?
“And?”  He waited again.  And what?  Oh yeah.  “Lying to you.”  I never did tell him where I was.  How did he know I was lying?  My friends covered for me.  Who ratted?  I would kill her. 
Chris sighed.  He took me arm and guided me over the armchair.  I felt every muscle in my body tense up.  What was happening?  Suddenly ,I heard a whoosh and felt the belt and on my ass, hard.  I gasped.  It hurt more than I thought it would. I braced myself.  Nothing happend.
“Stand up, Andrea.”  I did, confused.  Was this it?  I searched his face and tried to read it.  His cold eyes were a little softer, and he started to speak.  “Do you understand why I am doing this?” 
“Because I messed up and don’t listen to you.”  That was an easy answer.  What a weird question.
“No.” His voice wasn’t cold anymore now either.  “I mean, yes, but Andrea, do you have any idea what can happen to a 15 year old girl who is drunk and dressed like a slut at three in the morning?”  I stiffened.  He hadn’t mentioned the dressed like a slut thing before. 
“I was careful.”  My voice was tiny and I am not sure if he heard me.  I was humiliated all over again. 
“It doesn’t matter how careful you are.  Things happen.  I don’t want to lose you.  You are all I have left.  So yes, I am doing this because you messed up and didn’t listen to me, but I am doing this because I want to keep you safe.  You might think I am being completely unfair, but really, what other choice do I have?”
I thought about that for a minute.  He tried the cool big brother I’m your friend thing, and that didn’t work.  He tried the grounding thing,and that didn’t work.  He tried the talking thing and that didn’t work.  He set up appointments with counselors that I didn’t go to and he even made plans with me that I didn’t show up for.  Oops.  I guess he was out of options. Damn it.  Now I felt even smaller.  I couldn’t say anything.  I looked at him for a second and then threw my arms around him.  I hugged him as tightly as I could.  I wanted him to feel how sorry I was and how much I understood what he meant and how I was going to try to be better.  And, of course, I cried into his shirt. 
I held on for a full minute before I let go.  His shirt was wet with my tears, but he never hugged me back.  That, to me, felt terrible, but I guess I deserved it.  I draped myself back over the chair and waited.  For a minute, nothing happened.  Then suddenly ,I felt the belt again and again.  And again.  Chris whipped my ass with what felt like all his strength, and by the time he was finished, I was sobbing so deeply that my body trembled.  I didn’t even notice that he was finished.  Finally, I felt his arms around me, holding me as tightly and gently.  It felt like he was saying, “I forgive you.  We can do this.”