[carl35]

“An Insider’s View” by Carl Michaels – Part Two

After I completed my “walk of shame” downstairs, my worst fears were realized: Aunt Susan and Uncle Jay had already arrived with my two cousins. They were all standing near the foyer as I crept downstairs, my face and neck a deep shade of red. 12-year-old Bobby pointed and laughed out loud at his ridiculously attired older cousin; Carrie (with whom I share a birthday, incidentally) rolled her eyes and giggled. Gwen caught her eye as she descended the stairs behind me, and the two exchanged a look that said, "This is going to be an entertaining weekend!"

My mom announced, "Please excuse Carl’s appearance, everyone. He thought it would make him look cool to try smoking cigarettes. Then he thought he could avoid being punished by lying to his mother. By the end of the weekend, I’m sure none of you kids will think there's anything the least bit 'cool' about either." Clearly, Mom meant to make a memorable example of me. I stood with my head down under the withering gaze of my relatives.

"Smoking?” Uncle Jay demanded. "You’ve gotta be kidding!"

Aunt Sue added sharply, "You do realize that you’re the oldest, and should be setting a GOOD example for the others."

I briefly considered pointing out that I only had four hours on Carrie, but I was smart enough to let it go. Instead, I said with genuine remorse,

“Yes, Ma'am, Aunt Susan. I'm sorry, Uncle Jay.”

My dad started taking coats. Well, you will be soon enough," he declared.

“Does he have to wear his punishment pajamas all weekend?” Carrie asked. She was obviously enthusiastic about this possibility.

Mom replied, “He has a second punishment coming for lying, so definitely all day tomorrow,” If he’s VERY lucky, he’ll get his clothes back sometime on Sunday.”

She pointed to the front door. “Alright, young man. Time to fly the flag.”

I blanched visibly while Gwen, Carrie and Bobby smiled broadly. What was about to ensue was perhaps the worst part of the Type Two punishment ritual—the only part that was actually “public.” My stomach flipped over as I imagined every one of our neighbors looking out their windows at that precise moment. On this chilly autumn afternoon, I had to step outside barefoot in my teddy bear pajamas and walk down the steps to the end of the driveway. Once there, I was required to tie my Hanes briefs to the mailbox, where they would remain until my punishment was over. This was hugely embarrassing, of course, but it actually served to prevent a worse humiliation. Other family members (my brother Reid, in this case) coming home would see the “spank flag” flying and know better than to invite anyone in for the family-only event in progress.

I wanted to run back inside like a track star, but I knew that if I didn’t walk at a normal speed I’d have to repeat the whole process. In my imagination, all the neighbors had their eyes glued to my dropseat flap and teddy bears--especially the gorgeous 17-year-old Danielle who lived across the street. I forced myself to walk at a normal pace up the steps, and I felt great relief once I was inside the house!

That relief was decidedly short-lived. I saw my mother sitting on the couch with an instrument of pure evil in her hand. Immediately I started pleading and whining.

“Please Mom, I’m too old for that. Can’t I just have the spanking? Please?”

She just stared back at me and beckoned me with her index finger. She was none too pleased with her oldest son at the moment, and it was clear she meant to follow this punishment protocol to the letter. Shedding the first of many tears, I sighed and walked to my doom, groaning as I placed myself awkwardly over her lap. Carrie had kicked off her shoes and joined Gwen and Bobby on the floor where I’d be looking straight at the three of them. None of them were going to miss this highlight of the evening; my facial expressions were going to be priceless!

Some explanation may be in order as to why my parents allowed the other kids to tease so mercilessly. When one of us earned a Type Two, it was held that we had dishonored the whole family with our behavior. While it was the parent’s role to punish, the other kids were actually expected to witness and to tease; it was their contribution to the discipline. Once the punishment was over and the guilt expunged, they were no longer allowed to reference it. Odd perhaps, but that’s the way it was.

Mom opened the flap in my ultra-tight pajamas to reveal a white bare bottom that contrasted markedly with my lingering summer tan. The feeling you get when your rear end first comes into view is like no other! I was immediately overwhelmed by the feeling of embarrassing over-exposure. Then Mom said, "This flap is much too tight, I need to make an alteration. Gwen, please bring me a pair of scissors."

My sister leaped up and got the scissors from the kitchen drawer, then forced herself to walk back and hold the scissors correctly.

My mother proceeded to make two cuts on either side of the flap. She then pulled the fabric down, causing a terrible ripping sound. Now she had full access to my bottom, as well as most of my thighs. "Much better," she declared.

As Mom opened me up back there and slid a cold homemade punishment suppository into my anus, I hung my head and wept at the humiliating reality of the situation. That part of my anatomy proceeded to betray me by pulling the chilled invader in of its own accord! Mom held me tightly over her knee, waiting for the ginger root to take effect. Within ten seconds I started to squirm a bit. After 20, I was hit with a burning sensation that steadily grew inside me! I twisted and drummed my toes into the carpet.

“Oww! Take it out, please! It burns!!”

Of course, she couldn’t take it out now even if she wanted to. The awful thing was deep inside me and would continue tormenting me until it melted completely away. She had already lubricated the Hideous Three-Inch Plug of Death, as we kids referred to the anal plug we would do just about anything to avoid. She gave me two sharp swats on the butt and commanded, “Stop clenching!” This bordered on the impossible: How can you will your rear end to relax when there’s a burning suppository inside you and a big plug about to join it?! As she pushed the dastardly thing inside me, my anus pulled it in tight, and I levitated on her lap, emitting an involuntary squeak. The plug would remain there overnight. Aunt Sue leaned over, took my chin in her hand in her hand and said, “You’re going to be on fire from the inside out tonight, young man. I hope you remember how this feels the next time you feel like ‘lighting up!’”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I groaned tearfully. I knew she was right, and I knew I would!

“Whoa! Carl’s getting a Type Two? Whaddid he do?”

Great, my little brother was home. It was gonna be standing room only for my spanking.

My dad said, “Your brother decided to try smoking, then he tried to lie his way out of trouble. I hope you’ll learn from his punishment.”

“Oh yes, Sir, I will.” Reid grabbed a soda out of the fridge, and joined the other kids. "Sucks to be you, bro," he said with a smile. It certainly did.

Mom helped me to my feet, and I immediately started hopping from foot to foot in a vain attempt to quell the inner sting. Through my tears, I took in the room: Four kids wearing grins, and four adults with serious-as-a-heart attack expressions. In their view, I was being properly punished for setting a terrible example for the younger kids.

“Alright, young man,” my mother commanded, “an hour in the corner.”

Walking most uncomfortably, I headed for The Punishment Corner, which was in the family room to the right of the TV. I put my nose and toes in this corner, placing my hands over my head. Hanging from a hook on the wall was an old fashioned hairbrush that had never been used on hair. Using a remote control, Mom turned on my plug, and I jumped a bit—you're never quite ready for the weird sensation when that thing first starts vibrating! I struggled to remain quiet and still despite the burning in my bowels and the buzzing in my butt, knowing that moving or making noise during corner time was a ticket to a much longer, harder spanking.

Drinks were served, conversations started, the TV switched on. I stood there with my bare bottom sticking out into the family room, burning up above from embarrassment and down below from the suppository’s sting. As if enduring an hour of bare bottomed corner time in this state weren’t torment enough, the remote was strategically located where anyone could reach it and turn it off and on again, enjoying the reactions they got. It had four vibration speeds, and the boys in particular found this irresistibly fun to play with. Even Uncle Jay had a go! The first time it hit the highest speed, I let out a squeal and rose up on my toes, much to the delight of my audience.

After awhile the TV captured everyone’s attention and I was spared the constant changes in butt-buzzing vibration. This was when corner time got surreal: in one sense, you know you’re the center of (unwelcome) attention; but in another, life seems to kind of go on without you. I stared at the wall and tried hard to be still. The long hour crept by at a glacial pace. There were tears in my eyes, and I still had a long, hard spanking coming!

[End of Part Two]

Copyright 2010 Carl Philip Michaels