Nobody Like a Tattletale
by Minx
“That’s not fair!” Sam hotly declared, his nostrils flaring in unbridled anger at his father. “I just told you how Dean’s been smacking me way too much for – for no reason whatsoever - and now you wanna whack me too, just because I told?”
John sighed, working to keep the smile off his care-worn face. “Son, your thirteen. You need to start standing up for yourself instead of running to me and tattling on Dean every time he does something to piss you off.” And God knew, Dean definitely had a talent for pissing his little brother off these days, John silently mused.
Sam threw his arms up in exasperation, his dreaded bitch-face coming out for an appearance, much to John’s chagrin.
“Well, what d’you suggest I do? Put a binding spell on him? Shoot him with rock salt?”
“A little extreme, don’t’cha think?” John responded with a raised brow.
“But he gets me in that headlock thing and…” Sam let the rest of the sentence go unfinished as his frustration level sky-rocketed, forcing him to take a deep calming breath.
John kept his face neutral, although his tone carried a hint of mild reproach to it. “Maybe if you took your training a little more seriously, Dean wouldn’t be able to get you in a headlock so easily all the time,” he suggested mildly.
Sam snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, right, sure, Dad! And maybe fluffy white unicorns’ll fly out of my butt!”
John’s eyes darkened. “Well then, you better tell those unicorns to move out of the way, ‘cause my hand’s gonna be flying at your butt in a minute,” he warned. “Lose the attitude. Now.”
“Sorry, sir,” Sam quickly apologized, knowing he’d crossed the line. He gazed up through a fringe of brunette bangs, fixing his father with a pleading look. “But I’m serious, Dad. Tell Dean to lay off me, or I really will shoot him.”
“Calm down.”
“I am calm!”
“No, you’re not,” John evenly countered. “And don’t take that tone with me, Samuel,” he added, his voice dropping to a dangerous level.
“How come you never tell Dean off for getting mouthy?” Sam huffed.
John’s brow creased. “What are you talking about? I tell him all the time.”
“Sure, fine,” Sam admitted reluctantly. “But you don’t threaten him with a stupid spanking like you do me,” he complained. “And if anyone deserves to get his ass beat around here, it’s Dean.” Sam lifted his chin in a smug knowing gesture. “I bet he didn’t even tell you about the naked girl he had over all last week while you were gone.”
“Naked girl?!” John blinked, stunned. He stopped himself, not wanting to go there just now. Instead, he leveled a stern gaze at his youngest. “Sam, what did I just say about tattling?”
Sam ignored the subtle order to stand down. “I just thought you should know, is all,” he replied defensively. “Because I’d sure wanna know if it was my son having wild, unprotected sex – and other ‘weird’ stuff – all over the apartment, including the kitchen table. Which by the way? Yeah, gross!”
The last image alone made John want to take a scouring pad to his brain, and a barrel of bleach to the kitchen table. First things first, he thought tiredly.
“Okay, enough. I’ll deal with your brother when he gets home from the parts store.”
Sam let out a sarcastic little chuckle, and John scowled at him. “What?” he asked, curtly.
Sam gave his father an insolent shrug. “I guess ‘going to the store for a car part’ is Dean’s new code for he’s parked at the lake, banging that girl in the backseat of the Impala.”
John thought he was going to burst a blood vessel right then and there.
“Sam, enough with the tattling,” he ground out in aggravation. John grabbed a handful of Sam’s t-shirt collar, dragging his protesting child closer. “I don’t want to have to tell you again,” he warned, as he swung Sam around and smacked the teen’s rear end a dozen times, aiming for the same two spots on each butt cheek to get the maximum amount of sting in the least amount of swats.
“Ow! Dad!” Sam squawked in dismay. He reached back to try to block his dad’s hand.
John easily slapped Sam’s hands out of the way. “That’s extra for fighting me, Sammy,” he stated, smirking at Sam’s mouth flopping open at the added humiliation. The kid looked like a bug-eyed fish gasping for its last breath.
John delivered six more slaps, lower down to the top of Sam’s thighs, causing the boy to whine and then he let Sam go.
Sam backed away from his dad, scowling, while he rubbed the sting out of his butt.
“Not fair!” Sam muttered, careful to keep his distance this time. “Dean turns the place into the playboy mansion behind your back and I’m the one that gets it!”
“Oh, don’t worry, Sammy,” John interjected, giving his son a playful pat on his shoulder. “Dean’s gonna be getting his just as soon as he gets home.” He turned Sam and gave him a gentle shove towards the hallway. “I want you to go to your room until dinner. I’m sure you have homework-”
“I did it already,” Sam stated.
“Of course you did,” John corrected himself, rubbing the back of his neck in consternation. Kid was getting way too smart, way too fast. “Then go and read a book or something. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”
Sam dutifully trotted off towards his room. He gave his dad a sour look over his shoulder.
“Dean better get worse than what I got,” Sam grumbled. “He’s the one that-”
“Sam,” John eyed his youngest speculatively. “We need to go for a second round, here?”
Sam’s eye’s widened. “No, sir,” he stuttered and headed down the hall at a half-run.
Later…
Dean set the plastic bag filled with spark plugs, motor oil and a new fan belt down on the kitchen table, smiling to himself. It had only taken him about fifteen minutes to actually run to the store and buy the items for the Impala. The other hour and a quarter had been spent down by Watson Lake, getting naked and sweaty with Gina Taylor in the backseat of the car, while a Led Zeppelin tape played softly on the tape deck. Dean was so deep in his thoughts of Gina’s big, bouncy tits and the way she mewled so sweetly when he tongued her there, that he didn’t even hear his dad come up behind him.
John dropped a box of condoms onto the table in front of Dean, who choked upon seeing them, his eyes going wide with horror. Had his dad just read his mind?
“Make sure you use ‘em,” John tersely ordered.
“Dad...” Dean whined in sudden mortification. He felt the tips of his ears tingeing a rosy pink.
Dean quickly swiveled away from the embarrassing box staring back accusingly at him on the table, and gifted his father with an uncomfortable glower.
“I don’t wanna have to be bugging out of town earlier than planned because you got sloppy,” John snapped in reply to Dean’s questioning look.
Dean’s eyes fell to the floor. “She’s on the pill,” he quietly stated.
“You know that for a fact?” John challenged. “People lie all the time, Dean. It’s human nature. Besides, the pill won’t keep you from getting an STD if she’s carrying.” Dean blushed deeply, and John continued, the warning in his tone unmistakable. “I get a call telling me you’ve knocked up some chick, and you’re gonna be the only daddy-to-be in town sporting a black and blue ass. You got it?” John pointed at the box in front of Dean. “USE. THEM.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean managed to mumble. He shuffled his feet nervously, sensing that his father wasn’t finished yet.
John wasn’t. He fixed Dean with a critical stare, waiting for his son to get up the courage to raise his head and look him in the eye. When Dean finally did, John continued.
“Now that we’ve got that settled, there’s the matter of you lying to me and breaking orders to deal with” he stated. John watched a wary look of apprehension flit across Dean’s face and he felt a surge of disappointment rise in his chest.
“You had a girl stay here with you while I was gone last week, even though you know that’s against the rules. Furthermore, you neglected to mention it to me when I got home. An act of omission is still a lie, Dean. And, I will not now, or ever, tolerate my children lying to me, and you know it,” John stated grimly. “I want you to go my room and get the paddle.”
Dean groaned loudly, letting his head fall backwards on his neck in disappointed disgust. The paddle. It just had to be the friggin’ paddle. Dammit.
John chose to ignore the theatrics and continued. “You’re to bring it back here, and then I want you bent over this table – the very same table you used in a rather unconventional way last week, or so I heard - with your pants down and your butt bared and ready for me. We clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Dean muttered unhappily.
John bestowed Dean with an unsympathetic smile. “I figure a blistered tail oughtta keep you from chasing skirts for awhile at least, and teach you stay out of trouble the next time I’m gone.” He glanced down at his wristwatch, marking the time. “You’ve got exactly one minute to comply… starting… now.”
Dean swore under his breath as he scrambled from the table and headed for the hallway and his father’s room. He was so going to kill Sammy for tattling on him. Oh yeah. One painful spank at a time…
The paddle. It was known to both Dean and Sam as “that frikkin’ thing”, as in: ‘I hate that frikkin’ thing!’. More often than not though, the paddle was simply called “IT” in the Winchester household. And, ‘IT’ hung in its usual place, suspended by a thin leather thong on a half-penny nail on the inside of John’s closet door. Had they been staying anywhere more transitory, such as a motel room, Dean knew the 3/8-inch thick rectangular paddle of polished oak would have been in his father’s duffle instead, buried near the bottom, nestled inconspicuously among his dad’s socks and t-shirts. Just biding its time until needed.
Dean stared at “IT’ with a reverent hatred that brought a disgruntled sneer to his handsome face. His top lip curled up as if he were a wolf, baring his teeth at a familiar enemy. Reaching back to absently cradle his backside, he continued to glare at the paddle hanging in front of him. God, that frikkin’ thing was going to hurt and then some! It always did, Dean lamented, especially when his dad was wielding it and was as pissed off as he seemed to be tonight.
His dad usually applied a number of swats equal to one’s age, meaning Dean would normally be getting seventeen this time. Or at least, he would be if this had been a lesser offense, Dean corrected himself. But, sneaking a girl into the apartment for a long weekend of screwing that would have put a Roman orgy to shame, and doing it in front of his little brother no less, could hardly be deemed a ‘lesser’ offense, even in Dean’s charitable estimation. Nope, it was going to be more like 25 licks burning across his ass instead. Shit and double shit.
“Thirty-five seconds, Dean!” John called out from the kitchen.
Knowing better than to waste any more precious time snarling at an inanimate object, regardless of whether or not it made him feel better, Dean snatched the paddle off its nail and proceeded, double-time, back to the kitchen and his father.
John looked up from his wristwatch, a grim set to his jaw, as Dean finally returned and reluctantly held out the paddle for him to take.
“Cutting it close this time, bud,” John sternly advised his son.
Dean let out an exaggerated breath. “Jeez, Dad, even a condemned man gets his final slow march to the gas chamber.”
John rolled his eyes at the melodramatic tone of his child. First Sam, and now Dean. He had a feeling he was in for a long ride with the two of them now both teenagers.
“You’re not going to your death, Dean,” John stated dryly.
Dean snorted. “Yeah? Tell that to my ass,” he shot back tartly as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, a gloomy frown on his face.
Dean carefully lowered his pants and boxers to his ankles, taking his time, despite his father’s low growl of impatience. Rear end fully bared, Dean lay himself, belly down, over the sturdy kitchen table, bracing himself on his forearms.
He stared at the yellowed wood of the table under his nose, a half-smile playing across his lips as he remembered the last time he was in a similar position. Gina Taylor had been naked then, moaning and writhing like crazy, her freshly spanked ass grinding against the tabletop, long legs wrapped around Dean’s hips while he’d stood beside the table and plowed into her with horny abandon.
His dick twitched slightly at the memory, but all thoughts of the pleasant encounter were quickly superseded in Dean’s mind by a burst of raw pain as the first crack of the paddle landed against his backside. Dean jumped, hitching forward against the edge of the table. He hissed loudly as he rode out the sharp, hot sting spreading across the exposed flesh of his ass.
“You ready to start?” John asked him with an innocent quirk of his brow.
You motherfucker, Dean thought, but didn’t dare say it aloud.
“Ready to start?” he gasped instead, ass clenching and unclenching in rhythm to the lingering after-throb left behind by the paddle. “What do you mean am I ‘ready to start’? What the hell are you calling that?” he questioned excitedly, waving a hand behind him to indicate the paddle mark left on his reddened butt cheek.
The sardonic grin on John’s face was pure wickedness. “What? That?” he mused, studying the red splotch with a glimmer of amusement. “That was to get your attention, son. You looked like you were a thousand miles away, and I want to make sure you’re paying attention here and focused on your punishment.”
John gave an indifferent shrug, raising the paddle once again. “That one didn’t count.”
Dean choked. What the fuck?? Didn’t count?!! “Daaad!” he whined in protest.
But it was too late. John had already begun his next swing.
“Count ‘em off, Dean,” John ordered, as he brought the paddle down on Dean’s bottom again, leaving a white imprint behind that quickly faded to a dull, angry red. “You’re getting twenty-five.”
“ONE!” Dean nearly shouted, tears springing to his eyes as he squeezed them shut.
The paddle continued to smack down, connecting with Dean’s aching butt over and over, as he yelped out the count in a tight, pained voice while desperately trying to ignore the smarting warmth building all across his bottom and upper thighs.
His dad was really putting some heat behind the swings. And that’s when Dean realized he was in trouble. Really, truly in big, BIG trouble. The flat sarcasm in his father’s voice had only served to confirm his suspicions that this was going to be one long and ugly butt whipping. Yeah, sure, leave it to a Marine to be thorough, Dean silently reflected with a mixture of regret and despair as ‘IT’ smacked down on his ass once more.
Damn Sam for not being able to keep his bratty little mouth shut! And damn Gina Taylor and her hot, slutty, thong-wearing ass too!
Later…
John had gone out to pick up some take-out for their dinner, leaving the boys in their room with strict orders not to move from there until he returned. Given their present circumstances, neither Sam nor Dean was even remotely interested in testing their boundaries at the moment, so they happily remained in their room, waiting for the food to arrive.
Each boy lay sprawled across his bed. Dean was prone on his due to his still sore backside. He absently flipped another playing card from his hand into the empty wastebasket across from his bed, a scowl of resigned boredom covering his face, while Sam sat upright against the headboard of his own bed with a book propped up on his knees, reading.
Every few minutes, Sam would casually glance over at his brother from the corner of his eye, a half-smirk tickling his lips as he caught Dean sneaking a hand back for another quick rub to his behind. Sam had heard the solid whacks of the paddle and Dean’s terse count of the licks as he was being spanked, so he knew, without a doubt that Dean’s ass must hurt like hell.
If that wasn’t proof enough, Sam had also seen the damage first-hand when Dean had come stomping into the room right after the paddling. Dean’s face was a mask of forced control as he stalked over to the full-length mirror hanging on the closet door and yanked down his pants to have a look for himself at his dad’s handiwork. Sure enough, his ass was painted a hot, tomato red - glowing bright enough to be used as a night light, Sam silently observed. Serves Dean right, he thought. See how much he likes getting his ass beat for once.
Besides which Dean had stunk up the whole place with sex for almost a week with that bimbo cheerleader from school, and then razzed Sam for still being a virgin himself. Sam grudgingly admitted that he might not have ever gone all the way yet with a girl, but at least he wouldn’t be the one having to stand up to eat his dinner tonight, and for the rest of the week to boot.
Dean caught Sam’s smug look this time and offered his little brother an ugly glower in return.
“What?” Sam asked innocently.
Dean’s eyes darkened. “Dude, wipe the smart-ass smile off your face, or I’ll do it for you,” he threatened. “My ass is hamburger, no thanks to you, you little squealer.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sam replied, his tone just this side of condescending. He sat up, glaring at Dean now as he set his book down on the bed. “You know, if you’d wanted to keep your screwing a secret from dad, you might’ve considered not doing it ALL OVER THE STUPID APARTMENT IN FRONT OF ME, you freaking perv!”
“What is your problem, you little bitch?” Dean snarled, wincing slightly as he rolled onto his side to face Sam. “Just ‘cause you don’t wanna have fun, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”
Sam’s lower lip jutted out, his tone indignant. “Stop calling me a bitch, Dean. Dad said you’re not supposed to call me that anymore.”
“You gonna tell on me for that too, you big baby?”
Sam’s face contorted in anger. “Screw you!” he spat.
Dean chuckled low and dirty. “No thanks, you’re not my type, Sammy. Besides, I’ve got someone way better than you for that.” He made a face, rubbing at his rear once more. “Well, not that I’ll be able to do that again any time soon,” he added ruefully.
Sam snickered. “Ha, ha” he crowed. “Dad only gave me a few swats with his hand. I can’t even feel ‘em anymore.” He bounced up and down on his mattress to prove his point. “You’re gonna be feeling that for at least a week,” he stated, pointing at Dean’s backside with a wide grin.
Sam added insult to injury by licking his forefinger and holding it up and then pointing to his puffed out chest, suggesting he’d scored one over on his big brother.
Sam may have inherited his father’s temper, but that didn’t mean Dean didn’t have a volatile one of his own, and it was that very temper that suddenly leapt to the forefront of Dean’s brain. He was a blur of arms and legs as he pounced on Sam, giving his brother no chance to defend himself, much less prepare an offensive attack of any sort.
Sam squealed in dismay when Dean got him in a solid headlock, bending him over easily as he knelt on Sam’s bed with one knee, the other foot firmly planted on the floor. Dean began to spank Sam’s upturned bottom with his hand.
“You feelin’ it now, Sammy?” Dean inquired caustically, as Sam struggled and cursed in his grip. “You still think this a chuckle fest? Still thinking you got one over on me?”
“OW, you JERK!” Sam hollered as the smacks landed hard and fast on his rear. “Quit it or I’m telling Dad!”
Dean spanked Sam even harder at that, and Sam howled.
“You better stop tattling or I’m gonna blister your butt raw,” Dean growled. “What’s it gonna be, Sammy? Hmm? Keep your mouth shut from now on or join me for a week of not being able to sit down?”
Sam resisted for all of a few seconds before breaking down, his face almost as red as his butt. “OKAY! All right! I’ll STOP!” he huffed angrily. “Just lemme up, Dean!”
Dean didn’t have a chance to comply with the request because a shadow fell across the two struggling boys at that moment.
“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?!” John Winchester barked in fury.
Dean and Sam froze in position. They turned as one to spy their father, a dark scowl of anger on his face, glaring at them from the doorway to the room…
THE END
John sighed, working to keep the smile off his care-worn face. “Son, your thirteen. You need to start standing up for yourself instead of running to me and tattling on Dean every time he does something to piss you off.” And God knew, Dean definitely had a talent for pissing his little brother off these days, John silently mused.
Sam threw his arms up in exasperation, his dreaded bitch-face coming out for an appearance, much to John’s chagrin.
“Well, what d’you suggest I do? Put a binding spell on him? Shoot him with rock salt?”
“A little extreme, don’t’cha think?” John responded with a raised brow.
“But he gets me in that headlock thing and…” Sam let the rest of the sentence go unfinished as his frustration level sky-rocketed, forcing him to take a deep calming breath.
John kept his face neutral, although his tone carried a hint of mild reproach to it. “Maybe if you took your training a little more seriously, Dean wouldn’t be able to get you in a headlock so easily all the time,” he suggested mildly.
Sam snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, right, sure, Dad! And maybe fluffy white unicorns’ll fly out of my butt!”
John’s eyes darkened. “Well then, you better tell those unicorns to move out of the way, ‘cause my hand’s gonna be flying at your butt in a minute,” he warned. “Lose the attitude. Now.”
“Sorry, sir,” Sam quickly apologized, knowing he’d crossed the line. He gazed up through a fringe of brunette bangs, fixing his father with a pleading look. “But I’m serious, Dad. Tell Dean to lay off me, or I really will shoot him.”
“Calm down.”
“I am calm!”
“No, you’re not,” John evenly countered. “And don’t take that tone with me, Samuel,” he added, his voice dropping to a dangerous level.
“How come you never tell Dean off for getting mouthy?” Sam huffed.
John’s brow creased. “What are you talking about? I tell him all the time.”
“Sure, fine,” Sam admitted reluctantly. “But you don’t threaten him with a stupid spanking like you do me,” he complained. “And if anyone deserves to get his ass beat around here, it’s Dean.” Sam lifted his chin in a smug knowing gesture. “I bet he didn’t even tell you about the naked girl he had over all last week while you were gone.”
“Naked girl?!” John blinked, stunned. He stopped himself, not wanting to go there just now. Instead, he leveled a stern gaze at his youngest. “Sam, what did I just say about tattling?”
Sam ignored the subtle order to stand down. “I just thought you should know, is all,” he replied defensively. “Because I’d sure wanna know if it was my son having wild, unprotected sex – and other ‘weird’ stuff – all over the apartment, including the kitchen table. Which by the way? Yeah, gross!”
The last image alone made John want to take a scouring pad to his brain, and a barrel of bleach to the kitchen table. First things first, he thought tiredly.
“Okay, enough. I’ll deal with your brother when he gets home from the parts store.”
Sam let out a sarcastic little chuckle, and John scowled at him. “What?” he asked, curtly.
Sam gave his father an insolent shrug. “I guess ‘going to the store for a car part’ is Dean’s new code for he’s parked at the lake, banging that girl in the backseat of the Impala.”
John thought he was going to burst a blood vessel right then and there.
“Sam, enough with the tattling,” he ground out in aggravation. John grabbed a handful of Sam’s t-shirt collar, dragging his protesting child closer. “I don’t want to have to tell you again,” he warned, as he swung Sam around and smacked the teen’s rear end a dozen times, aiming for the same two spots on each butt cheek to get the maximum amount of sting in the least amount of swats.
“Ow! Dad!” Sam squawked in dismay. He reached back to try to block his dad’s hand.
John easily slapped Sam’s hands out of the way. “That’s extra for fighting me, Sammy,” he stated, smirking at Sam’s mouth flopping open at the added humiliation. The kid looked like a bug-eyed fish gasping for its last breath.
John delivered six more slaps, lower down to the top of Sam’s thighs, causing the boy to whine and then he let Sam go.
Sam backed away from his dad, scowling, while he rubbed the sting out of his butt.
“Not fair!” Sam muttered, careful to keep his distance this time. “Dean turns the place into the playboy mansion behind your back and I’m the one that gets it!”
“Oh, don’t worry, Sammy,” John interjected, giving his son a playful pat on his shoulder. “Dean’s gonna be getting his just as soon as he gets home.” He turned Sam and gave him a gentle shove towards the hallway. “I want you to go to your room until dinner. I’m sure you have homework-”
“I did it already,” Sam stated.
“Of course you did,” John corrected himself, rubbing the back of his neck in consternation. Kid was getting way too smart, way too fast. “Then go and read a book or something. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”
Sam dutifully trotted off towards his room. He gave his dad a sour look over his shoulder.
“Dean better get worse than what I got,” Sam grumbled. “He’s the one that-”
“Sam,” John eyed his youngest speculatively. “We need to go for a second round, here?”
Sam’s eye’s widened. “No, sir,” he stuttered and headed down the hall at a half-run.
Later…
Dean set the plastic bag filled with spark plugs, motor oil and a new fan belt down on the kitchen table, smiling to himself. It had only taken him about fifteen minutes to actually run to the store and buy the items for the Impala. The other hour and a quarter had been spent down by Watson Lake, getting naked and sweaty with Gina Taylor in the backseat of the car, while a Led Zeppelin tape played softly on the tape deck. Dean was so deep in his thoughts of Gina’s big, bouncy tits and the way she mewled so sweetly when he tongued her there, that he didn’t even hear his dad come up behind him.
John dropped a box of condoms onto the table in front of Dean, who choked upon seeing them, his eyes going wide with horror. Had his dad just read his mind?
“Make sure you use ‘em,” John tersely ordered.
“Dad...” Dean whined in sudden mortification. He felt the tips of his ears tingeing a rosy pink.
Dean quickly swiveled away from the embarrassing box staring back accusingly at him on the table, and gifted his father with an uncomfortable glower.
“I don’t wanna have to be bugging out of town earlier than planned because you got sloppy,” John snapped in reply to Dean’s questioning look.
Dean’s eyes fell to the floor. “She’s on the pill,” he quietly stated.
“You know that for a fact?” John challenged. “People lie all the time, Dean. It’s human nature. Besides, the pill won’t keep you from getting an STD if she’s carrying.” Dean blushed deeply, and John continued, the warning in his tone unmistakable. “I get a call telling me you’ve knocked up some chick, and you’re gonna be the only daddy-to-be in town sporting a black and blue ass. You got it?” John pointed at the box in front of Dean. “USE. THEM.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean managed to mumble. He shuffled his feet nervously, sensing that his father wasn’t finished yet.
John wasn’t. He fixed Dean with a critical stare, waiting for his son to get up the courage to raise his head and look him in the eye. When Dean finally did, John continued.
“Now that we’ve got that settled, there’s the matter of you lying to me and breaking orders to deal with” he stated. John watched a wary look of apprehension flit across Dean’s face and he felt a surge of disappointment rise in his chest.
“You had a girl stay here with you while I was gone last week, even though you know that’s against the rules. Furthermore, you neglected to mention it to me when I got home. An act of omission is still a lie, Dean. And, I will not now, or ever, tolerate my children lying to me, and you know it,” John stated grimly. “I want you to go my room and get the paddle.”
Dean groaned loudly, letting his head fall backwards on his neck in disappointed disgust. The paddle. It just had to be the friggin’ paddle. Dammit.
John chose to ignore the theatrics and continued. “You’re to bring it back here, and then I want you bent over this table – the very same table you used in a rather unconventional way last week, or so I heard - with your pants down and your butt bared and ready for me. We clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Dean muttered unhappily.
John bestowed Dean with an unsympathetic smile. “I figure a blistered tail oughtta keep you from chasing skirts for awhile at least, and teach you stay out of trouble the next time I’m gone.” He glanced down at his wristwatch, marking the time. “You’ve got exactly one minute to comply… starting… now.”
Dean swore under his breath as he scrambled from the table and headed for the hallway and his father’s room. He was so going to kill Sammy for tattling on him. Oh yeah. One painful spank at a time…
The paddle. It was known to both Dean and Sam as “that frikkin’ thing”, as in: ‘I hate that frikkin’ thing!’. More often than not though, the paddle was simply called “IT” in the Winchester household. And, ‘IT’ hung in its usual place, suspended by a thin leather thong on a half-penny nail on the inside of John’s closet door. Had they been staying anywhere more transitory, such as a motel room, Dean knew the 3/8-inch thick rectangular paddle of polished oak would have been in his father’s duffle instead, buried near the bottom, nestled inconspicuously among his dad’s socks and t-shirts. Just biding its time until needed.
Dean stared at “IT’ with a reverent hatred that brought a disgruntled sneer to his handsome face. His top lip curled up as if he were a wolf, baring his teeth at a familiar enemy. Reaching back to absently cradle his backside, he continued to glare at the paddle hanging in front of him. God, that frikkin’ thing was going to hurt and then some! It always did, Dean lamented, especially when his dad was wielding it and was as pissed off as he seemed to be tonight.
His dad usually applied a number of swats equal to one’s age, meaning Dean would normally be getting seventeen this time. Or at least, he would be if this had been a lesser offense, Dean corrected himself. But, sneaking a girl into the apartment for a long weekend of screwing that would have put a Roman orgy to shame, and doing it in front of his little brother no less, could hardly be deemed a ‘lesser’ offense, even in Dean’s charitable estimation. Nope, it was going to be more like 25 licks burning across his ass instead. Shit and double shit.
“Thirty-five seconds, Dean!” John called out from the kitchen.
Knowing better than to waste any more precious time snarling at an inanimate object, regardless of whether or not it made him feel better, Dean snatched the paddle off its nail and proceeded, double-time, back to the kitchen and his father.
John looked up from his wristwatch, a grim set to his jaw, as Dean finally returned and reluctantly held out the paddle for him to take.
“Cutting it close this time, bud,” John sternly advised his son.
Dean let out an exaggerated breath. “Jeez, Dad, even a condemned man gets his final slow march to the gas chamber.”
John rolled his eyes at the melodramatic tone of his child. First Sam, and now Dean. He had a feeling he was in for a long ride with the two of them now both teenagers.
“You’re not going to your death, Dean,” John stated dryly.
Dean snorted. “Yeah? Tell that to my ass,” he shot back tartly as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, a gloomy frown on his face.
Dean carefully lowered his pants and boxers to his ankles, taking his time, despite his father’s low growl of impatience. Rear end fully bared, Dean lay himself, belly down, over the sturdy kitchen table, bracing himself on his forearms.
He stared at the yellowed wood of the table under his nose, a half-smile playing across his lips as he remembered the last time he was in a similar position. Gina Taylor had been naked then, moaning and writhing like crazy, her freshly spanked ass grinding against the tabletop, long legs wrapped around Dean’s hips while he’d stood beside the table and plowed into her with horny abandon.
His dick twitched slightly at the memory, but all thoughts of the pleasant encounter were quickly superseded in Dean’s mind by a burst of raw pain as the first crack of the paddle landed against his backside. Dean jumped, hitching forward against the edge of the table. He hissed loudly as he rode out the sharp, hot sting spreading across the exposed flesh of his ass.
“You ready to start?” John asked him with an innocent quirk of his brow.
You motherfucker, Dean thought, but didn’t dare say it aloud.
“Ready to start?” he gasped instead, ass clenching and unclenching in rhythm to the lingering after-throb left behind by the paddle. “What do you mean am I ‘ready to start’? What the hell are you calling that?” he questioned excitedly, waving a hand behind him to indicate the paddle mark left on his reddened butt cheek.
The sardonic grin on John’s face was pure wickedness. “What? That?” he mused, studying the red splotch with a glimmer of amusement. “That was to get your attention, son. You looked like you were a thousand miles away, and I want to make sure you’re paying attention here and focused on your punishment.”
John gave an indifferent shrug, raising the paddle once again. “That one didn’t count.”
Dean choked. What the fuck?? Didn’t count?!! “Daaad!” he whined in protest.
But it was too late. John had already begun his next swing.
“Count ‘em off, Dean,” John ordered, as he brought the paddle down on Dean’s bottom again, leaving a white imprint behind that quickly faded to a dull, angry red. “You’re getting twenty-five.”
“ONE!” Dean nearly shouted, tears springing to his eyes as he squeezed them shut.
The paddle continued to smack down, connecting with Dean’s aching butt over and over, as he yelped out the count in a tight, pained voice while desperately trying to ignore the smarting warmth building all across his bottom and upper thighs.
His dad was really putting some heat behind the swings. And that’s when Dean realized he was in trouble. Really, truly in big, BIG trouble. The flat sarcasm in his father’s voice had only served to confirm his suspicions that this was going to be one long and ugly butt whipping. Yeah, sure, leave it to a Marine to be thorough, Dean silently reflected with a mixture of regret and despair as ‘IT’ smacked down on his ass once more.
Damn Sam for not being able to keep his bratty little mouth shut! And damn Gina Taylor and her hot, slutty, thong-wearing ass too!
Later…
John had gone out to pick up some take-out for their dinner, leaving the boys in their room with strict orders not to move from there until he returned. Given their present circumstances, neither Sam nor Dean was even remotely interested in testing their boundaries at the moment, so they happily remained in their room, waiting for the food to arrive.
Each boy lay sprawled across his bed. Dean was prone on his due to his still sore backside. He absently flipped another playing card from his hand into the empty wastebasket across from his bed, a scowl of resigned boredom covering his face, while Sam sat upright against the headboard of his own bed with a book propped up on his knees, reading.
Every few minutes, Sam would casually glance over at his brother from the corner of his eye, a half-smirk tickling his lips as he caught Dean sneaking a hand back for another quick rub to his behind. Sam had heard the solid whacks of the paddle and Dean’s terse count of the licks as he was being spanked, so he knew, without a doubt that Dean’s ass must hurt like hell.
If that wasn’t proof enough, Sam had also seen the damage first-hand when Dean had come stomping into the room right after the paddling. Dean’s face was a mask of forced control as he stalked over to the full-length mirror hanging on the closet door and yanked down his pants to have a look for himself at his dad’s handiwork. Sure enough, his ass was painted a hot, tomato red - glowing bright enough to be used as a night light, Sam silently observed. Serves Dean right, he thought. See how much he likes getting his ass beat for once.
Besides which Dean had stunk up the whole place with sex for almost a week with that bimbo cheerleader from school, and then razzed Sam for still being a virgin himself. Sam grudgingly admitted that he might not have ever gone all the way yet with a girl, but at least he wouldn’t be the one having to stand up to eat his dinner tonight, and for the rest of the week to boot.
Dean caught Sam’s smug look this time and offered his little brother an ugly glower in return.
“What?” Sam asked innocently.
Dean’s eyes darkened. “Dude, wipe the smart-ass smile off your face, or I’ll do it for you,” he threatened. “My ass is hamburger, no thanks to you, you little squealer.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sam replied, his tone just this side of condescending. He sat up, glaring at Dean now as he set his book down on the bed. “You know, if you’d wanted to keep your screwing a secret from dad, you might’ve considered not doing it ALL OVER THE STUPID APARTMENT IN FRONT OF ME, you freaking perv!”
“What is your problem, you little bitch?” Dean snarled, wincing slightly as he rolled onto his side to face Sam. “Just ‘cause you don’t wanna have fun, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”
Sam’s lower lip jutted out, his tone indignant. “Stop calling me a bitch, Dean. Dad said you’re not supposed to call me that anymore.”
“You gonna tell on me for that too, you big baby?”
Sam’s face contorted in anger. “Screw you!” he spat.
Dean chuckled low and dirty. “No thanks, you’re not my type, Sammy. Besides, I’ve got someone way better than you for that.” He made a face, rubbing at his rear once more. “Well, not that I’ll be able to do that again any time soon,” he added ruefully.
Sam snickered. “Ha, ha” he crowed. “Dad only gave me a few swats with his hand. I can’t even feel ‘em anymore.” He bounced up and down on his mattress to prove his point. “You’re gonna be feeling that for at least a week,” he stated, pointing at Dean’s backside with a wide grin.
Sam added insult to injury by licking his forefinger and holding it up and then pointing to his puffed out chest, suggesting he’d scored one over on his big brother.
Sam may have inherited his father’s temper, but that didn’t mean Dean didn’t have a volatile one of his own, and it was that very temper that suddenly leapt to the forefront of Dean’s brain. He was a blur of arms and legs as he pounced on Sam, giving his brother no chance to defend himself, much less prepare an offensive attack of any sort.
Sam squealed in dismay when Dean got him in a solid headlock, bending him over easily as he knelt on Sam’s bed with one knee, the other foot firmly planted on the floor. Dean began to spank Sam’s upturned bottom with his hand.
“You feelin’ it now, Sammy?” Dean inquired caustically, as Sam struggled and cursed in his grip. “You still think this a chuckle fest? Still thinking you got one over on me?”
“OW, you JERK!” Sam hollered as the smacks landed hard and fast on his rear. “Quit it or I’m telling Dad!”
Dean spanked Sam even harder at that, and Sam howled.
“You better stop tattling or I’m gonna blister your butt raw,” Dean growled. “What’s it gonna be, Sammy? Hmm? Keep your mouth shut from now on or join me for a week of not being able to sit down?”
Sam resisted for all of a few seconds before breaking down, his face almost as red as his butt. “OKAY! All right! I’ll STOP!” he huffed angrily. “Just lemme up, Dean!”
Dean didn’t have a chance to comply with the request because a shadow fell across the two struggling boys at that moment.
“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?!” John Winchester barked in fury.
Dean and Sam froze in position. They turned as one to spy their father, a dark scowl of anger on his face, glaring at them from the doorway to the room…
THE END