Willow Academy (Spanking Story)

Chapter 5, Part 2: Owen's POV

But I wasn't.

I didn't cry. I didn't sob. I didn't break down and give in to the vulnerability. I sat there, wrapped awkwardly in my brother's arms, pointedly staring at the David Beckham poster on the wall.

My nostrils were flaring with the effort to pass my heavy breaths solely through them. At this forehead, my face was going to set into a permanent mask of stress and worry. Drama king or not, I didn't ask for all this trouble; it just seemed to inevitably find me for some reason.

Cooper eventually broke our embrace, blowing out a huge sigh and running his fingers through his mussed hair. My older brother perched on the edge of the desk to my right, and looked down at me once more.

"Sometimes I think you're a forty year old trapped in a teenager's body. Other times, I have no doubt that you're a completely normal teenager. Owen, you'll know when you're old enough. All of a sudden, your conscience becomes attached at your hip, and you start to fully recognize right and wrong. The world stops revolving around you, around your point of view, and then you're grown. It's not all it's cracked up to be, little bro. You're allowed to make mistakes now, Owen. Ben, Dana, and I are just here to correct the detrimental ones." Cooper was smiling crookedly at me. I didn't think I'd seen him carry on a serious conversation for so long before. It's childish, but there was a part of me that resented this new Cooper. Where was my partner in crime?

"I wish you hadn't grown up," I muttered, watching his foot jiggle slightly. Adult or not, my brother would always be hyperactive.

To my surprise, he chuckled, standing up fully. "Sometimes I wish that too, O. It's a lot easier. But I AM twenty-six... it had to happen sometime, didn't it?"

One side of my face involuntarily hitched up into a semblance of a smile. Cooper's earlier anger was gone, replaced with a reluctant acceptance. I hadn't swayed him, and my impending doom was still swinging in the air above our heads like an approaching guillotine.

My realization of this seemed to spark Cooper's as well. His face grew serious, and he retraced his route from my earlier episode. The office chair groaned in protest as my brother plopped down into it; I followed with a groan of my own as I was faced with a beckoning finger. This time it was my trainers crossing the concrete floor, and soon I was standing to the man's right, trying my hardest not to tremble.

He reached behind him, muscles straining in his forearm. I knew there would be no more delay as the infamous yardstick emerged, grasped in my brother's fist.

I felt my face drain; the reality was just settling in. It had been several weeks since I'd found myself in this position- months since I'd found myself in this position with this particular brother.

A subtle hand at the small of my back prompted me into the familiar position: over my brother's knee. I couldn't help pleading my case just one more time, in the hopes that it'd make him see the light.

"Cooper, please. I really don't want a spanking! Please..." my voice dropped off in a high pitched whine, but I couldn't bring myself to be embarrassed at the childishness of it.

Cooper, of course, chose a witty comeback instead of some form of a reprimand.

"The day you'll want a spanking is the day Dana will be a standup comedian!" When I didn't laugh, just squirmed, he sighed and wrapped an arm around my waist. "I'm sorry, Owen, but this is happening. I've explained why, and you're just going to have to accept that."

How in the hell was I supposed to respond to that? I was stuck here for good. There was a brief pause, and then the first smack landed home.

I yelped, immediately biting my lip before an unflattering epithet about my brother escaped. A second crack filled the otherwise silent office, and the slow burn began building.

It was similar to sitting on a stovetop. At first, the heat is bearable. However, as time passes, it becomes very UNbearable, and then the situation turns desperate.

A second yelp escaped my lips, and I lost count of how many times that evil piece of wood fell. My legs jerked with each smack, no doubt about to be kicking in a few moments. There was a dull roaring in my ears, as if trapped in a long tunnel.

Since I still wasn't grown up (according to Cooper) the world understandably narrowed from my perspective. At that moment, the only things that existed were the thin strip of wood, the blazing inferno it was causing in my posterior, and the ever present tears threatening to spill over at any moment.

The least I could do was take this childish punishment like the man I thought I was. Which meant I couldn't cry. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't.

I cried.