There'll Be Storms (Spanking Story)

Chapter 52

CHARLIE'S POV:

~ 30 Years Ago ~

"Could you be any slower?" Bryan asked, carrying over another opened paint can. "I don't want to be here all day. We're supposed to be inside by eight and it's going on six."

"If you think you could do it any faster then, by all means..." I motioned my paint brush toward him but he only shook his head. "Exactly, so shut it. You're supposed to hold the ladder and fetch things, not talk."

"You keep talking and I'm going to tear this ladder out from under you." He threatened, not very convincingly.

"Yeah," I smirked. "you do that so I can spill this paint all over you."

"I'll move out of the way." There was some condescension in his voice.

We may have been around the same age, but I swear sometimes it's like I'm the designated babysitter.

"You're not fast enough." I said snidely, dipping my brush into the can and trying to even out the strokes of paint on the tile.

"Oh yeah?" He asked, shaking the ladder.

"Cut it out!" I yelled down, grabbing the top of the roof for support.

"Go ahead and drop that paint on me, I dare you!" He shook the ladder again.

"Bryan, knock it off!"

"You know what your problem is? You don't know how to take a joke." Even from up here, I could sense he was rolling his eyes at me. He had a bad habit of doing that.

"Bro," I steadied myself, putting the paintbrush back into the can so it wouldn't leak out and looked down at him. "if you make me fall, and I spill this paint all over the lawn and you, dad'll come home and show us the buckle-end of his belt. Do you want that?"

"No."

"Then quit playing games." I said harshly. "Go get me another towel, I need to wipe this off the gutter."

Sighing, he headed back toward the garage. We decided to split the paint job, him doing the bottom half and I doing the top on the ladder. He finished first, not because he was quicker or more skilled, but because he didn't have to get off the ladder and reposition it every five minutes.

I'll have to check the bottom half when I'm finished, of course. He finished too quickly, and I want to make sure everything looks the best it can so dad will come home pleased. That's all I ever really wanted; just the look of happiness on his face and maybe even a 'Good work.'

He always took pride in the appearance of his lawn and house, there could be nothing out of place. But this year he bequeathed the duty of yard work to us, which we surely got the short end of the straw. This was the hottest summer we had in my lifetime, and it was only the end of June. We were given a budget at the beginning of May, which we had to make a list for the hardware store every time we needed something, and the burden of upkeep was placed with us.

"Here." He motioned up, getting ready to throw it at me.

"Wait, don't throw it." I had the paint can and the brush in my hands, how did he expect me to catch it? With my teeth?

He threw it anyway, and my effort to catch it was overshadowed by the fact that my brush swiped against the roof tile.

"You idiot." I put everything down immediately, grabbing the towel caught in between the ladder and began wiping as hard as I could. "I think we're saved."