Her Mafia Brothers

What are you, six?

Thwack!

I shrieked in pain at the wicked sting as Damon smacked the hairbrush against my already-sore panty-clad bottom. For such a small implement, it sure left behind a fierce burn. It was thuddier than the wooden spoon and not as stingy, but despite my determination not to cry, Damon soon had me writhing, squirming and sobbing. He smacked me with my own hairbrush over and over again, first on my right cheek then my left, then across the middle of my butt, before moving down to my sit-spots. I was sobbing hard, kicking my legs and trying to get away from the awful punishment but Damon was having none of it. He held me firmly and locked his leg over mine, increasing the force behind the smacks.

"You will never," smack! "kick your brothers," smack! "in the balls," smack! "again!" smack!

I was sobbing so hard I didn't even know Damon had stopped spanking me until he stood me up, standing me between his knees and making me face him, and he cupped my cheek so I had no choice but to look at him. I didn't want to look at him when I had tears streaming down my face like this and I was crying so much, but I didn't have a choice. He wouldn't let me look away.

"You are never to resort to violence when you're angry," he scolded me sternly. "Unless you need to defend yourself, I don't want to ever hear of you using extreme violence again, do you understand me?"

I nodded frantically, my butt on fire. I was sobbing too much to speak and Damon must have understood that, because he didn't push me for a verbal response like he normally did. Instead, he rubbed my back comfortingly for a moment, giving me a minute or so to calm down.When my sobs had eased somewhat, he looked at me sternly, sending shivers down my spine. Damon looking at me like that was never good.

"There's just one more matter we need to take care of," he said, his deep voice low.

"What's that?" I squeaked.

"You telling me you hate me." He raised an eyebrow at me, looking not angry, but disappointed. Sad, almost. "Those words are not what I ever want to hear coming out of my little sister's mouth. They are cruel and hurtful, and not something the Bogiatto's say. Ever."

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I already said I was sorry. I didn't mean it."

"I know you didn't," Damon said. "But you still said it. You need to learn to control yourself better. Your brothers would do anything for you Carrie, and telling any of us that you hate us when you're angry and not getting your own way is manipulative and childish and disrespectful. I won't allow it. Now you can bare your bottom and get yourself back over my knee. You'll be getting another spanking for saying you hate me."

"No, Damon! Please no!" I begged.

Damon just frowned. "Throwing a tantrum like that, saying you hate me, that's what a six year old does. Are you six, Carrie?"

I shook my head, my eyes focused on the floor, avoiding Damon's steady gaze.

He grabbed my chin again, forcing me to look at him once more.

"Because if you want to act like a six year old, I can treat you like one. Is that what you want?"

Taking a deep breath, I mustered all my courage and bravely met my brother's stare.

"Does it mean I won't get spanked again?" I asked, hiccuping and stuttering through my tears and sniffles.

The cold stare Damon gave me would have chilled anyone to the bone and I visibly shuddered as a tremble went down my spine. His voice was hard as he spoke.

"Six year olds don't go anywhere without their guardian, so you won't be going out with your friends anymore after school or on the weekends," Damon told me. "You won't need your credit card, because you won't be going anywhere to spend any money. So you can hand that back over. Six year olds don't need cell phones, so you can hand that back, too. Nor do they need computers, so outside of school, your laptop can live in my room. Your TV streaming accounts will all be age-restricted and you will only be able to watch shows suitable for a six year old. Your new bedtime will be 7pm because you're currently going to bed far too late for a little child." Damon looked at me sternly and I could tell he was trying not to smirk. "Do you still want to be treated like a six year old Carrie, or do you want to own up to your mistakes and take responsibility for your behavior like the mature young woman that you are?"

I swallowed hard. I really, really didn't want another spanking, but the alternative sounded even worse. Not going out with my friends? Going to bed straight after dinner, or maybe even having to miss dinner with my brothers in order to stick to my early 7pm bedtime? No phone or laptop?

But still, I hesitated. I didn't want to admit to Damon that he was right. I wanted to wallow in my misery for a little while longer.

"What's it to be, Carrie?" Damon asked me sternly.

I shook my head. "I don't want to be treated like a six year old," I whispered. "I'm sorry, I will take my punishment." I was going to add the word willingly onto the end, but I knew that was a lie. I wasn't willingly taking my punishment at all. I was taking it, because Damon wasn't giving me a choice, but I certainly wasn't happy about it.

Damon nodded. "Good. Panties down, Carrie."

Slowly, I obeyed my brother, tenderly tugging my panties down below my hips.

"Please don't use the hairbrush," I whimpered. The thought of the hairbrush being used to smack my bare bottom was just too much for me to contemplate.

"I will just be using my hand," he assured me, helping me into position.

I swallowed. Although I was relieved that it wasn't the thud of the hairbrush I was about to feel, Damon's hand wasn't a lot better. It was hard and stung, and left my bottom burning and sore, and I was already hurting enough.

"Because you are fourteen and not six, you will be getting fourteen smacks," Damon told me firmly, resting his hand on the small of my back. Although I knew his hand was probably there to hold me down, it was comforting having it there; reassuring. It was like he was silently telling me I would be okay.

14 smacks. I could do that. I'd taken way more than that already, twice maybe three times that at least, maybe more. I'd tried to count them, but once Damon had started in with the hairbrush I'd messed up the count. So I had no idea how many times Damon had spanked me, first with his hand and then my hairbrush, but it must have been close to fifty, at least.

I clutched Damon's pants leg in my fists and braced myself for the first hit.

Only 14. I can do this, I told myself, as Damon's heavy hand fell with force, scorching my ass.

"Ow!" I yelled after each whack, but Damon was silent, focused on his task. He didn't scold me or lecture me or say anything at all, he just spanked me methodically, making my tender butt sting and burn all over. I counted the smacks in my head, in a futile effort to distract myself from the pain, but my sobs made my body shake.

Desperate for the pain to stop, I reached back my hand to cover my butt, to make Damon stop, but it didn't work.

"You know not to reach back during a spanking Carrie," he growled, taking my wrist and holding my hand palm up against my hot bottom. I felt, rather than saw, him pick up my hairbrush and I shrieked in pain and shock when he smacked the back of the brush against my palm. For such an innocuous piece of purple glitter plastic, it sure packed a sting!

I yelped and tried to tug my hand away.

"That hurt!" I yelled.

"Keep your hands away," Damon scolded.

He continued spanking me, hard methodical smacks that he spread out in no particular pattern so it was impossible to predict where the next one would fall.

I squeezed my eyes shut tight, counting the swats in my head, wishing for it to be over.

And eventually, it was. As soon as the 14th smack fell, Damon lifted me up and pulled up my panties and pants for me, before guiding me to sit on his lap and pulling me in for a hug. He cuddled me close, holding my head against his chest, letting me cry into his shirt.

"Shhh Carrie, you're okay, it's all over now," he crooned softly, rubbing my back comfortingly.

He didn't say anything else, he just sat there and held me, waiting for me to calm myself down.

"I'm sorry Damon," I blubbed, my words barely coherent, but Damon understood.

"I know you are, sweet girl," Damon said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to my hair. "I love you Carrie-girl, so much."

That sounded so sweet coming from my big, tough, mafia brother, and it melted my heart, so I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, wishing I could be small enough to cuddle him like this forever.

"I love you too," I whispered back.