Dad's Belt
Story by Corran Orreaux on SoFurry
Turner comes home past curfew to find his brother equipped with more than a lecture.
Author's Note: Just a lil' fetish story I cooked up. Hope you enjoy it!
Turner hated getting spanked.
That was obvious. It was always obvious. Brat yowled like a husky when put over the knee. You’d
think he’d at least try to avoid it before it happened, an ounce of prevention after all, but when Turner’s
car pulled in at a few hours past midnight, it was clear he needed a pound of cure.
Griff rocked back and forth on a dimly lit porch, a cigarette hanging off his lip. His chair squeaked
softly, groaning at every lurch. He’d been there a while—as long as Turner was past curfew. He
couldn’t complain, though. It was a beautiful night. Fireflies buzzed around the chill air, covering the
ground with tiny yellowish-green blips. Griff’s father used to say the stars all up in the sky grew
concerned about folk down on earth. “How are they gonna see anything at night?” They wondered,
unaware we had fire. "I know!” One perked up. _“We should send some lil’ guys down there to light
their way!”_
One of those lil’ guys landed on the small old wicker table next to him—atop a large leather belt. Griff
snorted, blew smoke out his nostrils, and the bug flew off.
Turner’s car rolled up a few minutes later. High beams came down the gravel road and hit Griff like
stage lights for a performance.
Griff waved as the car parked in front of the porch. He couldn’t see through the black-tinted windshield
of Turner’s fiesta, but he imagined his brother making the face. The face he always made when he was
buzzed on wine coolers and about to get his hide tanned into next week, same face Griff used to make
when he was a 20-something coming home late to dad smoking on the porch.
The driver’s door opened, and Turner climbed out stone-faced. Kid perfected it—though it took him a
while. It wasn’t that long ago he’d walk up to Griff with eyes as guilty as sin and a propensity to
mumble when asked where he’d been. Turner was a handsome guy, a trait their family seemed blessed
with. He had soft chestnut fur with a long black mane. A dab of white set between his brown eyes like
God pressed a thumb there. They looked a lot alike—only Griff’s fur was a bit darker, his muscles
larger, and he had a white line that trailed down his face opposed to a blotch.
The steps of the porch creaked as Turner climbed them. Everything squeaked around here! They really
outta take a weekend and fix things up.
“Hey, bro!” Turner smiled as he made for the door.
“Sorry, I’m late—homework, y’know? Damn, I’m worn out!”
He opened the screen, but Griff raised his leg and snapped it shut with a shoe.
“I don’t think you need whiskey to do your homework,” Griff sniffed a few times. The stench of
alcohol was faint, but it was there.
Turner frowned. “It’s rum—and it ain’t like I did anything wrong! I’m of age!”
“To drink? Sure. To ignore your brother’s rules? You’ll never be old enough as long as you live here.”
Griff pinched the cigarette between his fingers and smothered it on a glass ashtray next to the belt.
“You know how this goes, kid.”
“Come on, you’re not even that much older than me!” Turner exclaimed.
“Old enough.”
The younger man groaned, then perked up when he caught sight of the belt curled up on the table.
“Dad’s belt? Are you fucking serious?!”
“Yeah, go ahead, keep swearing and shouting—you need a lot of dirt to dig a grave.”
Turner scowled and ran his hands through his mane.“Are you seriously gonna use the belt this time?” he asked, avoiding his older brother’s gaze.
“That depends on you.”
With one last sigh, Turner undid his buckle and dropped his jeans.
“Everything off?”
“Eyup.”
To his credit, kid never wasted time. He had his clothes off and folded by the front door in under a
minute. The only thing he kept on were his boxer briefs—a token attempt at modesty.
Least he has a little shame.
Griff leaned back, and Turner wordlessly lowered himself over the knee. The older horse patted his
brother’s back. Firm muscle, though a bit leaner than Griff himself—kid certainly kept an impressive
build.
“Comfortable? Nothing hurt that ain’t supposed to yet?”
Turner shifted a bit, resting his palms flat on the floor.
“Would you be comfortable like this?”
The larger horse rolled his eyes. “Are you relatively comfortable, given the situation?”
“Sure.”
Griff grabbed Turner’s waistband and yanked his undies down. The younger man’s bottom was a good
mix of firm and fat. Toned with a decent bubble. Griff felt a soft twitch in his pants and ignored it. It
was just a strange bodily reaction that happened from time to time.
“You know I don’t like doing this.” Griff raised his hand and brought it down on Turner’s left cheek.
Turner barely reacted to the first smack beyond a soft exhale.
“Whatever.”
Griff, ignoring the attitude, swatted the right cheek.
“I was pulling the same stuff your age—you remember. Dad would sit out on this porch and smack my
rear till daylight.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Then you know I’m glad he did,” he went a bit harder now, a bit faster, alternating cheeks in a rhythm
that’d slowly bring the heat up to bearable but uncomfortable.
“It helped make me the man I am—”
“Christ, save it, bro! I don’t need some folksy justification for your fetish!”
Griff blinked.
“I...sorry?”
Turner turned his head to look his brother in the eye.
“I said I don’t need you to bullshit me!”
Kid was shouting now—his voice echoing off into the valley.
“Just admit it gets you off! You don’t need to mythologize this shit, I don’t!”
A burning rage built up in Griff. How dare he!? How dare his own fucking brother talk to him like that!
Accuse him of being some freak! Griff grabbed the belt, looped it over, and raised it high.
Calm down; He’s just lashing out.
Griff sighed and lowered the belt. He just needed a moment, a few seconds, then he could explain
things properly. This wasn’t sexual. This wasn’t weird. It was sacred! Honorable discipline molding a
man into something greater.
“Turner, listen—”
“Go find a guy at the college if you wanna touch a man’s ass that badly!”
The belt came down hard for that one.
Turner hissed, clenching his bottom to fight off the pain.
“This worth it?” His brother asked as he raised the belt for another blow.
“It felt pretty worth it in the moment.”
“Does it now?”
“Well-GAH FUCK!” Turner howled. The belt slammed down hard on his sit-spots, sending ripples of
pain through the sensitive flesh.
“Still cursing? You’re gonna spend all night here.”
Turner grit his teeth. The belt came down across the center of his rear, mercifully, but the pain from the
last blow threw him off. Every strike really started to hurt, and he found it difficult to smart talk while
his ass disintegrated under burning lines of fire.
Griff nodded to himself in satisfaction—with all of Turner’s smart-ass comments, he was beginning to
worry he was losing his edge. The belt always worked through. He looked down at Turner’s ass. Lines
of dark pink—bordering on red—gave his rear an almost zebra-esque quality. Griff set the belt down a
moment. He trailed his fingers over his brother’s bottom, rubbing light, small circles into his firm
cheeks.
“You apologize right now, and we can end this with chores.” Griff slowly spread out his fingers till his
open palm rested on Turner’s bottom. He stroked it, occasionally letting a finger get a bit too close to
actually slipping between Turner’s cheeks. He wouldn’t do that, of course, they were brothers! He was
just doing what big brothers are supposed to do: giving the fool a shot at doing the right thing.
Yeah, what else would he be doing?
Griff felt Turner’s cock poke against his leg. It was hard to miss, the both of them being equine. It was
a natural bodily reaction, though, nothing more.
Turner was silent for a long moment. Griff’s grin faltered, suddenly afraid his brother would actually
do the right thing.
“Fuck off!”
Griff felt Turner’s cock poke into his leg again and again. Idiot was probably clenching his ass,
attempting to fight off the sting before his spanking resumed. The pre-cum Turner rubbed off onto his
thigh was also nothing to worry about—another bodily reaction he had no control over.
Turner hated getting spanked, after all.