Day 22 - December 22nd

Ice Cream Anyone

The dish clattered to the floor, rivers of chocolate flowed around the manmade rapids of broken glass. Toby, Braxton’s cousin rose to his feet, his face an intense shade of red, rivaling the brightness of Santa’s hat. Braxton didn’t see anything else as Landon grabbed his arm and quick marched him toward the kitchen.

“What did you put in that ice cream?”

“Nothing,” Braxton said with false innocence. He hadn’t wanted to come, but both Gordon and Landon had insisted. They said he was too young to abandon his family, especially when his family was still showing interest in him. The weekly forced letter writing was bad enough. Gordon actually sat with him and made him write real letters on good stationary with a ballpoint pen and good penmanship. Whatever happened to email?

“Braxton,” Landon said sharply. Landon could be as bad as any top. He was so confusing, and from his expression he was going to feed Braxton to the lions.

“It was only cayenne pepper and chili powder.” Braxton blinked backed the tears that were coming unbidden to his eyes. He didn’t want to cry here, not at home in front of his family.

“Oh, Braxton.” Landon pulled Braxton into a tight hug, his arms tightly circling Braxton’s narrow hips. “When you decide to brat, you go all out. Not that I don’t understand your motivation; Toby was being dreadful, but it’s usually safer to do full force bratting among our own and not in public. It would be funny if you did it to one of the tops or brats at home. It’s going to get you in trouble, real trouble today, but I think maybe you’ve been angling for trouble since you turned eighteen last week.”

“Gordon’s going to spank me?”

“Without a doubt. I’ve bratted in public. It doesn’t have a good ending.” Landon brushed his hand through the fine strands of hair at the nape of Braxton’s neck. “I think maybe you were looking for a spanking. Gordon and I have been pulling you up short all week, and you did notice that he’s run interference for you all evening.”

“I threw it all in his face,” Braxton mumbled into Landon’s shirt.

“A little, brat, but Gordon’s tough. You won’t damage him. You haven’t seen me when I’m in a mood. I’ve had concerned citizens call the police sure that they’re watching the run up to a homicide.”

“You never brat.”

Landon laughed. “You haven’t been watching closely enough. Last time Milton came for a visit, he threatened to take me out into the other room and spank my ass purple if I didn’t straighten up. I like Milton a lot, but he doesn’t play around if he considers your behavior out of line, and he’s not intimidated by my switch persona. He can tell instantly when I’m on the brat side of things. That man is scary.”

“What’s going to happen? I don’t want to get spanked.”

“It’s too late for that, kid. You should have thought of that before you served Mexican spiced ice cream. If I know Gordon, he’s turned on the charm and is making nice with your relatives. We need to go say proper, polite good-byes, and Gordon will have found some believable excuse for why we need to leave immediately--undoubtedly something about our Christmas preparations. No tears now. Let’s go make a graceful exit.”

Braxton couldn’t have spoken to his parents and sounded like a halfway intelligent human if Landon hadn’t been right at his shoulder, offering silent support. Gordon was charming and had Braxton bundled into his coat and out the door in under five minutes. He’d even helped Braxton into his overcoat with old world charm.

“You drive, Landon,” Gordon said, handing Landon the keys. “Come on, Braxton. You sit with me and we’ll talk.”

Braxton climbed into the cold car barely restraining his tears. Gordon slid in next to him, unfolded a throw, and spread it over both of them. Braxton tried to slither closer to the door.

“No, Braxton. I have to touch you tonight. You stay with me.” Gordon dropped an arm over Braxton’s chest and pulled him close. “Relax. We’re going to talk first.”

“I was awful, sir,” Braxton burst out and turned into Gordon’s chest. “I embarrassed you in front of my parents. I’m a hopeless brat.” Braxton gulped and felt the tears break loose.

“Shh, my little brat,” Gordon said into Braxton’s ear. “Try to stop crying for me; I need you to listen.”

Braxton gulped and rubbed his face. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Braxton,” Gordon said, his hand firm on the young brat’s shoulder. “We will sort this out. I was not irrevocably harmed or embarrassed by your behavior. It was classic bratting. This does not mean there will not be consequences. I do not condone that sort of behavior, but I am familiar with it.”

“You’re going to spank me?”

“Yes, you are now eighteen, and we talked about behavior that would result in corporal punishment. This meets all the criteria. If I’m not mistaken, you have been pushing me to discover the consequences now that you’ve had your birthday.”

“I don’t want to be spanked,” Braxton said in a tear-filled voice.

“It wouldn’t be a deterrent for such foolishness if you did, adulterating your poor cousin’s ice cream.”

“He’s a jerk.”

“Tampering with someone’s food is still forbidden. You come to Landon or me, and we’ll deal with the unpleasant and the foolhardy. I have considerable experience with rude people. I understand your motivation, but as a member of my household I expect you to uphold a certain level of decorum. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Braxton managed to choke out.

“You understand as a consequence for your action that I’m going to employ physical discipline.”

“Yes, sir.” They were right; he’d asked for this, but now he didn’t want it. It was going to hurt. At least Gordon didn’t seem angry; his arm was tight around Braxton’s shoulder, and his chin rested on Braxton’s head.

“Brax, hang in there,” Landon said from the driver’s seat. “I’ve been on the wrong end of Gordon’s hand more times than I can count or remember, and I’m still here. He’s spanked dozens of baby brats; they all lived to tell the tale with great embellishment. Two days before Christmas in the back of the car after publicly bratting in front of your parents is novel, but I hardly think beyond the scope of a creative brat. You’ll have a better story to tell all the guys.”

Braxton buried his head against Gordon and unsuccessfully tried to stop the tears.

“Landon, are you feeling left out? Do you need a spanking?” Gordon asked.

“No,” Landon said with conviction.

“He’s not ready to be teased yet,” Gordon said in a softer tone.

“I was trying to distract him. We have a long drive home. I don’t like to wait.”

“There’s an abandoned roadside park about a kilometer farther. Pull over and get out of the car. I’ll need ten minutes.”

“It’s freezing.”

“You have winter clothes. I believe this was your suggestion.”

“I didn’t mean for you to take it seriously.”

“It will be better for him.”

Braxton pretended not to hear and pulled the blanket tighter around himself, wishing he could disappear under its thick wool. He was going to get spanked on the side of the road.

Braxton heard the click of the blinker and felt the big car slow. They bounced over a short, rutted road and came to a stop. He heard Landon muttering something about frostbite and a bang as the door slammed shut.

“Slip your trousers and shorts down. Over my knee. Come now, lad. A little cold won’t hurt Landon, but he isn’t dressed for an extended outing.”

Braxton tried to get his pants down, but his hands were shaking and kept sliding off the button. Gordon finally unfastened Braxton’s pants and pulled the young brat over his knee.

“What is this for?”

Braxton couldn’t think with the hand on his naked butt, his thighs rubbing on Gordon’s wool pants. 

“Why are we here?” A sharp swat landed on Braxton’s rump.

“Ah,” Braxton yelped and tried to squirm away.

“Braxton, you gave me consent. You are a brat in my care, and you deserve this. Don’t fight me.” 

Gordon’s voice had deepened to a tone that Braxton, despite his panic, found deeply reassuring. Braxton pressed his hands against the car floor, trying to find a purchase. He had given his consent. He was a brat. Brats did this.

“Why are we doing this?”

The same damn question. “Because I poisoned my cousin’s food.”

Braxton could hear the smile in Gordon’s voice. “If you’d actually poisoned your cousin, I wouldn’t be spanking you. What did you do?”

“I put chili powder and cayenne pepper in his ice cream.”

“And was that something you should do?”

Of course not. He wouldn’t be lying here upended over a top’s knee if it was a good thing to do. “I should have told you or Landon that he was driving me crazy, sir.”

“Very good, boy.” 

The first swat nearly sent Braxton off Gordon’s lap. It was harder than he could have imagined. It hurt; his butt was on fire, and Gordon had only started. Braxton knew brats got spanked. You couldn’t live at the lodge and not see a freshly spanked brat, but no one had told him it hurt this much. He couldn’t stop the yelps that were escaping his throat. He cried; wet sticky tears ran down his cheeks and clogged his throat.

Gordon swung Braxton back upright and wrapped him tight with the blanket. “Cry, lad. There’s no one here, and I know it hurts.”

Braxton clung to the older top, his face crushed against Gordon’s topcoat. The door opened and Landon squeezed in next to him. 

“Is everyone good now?”

What a ridiculous question! Braxton’s rump was on fire, and he was crying without concern for dignity or manly expectations. 

Landon’s arm circled Braxton, and he pulled the brat into an awkward hug in the tight space. He kissed Braxton’s wet, tear-stained cheeks. “If Gordon did this right, you should be feeling better. This is one thing my partner does well.”

Braxton nodded. He did feel better. God, he shouldn’t feel better. He’d just let a man, who anyone in his right mind would call a cranky tyrant, thoroughly spank him, but he felt better. Had he lost his mind?

“Home, James,” Gordon said with a laugh. “We have work to do. Our young brat just became a Green Mountain brat.”