"Good God, this hurts!" I mumble and groan as Carlisle's hand come crashing down on my rear end again and again. There's no hesitation between each swat, and he's making sure every inch of my backside is feeling the consequence of my actions.

"You put yourself in the position, Emmett. Will you be making any more trips to the principal's office?" Carlisle asks.

"No." I promise and clench my jaw.

I have my hands on the back of the chair, bent slightly forward at the waist. I keep my head up because the damned strap is on the seat and I don't want to look at it. Carlisle promised that I'd get a whooping with it tonight, and three more strokes with it tomorrow morning before I leave for my classes to make up for the licks I earned at school.

He gives me five hard smack, each in a different area, then tells me to bend over. I step forward, bend over the back of the chair and grab the edges of the seat. Unfortunately, this isn't the first time I've been bent over this chair, so I know what is expected for me to do. As soon as I'm in position, he starts smacking the tops of my thighs and the bottom curve of my ass. My whole body clenches. This is going to suck tomorrow when I have to sit on the schools wooden chairs.

"I cannot believe I have to punish you for this. You know better, Emmett!"

Two minutes pass by when he finally stops. Grabbing my shoulder, he guides me back to my upright position. I reach around and rub my stinging ass. I don't even want to think about how many swats he gave me during the whole thing.

"The strap." Carlisle says. Sighing, I pick it up from the chair and hand it to him. "Lower your jeans and bend back over."

"How many am I getting?" I ask as I unbutton my old pair of Levi's. I push them down mid-thigh before bending over the chair again.

"You're getting twenty licks."

"Twenty?" I groan. "You've already busted my ass enough, haven't you?"

"You could have very easily exposed us, which would have caused issues with the Volturi. And you know our policy with the strap. Twenty strokes for major offenses."

"Carlisle, I really don't need twenty. I've already learned my lesson."

"Your punishment is not debatable. You're getting twenty and you're getting them right now."

He pulls my boxers down and rests the strap in the middle of my burning bottom. I go to protest more, but before I can, the strap is crashing down against my rear. I stifle another groan as it hits the same mark four more times. Carlisle rests it on under curve of my butt, then five more rain down on me. I can't help but grunt and moan as the pain flares up.

"You've brought this on yourself, Emmett."

"That doesn't make it hurt any less." I grumble back and I feel tears threatening to overflow. I do my best to hold them back.

The strap touches my thighs, and soon Carlisle is delivering five licks there. After the fifth one, I expect a few seconds break before he moves onto his next target, but I don't get it. Instead, four more land in the same place.

"This hurts me to have to do this just as much as it hurts you." He tells me.

"Not in the same way!" I declare. One more intense stroke lands. "Ow!"

"You're done. Pull up your jeans and put the strap up."

Grumbling and being slightly dramatic, I stand and angrily yank my jeans up, only to winch when the fabric makes contact with my punished posterior. Carlisle shakes his head at me.

"Emmett," he sighs.

"What?" I ask harshly.

"Come on, son. Don't be that way." Carlisle responds softly.

This time, it's me who sighs. I grab his arm and pull him into a hug. It catches him off guard, but he laughs and hugs me back anyways. We don't stay like this for long, but the few seconds we do mean a lot to both of us.

"I'm sorry, Dad. It won't happen again." I repeat for what felt like the hundredth time.

"You're forgiven, Emmett. But tomorrow I'm going into the school with you and you're going to apologize to your principal and the boy you played this prank on."

"What? No!" I protest and take a step back from him.

"Yes, Emmett. You were wrong, ad you need to apologize."

"I'm not apologizing to those assholes!"

"You better watch your mouth before I decide to wash it out with a bar of soap, young man." Carlisle warns. "You're going to apologize."

"No, I'm not." I repeat stubbornly and rub sore backside.

"Yes you are. End of discussion." He tells me. He pats my shoulder before grabbing the chair and returning it to its place. "Hang the strap up and start thinking about what you're going to say tomorrow."

"I'm not going to say anything to those dip-shits tomorrow." I mumble as I carry the strap over to the wall where it hangs, still trying to rub the horrible stinging in my ass away.

"Emmett Cullen!"

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