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Malcolm Over the Knee

by Eric Blyton

Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 09 May 2001

Background: This is based on "Malcolm in the Middle", a show currently running on FOX TV in the US. It's about a lower-middle income family with four boys. Malcolm, aged 11, is the middle child (well, third of four) and has been tested as a genius and feels quite awkward about this and is often embarrassed by his family. His mother, Lois, is a strict disciplinarian while his Father, Hal, tends to be more laid back about things. His three brothers are Francis, 17, who has been sent away to Military school for being a trouble maker; Reese, 13, who delights in tormenting Malcolm (and vice versa) and Dewey, 8, somewhat quiet but very mischievous in an innocent sort of way.

As always, these stories are posted first at my website (see above link) and are often illustrated with stills from the show, as is the case with this one.

"Mom, this isn't fair," Malcolm said.

Malcolm turns and speaks aside to no one in particular "You would think being a genius would mean that you would win a simple argument, but Mom's impossible!"**

"Mom, why can't I watch Dewey? I don't need Francis to take care of me," he says as she walks by, buttoning up her blouse.

"Because I don't trust you," she answers bluntly.

Malcolm, aside "Oh, and she trusts Francis? Why'd she send him away to military school, then?"**

His brother Dewey was sitting on the other end of the couch. He had his hands in his lap, holding them tightly together as if recognizing that left to their own devices, they would inevitably commit mischief. He was doing his best to stay out of the fray. Malcolm had no such restraint.

"But Mom...."

"Forget it, Malcolm," she says, briskly cutting off any further debate.

Malcolm, aside "It's not that I mind being here with Francis, but he's only here for the weekend. If he has to spend tonight watching us, he's going to be in a bad mood."**

Malcolm's father came out of their bedroom and sat down to tie his shoes.

"Hurry up, Hal, we're going to be late," she said. Just then Francis entered the room.

"I still don't think this is fair," he said. "You and dad get to go out dancing while I'm stuck here watching these two pests."

"Francis, how often do you think your father and I get a chance to go out?"

"How should I know, I don't live her any more, remember?"

"Don't be smart. Anyway, the answer is not very often. Since you're here, you can earn your keep by watching Malcolm and Dewey. And if Reese weren't sleeping over, you'd have to watch him too."

Francis flopped on the couch with his arms folder, clearly cross about the situation.

"Anything else you need me to do on my weekend off?" he asked sarcastically.

"Yes, you can do the laundry," his mother said. There's a load of whites in the washer."

"I was kidding," Francis complained.

"I know, but no you aren't. Do you have any thing else left to say? I could find more things for you to do."

Francis kept his mouth shut until their parents were gone, then he got up and glared at Malcolm and Dewey.

"You two just stay out of my way," he said.

"Francis, it's not our fault," Malcolm protested. "Don't blame us!"

"I may have to baby-sit you two, but I don't have to put up with any crap, so just behave for once," Francis continued.

Sensing that the best thing to do was to leave the area, Malcolm went up into his room. He had some homework that he was planning to put off until Sunday night, but lacking anything else to do, he completed it. Looking at his watch, he saw that he'd killed most of an hour. He went back to the living room to watch TV.

Dewey was sitting on the couch, his eyes glued to the tube. A show had just ended, so Malcolm went and changed the channel.

"Hey," Dewey protested, "I was watching that."

"Yes, you WERE watching it. Now it's over. So it's my turn to watch something," Malcolm said.

"That's not fair. I was here first!"

"Dewey, nothing is fair. Now get over it," Malcolm said as he sat down on the couch.

"No, I want to watch my show!" Dewey said as he got up to change the channel back. Malcolm grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him away from the TV.

"Francis!" Dewey shouted. "Malcolm won't let me watch the TV!"

Francis came out of the laundry room with a cup in his hand. Seeing his struggling brothers, he put it down on the end table and came over and broke them apart.

"Malcolm, did you change the channel?" he asked.

"Yes, but Dewey's show was over," he argued. "It's my turn now."

"I was here first," Dewey complained.

"Yea, you were. Dewey gets to watch his show," Francis said. He picked up the remote and hit the pervious channel button.

"No way!" Malcolm protested. "That doesn't make sense."

"Probably not," Francis agreed, "But I don't feel like thinking about it very much."

Dewey looked up from his seat on the couch and gave Malcolm a smug grin. That was too much. Malcolm picked up Francis' cup and went to throw the water on his pesky little brother.

"Malcolm, don't!" Francis said as he started to swing his arm. Something in his older brother's voice made him check his swing so instead of Dewey, the cup's contents splashed on the rug. Malcolm detected a strong smell that vaguely reminded him of a swimming pool.

"That wasn't water, was it?" he asked with a sinking feeling.

"No, it wasn't. It was bleach. I was doing the laundry, remember?"

"Beach! As it stains everything that it touches? Like the rug?"

"Yes, that would be why that spot is appearing on the rug," Francis said.

"Oh my God, Mom is going to kill me for this," Malcolm groaned.

Malcolm, aside: "Oh my God, Mom is going to kill me for this!"

Malcolm ran to the kitchen and got a handful of paper towels. He soaked up the bleach, but the damage to the rug had been done.

"Frances, you have to help me out here! I'm going to be in so much trouble!" he said as he washed his hands off.

"You did it," Francis said matter-of-factly, "Why should I take the heat for it?"

"I don't want you to take the heat for it, I just want you to help me, I don't know, cover it up or something!"

"Cover it up? There's a huge stain on the carpet. How can we cover that up?"

"Well, you could tell her it was an accident." Malcolm suggested.

"Uh-uh. Then she'll blame me. You're the smart one. Think of something else."

"Oh, I am so dead!" Malcolm said as he sat down and put his head in his hands.

"Since Francis is in charge, maybe he should punish you," Dewey said from the couch. Malcolm looked up and stared at his younger brother. He was sitting there with his hands folded and a slightly oblivious expression on his face. On the surface, the idea was ridiculous, but Malcolm grabbed hold of the idea like a drowning man to a life raft.

"Yes!" he said. "That's it! You're in charge, Frances. You decide what my punishment should be."

"Like that makes any sense," Frances said with a slightly contemptuous look on his face. "Mom'll just overrule me as soon as she gets home and punish you however she wants."

"Not if you pick a punishment she approves of," Malcolm continued, "Like if you said I should be grounded for two weeks. I could deal with that and if you argued for it, she'd probably let it stand."

Malcolm didn't even believe this himself, but trying something was better than nothing. From the look on Frances' face, he seemed to think the whole thing a waste of time, though.

"Frances could spank you," Dewey chirped from his post on the couch. "Then when Mom gets home, it'll be over and she won't be able to do anything about it."

Malcolm swung his head to look at Dewey again. There were actually the bare bones of a plan there. With a little imagination and embellishment, he could perfect it. Maybe, maybe, he could get out of this yet.

"Yea, Francis," he said, "If you told Mom you spanked me, she might let it go at that."

"What if she doesn't?" Frances asked with his eyebrows raised, "What if she decides she want's to punish you herself on top of that?"

"Well, then I haven't lost anything, have I? Look, I can come up with a whole story. I can even fake crying so that my face is all puffy. And here, let me get this."

Malcolm got up and went to the drawer where his parents kept the paddle. It had been a few months since he'd encountered it personally (though it had seen some use on Dewey a week or so ago), but he still had to suppress a shudder as he picked it up.

"See, we'll leave it out here on this table like you forgot to put it back up," he said, "Don't point it out, but she'll notice it."

"Yea, she's very observant," Francis said.

"Right! So, she'll see it, she'll see me with my eyes red and she'll think I've been spanked."

"Your butt won't be red," Dewey observed.

"She's not going to be looking at my butt, dork," Malcolm said. "Plus, I'll go take a hot shower. That'll make it go red."

"Are you sure you want to do this, Malcolm?" Francis said.

"It's the only way out," Malcolm said, his hands spread wide. "You will help me out, won't you Francis?"

"Oh, yea, I'll help you out. Come sit next to me and we'll get all the details straight," Francis said as he patted the spot next to him on the couch.

Malcolm, aside "What's that look Francis suddenly has on his face?"**

Malcolm went over and sat next to his big brother. Francis looked him up and down before continuing.

"Okay, this is what happened," he said, "First, I put you over my knee."

As he said this, he suddenly reached his arm around Malcolm's back and pulled him sideways. Being caught totally off guard, Malcolm fell over his lap. Francis grabbed him by the belt before he could react and pulled him forward so that he was centered. It wasn't until this point that Malcolm even reacted.

"What are you DOING?" he yelled as he tried to push off with his arms. Francis was ready for it, though and pinned him down.

"Stay there!" he ordered his struggling brother.

"Dewey, would you get me the paddle, please?" he said when he had Malcolm under control.

"WHAT!" Malcolm shouted as he started struggling again. "You're nuts!"

"You're the one who's nuts if you think I'm going to tell a lie to Mom to cover up something that you did. As if she wouldn't know."

Malcolm, aside "I knew I should have trusted Francis!"**

Dewey came over and handed Francis the paddle.

"I think you should pull his pants down," he said brightly. "Mom usually does."

"No, she doesn't!" Malcolm protested. "She only does that to you because you're still a little boy! Francis, I swear, if you try it...."

It was the wrong thing to say. Malcolm knew it as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was already too late. He'd challenged Francis and Francis would respond.

"Sit on Malcolm's feet for me, Dewey," Francis said. Only too happy to help, Dewey got up and weighed down Malcolm's legs. Malcolm tried to kick him, but did not succeed. With no leverage, he could not get the 75-pound boy off his feet. Francis now had both his wrists in one hand, leaving his other hand free. Free to unbuckle his belt and pull down the zipper on his jeans. And when that was done, free to pull them down to his knees.

Malcolm had taken to wearing boxers lately. They made him feel more grown-up somehow, but being that today was laundry day, he was out fresh ones. Thus, he was wearing a pair of tight, white briefs. Somehow, that made him feel even more mortified about his whole situation than he already was. Not only did he feel like a little boy, he was dressed like one.

"How many do you think Mom would give him?" Francis asked.

"Oh, she'd be pretty mad," Dewey answered. "Thirty, maybe."

"NO! WAY!" Malcolm screeched, accentuation both words.

Malcolm, aside "This is NOT happening!"**

"Sounds good to me," Francis said. Making sure he was clear of Dewey, he took a practice swing. Malcolm sucked in his breath as the paddle lightly bounced off his cotton-covered rear. That was one of his mother's torture tactics. Taking a few practice swings so that you never knew when the first one was coming.

WHAP! Expecting more than one practice swing, Malcolm was completely unprepared for the first real one. Francis has swung the paddle HARD and he felt the shock of its impact all over his bottom. He howled in pain and surprise.

WHAP! The second one came in the exact same spot as the first; right in the middle of his protruding cheeks. Instinctively, he tried to jerk his body, but his two brothers had him pinned fast.

WHAP! This one was a little higher, almost to the waistband of his underpants. Malcolm screeched as more of his bottom started to sting.

WHAP! And then Francis swung low. So low that he actually partly hit along the top of Malcolm's unprotected thighs. The area of bare skin that had been hit was a burning ribbon.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! Without any particular rhythm or order, Francis spanked his ass with the paddle. From side to side he went, first stinging one cheek and then the other. Some would go high and others low, but the worst for Malcolm were the ones that hit right in the center. The paddle would smack down over both cheeks and sent a searing wave of burning heat into his body, WHAP!! WHAP!! WHAP!!

Francis stopped and put down the paddle on Malcolm's bunched up jeans. He shook his arm as if to get rid of a cramp.

Malcolm, aside, gasping like his asthmatic friend Stevie, "That wasn't....thirty....more like twenty....Francis must have taken pity me."**

"You should have given him more," Dewey said.

"But I'm not done," Francis replied.

"WHAT!" Malcolm gasped. "No, Francis, enough! Please?"

"Oh, can it, Malcolm," Francis said to his weakly struggling brother. "You should see what happens at my school. This is nothing."

Malcolm was busy trying to get his breath so that he could fight more effectively, but then he noticed Francis was busy with his free hand. It was at the back of his....

"Oh, good," Dewey said. "You're going to pull his underpants down, too?"

"Yep. Right down to his knees. He gets the second half on his naked butt."

Malcolm gathered all his strength for one big lurch. For a second, he thought he might actually succeed in throwing Francis off. He managed to get his body partly off the couch and Francis lap. Getting rid of Dewey wouldn't be a problem if he got off of Francis. Only too late did he realize that Francis was letting him do it. With his middle in the air, it only took a moment for his brother to yank his briefs down. If he'd stayed over Francis' lap, he might have been able to keep them on in front, even if not in the back. Now he was completely exposed, his hairless dick and balls dangling in the air.

Not for long, though. Now that Francis had him like he wanted him, he forced him back down over his lap. There was no fighting in. Francis had simply overpowered him and he had burned his reserves. All he could do was plead for mercy as his big brother picked the paddle back up.

WHACK! Malcolm howled anew as the hard wood connected with his bare bottom. The sting that he'd felt before was nothing compared to it now. He couldn't tell if the extra pain was due to Francis spanking him harder or the fact that his ass was now naked and completely unprotected. Both, probably. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

All Malcolm could do was cry and pray that it would soon be over. Each time the paddle when WHACK! on his burning rear he would hope that it was the last and each time he'd convinced himself it was, he'd feel a fresh WHACK! somewhere else on his bottom and the pain would flare up higher. His whole rump was on fire; from the top of his bubble cheeks down to the especially painful crease where his thin, smooth thighs started. But nothing topped the searing agony right in the middle. Francis seemed to have landed the majority of the blows right in the center of his round bottom and was now adding some especially hard ones in the same spot, WHACK!! WHACK!! WHACK!! WHACK!!!

Having been disappointed so many times, it was nearly twenty seconds after the last blow that Malcolm realized the Francis had finally put down the paddle. His wrists were still being held, so he was unable to rub his blistered bottom.

"That should do it," Dewey said casually, "Malcolm's butt sure is red."

"You think Mom'll be impressed?" Francis asked.

"She should be," Dewey said.

"Remember, Malcolm," Francis said, "You wanted this. If I'd tried to lie to Mom, we'd have both been in trouble. Now she'll probably agree that you've been punished enough. So what if you're in a bit of pain now? It won't last and then you'll be in the clear. You should thank me."

Malcolm, aside with tears running down his face, "Francis is almost right, damn it. But DEWEY saw him beat my naked ass! How am I gonna live that down?"**

"Now I'm going to let you up, Malcolm," Francis continued. "Then you're going to stand in the corner just the way you are until Mom and Dad get home. She'll see that you've been punished hopefully that'll be it. And don't even thing about not doing it, either. I can always overpower you and spank you again. Only next time, I wouldn't go easy on you."

Malcolm, aside "If that was easy, I'd hate to see it worse!"

Trying unsuccessfully to recover a bit of dignity, Malcolm pushed himself up.