Max, a nineteen-year-old junior newspaper reporter, has exposed a rural policeman who unlawfully spanked young men. (see story here). Max did this by tricking the policeman into spanking him on the bare bottom with a hairbrush. Now read on …
The pain of the spanking had gone hours ago, but the journey on the train on hard unpadded seats had been uncomfortable. Max was in a dream. Something that he hardly recognized had been stirred inside him.
Now, back in his bedroom he couldn’t wait to inspect the damage and Max fumbled with the bib of his shorts. It was a glorious sunny day and he wore the shortest shorts he owned. They were beige cords and hardly covered his buttocks. The bib at the front fastened to the back of the waistband by two straps across his shoulders; making the snug-fitting shorts hug his buttocks so smoothly you could see the outline of the very briefest briefs beneath.
They weren’t the easiest shorts to get out of. At last they were at his feet and his briefs were at his knees. Wow! Max didn’t say it aloud; there was nobody with him to say it to. But Wow! Both buttocks and the back of his thighs were a mass of blue and purplish bruises. Not one spot on his previously creamy-white buttocks had been spared. Gingerly, he ran the tip of his index finger across the curves, wincing as he touched particularly tender spots.
He rested his hands on his knees and pointed his bottom out behind him. He turned away from the mirror and peered over his shoulder affording himself the best view yet of his glorious, but battered, arse.
It was a magnificent specimen. It was better without the bruises; but even as it stood the nineteen-year-old junior newspaper reporter knew it was something special. He was a fit lad in two senses of the word: he did press-ups and sit-ups every morning before breakfast and cycled everywhere. There wasn’t enough spare fat on his whole body to sizzle a sausage.
He rubbed the palm of his hand across both buttocks to give himself the thrill of reignited pain and without warning his cock started to swell. It wasn’t really an erection, but his penis was thinking about it.
Max could not get the events of the afternoon out of his mind. The journey out to Harkensbury in the middle of nowhere to find the pervert policeman had been a complete success. Max’s trip across PC Snodgrass’s knee and his whacking with the hairbrush had been caught on tape. He had, as newspapermen like to say, “a scoop.”
Max picked up the tape recorder, plugged in the earphone and set it to play.
“I can spank your backside for you.” It was the voice of PC Snodgrass and the prelude to Max’s first-ever spanking. The boy lay back on his bed, closed his eyes, and relived every whack and yelp of it.
“Oh yes, a spanking’s not a proper spanking unless it’s on the bare bottom.” It was Snodgrass’s voice again. In his mind Max could see the dirty carpet in the policeman’s house and he could feel his own bottom raised as high as it would go. The tape picked up every slap of the wooden hairbrush as it crashed at speed into Max’s pert muscular bottom.
Suddenly, without warning, his cock grew so strong Max thought it was going to fly off his body. Breathless, he laid his head back in the pillow and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. Only now and for the first time could he admit something to himself. It wasn’t a secret as such, but he knew he wouldn’t want people to know. He had a “thing” about spanking. Max couldn’t explain it; he didn’t understand it; but he knew it was true.
He had been having these dreams; about his eighteen-year-old brother mostly. The boy had been taking things from Max’s room without permission. So, over Max’s knee he went for a hard bare-bottomed spanking. Jesus! Max knew there was something weird about this and he should never tell anyone about it. What would Kenny say if he knew his brother dreamt of spanking him?
Max closed his eyes and conjured up the vision of Kenny naked except for his tight underpants bent submissively across Max’s lap as a springy bedroom slipper popped up and down into his buttocks. Max’s cock rose and instinctively the boy started rubbing.
Next door, in his own bedroom, his brother Kenny was also on his bed, shorts and underwear long since discarded, working his Vaseline-smeared palm up and down his member. In his head Kenny and Max are in the living room of their family home, bent across the back of the sofa. Their shorts are at their feet and pants bunched just below the buttocks. Kenny is humiliated; not only is he being spanked in front of his brother, he is getting it with his brother.
Their mother, a large matronly woman, whips a switch she has cut from the garden especially for the purpose; first into Kenny’s left cheek, then into his right. Then Max’s left; then his right. Then again and again and again. The boys are howling fit to bring the ceiling down, but their mother is on a mission.
Something was seriously wrong. Max could not get his todger to behave. It was permanently erect. He soaped another one off in the bath and hoping it might be a good boy now, he set off, as arranged, to meet Mr Arbuckle, the deputy editor of the newspaper.
It was a warm summer’s evening and Saturday, so they had agreed to meet at Arbuckle’s home; a cottage in its own grounds on the outskirts of town. Max had never visited the aging bachelor before; he had no reason to. Arbuckle was older than his dad, what would they have in common?
Arbuckle sat at the window, whisky glass in hand waiting for the boy. He was late; they had said seven-thirty; it was close to a quarter-to-eight. He hated people who could not be punctual. Newspaper reporters should always be on time; it was a golden rule.
He was ready to heave himself out of his comfortable armchair to replenish his glass when he spotted the bicycle. His heart skipped a beat; he had never seen Max like this. Gone were the formal jacket and dark grey trousers, collar and tie, that Max wore to the office. Here was a sun-tanned Adonis. The boy wore white sport shorts with a red trim and a matching sleeveless vest. And what shorts they were: Arkwright had underpants that covered more of his body. The boy’s muscles rippled as his legs rose and fell turning the pedals, mesmerising the old man.
Within seconds Max was at the door dismounting his bike. For the first time Arkwright glimpsed the firm pert buttocks, bursting against the tight white cotton of the shorts. He couldn’t be sure: was the boy not wearing underpants?
“Here have a drink,” without waiting for a reply Arkwright thrust a large glass of whisky into Max’s hand. The teenager wasn’t much of a drinker and would have preferred a glass of water; the cycle ride had been hot and dusty. But, drinking with his boss made him feel grown-up, so he took it.
Arkwright took a long gulp from his own glass. “So give me all the gory details. Was he the ‘spanking policeman’ after all?”
Max sipped hesitantly at the whisky. Suddenly with all the excitement of the day he realised he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime and the alcohol was already going to his head.
Arkwright drew on his glass as Max recounted the details of the day. The teenager sipped at his whisky and hoped his trooper would behave. Wearing his cycling shorts might not have been such a good idea.
Arkwright’s eyes were blazing. “Tell me again, do we have everything on tape? Can you clearly hear the hairbrush spanking into your bare bottom?”
“Oh, yes!” Max was proud of his work; he had exposed a perverted policeman and had paid with his own arse to do it. “Every last sound.” His eagerness to recount every last detail to the elderly man was obvious.
Arkwright drained his glass, stood and crossed the room to refill it. “Do you have the tape with you now?”
“No, it’s at home.” Max could feel Arkwright’s sense of disappointment. And his own; he would have loved to have played the tape to his boss and to relive the whole experience one more time.
“Here, drink up. Let me freshen you up.” Arkwright waited for the boy to gulp down the whisky and splashed a triple measure in the glass.
Max shouldn’t have drunk so quickly; the alcohol went straight to his head and he could feel the room spinning a little.
“So, you’ll be claiming from the paper for industrial injury will you?”
Max knew it was meant as a joke and joined in. “Oh yes, sir, and I’ll claim for the cushions I had to use to sit on.”
He really was a delightful boy, Arkwright hadn’t noticed before. He had a fresh open face and rather infectious grin. Max’s skimpy clothes showed off his muscle-tone to perfection. He was making the old man rather horny.
“Show us the damage then!” It was said with a grin. Arkwright was still joking. A little.
Max beamed. “Give us a bob and I’ll show you my bum.” He giggled as the words come out his mouth. It was something the girls used to say when they were kids; why had he suddenly remembered that?
Yes, such a delightful boy. Arkwright put down his glass, delved into his trouser pocket and found a coin. He tossed it across the room and Max caught it.
“What’s this,” the boy’s grin widened. It slashed his face from ear to ear. He knew very well what this was.
“It’s a shilling. Show us your bum.”
In devilment, Max stood up, turned his back on Arkwright, bent a little at the waist, pointed his bum at the man and pulled his shorts and pants down to below his buttocks. Then, he did a little dance, wobbling his bare cheeks from side to side. Then he covered up.
Arkwright gaped. “Oh my yes, it is a bottom crying out to be spanked. Come here.”
Their eyes met. No words were spoken. There was no need.
Max flashed a smile. That grin again. “You reckon?” he giggled.
Arkwright reached out for the boy, who shrieked with laughter and dodged the old man’s advances. It was a small room and there was nowhere to hide. Soon Arkwright had him by the arm. Still shrieking with laughter Max tried to break free, but within seconds his boss had him draped over his lap.
“No, no,” Max was still chuckling as his shorts and pants were tugged below his buttocks.
It was a game; they both knew that. Arkwright’s spanks were just love-taps. What a pity the buttocks were already so bruised; what a pleasure it would be to turn Max’s creamy-white cheeks to a dark shade of pink.
Max stopped struggling. It felt good to feel Arkwright’s hard hand fondle his pert cheeks. Max’s todger was waking up. And although his was hidden below two layers of cloth, so too was Arkwright’s.
Arkwright let the boy stand and hurriedly Max replaced his clothing. But, there was no hiding his erection.
Arkwright’s own member was also on the march.
“I have a taws in the drawer.”
Without waiting or a response Arkwright walked to the sideboard and removed a thick black leather strap.
Max was still chortling as Arkwright handed it to him. It was about two feet in length, with a long thin handle and the “business end” was fourteen inches. Max felt its weight. It was a fine specimen; craftsmen had melded together two strips of leather to create tails about a half inch thick. The taws had seen some action. Arkwight used it regularly on a young farmhand who was always most obliging at fifteen shillings a time.
Arkwright had been a secret spanker for nearly twenty years; in that time he had learnt that so many young men craved to be spanked by their elders. He could smell the desire on them. And, this delightful summer’s evening, he smelt it on Max.
“Come on lad, bend over the armchair.” He pointed the leather towards a low-backed chair. He had surmised Max correctly. The boy’s cock swelled and the front of his snugly-fitting white cotton shorts could barely contain it.
“Quickly, don’t dawdle.”
Max beautiful hazel eyes glazed. His heartbeat raced and the room spun a little. But, after stumbling at first and then regaining his balance, he took a few pigeon steps towards the armchair and after adjusting the bulge in his shorts he fell across its back, so that his cock throbbed against the crown of the chair.
Arkwright whistled at the gorgeous sight. The muscles in Max’s legs and arse were tight. The red edgings of the boy’s snug shorts enclosed his buttocks and presented them to his punisher with perfection.
Arkwight’s own member was also on the march and although he could feel it tightening inside his loose-fitting underpants, he knew it would not be as long or as rigid as the cock struggling inside Max’s shorts. Oh, to be a nineteen-year-old again, he thought.
Arkwright caressed the leather taws in both hands, then gripping the handle in his right fist, he tapped the two tails into the palm of his left hand. It was a heavy beast and even a relatively light tap stung him. He would have loved to raise the taws to the ceiling and bring it crashing down with all his strength into the tight arse that was presented submissively before him. That’s what he would do with Freddy, the farmhand. But Freddy was an expert receiver of punishment.
If Arkwright lashed just one stroke at full force into Max’s waiting bum, the boy would jump a mile and run screaming from the house clutching his buttocks, never to return. No, Arkwright had learnt with Freddy that you had to groom a boy. Start softly; smack just hard enough to make him gasp. Leave the boy with a tingling bottom; nothing more. Then the next time increase the strength of the stroke a little. In time the boy would be able and willing to have his arse leathered off.
“Are you ready boy?” Arkwright swished the taws through the air and rested it on the very centre of Max’s quivering arse cheeks.
“Yes, sir,” it was no more than a whisper, but the old man sensed the teenager’s willingness. Yes, sir, he was really saying, I am ready. I really, really want you to do this.
He pulled back the taws and let it smack into Max’s cheeks. The boy wheezed, but showed no sign that he was in much pain. A further three swats bounced into Max’s arse. He felt those alright. His back arched and his legs marched up and down on the spot; just like a soldier on sentry duty.
Again, the leather rose and fell into the tight cotton shorts. Arkwright was enjoying himself, but he knew that he was only using about ten percent of the strength that he used on Freddy.
Twelve strokes and it was over. It was hardly “twelve-of-the-best,” but to Max it was the most severe spanking he had ever received; even worse than the copper’s hairbrush spanking. He remained face down; head pressing into the armchair seat cushion; unsure what was to happen next. He could feel his cock was close to exploding.
“You may get up, lad,” it was a gentle instruction. Arkwright was a little short of breath; but not because of the energy he used in the beating. He wanted Max. He wanted to take the boy up his gorgeous arse and fuck the teenager’s brains out.
Gingerly, Max rose from the chair. The room was spinning so he bent double, placing his hands on his knees until he recovered a little. The sight of that stunning backside pointing in his direction was too much. Arkwright grabbed the boy’s arm and in one continuous movement he guided him to the couch, pushed the lad down on his back, ripped down his shorts and underwear, took his throbbing member in his mouth and gorged himself.
Max was not quite a virgin, but he was as good as. He had no experience in controlling his cock to give himself maximum pleasure. Within seconds his member exploded in Arkwright’s mouth. Coughing and spluttering, the old man fell backwards as cum splashed on his face.
Later, thinking about it in bed at home; at first Max tried to blame it on the whisky. But he was an intelligent lad; he knew in his heart that wasn’t true. Max wanted to do it. He wanted all of it. Everything that happened that evening: he wanted it. And, given the chance he would do it all again.
Episode 3, Max and the headmaster is here.
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
Charles Hamilton the Second