Glyn pressed his foot on the accelerator and glanced anxiously at the clock on the dashboard. It said 11.45 p.m. Surely, it must be fast. Where had the time gone? He had promised Mary’s father they would be home by 10.30. They were in trouble; big trouble.
It was worth it, Glyn thought. The front of his underpants were still sticky, he could feel his prick start to grow again. He would have a tremendous wank later remembering that night.
It had started well. Glyn picked Mary up at 7.30 and they went to a movie. Then they went for coffee. So far, so good. Then they took a drive out to Widecombe Wood. They both wanted to do it; although Glyn was surprised she would be up for it.
They had met at college where he was studying business and she domestic science. Mary stood out from many of the girls – and there weren’t many at the college – because of the plain way she dressed. She was most demure. But, wow, Glyn remembered the first time he set eyes on her: what tremendous tits! When she turned round he saw her arse wasn’t half bad as well.
Glyn was a shy guy and at nineteen he was still a virgin. Most of the guys he knew were; despite the boasts some of them made. The girls Glyn knew were not the kind to put out. There was a lot of religion about.
They parked at the Wood and necked for a bit. It was going well, Glyn thought, but it was about to get a whole lot better. He took her hand and placed it against his crotch. Even through trousers and pants it was clear he had a boner. Mary made the next move. She unzipped him and rummaged around inside. Her breathing was as hard and rapid as his as she roughly gripped his cock. Glyn had tossed himself off many times, but this was the first time anyone had done it to him. Not counting that one time he and his pal Richard had got hold of a “girlie” magazine and pleasured one another.
Maybe, Mary had been reading some erotic literature herself, because he took the stiff tip of Glyn’s cock in her hand and rotated her palm as if she were trying to squeeze a lemon in a juicer. In the confined space of his still fastened trousers she didn’t get far. But it was far enough for Glyn: he shot a load.
It was messy, but Mary had a dainty fake-lace handkerchief and wiped him down. Satisfied, Glyn started the drive home. He was sure they would go much further next time. Some of the guys said their girlfriends went all the way with them. He wasn’t sure he believed them. Anyway there wasn’t much room to do anything like that in his tiny Minicar. The best he could hope for was a blow-job. He should start saving the money he earned at weekends at the store for a motel room.
It was past midnight when Glyn parked the car in front of Mary’s house. He sat with the engine running. He hoped she would get out and go into the house and let him drive off. He had met her father for the first time that evening and was a bit scared by what he saw. He had wild staring clear blue eyes and his thinning brown hair stuck out at all angles: it looked like he had just come in from the wind.
“See me to the door, Glyn.” The nineteen-year-old could hear the tease in her voice. He didn’t fall for it, there was no promise of more sex. Not with her father in the house. But, with one thought on next time, Glyn decided to be gallant. He got out of the car, travelled the short distance to the other side of the Mini and opened the passenger door. Mary climbed out, cussing under her breath when she snagged her nylons in the confined space.
Glyn escorted Mary up the path. Before they reached the door it swung open. Standing there looking as manic as earlier was her father. His face was puce with fury and his eyes glared frenziedly. Glyn took a step back in fear.
“What time do you call this!” he roared, and then fearful that a neighbour might see his daughter returning home with a boy after midnight, he said much more quietly, “Get inside both of you.” Glyn made a move to retrace his steps to the car but Mary’s father gripped him by the arm and pulled him inside.
“Curfew is ten-thirty. You know that.”
Mary’s complexion darkened. She knew when curfew time was. She also knew the penalty for breaking it.
“Sorry Mr Golding,” Glyn shuffled from foot to foot, “The car broke down.”
Mary’s father’s eyes widened, “Don’t add lying to your sin!” he bellowed.
Sin? Glyn was puzzled; what was the old duffer talking about?
“In there, the two of you.” Mr Golding pushed Glyn in the shoulder and sent him on his way. If the teenager thought he would be allowed to go home he had another thought coming. Mary stood in the middle of the sitting room, she hopped from foot to foot with embarrassment. She couldn’t meet her father’s eye. She thought she would die of shame with Glyn present to witness her father’s next action.
He strode to a set of drawers, opened the top one, and pulled out a stout wooden clothes brush. He gripped it in one hand, rather like a pistol, and waved it frantically about. Glyn stood transfixed. He had never seen such a spectacle. His heart sped and he felt blood rush to his penis. He had a shrewd idea of Mr Golding’s intention. No, he thought, this wasn’t really happening. He glanced at Mary, her face was scarlet and beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. She couldn’t return his look.
Her father busied himself carrying a wooden chair into the centre of the room. His own face was covered in perspiration and his hair was as wild as before. He sat down on the chair and waved the brush at Mary. “You know what to do. Come here. Lift up your skirt. Bend over my knee.”
Before he had finished the sentence, Glyn’s cock stood at full attention. He felt it staining against his still damp underpants. Hurriedly, he cupped his hands together and placed them in front of his groin. Mary was close to tears. “Oh daddy, no daddy,” she whimpered. But even as the words choked from her throat she stepped forward, took the seams of her skirt in her hands and lifted it clear of her navy-blue knickers. Then, she leaned forward and put herself across her dad’s lap.
Glyn stepped sideways. Now he had a perfect view of Mary’s terrific bum, stretching against the tight cotton of her panties. Instinctively, he clasped his hands tighter to his throbbing cock, making it tingle. Mr Golding adjusted her position until she had her hands on the floor and her feet just touching the ground. Mary’s bottom felt suddenly cold and exposed and she knew Glyn would see her knicker-covered bottom. It excited her a little but she also felt shame. She had disobeyed her father intentionally. She deserved to be punished with a hot stinging spanking on her bottom.
Not many girls have a bottom like Mary’s, Glyn thought. There was plenty of acreage and a generous amount of padding for her father to spread the blows. The brush came down. Mary whined and moaned, kicked her legs and fidgeted. Soon the dull warmth of the spanks became a mild burn, and then a sizzle. The nineteen-year-old rotated her bottom trying to ensure the spanks never landed in the same spot twice in a row. Her father intensified the tempo to a rapid bam-bam-bam. Tears stung her eyes and she shook her head furiously.
Then it was over. Her father stopped spanking. “Up,” he growled. Mary leapt to her feet and rushed from the room. Glyn saw her rushing up the stairs two at a time. He stood unsure, what he should say or do. Silence gripped the room. Mr Golding broke it, “Now, it’s your turn.” He walked across the room, Glyn followed with his eyes and he gasped; dumbfounded.
He hadn’t noticed it before. Hanging from a picture hook on the wall was a long, thin, curved-handled rattan cane. It was the kind of thing they stopped using in schools thirty years ago. “I use this on my boys,” Mr Golding said, by way of explanation.
Boys? Glyn was fairly certain Mary had no younger brothers; that meant Mr Golding’s sons must be in their twenties, at least. Mr Golding took the cane from its resting place and tested it by swishing it through the air. He seemed satisfied that it was up to the job in hand. He gripped the wooden chair and spun it round so that its back now faced Glyn. The teenager looked at Mr Golding. He looked at the cane in his hand. He looked at the chair in front of him. His dick ached fit to burst. He desperately wanted to rip down his trousers and pants and pound away at his soldier until it spurt its load.
Mr Golding pointed his cane at the high-backed wooden chair. “Take down your trousers.” Those words set Glyn’s heart racing. He had never been caned in his life, nor spanked, but in that moment he knew there was nothing more in his life that he wanted. He had witnessed his sexy girlfriend spanked with a brush on her panties while draped over her father’s knee. Now, he himself was going to get a ferocious arse-tanning.
He hesitated, knowing that when he lowered his trousers Mr Goulding would see his intense boner. Mary’s father misunderstood his reluctance. “Just the trousers,” he said, “You may keep your underpants on. Nakedness is immodest.”
He might just get away with it, he thought. If he whipped his trousers down and quickly bent over the back of the chair, Mr Golding might not see the tent pole in his pants. It was worth a try. Luckily at that moment Mr Golding took an intense interest in the cane he was holding. He turned his back on Glyn and flexed the rod between his hands. He didn’t turn round until the teenager was safely in position; his hands gripping the seat of the chair, his back arched, his buttocks jutted out and his feet splayed. He was in the perfect position to receive chastisement.
Glyn wore bright red briefs; they fitted so snugly they had the effect of lifting and separating each buttock. The cotton dug into his crack and the strain made by his erect penis at the front pulled them even tighter. Mr Golding took his aim across the centre of Glyn’s buttocks and let fly. It was a burning sensation that Glyn had never experienced before. He could feel a line forming under his pants where the cane had struck home.
He huffed and puffed when the second cut fell. This was a little harder and it landed just below the first. Glyn now had a line of pain about an inch wide across both cheeks. The pain increased with the third and fourth strokes. It started in the centre of his bum and shot up and down his legs. His heart raced and blood pumped across his body, but, it seemed to him, most of it was heading for his groin.
It couldn’t take much more of this. It wasn’t the pain; the caning hurt, but he could stand it. It was the intense throbbing in the front of his pants. Deliberately he rubbed his crotch against the hard wooden back of the chair. The tingling sensation in his cock increased. His heart pounded and he couldn’t breathe properly. His eyes moistened, but they were not tears of pain; it was ecstasy. Another cut swished into the lower part of his bum. “Huff, huff, huff,” he panted and then let fly with a full-throated scream.
He let go of the chair seat and jumped bolt upright. Mr Golding stared wide-eyed as the teenager before him doubled up and then sprang once again to his feet. His face was flushed, his body drenched in perspiration, but much more than this the front of his underpants was drenched with cum.
Glyn settled. His breathing was becoming more even, but his face was still as scarlet as his whipped bottom. He daren’t look at Mr Golding. The humiliation was too great. What could he say? What would Mr Golding do?
One thing was certain: Mary’s father would never let him date his daughter again.
Other stories you might like
More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
Charles Hamilton the Second