The house across the street

Ricky sat at the table by his bedroom window. He was supposed to be writing a college essay but his heart wasn’t in it. Instead, he gazed at the house across the street. Mr Raines had moved into The Avenue that week. He lived alone, in a three-bedroom house with two reception rooms. Why did a man on his own need so much space, the teenager wondered?

The Top Forty countdown was playing on the radio. Goddam it, Bohemian Rhapsody was still number one. It seemed like it had been top of the pops forever.

There was activity across the road. Ricky hid behind the curtain and watched. A schoolboy in a bright scarlet blazer cycled up to the front door. Who was this? No, Ricky realised as the boy dismounted. He wasn’t a boy; he looked to be at least forty. It couldn’t be a schoolboy. Besides, it was Sunday, no boy would willingly be out in his school uniform at the weekend. Perhaps, the blazer wasn’t from a school. More likely it was a sporting club. Rugby, maybe.

The door opened and Mr Raines ushered the man inside hastily. Then he looked up and down the street and satisfied that nobody was there he closed the door behind him.

Ricky was bored and restless. He delved under the mattress of his bed and pulled out a copy of Whitehouse. He lay down on the bed and began to undo the seven buttons on the high waist of his trousers. It was laborious work. The trousers might be the height of fashion, but they were not practical if you wanted to get out of them fast. Not that anyone did want to get his trousers down in a hurry. If they did, he wouldn’t need the porn mag.

He wriggled the trousers down to his knees and then pulled at the waist of his pants so they snagged just below his buttocks. Whitehouse was no good. He didn’t go for the close-up camera shots of ladies’ private parts. He closed his eyes and conjured up a scene in his head. He knew this one would work for him.

Things were not going well for Ricky at the polytechnic where he studied. He had failing grades and was put on what was called “the Dean’s List.” That meant he was summoned for an awkward interview with Mrs Martin. And, yes that did make her Dean Martin. Mrs Martin was an austere woman with black shiny hair, cut short. She favoured neat dark business suits and sheer stockings.

It really happened like this. Ricky stood in her office. She sat in a large leather chair. Ricky shuffled from foot to foot, while she rebuked him. If he didn’t pull his socks up, he would have to re-sit the whole year again. The nineteen-year-old felt as if he were back at school, answering to the headmaster.

At that point he felt his cock stiffen. Even as he stood there taking his bollocking, he invented a scene. He was spread-eagled across her big polished desk, his jeans at his ankles. Mrs Martin swished a thick rattan crook-handled school cane through the air and then whacked it with great force six times into the seat of his tight navy-blue underpants. He didn’t come in her office, but he had reimagined that scene many times since. Even now his cock was aching. All it needed was a half dozen tugs.

Ricky cleaned himself and resumed his watch at the window. He didn’t know it but he had missed two men who arrived together. One carried a large sports bag, the kind of thing that could carry bats and stumps. Perhaps, the boy in the blazer was part of a cricket club.

Ricky sat and watched. Soon another three men arrived. It looked to him that Mr Raines was having a party. It was probably a house warming. Why weren’t there any girls, he wanted to know.

While Ricky pondered this, Mr Raines and his guests were preparing their merrymaking.

The man in the blazer was in one of the bedrooms. Except that it wasn’t a bedroom. An old desk dominated the room and a beat up armchair stood in one corner. In another corner was a coat stand. From this dangled a schoolmaster’s academic gown. Below this, in a section reserved for umbrellas stood two rattan school canes.

Downstairs, one man who would never see his fiftieth birthday again was dressed in a Cub Scout uniform. He was so stout and his short trousers were so tight that fat rolled over the waistband. He was speaking with Mr Rainer. “It is a pity that we can’t get younger boys to attend these parties. There must be some who are interested?”

Mr Rainer sighed, “There is a cute boy who lives in the house across the road. I would love to have him across my knee.”

“Do you think he would do it?” the man wheezed. “We could pay him.”

“He’s a student; students are always in need of money,” Mr Raines laughed.

The man’s fleshy jowls wobbled, “Perhaps he has friends. Perhaps he could bring some of them with him.”

“Yes, perhaps,” Mr Raines said sadly, but he doubted it.

Mr Raines pulled a large bedroom slipper from a cupboard. “Now young man,” he clutched it in his right hand and waved it at the obese Cub Scout, “Get those shorts down and bend across my knee.”

Back in his room, Ricky had lost interest in the house across the street. For now; tomorrow, he would go and introduce himself to Mr Raines, it was the neighbourly thing to do.

He lay on his bed, closed his eyes and conjured up once more the image of Dean Martin and her thick swishy cane.

….

The next day was scorching hot. It really was turning out to be a delightful summer. Ricky stayed in bed until about midday. There wasn’t much to get up for. Certainly not a three-hour session on business economics at the poly. Dean Martin occupied much of his thoughts.

Eventually, he climbed out of bed, showered, and dressed. It was too hot for high-waisted trousers. Instead, he pulled out a pair of blue cotton shorts from his chest of drawers. He loved these shorts. They fitted snugly at the waist so he didn’t need a belt and they clung to his buttocks. They were fashionably short and reached only an inch or two down his thighs. They showed off his already deep-tanned legs perfectly.

He dragged a yellow-and-white tee-shirt over his head and stepped into his brown leather sandals. He was ready to greet the day.

He walked across the road to Mr Raines’s house and knocked on the door. He was a confident lad and made friends easily. He would say “hello and welcome to the street,” to Mr Raines and take it from there.

There was no answer. It was early Monday afternoon; the man was probably at work. He turned to retrace his steps home when he noticed the side gate was closed, but its padlock was unfastened. Mr Raines was probably in the back garden. He hadn’t heard the knock at the door.

Ricky opened the gate and walked by the side of the house into the back garden. There was no sign of Mr Raines. It was a sizable garden, dominated by a mature apple tree, groaning with ripe fruit.

The teenager didn’t think twice. He kicked off his sandals and shined up the tree. In seconds he had knocked a half dozen apples to the ground.

Upstairs in his bedroom, Mr Raines watched through the window with wonder. He had been in the shower and not heard the door. Now, the gorgeous kid from across the road, was in his garden, stealing his apples. He was a delightful sight. Loose limbed and athletic. The boy stretched across a branch, his back arched with his buttocks sticking out. The blue cotton shorts rode up into the boy’s bum cheeks. Mr Raines’s cock stiffened. How, he would like to put one of his swishy rattan canes across that tight backside.

He rushed downstairs. He must catch the boy before he escaped.

Ricky was back on the ground bending down to pick up the apples. Mr Raines got his first close-up sight of the teenager’s arse. His cock ached.

“What do you think you are doing?” Mr Raines spoke in the voice he used when he played at headmasters and schoolboys with his pals. It startled Ricky.

“Oh, I, Ah,” the teenager blustered. He blushed profusely. “I didn’t know you were at home.”

“Evidently,” Mr Raines perfected a schoolmaster’s glare. He studied the boy standing in front of him. The most striking thing about the lad was his hair. It was fair, almost blond, and flopped on to his sun-tanned open face. He had striking blue eyes and a gorgeous frown and Mr Raines could tell the boy would also have a smile that could light his whole face.

Looking further down, he saw a trim hard chest, wrapped in a tight yellow-and-white tee-shirt. He had already admired the boy’s tight cotton shorts from the rear. He looked equally wonderful from the front.

“What will your mother say when I tell her you have broken into my house and stolen from my garden?” Mr Raines was enjoying himself enormously. This was much better than the games they played inside the house. This was for real. The sexy teenager really had stolen from him.

“Perhaps,” Mr Raines intoned, “I should call the police. Breaking and entering, I think they call it.”

The look of sheer terror that spread across Ricky’s beautiful face, delighted him.

“B… b… b…” Ricky stammered. He wanted to say that he hadn’t really broken into the garden. The gate was unlocked. He had been looking for Mr Raines. He hadn’t intended to steal. He wanted to say all these things, but he could only bluster.

“You’re a student aren’t you? Do you really want a criminal record? Wouldn’t they expel you from the college?” Mr Raines was working on a plan.

“Please don’t …” Ricky’s beautiful blue eyes watered.

Nearly there, Mr Raines thought. Out loud, he said, “Well what do you think I should do with you?”

Ricky blushed, stared at his bare feet, and clutched his hands behind his back with embarrassment. “Do?” What did Mr Raines mean, “Do?”

“You must be punished in some way. Surely you understand that?”

Ricky’s heart jumped. Punished. Images of Dean Martin, her study, and her whippy rattan cane sped through his head.

His mouth opened and closed. He wanted to speak, to ask Mr Raines what he meant by “punished,” but words would not come.

Mr Raines stared thoughtfully at the teenager in front of him. He was forty-two years old and had been active on the corporal punishment scene for more than twenty years. He could read Ricky like a book. It was only a matter of time.

“If I were your father, I’d give you a damn good hiding. Breaking into a neighbour’s garden and stealing from him.” Mr Raines let the thought hang in the air. Ricky was sweating, but it wasn’t because of the hot summer’s afternoon.

Ricky raised his moist blue eyes and looked into Mr Raines face. No words were spoken. They didn’t have to be. A bond was forged.

“Come into the house,” Mr Raines spoke mildly now. He was no longer a stern schoolmaster. He was the kind, considerate, neighbour who was just about to give the young man the first spanking of his life.

He took Ricky gently by the elbow and led him into the sitting room.

A thief should receive a severe beating. In some countries in Africa, even today, courts order thieves to be beaten with canes on their bared buttocks. Mr Raines would have been entitled to whip one of his special whippy rattan canes across Ricky’s naked bum. But Mr Raines was playing the long game. If he thrashed the teenager like that he would never see him again. No, experience told him, he should start gently; get the boy used to being spanked. Later, in the future, Ricky would graduate to bare-bottomed canings.

Today, Ricky’s grooming would begin.

The teenager stood, heart thumping, cock throbbing, in the centre of the sitting room. He watched his new neighbour make his preparations. First, a dining room chair was placed in the centre of the room; then Mr Raines went to a cupboard and took out a huge wooden brush. He sat in the chair, spread his legs and with a crooked index finger, he beckoned the boy to approach him.

Ricky had never been spanked before and had never seen anyone spanked. But, instinctively he knew what to do.

“Bend over my knee,” Mr Raines’s tone was stern. It was an order, not a request. Ricky bent his knees slightly, rested his hands on Mr Raines’s right leg and gently lowered himself across the older man’s lap. Then, he reached out his arms in front of him, so that the palms of both hands were pressed firmly into the carpet. In this position his head was raised and he had a clear view through the window into the garden beyond and the apple tree that was the cause of his present predicament.

Behind him, his knees were buckled and the toes of his bare feet hovered an inch or so off the ground. His pert bottom rested at an angle over Mr Raines’s right knee, in a terrific position to receive whacks from the heavy wooden brush.

Mr Raines’s gulped hard at the sight before him. Already his cock was close to bursting. He put his arm around Ricky’s waist and moved him so that he wouldn’t feel the boner pressing into his body. Then, Mr Rainer tugged the waistband of the shorts tightly so they made a kind of wedgie in the boy’s crack. The shorts were so short that they no longer covered the lower part of the buttocks, affording Mr Raines a cracking view of the boy’s arse.

Ricky closed his eyes. In his dreams about Dean Martin’s office he never thought about the agony the cane caused; he got off on the vision of himself, jeans at his ankles and navy-blue pants tight against his buttocks. Now, for the first time he would experience the pain of a spanking. He hoped he could stand it.

drawing brush hold otk (13)

Mr Raines gripped the brush tightly and smacked it down into Ricky’s cotton-covered left buttock. Then he did the same to the right. They weren’t hard spanks, merely slaps. Ricky gasped as each whack connected. He felt the impact against his tight flesh, but there was no real pain.

Mr Raines increased the vigorousness of each succeeding spank. Ricky’s face contorted and he bit down on his beautiful ruby lips. The pain was increasing. He was definitely feeling those. Mr Raines tried a little harder and was rewarded by a clear, “Ouch,” from the young man across his lap.

Spank, spank, spank. Three hard swats landed in the fleshiest part of Ricky’s right cheek. He wriggled his body and kicked his legs. Mr Raines smiled. He was really warming the boy up now.

Let’s test him a little, Mr Raines thought, and slapped the heavy wooden brush into the bare flesh beneath the hem of the shorts. He was rewarded with “Ow, wow, ow!!” from Ricky, so, he slapped another and another. Clear red oval marks appeared on the boy’s thigh, mirroring the head of the brush.

More yelps. Ricky’s head bounced up and down and his body wriggled across Mr Raines’s lap.

“I hope you’re learning your lesson, young man,” Mr Raines said and without waiting for an answer he slapped six stingers right around the circuit of the boy’s bum, from the top where the cheeks meet the back, over the fleshy mounds and into the bare under-curves.

Mr Raines was close to ejaculation. He could not go on. To cum all over the beautiful boy writhing and wriggling over his lap would be too humiliating. He slapped two more on each cheek for good measure and released his grip on Ricky’s waist.

“Up boy. It’s over.”

Ricky rolled off Mr Raines’s lap onto the floor where he rested, catching his breath. His bottom was throbbing a little. It was definitely sore, but even with his lack of experience, Ricky knew Mr Raines had not gone hard on him. He felt a little disappointed; cheated even.

“Stand up.” Mr Raines was anxious for the boy to leave his house. He had urgent business to attend to.

“You should go home now, Ricky,” he said. Then he flashed the boy a smile, “I’ll be keeping an eye on you from now on.”

The teenager returned the grin. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but he knew he would never be the same again. “Thank you,” he said and added wistfully, “Sir.”

He left the room and before he had reached the front door Mr Raines had his own trousers and pants at his ankles. He shot his load before the boy had crossed the road.

Later, in his own bedroom, Ricky inspected the damage. His buttocks were a little pink, but the pain, such as it had been, had gone completely. Next time, he should spank me on the bare, he thought, as he lay back and sent a stream of spunk eight inches into the air.

 

Other stories you might like.

The dope smoker

The man across the hall

First day of term

 

 More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website

 

Charles Hamilton the Second

charleshamiltonthesecond@gmail.com

 

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