Zachary’s uncle sat in a straight-backed chair, a belt hanging limply from his hand. His aunt stood by his side, arms folded across her bosom. The old man’s face was set firm. Determined. His intention was clear. He was going to spank Zachary’s backside. Zachary blinked, bewildered. He was twenty-two years old.
The young man’s faced glowed. He had never been spanked before. Never. Nobody he knew ever had been. This was 2016, that sort of thing ended in the fifties. Surely that was so, Zachary thought. He felt his aunt’s glare burning into him. Unnerved, he stared down at the beige carpet beneath his feet. This could not be happening. It just couldn’t. Nothing in his whole life’s experience had prepared him for this.
Through the corner of his eye he saw his uncle shift his buttocks on the chair. He spread his knees, preparing a platform for Zachary to bend across. Uncle’s impatience was showing. He wanted to get this over with. He would truck no nonsense from his nephew. He must submit himself to discipline. It was uncle’s house. His rules. His way or the highway.
Zachary didn’t need telling that. He had been staying with Uncle Frank and Aunt Marie for more than three months. He had no choice. He had graduated with a first-class honours degree in film production from one of the top schools in the country. Now, desperate to become a director, he was working as an unpaid intern at Global Pictures, a world leader. That was where the trouble with Uncle Frank started. Unpaid. No money.
It was typical of the business these days. Youngsters eager to make their way had to work without pay; for months. Years sometimes.
Zachary could afford no rent, so his uncle and aunt opened up their home to him. He thought it extraordinarily generous. How naïve. He didn’t know it; his mum and dad were paying for his keep. Zachary supposed he had no choice. Obey Uncle Frank’s demands or leave. Leave the home. The internship. Give up his dreams.
A young man cannot live on fresh air. He needed money. Without a way to earn an income, he took to pilfering. At first Aunt Marie didn’t notice the small amounts of cash missing from her purse. Zachary felt no remorse. Like so many of his generation he thought the world owed him a living. Damn it, he thought, he was working for nothing, wasn’t that enough. His aunt was no pauper. She owned a hair salon. She wasn’t short of a few bob.
The recriminations were long-drawn out. How could you? We brought you into our home. We trusted you. Blah, blah, blah. Zachary wasn’t impressed. That was then. This was now.
“Look at me, Zachary,” his uncle was firm. In charge. He knew what was required. This might be his nephew’s first spanking, but the old man was something of an expert. Just ask his own sons. Fine young men. Disciplined. Making their way in the world. At least Uncle Frank assumed so. He hadn’t seen or heard from either of them in years.
Reluctantly, Zachary drew his eyes away from the carpet. Aunt Marie pursed her lips, like she was sucking sherbet. Her clear hazel eyes shone, her contempt evident. Uncle Frank straightened his back, took the belt in two hands and carefully folded it into two. It was now a wide leather strap about a foot long. It would make a mighty effective weapon. Zachary stared at it.
“Take down those jeans. Underpants too.”
Zachary’s heart thumped. He couldn’t catch his breath. His temples throbbed. The back of his eyes dampened.
“B …” bewildered, he started a protest. Words would not form. What could he say? He was a thief. Caught red-handed. Convicted. And, now sentenced. Within moments the punishment would be delivered.
“Quickly.” Another firm order from Uncle Frank. “I don’t have all day.”
“But.” This time a word did escape his lips. Zachary nodded at Aunt Marie. His face blushed deeper. He wanted to plead. No. No please don’t spank me. Not in front of Aunt Marie.
Rooted. He couldn’t move. Tears wetted his eyes. In time they would be cascading down his cheeks.
“Doh!” Uncle Frank leaned across and pulled Zachary forward by the waistband. Within seconds he had his nephew’s belt unbuckled. A tug at the zip fly and the front of his jeans were open. It seemed to Zachary like an out of body experience. This was happening to somebody else. His denims and briefs were at his knees. His cock and balls dangled in front of Aunt Marie. A flicker of a smile creased her puckered lips.
Zachary had inherited his mother’s genes. Everyone noticed his piercing blue eyes and dark hair. His cheekbones were high and a boyish dimple formed when he smiled. His athletic build was natural. Aunt Marie had long admired his strong defined chest and narrow waist. His legs were strong, slender and hairy. His appendage was exactly as she had imagined.
Uncle Frank grabbed his twenty-two-year-old nephew by the arm and pulled him over his knees so that he was dangling, feet and head both off the ground. Zachary threw his hand behind him, desperately trying to cover his naked buttocks. He heard his uncle sigh as the old man gripped his wrist and held it tightly in the small of his back.
Zachary sensed his aunt move a pace. Oh, my God, she can see right into my crack. For a moment, his naked humiliation filled his thoughts. But not for long. He felt his uncle move, the belt hovered over Zachary’s bum. Seconds later he heard an explosion. After a moment, he felt the fire ignite across his bared bottom. There was another explosion, then another.
The first crack of leather on skin was deafening, but Zachary had no chance to appreciate it, since that it was immediately followed by another, and then another. His uncle was beating out a rhythm on his backside. Zachary made no sound at all. He stayed fairly still, except for reflex jerking from the force of impact of belt against buttock.
The young man wasn’t keeping time. It felt like an age. Staring down at the carpet; pinned across his uncle’s knee while a leather belt rose and crashed, then rose and crashed again into his firm naked flesh. For about two minutes there was no noise except for the continuous thwack, smack, of the leather. Then Zachary started to twitch. Then hiss, a low noise, through his teeth. He was trying to keep his breathing steady.
A minute later, he started to groan. Then, “Ow, ow, ow.” At five minutes it became more vocal. Louder. Low-pitched yelping. It took a full seven minutes for Zachary to start crying. From way down deep. The hand behind his back was still pinned up near his shoulders. With his other hand he gripped his uncle’s trouser leg. It did nothing to relieve the pain.
Zachary was bawling his eyes out, crying harder than he had ever done in his life. Crying not only because of the pain his uncle was inflicting with every lick but also crying for getting himself in this situation. He would never, ever steal again.
Then it was over. Zachary lay sobbing, trying to catch his breath. His uncle dropped the belt to the floor beside him and rubbed his nephew’s scorched cheeks. The once creamy-white buttocks were deep crimson. Dozens of stripes covered the bum and the backs of Zachary’s legs. The young man now able to lie without squirming, brought his face to touch his uncle’s legs and bawled like a whipped puppy.
Aunt Marie, her face as flushed as Zachary’s, quietly left the room. Moments later she was locked in the bathroom.
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
Charles Hamilton the Second