Bob Brewer was a young man with a problem. Eighteen years old and never been laid. Never even come close. But, now he was living in the halls of residence of Brocklehurst University that would change. He fervently hoped.
There were lots of girls around, that was for sure. The halls weren’t segregated. In his section of twelve rooms there were six girls and six boys. They shared everything. The kitchen, a television lounge. Even the showers.
That was another problem. Knowing there were naked women in the hall. The individual showers had a small area where people could undress before getting under the water. Later, they could towel themselves dry before they returned to their room.
Actually, Bob discovered soon after he moved in, people preferred to undress in their room, wrap themselves up in a towel and head for the showers. When they had finished, they would maybe dry their hair a little before heading back, still damp.
Well, Bob figured, he couldn’t be blamed if just by chance he was in the hall when a dripping damsel rushed from the shower. He might still be a virgin, but he knew a sexy young thing when he saw it.
“He’s doing it on purpose. Just loitering there.” Jill was in the kitchen talking to Pam. “He’s trying to see us naked,” the twenty-two-year-old Business major sighed.
“He’s just like some twelve-year-old,” Pam giggled. “Someone should have a word with him.”
“Someone should smack his bottom. Hard.” Jenifer, a social work student, wheezed.
“No point. He’d probably enjoy it,” Alison said, poured boiling water into coffee mugs.
The door opened and Ken, Pam’s boyfriend, entered.
“Can’t Ken do something about him?” Jill asked of nobody in particular.
“About who?” Ken took a steaming mug and blew into it. The girls explained their predicament.
“You’re a senior, Ken. Can’t you do something?” Alison piped up.
“Senior? This isn’t a school. We don’t have prefects,” Ken sipped tentatively at his coffee.
“No, I suppose not,” Alison pursed her lips and shook her head so her long blonde hair no longer hung across her face. Ken watched her voluptuous breasts wobble.
“But, you are a final year. He’s a fresher. Can’t you sort him out?” Pam liked to boss her boyfriend. She usually got her way. “Be like his elder brother. Or uncle or something.”
“Uncle?” Ken sipped on his coffee. He wasn’t liking where this was going.
“Spank him,” Jenifer rose from her chair. “Good and hard.” She glared at Ken, daring him to defy her.
Ken shrugged his shoulders and stared into his mug.
“Yes, darling, please.” Pam gave him her baby-doll smile. The one she used when she was telling him she was ready to have sex. It had been nearly a week since they had made love. He was gagging.
“Yes, Ken, please do it,” Jill beamed. “And make sure we get to watch.”
Bob Brewer had his jeans at his shins and his tight briefs at his knees. In his mind he saw Alison, a towel hanging limply against her body. The outline of her large, firm breasts clearly visible. He spat on his palm and manoeuvred it up and down his throbbing shaft. “Huff, huff, huff,” he fought his urge to spray cum all over his belly. Not yet, he willed himself as his body shook with desire.
“Hello Bob, are you in there?” Fingertips were tapping on his door. It was Ken Charlton’s voice.
“Whar ….?” Bob gasped.
“C’mon Bob, I need a word. Now.”
“Hang on!” Desperately the eighteen-year-old dragged up his briefs. His cock was so stiff, it stood like a tentpole. It wanted to poke out of the fly. He pulled up his jeans and buckled his belt. His dick ached like crazy.
“C’mon, c’mon, I haven’t got all day.” Ken wanted this over with. He desperately needed a shag.
Scarlet faced, Bob unlocked the door and opened it an inch. His puzzled expression spoke volumes.
“The girls want to see you in the kitchen,” Ken barked. “They’re fed up with you spying on them.”
Bob’s mouth gaped. No words came. He knew exactly what Ken meant. Of course, they had noticed him loitering in the hallway. They weren’t stupid.
Ken took Bob’s wrist and guided him out of the room. Then half dragging, he propelled him towards the girls and his fate.
“You want to spank me?” Bob spluttered. His heart raced. His cock had softened, but now it once more stood to attention. Which of these sexy minxes would it be? Please, he thought silently, please let it be Alison.
“No,” Pam was in control. “Ken will spank you.”
The look of disappointment was obvious.
“It’s a man’s thing; something like this.” Pam trailed off, suddenly embarrassed.
Nobody spoke. The girls lined up with their backs against the fridge-freezer. Its humming sound dominated the silent room.
“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Ken pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. Bob stared blankly. Was this really happening? This senior student was going to spank him? This could not be happening.
“Come here and bend over my knee.”
Alison’s wheezing drowned out the fridge’s humming.
Bob stood, uncertain, staring at Ken. His punisher spread his legs. His thighs were large.
Ken was a track athlete. Fit and strong. His muscles bulged through a tight, white tee-shirt.
“B… b …” tears welled behind Bob’s eyes. He felt Ken’s heavy grip on his wrist as he was forced forward and pulled face-down across the older student’s knees.
Bob gasped. With shock and humiliation. He pressed the palms of his hands into the worn grey floor tiles. He felt Ken’s arm push into his back, holding him in position. Then: smack! Ken’s hand hit Bob’s left buttock. Then, his right.
He hardly felt a thing. Bob had never been spanked in his life. This was 2017, who had been? He didn’t know how much it was meant to hurt. He might be a spanking virgin, but he knew it was supposed to be worse than this.
He sensed the girls move from in front of the fridge. Alison was leading the way. She wanted a better view of Bob’s tight arse. It really was magnificent, she thought. Why hadn’t she noticed before?
Ken whacked a dozen slaps into Bob’s denim-covered bum. Then, he stopped. His hand was hurting much more than Bob’s backside.
“This is useless,” he waved his hand exaggeratedly. “I’m not getting through to him”
“Wait.” Alison breathed excitedly. She did not want this end. “I have a hairbrush. I’ll go fetch it.” She darted from the room.
Ken looked down at the young man spread-eagled across his lap. Only now, did the absurdity of the situation hit him. He was spanking an eighteen-year-old student. A young man. Only three years younger than himself. Spanking him. On his bum. Across his knee.
Bob stared at the floor. Humiliated. Surely, he thought, Ken could feel his boner pushing into his thigh. Bob doubted that he had ever had such a long, stiff erection. It ached terrifically.
The door pushed open and Alison excitedly entered, a large oval-headed hairbrush in her fist.
“Here,” she handed it to Ken. “Give him what-for with that.” She stood back to regain her view of Bob’s beautiful buttocks.
Whack! Bob gasped. That hurt. That really stung. As did the next dozen that Ken hammered into the seat of his jeans. The denim was thick, but it was scant protection from Ken’s powerful spanking.
Bob wriggled and squirmed.
“Keep still,” Ken growled as he aimed the wooden brush into the underside of Bob’s bum. “Or I might miss your bum and hit the back of your thighs.” Then, deliberately, he sent the brush crashing into that very spot. He was extremely self-satisfied when Bob yelped. He sounded like a little whipped puppy.
Bob’s bum was warming up. He bounced over the older student’s knees. His stiff cock rubbed against the front of his denim jeans. Up and down he went. As if humping Ken’s legs. The tension in his cock was unbearable. Bob puffed and wheezed. Any moment now, he would shoot his load and fill the front of his underpants with sticky goo.
“Do you promise not to spy on the girls again?”
“Yes, yes, I promise. I’m sorry.” Bob would promise anything to make the spanking stop before he disgraced himself.
“I hope so, because next time we’ll see how you like it with your jeans at your ankles.” Ken smacked the brush into the centre of each of Bob’s buttocks. “Has he had enough girls?”
“Yes, let him go,” Alison was breathless. “Let him get up.”
Ken released his grip and Bob shot to his feet, desperately trying to keep his back to his tormentors. His face was scarlet.
“Looks like the naughty little boy has learned his lesson,” Pam beamed. Turning to Ken, she flashed the baby-doll smile. “C’mon, you. Let’s go.”
The left, with Jill tagging behind.
Bob stood uncertain. The bulge in the front of his pants was enormous. He desperately needed to polish one off.
Alison smiled. Held out her hand. “C’mon big boy,” she wheezed. “Let’s go to my room.”
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
Charles Hamilton the Second