It came as a total shock when I discovered my nephew Anthony was turned on by being spanked. At least that explained why any number of trips across my knee for the slipper, hairbrush or palm of my hand had not improved his behaviour. Once, I even gave him a thrashing with an old-fashioned whippy school cane. Nothing. He still broke every rule I every laid down for him.
Anthony is nineteen now – going on twenty – and has been living with me for eighteen months since his dad changed jobs and moved down south. The boy has a job of his own at a record shop and didn’t want to go with his parents. Rather, than eek out an existence in a sweaty room in a boarding house, he took up my offer to lodge with me.
Now, I think about it, he agreed with alacrity to my demands that if he came to live with me, he must abide by the rules – or suffer the consequences. I left him in no doubt what that meant: a very sore backside indeed.
He was trouble from the very start. I know something about teenagers; they like to test authority. It’s in their DNA to push boundaries and see how far they can go. The first time I ordered him across my knee was when he repeatedly broke his curfew. Home by eleven, I told him. I could not have been clearer. When he rolled in at eleven-fifteen one evening, I lectured him hard. “Next time, you will feel my slipper across your backside, young man,” I told him. I could not have been clearer.
So, when the following Saturday he arrived home so late it was Sunday morning, I was as good as my word. “Go to the sitting room. Wait for me,” I ordered. Meekly, he shuffled across the hallway and stood head slightly bowed and hands firmly behind his back. He waited like this while I dragged a heavy dining-room chair and plonked it down in the very centre of the room. I sat myself down and manoeuvred a slipper from my right foot. I wriggled around a bit to get comfortable and when I was ready I squeezed the slipper tightly in my fist. It was a typical bedroom slipper, with the checked cloth upper and the springy sole. A slipper is a perfect spanking tool, which is why it is so popular with fathers and uncles tasked with instilling discipline into the young.
I grunted something to attract Anthony’s attention and he looked up. His eyes widened at the sight of me, a forty-five-year-old man of some physical stature, willing and able to inflict severe pain to his bottom.
Anthony stands at about five-feet-seven, I suppose. He is quite sporty and although I don’t think he goes to the gym, he has a very well-proportioned body. As I would soon discover he hardly had enough spare fat on his body to sizzle a sausage.
He was wearing jeans and a woollen jumper. That was no good to me. He wouldn’t feel a thing through heavy denims. “Take them down,” I instructed and then as if he hadn’t already understood my order, I added, “The jeans. Right down. To the ankles.”
Anthony is fair haired, almost blond, and his skin is very pale. This time, though, his face was so red it reminded me of beetroot. His eyes shone. I suspected he was so embarrassed, he might start to cry. I was prepared to ignore any pleading he might make to be let off. Boys about to be spanked will promise absolutely anything about their future good behaviour if only they could be spared a whacking.
In fact, he made no pleas. With slightly shaking hands, he undid the buckle of his belt and undid the top button on his ice-blue jeans. Once the zipper had been lowered the denims slid down his thighs and snagged at the knees. He spread his legs a little and they slithered down his shins and rested on top of his trainer shoes.
He wore very tight cotton briefs in a multitude of colours. Even in a standing position they hung tightly to the contours of his body. I could see his cock had been circumcised. “Come, bend over my knee,” I slapped my thigh as an encouragement.
He sucked down a lung-full of air and leaned forward, putting his hands on my right thigh and lowering himself down. It took a second or two for him to work out where his hands needed to be and how to present his bottom in the perfect position for my slipper. When he had settled, the palms of his hands were pressed down into the deep-pile carpet and his knees were slightly bent so that his toes hovered an inch or so from the ground. His bum was angled across my right leg, giving me unrestricted access to his buttocks.
The tight cotton briefs clung to his cheeks so tightly it looked like they had been sprayed on him. At this point I had a choice. Should I take hold of the elasticated waistband of the briefs and tug them over his firm bottom until the buttocks were bared, or should I allow them to stay in place and let him have the last vestiges of dignity? Since this was his first spanking – or at least the first I had administered – I left the pants up. In any case, I figured, if there needed to be a repeat performance of this sometime in the future I should have some way to up the ante as it were. That is to increase the severity of the punishment next time.
I wrapped by left arm around Anthony’s middle to hold him in place and began my assault on his dignity. My slipper crashed into the centre of his very tight bottom over and over again. The sound of rubber against cotton echoed around the room. Anthony opened and closed his mouth, rather like a goldfish, but he uttered no sound. His head bounced up and down once or twice and his bum rose and fell across my knee, but all that was, I suspect, simply a natural reaction from his body. He was, in fact, taking his slippering remarkably well.
I’m not sure how many whacks I gave him, but I made sure that every square inch of his buttocks was toasted. I even lay one or two across the back of his thighs, below the hem of his pants. That hurt him, I could see that, but apart from some heavy breathing, he remained silent. I was delighted to see a dark-pink imprint of the sole of my slipper embossed in his pale flesh.
Satisfied that I had spanked him enough for now, I released him. Anthony shot to his feet, turned his back to me and bent down to retrieve his jeans. He had them zipped and buckled before he faced me, his hands held contritely in front of him. His cheeks were scarlet and I knew his buttocks would be too. His hair was drenched with sweat and I could see by the gleam in his eye that he desperately wanted me to dismiss him so he could rush to his room. I imagined that in a moment or two he would be face down on his bed sobbing his guts up into a pillow.
I lectured him a little and reminded him that I had an array of spanking instruments in the cupboard under the stairs that I would not hesitate to use and sent him on his way.
Well, over the coming months each and every one of those tawses, paddles and straps connected with Anthony’s backside. I went so far as to buy a couple of “authentic” school canes off eBay. I had the nineteen-year-old across my knee, bending over the back of the armchair and spread-eagled across the dining table. He was an incorrigible rule-breaker. No amount of punishment could make him obey.
Now I know why.
This evening I received a phone call from the owner of the record shop where Anthony works. He hadn’t been in today, was everything all right? I confronted my nephew and he told me he had skived off work with some mates and queued all day to get tickets for the forthcoming FA Cup quarter final. Now, I like football as much as the next man, but I know I have responsibilities to my employer and I can’t just not turn in. I also have responsibilities to Anthony to make sure he understands such things.
He was not surprised when he arrived in the kitchen after I had called him from his room that I was brandishing a heavy wooden hairbrush. He had felt its power across his naked buttocks more than once before. I sighed so hard to demonstrate to him how much of the world’s burdens I was asked to shoulder and ordered him to lower his cargo shorts and bend over my knee. He did so without question.
Once in position I dragged his gleaming white briefs down to his thighs and assaulted his bare buttocks with the brush. It is a mightily effective punishment tool and soon the centre of each cheek was glowing crimson. Anthony shook his head from side to side, rather like a horse does when it neighs, and his legs kicked out. The spanking was hurting, that’s for sure. I whacked on and on over the same spots on his bum until the flesh turned dark red and then purple. If I spanked any harder or for any longer blood would seep from the wounds. I did not want that. I believe in punishment and not in torture.
When I released him, he tugged his pants and shorts up and fled from the kitchen, not waiting for me to lecture him. I let the brush fall on to the kitchen table and switched on the kettle. I desperately needed a cup of tea.
I also needed to use the bathroom. As I climbed the stairs I noticed the door to Anthony’s room was slightly open. Suddenly, I had an overwhelming urge to know whether he was sobbing into his pillow. In all the times I had spanked him he never shed a tear in my presence. Rather absurdly, I tiptoed along the landing and stood outside his door with my ear pressed against it. I could not hear anything. Thinking that maybe the weight of the door was obstructing the sound, I pushed against it gently.
Nothing would ever be the same again.
Anthony was standing in front of the dressing table mirror. His rather large and extremely hard cock was in his hand and he was pumping away. His eyes were closed and he was stifling moans of ecstasy. I turned to leave. Too late. He heard a creak on the floorboard, opened his eyes and in the reflection in the mirror saw me. His face glowed with embarrassment, he pulled up his pants and turned to face me.
I don’t know what happened next, I skedaddled and locked myself in the bathroom.
That was a little over an hour ago. I have drunk three cups of tea and have calmed down considerably. A young man who likes to be spanked, who would ever have thought such a thing. Still, it certainly explained a thing or two to me about his bad behaviour.
I started to giggle; I think it was the tannin in all that tea. Now, I had a plan. I shall confront Anthony and tell him this. In future, he will obey his curfew, he will do all the chores about the house that I give him. He will respect my wishes at all times and follow all my instructions. If he does these things to my total satisfaction I will spank him. Very hard indeed. I think they call that ‘psychology’. It is in any case a win-win situation for both of us.
Picture credit: Jonathan / colour by Buckcub
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
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