“You!” he glares at me, his mouth snarling. I stand, a shiver running across my shoulders. I peer into the half-darkness. The room is small, sparsely furnished. It is cold. There’s a faint smell of damp walls. My bare feet scratch against on the threadbare carpet. My pyjama jacket hangs loosely, the coarse material itches.
“Come here!” Uncle Roy beckons me towards him with his finger. I shuffle a pace forward, hesitate and stand still. “Here!” I crane my neck forward, only now noticing the large wooden hairbrush he grips in his right hand.
He is seated on a hard, stiff-backed kitchen chair. His legs are spread. His intentions are clear. “Here!” the single word snaps in the cold air. He feels no need to explain. I know why I am here. I am no stranger to this. The word “virgin” has no meaning here.
I lumber forward until I am one step away from him. I stand, a little to his righthand side. I am close enough to touch him. But, I don’t. Not yet. Instead, I hop from one foot to another. My mouth is dry. The tip of my tongue moistens my upper lip. I begin to perspire at the temples. Uncle Roy wriggles his bottom, spreads his legs wider. His thighs are fleshy, his belly is soft, but he is far from fat. I wait for him to settle himself. Soon he is ready, he has created with his legs a perfect platform.
I am about five-seven tall, although I am eighteen years old I still have some growing to do. And thickening out. My waist is twenty-six inches, my chest thirty-four. My face, when not hot as it is tonight, is clear and bright. It has yet to feel the scrape of a razor blade.
I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment and slowly let air exhale through my pursed lips. I am readying myself. No matter how many times I do this, there is always trepidation. I should be used to it by now. I can predict precisely what is going to happen. It is after all a well-worn ritual.
I get a whiff of Uncle Roy’s body. Coal tar soap. A proper manly smell. You wouldn’t catch him splashing Brut 33 all over. My hands tremble, almost imperceptibly. I don’t know if Uncle can tell. Without lowering my head, I search for the drawstring of my pyjama bottoms. It is loosely tied, it takes only a tiny tug to open up the front. I let go and the cotton pyjamas tumble down my legs. They snag at my knees so I part them slightly and they continue the journey to my feet.
Instinctively, my hands clasp in front of my privates. I don’t know why I bother. Uncle Roy will get a close-up sight any moment now. Not to mention a bird’s eye view of my crack and hole. A cool breeze I hadn’t noticed before brushes against my naked bottom. I do the breathing thing again, preparing myself. Almost ready.
Uncle Roy’s tobacco breath is strong, his chest heaves. The muscles in his right arm tense as he tightens his grip on the brush. He is ready, it is time to go. I reach forward and rest the palms of my hands on his right thigh, his leg buckles a little as he takes the weight of my body. Safely over I stretch my arms ahead of me and plant my hands firmly into the carpet. I arch my back. My stomach digs into his strong leg. My head is low and my bottom high. I have choices, I can keep my head high and stare across the gloomy room towards the distempered wall or I can stare down at the floor. I do neither of these things. Instead, I crane my neck so that I can see under the chair for a perfect view of my own feet, sheathed by my crumpled pyjama bottoms.
Uncle Roy takes hold of my pyjama jacket and drags it halfway up my back and leaves it bunched up at my shoulders. This serves no practical purpose. The jacket is nowhere near his target area. My buttocks are entirely bared. It is of course just another of those rituals. I am now naked from the shoulders to the ankles, completely submissive. I am allowing Uncle Roy to do his duty. I have no reason for complaint. He says I deserve a sound spanking and he is right.
My bottom is angled high above Uncle Roy’s right thigh. I feel the rough palm of his hand gently caressing first my left buttock and then the right. Then he rubs the back of my thighs. Involuntarily my bottom clenches. There is very little fat back there, now my bum probably resembles a rubber ball, tough, hard and with very little “give”. Buns of steel.
I feel a movement in Uncle Roy’s body. I cannot see but I can imagine that now he has taken hold of the heavy wooden hairbrush. Then I feel its cold back touch against my firm bum. Uncle is taking aim. Suddenly it lifts away from the surface and a split second later returns at incredible speed and force to crash down right in the middle of my left bum cheek. Before I can register the pain it rises and falls again; this time into my right buttock. I gasp at the shock. My flesh is scolding. I wriggle at the waist. It is a natural reaction; my body’s way of dealing with the pain. I have no intention of trying to escape. I deserve this spanking.
Uncle Roy believes a whacking should hurt. Otherwise, he says, what’s the point of it? He is not one of those uncles who gives his nephew one or two token slaps. Lovetaps! Not my uncle. He takes a boy’s arse off! If you’ll pardon my bad language. It takes him about ten seconds to cover my whole backside. Admittedly, it’s not that large! It stings all over. From the top of the curves just below the spine, to the very sensitive undercurves. But mostly, across the fleshiest part of the bum, the mounds. I am on fire! I wriggle and writhe but it doesn’t matter how much I squirm Uncle is in control. He grips my waist with his left arm and with his right he continues to wallop my bare backside with that hairbrush. Did I say that Uncle Roy is as bald as a coot? He has no wife or lady friend. A hairbrush has no use in his household except as a tool to inflict the severest pain to my misbehaving bottom.
I bite down on my lip, it helps to stop me crying out in anguish. I see my own feet flailing about as they instinctively react to the intense pain that is building up in my buttocks and travelling up and down my legs. Very soon the agony is moving north, south, east and west across my whole body. My temples are throbbing almost as much as the flesh on my bum. Despite the coldness of the room, perspiration is soaking my pyjama jacket.
Bang, bang, bang, bang. On and on it goes. It sounds like machinegun fire echoing around the near-empty room. My breath comes in short pants, my heart races, my body pulsates The hot-blooded spanking is going to my loins. Oh my God! My penis hardens, it is as large and as tight as a fist. Spank, spank, spank. No, no, no! I have to stop this happening!
Dring, dring, dring, dring! Somewhere in the distance a bell is ringing. What the …! It is getting closer. Dring, dring, dring, dring! Alarm bells sound. A warm patch moves across the front of my underpants. I wriggle with discomfort. Suddenly awake, I groan, reproaching myself. The mess is spreading. Next to me my wife stirs. “Your turn to make the tea,” she grunts before rolling over for a few more moments of precious sleep.
Picture credit: unknown
Other stories you might like