“Doh! Pah! Bah!” Bill Briggs was exasperated, “They’re like a couple of little kids,” he sipped on his hot coffee and flapped his hand at his brother Ben. “What they need is a damn good spanking. Mine is definitely going over my knee.”
Ben flushed, unable to hide his embarrassment. He sipped thoughtfully at his own Nescafe.
By “mine” Bill meant his son William; it was up to Ben what he did about his own boy, John. “A bloody good hiding’s coming his way.”
“Well …” Ben was doubtful and said so. “But they’re both eighteen, ain’t they a bit old for that sort of thing.”
“Pah!” Bill was no to be dissuaded, “They’ve shown they are not adults. I ask you. Climbing up onto the roof of your house and firing catapults in the air; someone could have been killed!” He paused, catching himself in a exaggeration, “Well, injured anyway,” he trailed off, taking another swig from his mug.
Ben shrugged, this was a conversation he did not want to have. Bill was determined, “They’ve been arsing around all summer. I mean they set the hosepipe off during the barbecue, you can’t say that wasn’t deliberate.” Ben nodded sagely; his brother was right on that one. Ben was one of those who got soaked.
“And,” Bill was on a roll now, “They were chasing Old Mrs Willow’s cat with that damn slingshot thing,” he paused for effect. “That deserved a spanking on its own.”
Ben was unsure. His brother had always dominated him, ever since they were kids. He didn’t want to be railroaded into something now. “But,” he peered into his now empty mug, “A spanking, that’s a bit severe isn’t it?”
“Ha!” Bill roared, incredulously. His brother was such a wimp. “I’m no talking about tying him up to an A-frame and flogging his bare arse until the blood runs down his legs.” He stared at his brother wild-eyed. “Just a spanking. I’ve got a heavy hairbrush. I’ll take him over my knee, pull down his pants and wallop him until he’s so rosy, he’ll glow in the dark.”
“But …” Ben couldn’t find the words he needed. Bill filled in the gaps. “Don’t worry, it won’t be the first time he’s been over my knee.” He grinned, “Probably won’t be the last either.”
Ben stood up and walked over to a sideboard and opened a drawer. He pulled out a large, wooden clothes brush. The head was about nine inches by four and oval-shaped. “The very thing,” he said holding it in his right fist and patting it menacingly into his left palm. He looked across at his brother, now glowing pink with embarrassment.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to batter him. It won’t be brutal. Just a tanning so he gets the point. Bring him up sharp. Put him back on the straight and narrow. A couple of dozen on his bare bum should do the trick.” He whacked the brush into his palm with some force, savouring the burning sensation. “What do you think? I’ll do yours if you want.”
He left the offer hanging in the air and moved to the door, he put his head into the hallway and shouted up the stairs. “William! Get yourself down here!” After ten seconds there was no sound of movement. “Now! Don’t make me have to come up there!” He waved the brush in the empty hallway. Upstairs a door opened, a head appeared over the banister of the landing. “Wor?” William halted the protest he had started when he saw the brush in his Dad’s hand.
“Down here now.”
“But Dad, I’m not dressed.” William stood in his white Y-front underpants and singlet. “Pah! Don’t mind that,” his dad growled, knowing his lack of clothing made his intended task that much easier. He was greeted by the sound of stockinged feet pattering down the stairs. “Get in here!” Dad gripped his eighteen-year-old son by the arm and pulled him into the lounge. William blushed scarlet, he was a fit, athletic boy, easily as tall, but a lot thinner, than his dad. He could have broken free of his grip, told his dad where to get off and returned to his room. It never occurred to him to do that.
William was not an evil person; but he was a rascal. A scamp. He was on the cusp of adulthood, but often (too often if truth be told) he was immature and unthinking; a child. He still needed a father’s hand to guide him on the rocky road to maturity. And, sometimes that hand had to be applied with great force across his pert bottom.
Bill released his grip on his son, who stood, face reddening, staring at the carpet. He knew why he had been summoned downstairs. He didn’t need it spelled out; but Bill listed his many misdeeds anyway. William bit on his lower lip; this could end only one way. Soon, his dad confirmed that. He pulled a straight-backed dining chair into the middle of the room, and without ceremony sat down on it and spread his legs. He waved the brush in his right hand. “Come here, son. Bend over my knee.”
William had been here before; he knew the drill. There was a certain ritual to his father’s spankings. He would not resist. But, this time it was different. Dad always spanked him in private, not even his mum was present, not even when he was tanned for his rudeness and inconsideration towards her. Uncle Ben was standing in the corner of the room watching. He would have a perfect view.
Ben stood uneasily, hopping from foot to foot, unable to mask his discomfort. Should he stay or should he go? Why couldn’t he make up his mind? “Come on son, over my knee,” Bill’s command put an end to the indecision. William shuffled a pace forward, stood about a yard to the right of his father and paused. He sucked in a lung full of air and in one continuous movement he leaned forward. In a moment he was perfectly positioned for the spanking he richly deserved. His arms were stretched forward so that his fingertips brushed against the carpet. His toes hovered an inch or so above the ground. His groin rested on his dad’s right thigh so that his cotton-covered bottom was raised and presented at an angle of forty-five degrees.
From his vantage point, Ben had a perfect side view. William waited patiently for his dad to begin. His face was scarlet (as it should be since blood was rushing to his head). The boy’s fair hair was short and remained undisturbed, a testimony to the properties of Brylcreem. His eyes were open and he stared down at the patterned carpet inches away. No further word was spoken. Bill rested the brush on his son’s back and with both hands now free he gripped the elasticated waist of the white cotton Y-fronts. Without instruction, William lifted his body slightly so his dad could slip the pants over his buttocks and down his thighs. He left them in a bunch at his knees. Then, for no practical purpose because it was already clear of the target area, Bill pushed the vest half way up his son’s back.
Ben surprised himself by noticing how clear and smooth William’s skin was. His lower legs displayed tufts of fine, fair hair, but the lad’s bottom and back were completely hairless. He watched his brother grip the handle of the heavy wooden brush tightly, then he tapped it gently across the very centre of his son’s left buttock cheek. It was round and firm and there was no “give” in the flesh, not even at its meatiest peak. Bill raised the brush as high as his arm would allow and brought it cracking down into his son’s bum. A dark pink imprint of the oval head was instantly embossed in the creamy-white skin.
Ben saw William’s eyes close tight as the brush impacted his bottom, then they opened wide. He blinked furiously, but otherwise gave no sign that his bum was blazing. The brushed tapped the right cheek before Dad set that one on fire too.
Ben had no idea what a spanking should look like. He had never touched his own boys and had no personal experience of being draped over an older man’s knee. Instinctively, he knew his brother was an expert. It took about six swats to cover the whole buttocks area. It didn’t take much doing; the brush was large and William’s bum relatively small. The pattern of the oval head was reproduced on the undercurves, the peak of the mounds and across the tops.
Determined than no square inch of bum should remain untoasted, Bill went around the circuit again. And again, and for good measure one more time. I’ll take him over my knee, pull down his pants and wallop him until he’s so rosy, he’ll glow in the dark – Ben recalled what his brother had said earlier. He was a man of his word; William’s bum was shining.
The teenager himself was taking it rather well. His face was bursting bright red and his head nodded up and down and from side to side as he absorbed the pain that travelled from his raised backside down through his legs. His heart pounded and his head throbbed, but he showed little outward sign of his distress. Ben wondered if his own son John would be so impassive.
Bang-bang-bang. Three final swats pounded into the crown of William’s buttocks. “That’s it,” his dad said, unemotionally. “Get up.” Ben watched the teenager spring to his feet, his hands rubbing away at the sting in his bottom. The boy’s cock bounced. Then he bent down, gathered his pants from his feet and returned them to their rightful place. His dad waved the brush in William’s face. “Will I have to do this again?” he asked, all hints of rancour gone from his voice. “No, Dad,” his son replied with a confidence he didn’t really feel. He could not be sure if Mr Hargreaves from down the street had yet reported his broken window.
“Alright,” his dad smiled and patted his son on his bottom. “Go upstairs and ask John to come down.” He waited for William to leave before turning to his astonished brother and handing him the brush. “Your turn, I think.”
Picture credit: Unknown
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