The kid across the hall

new story 2

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Arnold opened the front door to his apartment and gestured his friend Tony to come in. “What’s all that bloody noise?” Tony winced as he closed the door behind him. “You can even hear it in here.”

“It’s the kid across the hall. He’s always playing that music too loud.”

“What kid?”

“He’s on holiday from university. His parents have gone away and left him on his own.”

“It’s a disgrace,” Tony scowled. “You can hear it all over the building. Why don’t you tell hm to turn it down?”

Arnold shrugged. He was a mild-mannered man; people always took advantage of him. “I tried. He didn’t take any notice. I think he might have been drunk.”

“On drugs more like. They’re always high, students. Known fact.”

“Well, I dunno,” Arnold led the way into the kitchen. “Cup of tea?” He switched on the kettle and reached into a high cupboard for mugs.

The music seemed to get louder.

“Oh this is ridiculous,” Tony put his hands over his ears. “He’s got to stop. Somebody’s got to tell him.”

“I think the others have tried as well. He doesn’t take any notice.”

“He needs a damn good spanking! That’s what he needs.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

The music stopped suddenly. “Thank Christ,” Tony barked, “a bit of peace at last.” Seconds later it started again, louder than ever. “He was just changing a record.”

“This is too much,” Tony’s face darkened. “I’m going over there.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What do you think?” Without waiting for the answer he strode out of the apartment. Seconds later he was hammering on the kid’s front door, the ground beneath his feet shaking to the pulverising music.

No answer. He pounded again. Of course, the music was so loud the brat couldn’t hear anyone knocking. At last the door opened slowly and a bleary face peered around. “Wodja want?” a teenager leered.

“What do I …” Tony pushed the kid inside his own apartment. “I want you to turn off that row!” He nodded towards the lounge room as if there was any doubt about what he meant.

“Oo are you?” the teenager’s speech slurred, his face betrayed his puzzlement.

“Typical,” Tony confirmed in his own mind, “High as a kite.” He surveyed the small, thin wispy lad standing unsteadily before him. “I’m from across the hall. I want you to turn off that music.”

The boy’s eyes shone. Now he understood. “It’s nothing to do with you. Fuck off.”

Smack! The palm of Tony’s right hand struck the boy clean across his left cheek. A dark-pink imprint instantly glowed. He reeled back with the shock of the blow and the unexpected pain. He raised his arm to his face to touch the stinging flesh. Tony grabbed the boy by the arm and pulled him forward. He had never been in the apartment before, he quickly appraised its layout. The music was coming from the lounge; dragging the boy with him, he headed there.

His head throbbed to the pounding noise. China ornaments on an old wooden sideboard danced to the vibrating sounds. Tony saw a wooden chair with its back to an open fireplace. Still holding the boy in a vice-like grip he pulled him along. Tony sat in the chair and spread his legs. The boy gave no resistance as he was hauled face down across Tony’s knees.

The boy was off balance, his head was low towards the floorboards and his bottom jutted high over Tony’s right thigh. It was at the perfect angle. He whacked the palm of his hand against the boy’s tight bottom. He was wearing almost new Wrangler jeans and as he spanked and spanked Tony could tell his hand was hurting much more than the boy’s bum.

The boy was silent. Probably too stoned to do anything about it, Tony supposed. He spanked across both buttocks, going into the undercurves and into the meatiest part of the cheeks. He even walloped him on the back of the thighs.

“This is no good,” Tony said to himself. “The denim’s too thick. He won’t feel a thing.”

Frustrated, but unbowed, he released his grip and the boy stumbled from his lap onto the floor. With some difficulty and clearly in no pain he retained his footing and stood unsteadily eyeing Tony malevolently.

“Bah!” Tony growled, refusing to admit his defeat. He marched across the room and switched off the music centre. The peace was bliss. The boy had not moved, his hooded eyes watched, Tony thought, contemptuously.

“Right.” He commanded. “That stays off. If I hear one squeak out of you again I’m coming back and next time I’ll have your jeans and pants down and we’ll see how you like my belt across your bare arse.”

Feeling a little foolish, he made towards the front door and left. The boy pouted.

Tony and Arnold sipped their tea, enjoying the silence. Across the way the boy unzipped his jeans, releasing his throbbing cock. His head buzzed with a high that had no connection to the weed he had smoked. He spat on his palm and worked it along his shaft.

The words “Jeans and pants down” repeated in his brain. “Belt. Bare arse.” Slowly, not entirely certain what his next move should be, the boy moved across the room. He waited a moment, sucked down a deep breath and turned the music centre on at full volume.

 

Picture credit: SPK Productions

Other stories you might like

Room 203 at the motel

The new neighbour

The Tyrant Headmaster 4. Smoking on Saturday

 

More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website

Charles Hamilton the Second

charleshamiltonthesecond@gmail.com

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