Two naughty boys

new story 2

z used shorts playing (17)

To Mr Naughton it seemed like a good idea – and it was for a time. His friend and neighbour came up with it. The problem started with Mr Naughton’s eighteen-year-old son, Benji; he was off the rails. He truanted from school, stayed away from home until all hours of the night and was rude and surly when he was there. Something had to be done before the lad failed his examinations and was put on the scrapheap.

Alan Thomas from across the street had the perfect solution. It was a brainwave – and so simple to put into place. He said he had tried it with his son Alfie – Benji’s classmate – and it was working a treat. He would certainly recommend it.

So Mr Naughton did. It was a stroke of generous. What he did was he bought Benji a new school uniform. It wasn’t too different from the one he wore for the comprehensive school (when he could be bothered to attend). But – and here was the stroke of genius – instead of the typical mid-grey long trousers he substituted a smart pair of short trousers. He added socks that came up to the knee and  the outfit was complete.

Then he said Benji had to wear the new school uniform, especially the short trousers and knee socks, at all times when he wasn’t at school. Given his way he would have demanded he wore them there as well, but he knew that would be going too far. For it to work, he confiscated all Benji’s long trousers, jeans, sweats and so on and locked them away in a cupboard. The eighteen-year-old had no choice.

Mr Thomas had told his friend that the benefit of doing this was at least twofold. First, it reminded his son that he wasn’t really grown-up. He might be eighteen, but it took more than that to become an adult. He needed to realise he was still a child and living under his parents’ rules and supervision. The second benefit was it stopped the kid going out at night. How could he dare be seen in public wearing school uniform with short trousers? It meant he stayed home and although he was still quiet and surly at least his parents could keep an eye on him and make sure he did his homework. Mr Thomas swore by the new regime and said his son’s grades at school had improved immeasurably. Putting the boy back into short trousers was the best move he had ever made.

So, Mr Naughton had a go. He was quietly surprised at how easily he found an outlet on the Internet that sold school short trousers large enough to fit an eighteen-year-old. Of course, Benji rejected the idea (as Mr Thomas had warned he would). But once all his clothes had been confiscated he had no choice, unless he wanted to go around in his underwear all the time.

Things went really well until about three months before the final exams were due. As part of the coursework in Geography pupils had to work in pairs on a project. What better, Mr Naughton and Mr Thomas thought, than put Alfie and Benji together. No. It went downhill from there. What did they expect? If you put two eighteen year olds together and dress them up as if they were eight they were going to revert to type.

They would meet at Benji’s house but instead of working on the project they had pretend wrestling matches all the time. Benji had an old book on origami and learnt how to make water bombs out of paper. Then, one day Alfie arrived with a new toy he had bought online. An old-fashioned catapult. It wasn’t one of those industrial-sized slingshots you can get to go hunting with. It was a silly wooden thing with a rubber band; like kids in comics used to have. Oh my, they encouraged one another, what mischief they could make with these.

The postman didn’t know what hit him when he strolled up the drive to deliver his letters. Benji and Alfie were hidden behind the chimney stack on the roof. Benji lobbed his water bomb. “Perfect hit,” he squealed with delight as the poor man’s neck was soaked.

The two naughty boys completely forgot about their schoolwork, they were having far too much fun. The catapult was put to good use terrorising the cats in the neighbourhood. The houses in The Avenue were mostly hidden behind walls and hedges and had large gardens. It was a paradise for cats. Or it had been until the deadly duo set about stalking them. One large brown moggy got a stone smack on the side of the head. “Ha! Ha! Ha!” Alfie was beside himself with glee.

But they hadn’t reckoned on one nosey neighbour. Alfie had never liked the man, he thought he was creepy and always looked at him oddly. He would like him even less now. For the man stood at his window camera phone in hand, gathering evidence.

Mr Thomas was furious when he was shown the video. “Grrr,” he said, shaking his fist. “You know what I think?” he asked Mr Naughton.

“No, what?” he replied because he really had no idea.

“I think they need to be spanked, that’s what I think,” he said, shaking his head this time.

“But they’re eighteen years old.”

“Well it’s about time they started acting like it, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Mr Naughton replied. “Yes, I really do.”

“Shall we, then?” Mr Thomas was pacing the room.

“Yes, let’s,” Mr Naughton’s mind was easily made up. “Call the scamps in.”

The boys had been playing catch with a small rubber ball in the lounge room when they heard their names called. Innocently, they followed the sound and found their fathers both stern faced in the room Mr Naughton liked to call his study.

“So,” Mr Thomas said gravely after he had related the boys’ mischievous behaviour, “You will both be spanked.” Benji and Alfie exchanged furtive glances but before either of them had time to say, “You cannot be serious,” their fathers had already arranged two chairs close together in the centre of the room. Within seconds they were seated.

“Come on you,” Mr Thomas scowled at Alfie, “If you insist on behaving like an eight-year-old that’s how you’ll be treated. Bend over my knee.” He slapped his hand on his right thigh to make his command crystal clear. Alfie caught Benji’s eye and suppressed a giggle. He shrugged his shoulders and took two paces across the room. He stood to the right of his seated father and looked down at the old man’s knees. He was still dressed in his business suit and for one stupid moment Alfie worried that he might spoil the sharp creases in his father’s trousers with his weight.

“I’m waiting,” Mr Thomas growled. This was Alfie’s cue to lean forward, place his hands on his father’s lap and gently to lower himself so he was face down and looking at the rug. Benjie stared transfixed and  watched as his pal wriggled his body until his head was as low as he could get it and his bottom pointed up at the ceiling over his father’s right thigh.

“You too,” Mr Naughton growled at Benji. The boy, almost on autopilot, followed his friend’s example. Now there were two eighteen year olds dressed in their school uniforms with grey short trousers and long socks submissively bent across the knees of their fathers waiting to receive their first-ever spankings.

They didn’t wait long. Mr Thomas struck the first blow and Mr Naughton soon followed. Within seconds and without speaking a word the two fathers were spanking in unison, each man slapping the left buttock of his son and then the right as they went about synchronised spanking. Benji and Alfie let them do it. They put up no resistance as slap after slap connected with the seat of their short trousers.

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To be fair, they were not being brave soldiers. Wearing thick trousers with underpants beneath meant they hardly felt a thing. Mr Naughton and Mr Thomas were not experienced spankers. They didn’t realise the palms of their hands were hurting much more than the boys’ bums. After about a hundred smacks had been delivered, Mr Thomas once again took the lead. He ordered Alfie to stand. Then Mr Naughton did the same with his son.

“Right now then, act your age in future,” Mr Thomas growled. “Now get back to your schoolwork.”

The two boys rushed from the room. When they were safely out of sight of their fathers they collapsed into fits of giggles. “Didn’t feel a thing,” said Alfie as he loosened his short trousers and pulled them down to show his friend his bare bottom, “Not a mark. Look. What about you?” Without a blush Benji did the same. “Nope,” he grinned, “Not even red.”

The boys wrestled each other to the ground and rolled around on the carpet. It was their way of saying they rather liked being naughty boys and had no intention of changing any time soon.

Picture credits: Unknown / Sting Pictures

Other stories you might like

Get to bed! I’ll be up to see you later

Mr Gregory and the work experience boy

You, in the housemaster’s study

 

More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website

Charles Hamilton the Second

charleshamiltonthesecond@gmail.com

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