Once upon a time there was a young man called Nick. Nick had just finished school and was waiting for his examination results and he hoped they would be good enough for him to go to university.
Nick was a typical eighteen year old. He thought the world owed him a living and that everything would be put on a plate for him and he wouldn’t have to make an effort. One day Nick’s Mum and Dad said they were going to go away on holiday, but they didn’t want him to go with them.
“Suits me fine,” he said. “I don’t mind.” And, he really didn’t mind because he had a plan all worked out for when they were away. My, what fun he could have with the house to himself. Party time! Oh, he thought of all the beer and the drugs and the girls. Especially, the girls. He rubbed his hands together with glee.
“Your Uncle George will be staying in the house while we’re away,” his Mother told him. Oh, how Nick’s face fell. “Not Uncle George,” he groaned. “Yes,” his Mother said. “He’s promised to decorate our bedroom and the kitchen while we’re away. Isn’t that kind of him,” she beamed. “Oh,” she said, as if she had only just thought of the idea, “Since you haven’t got a job, I want you to help him.” What she meant, of course, is because you haven’t bothered to get a job you lazy good for nothing …
Nick groaned some more and stormed out of the room and up the stairs to his room. He took the magazine with dirty pictures from under his mattress and tossed himself off a couple of times, while he waited for his Mother to make him his tea. “Bloody Uncle George,” he fumed.
So, it was that two weeks later Uncle George arrived. He was Nick’s Mother’s brother and was a few years older than her. His own children had all grown up and flown the nest. When he was younger Nick had been pally with his cousin, Terry. Oh the tales Terry told him. Nick didn’t know whether to believe some of them. “He spanks you when you don’t do what he tells you,” Nick was astounded, “with a clothes brush!” No, he knew Terry was having him on. That was until one day, when the two of them were alone in Uncle George’s house, Terry took down his trousers, and his underpants, and then he pointed his bare bum at Nick. There embossed in red over and over and over again all across Terry’s cheeks were the images of the head of the brush. Every inch of the eighteen-year-old’s bum was scorched.
So when Uncle George arrived to start his decorating job, Nick decided to keep out of the way. He hardly left his bedroom. Not until Uncle George came hammering on Nick’s door. “Oi! Get up you lazy so-and-so. There’s work to be done.” Luckily for Nick, Uncle George didn’t hear the youngster’s response that he should …. Well, you can probably guess what he said.
Uncle George burst open the door. Oh, how annoyed he was to see Nick was on his bed and still in his pyjamas, even though it was gone two in the afternoon. Uncle George’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish but no words came out. He was astounded. This would never be allowed in his house, Uncle George thought to himself. I would never allow it. Something had to be done.
Uncle George was a fair man. He thought everybody deserved a chance. That was only right and proper. But then again they only deserved one chance. Uncle George stood in the doorway with his feet spread wide. He was much taller and heavier (and, of course, older) than Nick and he made an imposing figure. “Right, young man,” he spoke forcefully and Nick could only lay there and listen.
Uncle George told his nephew the facts of life. The facts of life when Uncle George was in control. Uncle George told Nick what time he was to get up in the morning. What tasks he was going to do helping with the decorating. Then he told Nick that it was going to be his job to do the grocery shopping and the cooking. The list of things Nick had to do just went on and on. Then, at last, Uncle George finished by telling Nick he had to be home no later than ten-thirty every night and he had better not go out drinking if he knew what was good for him.
Nick was dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to do. He wouldn’t admit it to anybody but he was a little afraid of Uncle George and after what cousin Terry had shown him, Nick knew he had every reason to be. He didn’t argue with Uncle George. He couldn’t see the point. He would just ignore him. Well, okay he thought, he could help with the painting. But the shopping and cooking. No way Jose.
“Now, get up, you lazy little so-and-so,” Uncle George growled. He waited until Nick was out of bed and in the bathroom before he went downstairs to make himself a cup of tea. It was some time later before Nick put in an appearance. Uncle George did not hide his irritation. At that moment he knew for sure that Nick was going to be a handful. He wouldn’t play ball easily. That was why Uncle George said to Nick, “You know what I expect from you. If I don’t get your full cooperation, it will be a spanking for you. I think you know mean it.”
Nick couldn’t see his own face but he was pretty sure it had turned scarlet. Spanking. Yes, Nick believed his uncle. “A spanking, he thought, “Just you try it buster.”
Like I said, Nick thought the world revolved around him and always would. He had no intention of coming home at half-ten. No way was he going to stay out of the pub. Why should he, just because Uncle George said so.
So later that day Nick went to meet his friends. They had a right good time. Nick copped a feel with some girl he used to go to school with, but she wouldn’t give him more than that. After about six pints of Stella Artois he rumbled home at close to midnight and crawled into bed. Uncle George knew he had missed curfew but had no intention of waiting up half the night for his nephew to come home.
Next morning Uncle George had to make his own breakfast because lazy Nick was still in bed. He watched the minute hand on the clock move closer to the twelve. It was now ten o’clock. “Right,” Uncle George said out loud even though he was quite alone in the room, “That does it. I told him. I am a man of my word.”
Uncle George had expected trouble with Nick so he was prepared for it when it came. Slowly, for he was not in a temper, he went up the stairs into the room that he was sleeping in. There, resting on the bedside table was his heavy, wooden clothes brush. Uncle George had owned the brush for years and he was very well acquainted with its properties. That is to say, as well as taking fluff off his jackets, it made a mighty fine spanking implement. He gripped it by the handle and could feel its weight. The head was oval shaped and was about six inches by four. It could leave a mark, especially when walloped with great force into bared buttock cheeks.
Uncle George stood still for a moment or two and took some deep breaths. He was just getting himself ready. He had already planned what he had to do. He didn’t expect Nick to meekly submit himself. There was no point Uncle George saying, “Come here you naughty boy. Take down your pyjamas and come and bend over my knee.” No, Uncle George knew that wasn’t going to happen. Unlike Uncle George’s own sons, Nick had not been brought up like that. He hadn’t had the training. And besides, Uncle George had no doubt that Nick was just a snivelling little coward.
Uncle George took a firm grip of the brush. Calmly, he left his room and took the few paces across the landing. He paused outside the door, counting to ten in his head. He was ready for action; locked to go. He turned the handle and with his shoulder shoved open the door. The noise he made woke Nick who was still dozing under the blanket. “Wor the …?” Nick’s blurry puzzlement meant he was caught off guard.
“I warned you.” That was all Uncle George said. Before Nick could move a muscle, Uncle George had ripped the blanket off Nick’s body. At that moment Nick saw the brush in Uncle George’s hand. “No!” he wailed but it was too late. Uncle George was strong and besides he had surprise on his side. He gripped Nick by the lapels of his pyjama jacket and with one almighty tug he had the eighteen-year-old sitting up. Then, Uncle George gripped Nick by the shoulders and in one quick, continuous movement he had Nick face down on the bed. The protests Nick made were muffled because he was almost chewing the mattress.
Uncle George was almost ready. There was only one thing still to be done. Nick was wriggling and writhing but Uncle George held him firmly down with his left arm. Then, with his right hand he gripped the waist of Nick’s pyjamas. They didn’t have elastic in them, but luckily (for Uncle George, but not Nick) the drawstring was not tied. This was because earlier Nick had undone it himself so he could get at his erect cock. Now, Uncle George could pull the pyjama bottoms down far enough that both bum cheeks were fully exposed.
Now, Uncle George put his right knee into Nick’s back. The lad was pinned face down. He was going nowhere. Not until Uncle George said so. And, Uncle George had no intention of saying so, not for some time yet. The thwack of the heavy, wooden brush connecting with young, firm flesh was a dull thud. But, each time the brush thudded it was accompanied by a gasp, or a yowl, or a yelp, and even a full-throated yell. Nick’s mouth was so close to the bed that most of the time he was spluttering. Spit dribbled from his mouth and along with the tears that pretty quickly flowed from his eyes, the bedsheet was pretty soon soaking.
Uncle George hammered the brush so that every pore of Nick’s flesh was scorching. He covered all of both buttock cheeks and even went into that really sensitive part where the bum meets the back of the thighs. Uncle George was an expert. He knew his job well and he was showing Nick the extent of his great expertise. On and on, he spanked.
Uncle George believed in retribution. You break the rules, you get punished. And, oh did Uncle George believe Nick deserved that spanking. He walloped him as if he had the strength of ten men. Nick quite truthfully had not known what hit him. Uncle George believed in punishment, but he was no sadist. He knew when to stop. And, he was nearly ready. He went round the circuit one more time, landing on areas of raw flesh that were already blistering. Then, satisfied with a job well done, Uncle Gorge stopped.
Uncle George did not say a word. He stood up and for a few moments he stood and watched Nick who was just lying face down and bleating like a new-born lamb who had lost its mother. Uncle George walked to the door and let himself out of the room. He paused one more time before closing it.
“Well,” he thought. “Now, the brat knows that I’m a man of my word.” Then Uncle George went down to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.
Picture credit: Sting Pictures
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
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