Uncle Graham stood feet firmly planted eighteen inches apart, his back erect, the muscles in his forearms rippling. I stood, my eyes popping, as slowly and with great deliberation he unbuckled his thick, wide leather belt. He glowered as he took hold of the buckle and tugged the belt so that it slipped majestically through the loops of his trousers. Within seconds it was free. He allowed it to dangle from his fist so that the far end almost touched the floor.
“Come here,” his voice was fierce. It was an order, not a request. He doubled up the black belt and tapped it into the palm of his left hand. I slouched forward, attempting defiance. “Now!” Uncle Graham barked. I stood for a moment. How I despised myself for allowing him to whip me.
“You know the drill,” Uncle Graham glowered. “Get on with it.”
I did. I knew the drill well. I was eighteen years old and had been here many times before. I fumbled with the buckle of my own belt, but my fingers refused to work, they were numbed by my humiliation. “Do you want me to do it for you?” Uncle Graham sneered.
At last the belt undone, I popped the clasp at the waistband of my trousers and then tugged the zipper tab until the front of my trousers were wide open. I shook my legs and gravity took them slipping down my thighs and they snagged at my knees. Uncle Graham shot me a withering look. He did not try to hide his contempt. I hooked my thumbs inside my boxer shorts and with a flick of the wrists sent them down to meet my trousers.
My bum was bare and my small, thin cock hung limply. I drew in a deep breath. I shuffled like a penguin for a couple of steps until I reached the back of the settee. I counted to five in my head, rubbed my sweaty palms together, closed my eyes and slowly fell forward. My stomach rested on the back of the settee. I opened my eyes again and stared down at the dirty seat cushion. I pushed my arms forward and took a firm grip of its far end.
“Bum higher!” Uncle Graham growled. “Get right over that settee.” I wriggled my hips a little and stood up on my toes. My face was even closer to the cushion and I could smell sour sweat where countless people had sat over many years.
I closed my eyes and waited. I heard Uncle Graham swish the belt through the air. There was an almighty crack that echoed around the small living room when he slashed the belt against the top of the settee. I couldn’t stop a shudder convulsing my body. Then, I felt the cold leather touch my naked flesh. Uncle Graham rested the belt so it covered the centre of both cheeks. He was finding his aim.
A chill draught blew across my naked legs. Blood rushed to my face, it always did when I was bent over in this position. I braced myself for a very intense session with the belt.
The first time I had been strapped it had been agony and I had been miserable for hours afterwards. Now, after so many strappings it was different. I knew I could “take it” without a fuss, but I never overcame the sense of humiliation. Eighteen years old and belted like a little kid. I willed himself not to move. I stayed submissively bent over, holding my backside high so Uncle Graham could lash my buttocks over and over.
I felt him tap the belt across my bottom and then raise it away. He must have taken it over his shoulder and then he brought it whipping down into me. The crack! sounded like gunfire in the tiny room. My body buckled under the lash and I bit into my lower lip; trickles of spit dribbled from my mouth.
The second lash curled itself viciously over my exposed buttocks and unfurled. My backside quivered with the force. My body jolted and I clenched the fingers of both hands together. My throat tightened. After three or four strokes the heavy, wide thick belt had whacked all my buttocks; from the soft undercurve where the globes meet the back of the thighs, over the meaty mounds and across the tops of the globes. Every square inch was toasted. He snapped another six hard stingers across the very centre of my buttocks. One after the other in rapid succession.
The aching in my bum was growing. It had started as a tingle, turned to a throb and then became pounding pain. Not one square inch of my buttocks was untouched by the leather belt. I clung onto the seat cushion valiantly. When you have been under the lash as often as I have you develop a high pain threshold. A less experienced boy would be hollering, howling and begging for mercy. Not me. My buttocks quivered, my hips wriggled and from time to time my knees bent, but that was just my body’s natural reaction. A reflex, if you like, a way for my body to protect itself against the pain.
Uncle Graham was no novice to spanking. He knew his job. Satisfied that he had whipped my buttocks red and raw he then turned his attention to the back of my thighs. If you’ve been spanked yourself you’ll know that it the most sensitive part of the target area. I stamped my feet, then wrapped one foot around the other. My heart raced and my temples throbbed almost as much as my bum. But I didn’t cry out. I refused to give Uncle Graham the satisfaction.
He paused the onslaught for five seconds while he took hold of the belt and adjusted it so the buckle was uppermost. This meant not only did he have the weight of the leather strap to flog me, but a heavy piece of metal with a sharp point that could take my arse off. After a dozen strokes of this small cuts ran across my mounds and the flesh looked like raw hamburger meat in places.
Then, it was over. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.” Uncle Graham finished his spanking with three extra-hard licks. When he told me to get up, I forgot about being too old for a spanking. I hopped around doing the famous spanking dance with my penis flopping, while I tried to rub the sting out of my bare behind that had just been roasted to 350-degrees Fahrenheit.
My bum was hideous; a mass of magenta marks and burgundy bruises. Already some of the bruises were growing dark, almost brown. I could feel the welts from the strap and the heat glowing off my bum could have heated a greenhouse.
Uncle Graham let me get dressed and he sent me off to my room. Only then did I allow the tears of pain and humiliation to flow.
Picture credit: Unknown
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
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