I first developed my taste for spanking when I was eighteen and very keen on hill climbing. During the summer holiday between school and university I would go out every day on the Downs just outside Brocklehurst where I lived. As luck would have it is was on one of these outings that I met Wilberforce Crick, another fresh air enthusiast. I soon learned that he was lodging with his uncle, a vicar in the nearby village of Aston Budleigh.
Wilberforce was a year older than me and was strikingly handsome. His high cheekbones, and wavy fair hair gave him a dreamlike quality. His racy smile and quick wit captivated me. But what occupied my thoughts most was Wilberforce’s round, firm bottom. I already knew of my tendency in this direction as I had developed a passion for a boy while a schoolboy at St. Tom’s. We would sneak away to the cricket pavilion during summer nights and explore each other.
As we rambled through the hills and over the nearby cliffs I would encourage Wilberforce to walk ahead of me, thus allowing me to admire his two cheeks, like two firm peaches inside his loose baggy shorts.
After that initial meeting we would walk out together every day. We were lucky with the weather and I don’t remember a single occasion when rain stopped our play. We would halt in a little woodland glen to eat our picnic. One day I noticed as we walked together that Wilberforce seemed uncomfortable and was not his usual joyful self. When we stopped to eat to my utter astonishment he began to cry bitterly. Tentatively, I put my hand around his shoulder to comfort him. I feared he might push me away, calling me all the nasty names under the sun: fruit, pansy and so on. To my delight he put his arm around my shoulder and we embraced. Then he told me his problem.
“Uncle whipped me yesterday,” he croaked between tears. I was stunned. Had I heard correctly? The vicar had whipped him. Whipped? What did that mean? Literally, a whip. Like you might take to a horse?
I could feel my cock tighten inside my underpants. “What did he whip you with?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t sense the excitement that was rising in my body.
“Oh, a rotten old cane he has.”
“On your hand?” I croaked, hardly daring to breathe.
“Oh no. On my…” he hesitated, drawing on his innermost thoughts. “On my bottom; it’s always on my bottom.”
All the saliva drained from my mouth. I coughed gently, I could feel my face flushing “Tell me about it.” I pulled Wilberforce closer to me. I could smell his hair oil. His bright blue eyes shone as he told me what happened.
“He got terribly cross when I told him a lie. Of course, I denied it and that made it worse. He’s very strict. Everyone in the village knows that. He sent me into the room that he calls his study. He keeps a couple of canes in there, hanging from hooks on the wall. They’re just like the ones from school, with the curved handles.”
I nodded thinking he might need encouragement to continue with the story, but Wilberforce seemed only too willing to tell me everything. “I said I was too old to caned. He just snorted and told me to get a move on. I had no choice. I know if I complained to my father, he would only say Uncle is a man of the cloth and should be obeyed at all times.”
Wilberforce was leaning against my body and I moved slightly so he wouldn’t rub against my stiff cock. He continued, “So I went into the study. Not many people are allowed in there. It’s where he works, and where …” his voice broke a little, but he composed himself, “where he punishes you,” he completed the sentence haltingly.
“He has his rituals. I have to go and stand in the corner and think about how naughty I am. He left me like that for about ten minutes. Just waiting, wondering how much it would hurt this time. Thinking; would it be trousers up or trousers down. Or even,” he whispered the next bit as if in that wilderness there was anyone there but me to hear him, “on the bared bottom.”
He was silent for a moment. My heart was pounding. I had dreamt about Wilberforce and his wonderful buttocks. He had a bottom crying out to be spanked.
Wilberforce continued his story, “At last I heard the door to the study open and he came into the room. He didn’t say a word. I was still facing the wall, but I could hear floorboards creak as he crossed over to where the canes hung on the wall. The rattan cane rattled when he took it down. My blood ran cold when he swished it through the air. It made a terrific whoosh! as it flew.
‘“Well, my boy,’ uncle said, ‘perhaps this will teach you to tell the truth’, he swiped the cane again and then said, ‘Stand by the chair.’ I knew he meant the large armchair that’s in the middle of the room, so I turned from the wall and faced him. I tell you the look on his face frightened the life out of me. I could tell this would be no ordinary caning. He was possessed by the wrath of God.”
I licked my lips, I couldn’t help myself. The tension was rising in me. Wilberforce continued, “Uncle said, ‘Take down your trousers. Pants too. Bend over that chair. Try to take your whipping as befits a great big boy like you.’ I begged and pleaded with him to let me off, but that only made him more angry.
“So, there I was with my trousers at my ankles, and pants at the knees. I lay across the back of the armchair and gripped the soft cushion for all I was worth. Uncle took hold of the end of my shirt and pulled it right up over my back. I was naked from my shoulders to the knees. Then, I could feel him tap the cane right across the centre of my bottom. ‘Are you not ashamed of yourself, a great big boy like you, with your backside bare, just like a naughty little child? We shall see what a good dose of the cane can do to teach you that liars of any age deserve to be punished.’”
Wilberforce was speaking in a rush, Was he as excited as me? “All the time,” Wilberforce went on, “uncle was tapping the cane against my bottom. Suddenly, I felt the cane lift, there was a hiss, and I felt this incredible pain across my bottom. I shrieked and tried to kick, but he pressed his hand into my back to hold me down. Before I knew it, the cane swept down again and again. I can’t describe the feeling. He gave me eighteen strokes and I had to stay there and submit to it with my bared bottom raised high. There was nothing else I could do.”
I listened in astonishment to his story. I still had my arm about him and tried to comfort him, but in truth I was excited at the thought of this beautiful boy having to take down his trousers and pants to have his scrumptious bare bottom properly caned.
“My poor Wilberforce,” I said, “How could your uncle be so cruel?” Then, the most extraordinary thing happened. It was almost like one of my dreams. Gently, Wilberforce broke away from me. I sat open mouthed as he stood up and loosened the belt on his cotton shorts. Soon the front gaped open and they sailed to his feet. I gaped at his tight white Y-front underpants and the obvious bulge that they concealed. He turned his back to me, dug his thumbs into the waistband of the pants and wriggled his bottom, while at the same time pushing them down until they were resting on top of his shorts.
What I saw remains clear to me today and, if I did but know it at the time, determined the pattern of the rest of my life. The skin of his bottom was perfectly smooth, but crossing the pert, firm buttocks were red gashes, their edges sharply raised. It looked like a map of a railway junction. Offering false words of sympathy, I kissed each etched line gently. Wilberforce whimpered yelps, which at first I supposed to be cries of pain, but I soon realised were groans of pleasure. Soon we were fondling forbidden parts. That was first time we made love. Each day after that we hurried to our secret hiding place, for me to caress and adore the scarred cheeks. But as the marks faded so did my passion for Wilberforce. I missed the rosy glow in his cheeks. I hatched a plan to bring it back.
So, I pretended to find fault with him. He turned up late one morning and I scolded him. Another time he forgot his sandwiches and I accused him of being lazy. He became surly and rude. “You know,” I told Wilberforce, “I think your uncle is right. Maybe you do need a spanking now and again to keep you in line.” I held my breath tightly. What would I do if he became angry and maybe stormed off, never to return?
His bright, open face beamed. “You can try,” he giggled. I jumped on his back and we tumbled to the ground. Soon, we were rolling around on the grass. I sat up and pulled him across my knees. He didn’t resist. I slapped my hand into the seat of his shorts. They were made of thick cotton and he didn’t feel a thing. He lay passively while I walloped away at his hard bum.
“Oh! This is useless,” I laughed waving my hand around to show that my palm hurt much more than his bottom. “Stand up.” I released my grip on his waist and pushed him off my knees. He stood and hopped up and down, while rubbing the seat of his shorts, pretending that my spanking had hurt.
“You can stop that, right now,” I smiled. “I know it didn’t hurt one little bit. Now take down those shorts and get back over my knee.” I had never seen Wilberforce move so quickly. A thick leather belt held the shorts up but he swiftly had it unbuckled and then his shorts were at his ankles. He almost dove across my knees in his eagerness.
My heartrate was off the scale. Had I been an older person, I might have suffered a stroke. His muscular body was stretched submissively and his gorgeous bottom rested at an angle against my knee. I pressed him against my raging cock. I took hold of the tail of his shirt and quickly pushed it up his back and away from his buttocks. Then, roughly I gripped the waistband of his underpants and ripped them over his bum. They snagged and Wilberforce raised his body so I could more easily take them down the back of his legs to his knees.
I was enthralled by the smooth but hard rounded cheeks. They were hairless except for a wisp in the deep cleft. I wrapped my left arm around his slim waist and started to smack his gorgeous posterior lightly with my hand. He sighed a little at each slap, but then began to move his bottom in a circular motion, as if to encourage me in my endeavour. I gaped open-mouthed as his creamy-white cheeks turned at first to a charming pink and then deeper red. I was astonished to see the outline of my fingers embossed on his firm bottom. Each time my hand landed, it sank into Wilberforce’s springy flesh.
Wilberforce’s circular movements progressed to a vigorous back and forwards motion in time with the slaps. He seemed to be humping my rigid, throbbing cock while at the same time uttering breathless groans. He clenched his bottom cheeks together tightly and this encouraged me to step up the pace and ferocity of my spanking. Now, it was clear to me that his cock was as stiff as mine. I took that as my cue to stop slapping his beautiful, upturned rear end. I released my grip on his waist. He rolled on his back and gaped at me, still breathless, “I’m glad I was a naughty little boy.” Then he pulled me forward so I fell on top of him. We made love.
Summer was drawing to a close, but each day we returned to the Downs and repeated the delightful spanking episode. Wilberforce would tell me of some (often imagined) fault he had committed the previous evening so I would have an excuse to take him across my knee and bare his lovely bottom.
At the end of the summer we went our separate ways. Wilberforce, back to his home somewhere in the North and me to university. I never saw him again.
Picture credit: Boys’ Own Paper
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
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