I cannot believe you. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to tell you. What is the matter with you? You are a disgrace. Your aunt is in floods of tears. I cannot believe what you have said to her.
You need to learn some manners lad. You’re not a schoolboy any more. You’re at university for God’s sake. You’ve been such a disappointment since you moved in here. What would your mum and dad say, eh? You used to be such a sweet little boy. Look at you now. Rude. Arrogant. Insolent. Disrespectful. Bad-mannered. I just don’t get it. What’s got into you Justin?
Look at me when I’m talking to you. Don’t look down at the floor. Aren’t you the least bit ashamed? You treat our house like it’s a hotel. We know you haven’t got much money; we don’t charge much rent. Only enough to cover your keep. We are doing you a favour. And your mum and dad. If your weren’t family we would’ve chucked you out long ago.
Now, you come home drunk. At least I hope it was drunk. Was it drugs? Are you taking drugs? Is that why you’ve gone off the rails. Are you high all the time? Are you an addict? Do you need help? No, I don’t think you’re an addict, but you do need help. You can’t go on like this. You’ve got a lot of growing up to do, young man.
You’re not evil Justin. You seem to be working hard. Your grades aren’t bad. So far anyway. Are you still going to classes? You’d better be. I don’t want to find out too late that you’ve been skiving off uni. When you fail your exams at the ned of the semester.
What have you got to say for yourself?
Don’t pout at me. You must have some explanation. Why did you call Aunt Rose such a vile name? I still cannot believe you were so rude. What is the matter with you lad? What. No answer. I despair. I really do. You have got to change. I’ve told you often enough. I told you not to take food into the good lounge. What did you do? The room stinks of hamburgers. And what’s that stain on the carpet on the stairs? Looks like beer to me. I didn’t do it. Aunt Rose didn’t do it. It was you. Don’t shake your head at me lad. Don’t deny it.
You haven’t left me a lot of choice. You only have yourself to blame. I have told you over and over. You just take no notice. I despair, I really do. You know what Justin I’ve spoken to your dad and he agrees with me. He’s two hundred miles away or else he’d do it himself. But he’s told me to go ahead and do it myself. What do you think of that?
Don’t argue with me Justin. You know what I’m talking about. A good hiding. You’ve been asking for it for weeks. Now you’re going to get it. I don’t want any fuss from you. I don’t want to spank you. Look at you, you’re eighteen, nearly nineteen years old. You should be too old for this. But you’re not. You leave me no choice. I hope to God I can knock some sense into you.
Uncle Buster takes a deep breath. He’s little harangue is over. Now is the time for action. Justin watches, a little stunned, as his uncle crosses the lounge over to the stand where the television is. On the lower shelf are his bedroom slippers. He reaches down and grabs one. He grips it in his right fist and turns to face his nephew. He is very calm. He has no anger against the boy. Justin needs a damn good spanking. That is what he is going to get. Uncle Buster hopes it will do the trick. He wants Justin to grow up into a decent, responsible adult. He used to be a good kid – didn’t he get really good marks in his school exams – but somehow he’s lost his way. He needs guiding back onto the straight-and-narrow. A sore bum will show him the way.
“Come over here Justin,” Uncle Buster walks over to the dining table. He picks up one of the chairs and turns it round so it faces into the room. “Hurry up lad,” he sighs. He really doesn’t want a fuss. He wants Justin to take his punishment; he doesn’t need some unseemly row. Heaven forbid his nephew should fight him.
Justin stays motionless. He seems to be weighing things up. Having a discussion with himself in his head. Foremost, he is embarrassed. His uncle wants to spank him. Eighteen years old and to be spanked by his uncle. He cannot be serious. It is true, Justin knows he is all the things Uncle Buster says he is. But Justin likes his aunt and uncle. It’s just … It’s just …. Justin cannot explain it, not even to himself. He has no idea why he behaves the way he does.
Uncle Buster brandishes his slipper. “Come here lad,” he says more sternly. He sits down on the chair. It is obvious what his intentions are. He waves the rubber-soled slipper again. “Quickly,” his voice cracks. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
Justin frowns. Does he have a choice? If so, what is it? This is uncle’s house. It is a fine, comfortable house. His aunt and uncle are kind to him. Justin has repaid their generosity by making their lives a misery. A little shamefaced, he sucks down on his bottom lip. If he refuses, he will certainly be told to pack his bags and go. Then what? His dad will hit the roof, so Justin will have Dad and Uncle Buster to contend with. Justin knows he cannot defeat the both of them.
Justin is not a religious boy (who of his age is these days?) but he does feel shame. He has let Aunt Rose and Uncle Buster down. He has let Mum and Dad down. Heck, he begins to see, he has let himself down. He is better than this.
Uncle Buster is getting irritated. “Stand there,” he snaps his fingers to a place on the carpet close to his right leg. The snapping seems to wake up Justin. He sucks his lip again. He is a little surprised to find his legs are taking him across the room. He stands by his uncle. Justin stares at the man sitting on the chair. He is a large man, mostly because of the roll of fat that hangs over the waistband of his trousers. He has two chins and what are sometimes referred to as “man boobs”.
Uncle Buster holds the slipper by the heel and scrunches it in his right fist. “Bend over my knee, son,” he says apologetically. He doesn’t want to do this, but that won’t stop him. It is for Justin’s sake. He deserves to have his backside soundly spanked. He needs correction. He has to learn how to behave. It will be for his own good. He won’t think that today, but sometime in the future he’ll understand. He might even thank Uncle Buster for caring enough to take him across his knee.
Justin draws down a lung-full of air. His head feels light. Is he really here? In the lounge room. Standing by his Uncle Buster. About to bend across his knee. To let him spank him on the bottom with his slipper. Justin cannot believe it. It’s like it’s happening to some other disrespectful teenager, not Justin.
Uncle Buster parts his legs. His fatty thighs make a sizeable platform for his nephew. Justin doesn’t know what to do. Where are his hands supposed to go? Is he meant to lean on Uncle Buster’s thighs and slowly lower himself down? He decides to flop forward, a bit like the way he does when he dives into a swimming pool. His body sinks into uncle’s thighs. Justin reaches his arms forward and lets his legs dangle in mid-air. He is surprised how comfortable he feels. Uncle Buster has a lot of padding.
Justin is dressed only in underpants. When he is standing they cling to the contours of his buttocks. Now, stretched across uncle’s knees, they are even tighter. The smooth cotton digs into his crack. It’s like someone is giving him a wedgy. It makes him wriggle.
“Keep still Justin,” his uncle’s voice is soft. He shows no anger. “Now, please don’t make a fuss,” he whispers. Then he takes a firm hold of the waistband of Justin’s pants and starts to tug them down. They are tight and the boy is lying firmly across his lap and it is not easy for Uncle Buster to get them over the buttocks. “No, Uncle, no,” Justin pleads as the reality of his situation becomes clear.
“Underpants are of little use at a time like this,” Uncle Buster says stoically. “It’s not a proper spanking unless it’s on the bare.” After much tugging he has the pants at Justin’s knees. He hopes they might prevent his nephew from kicking his legs about too much.
“Remember Justin,” Uncle Buster says as he gently taps the slipper against the fleshiest part of the teenager’s left cheek, “You have been asking for this for a very long time. You only have yourself to blame.” Then he whacks the slipper down hard. The cheek wobbles. A pink mark slowly appears. Justin opens his mouth, forming a perfect “O” with his lips. His eyes blink. A second slap hits him on the other cheek. The pain is mounting.
Uncle Buster sets about slippering Justin’s bottom. He pounds the slipper across the quivering bum cheeks with great force. These are not “love taps”, this is a proper spanking. It has to be a genuine punishment, otherwise Justin will not learn. It has to hurt. Justin must fear a repeat performance if he does not improve his behaviour.
Very soon the imprint of the slipper’s sole is embossed all across Justin’s bum. He wriggles and he kicks his legs (the pants do act as a restraint). He waves his arms about. He looks like he’s trying to swim off Uncle Buster’s lap. He can’t help it. He has no control, it is his body’s natural reaction, trying to protect itself against the heavy onslaught. The bottom glows red. The boy tries to protect his bum with his hand. He can’t do it. He can’t reach back that far. He is over uncle’s knee at an acute angle; his head is low and his bottom is high. Uncle grips him tightly around the waist. Justin can’t do a thing. He is trapped; he’s not going anywhere. Not until Uncle Buster thinks he has been spanked enough. Then – and only then – will he be released.
Not one square centimetre of Justin’s buttocks are spared. They go dark pink and then red. Purple bruises burst out where the edge of the slipper catches his bottom awkwardly. Justin shuts his eyes tightly. His bum throbs. Each new whack of the slipper makes the temperature of his bum go higher.
“Are you learning your lesson?” Uncle Buster asks softly. Justin concentrates on dealing with the growing pain and does not hear the question. Uncle smiles affectionately. His nephew’s grunt and groans tell him the answer is Yes. Justin’s temples throb almost as much as his backside. His head feels like it has expanded to twice its natural size. His heart races and he can’t quite catch his breath. Tears trickle from the corner of his eyes.
Uncle is nearly finished. Just one more task left. He slaps the slipper six times across the back of Justin’s naked left thigh. That has the lad yapping like a little whipped puppy. The six he pounds into the other thigh turns the yaps to full-throated yells.
That’s enough, Uncle Buster says to himself. He is soaked with sweat. It is not easy for a man of his size to expend so much energy. If he isn’t careful he might have a seizure. He stops slippering, but continues to hold Justin face down across his lap. The boy’s breathing is uneven and heavy. Is this how a beached dolphin sounds? Uncle Buster admires his handiwork. Both buttocks shine. If he turned off the light they would glow in the dark. It is a sound spanking. Just as it should be. He feels no hatred or anger for the disobedient boy. Justin has taken his punishment. He hardly struggled. Uncle Buster is very proud of him. We hopes it will be the only time he needs to punish the boy.
“Get up,” he says quietly. Justin rolls off his uncle’s lap and plops onto the floor. Instinctively, he reaches to his burning bottom and rubs vigorously. Still on the ground he tugs his underpants up to their rightful place. Uncle Buster stands, walks to the sideboard and digs into a box of Kleenex. He hands Justin a fistful of tissues and quietly the teenager wipes the residue of tears from his face.
“Will I have to do that again?” Uncle Buster asks gently. Justin has regained full control. “No uncle. Sorry uncle,” his voice catches. He means it. The pain in his backside is easing, but it stings like a thousands wasps have been at it.
“Go to your room and make sure you apologise to Aunt Rose later,” Uncle Buster is replacing the chair.
“Yes uncle,” Justin walks unsteadily back to his bedroom where in the mirror he examines his battered bottom in minute detail. He shakes his head in disbelief. Did this really happen? In this day and age? To a disrespectful eighteen-year old? He rubs his eyes as if that might wake him from his dream. It doesn’t work. Gingerly, he lays down on his bed and with the tips of his fingers he gently massages his bottom.
Picture credit: Unknown
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
Also writing school stories as Scholastic here
Charles Hamilton the Second