Fred and Jim were in the Three Fishers bored out of their skulls and not talking about much when Jim suddenly piped up: You still keeping your lad in short trousers?
Which one? Fred inquired.
The eldest, Gavin.
Yeah, he’s left school now, nearly nineteen.
So it works then?
Oh yeah. He got through his exams and everything.
I thought you might have given up now.
No. It keeps him out trouble. Off the streets. He’s not going to want to go out at night dressed up like a little schoolboy. His mates would crucify him.
No, I see that.
You should try it with your Kevin. I hear he’s been seen drinking down here.
I know. But …
It’s easy. You can buy the short trousers on the internet. Proper ones, just like the boys wear at school. Even in Kevin’s size. I think it’s because even small kids today are really fat.
Well, I suppose I need to do something about Kevin.
A good hiding wouldn’t come amiss.
But he’s eighteen.
So what. I still spank Gavin.
Yeah, why not? When he deserves it. Which is quite often, actually. D’you know what, I saw they were selling those old fashioned whippy canes on eBay like they used to use in schools back in the day. I’m thinking of getting one for Gavin if he doesn’t buck up his ideas.
I wouldn’t have the nerve.
Well … Start as you mean to go on. I still use the rubber-soled plimsoll. The one Gavin had for PE at school. A big heavy one. Works a treat. Packs a right punch.
What he lets you spank him?
Lets me? He doesn’t have much choice. My house. My rules. He knows that. It always has been, always will. He’s working now. He can leave home if he wants to. But even then, when he comes back to my place he has to behave himself.
Sounds fair enough. So you say you spanked Gavin. What, recently?
Last week. Sunday,
What’d he do?
Usual stuff. That was why I had to take him across my knee. He needed a reminder.
Yeah, like a wake-up call. He needs to come home for his meals. Liz cooks and he doesn’t turn up and it all gets wasted. Then, he never lifts a finger around the house. I told him it was his job to take the Hoover around the carpets every Saturday. Did he do it? Did he hell. Then last Saturday night – well Sunday morning actually – he rolls home drunk as a skunk. Couldn’t get his key in the door. Rings the bell wakes the whole house up. Well, after that what did he expect?
So what? You spanked him.
Too right. I waited until he had sobered up and I sent him off for a shit, shower and shave and I said, Get into those short trousers and then come down to the living room.
And he did?
Course, he did. No question about it.
So he comes down and he’s in the full togs. Neat grey short trousers, grey shirt, tie. The lot. He’s quite a big lad as you know, but when he’s dressed up like this it’s like he’s ten years old. That’s why I make him dress like that – he’ll never dare go out like it. What would people say?
And then what happened?
Well, I told him why he’d been a bad boy. Never doing the Hoovering, not even keeping his own room tidy. The drinking. He went red as a beetroot when I told him Liz had found a stinky wodge of tissue under the bed where he’d been wanking.
Oh my God! If it’d been me I’d have died of shame.
Ha! Ha! Well after I told him that he was putty in my hand. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He would’ve done anything I asked.
So what did you ask?
Same as always. Not asked, exactly. Told. I said, right let’s have them shorts down.
Oh yeah. Those short trousers are pretty thick. They’re made to last ain’t they. Extra thick on the seat. Great for sitting down. Not so good for spanking. So down they have to come.
And he did?
He took them down. Did as he was told?
He had to. He knew full well if he didn’t take them down, then I’d do it for him. And, he bloody well knew if I took his shorts down I’d take his pants down as well and he could get it on the bare bum.
Exactly. He didn’t want that did he?
No, he did not.
So, he does as he is told. Undoes the thing at the waist. Pulls the zipper and the trousers fall down.
I can’t believe this.
What’s not to believe? He’s done wrong. He has to be punished. He knows that. If he doesn’t want to be spanked he just has to do as he’s told. So, now he’s standing their wearing old-fashioned Y-fronts.
What the white ones?
The very same. Like I say, just like a little boy. So I sit on a chair and I tell him bend over my knee.
And he does.
Without a murmur. Let’s be honest, he’s been here before. It’s not the first time. He knows what to expect. And over he goes. And I get to work with the slipper.
What is it six of the best?
Six! Nah, six wallops won’t make much impression. Six is only getting started. You wouldn’t cover all his backside with six. Not both cheeks. Takes a lot more than six.
Oh. How many then?
I’m not sure to be honest. I’ve never counted. I start right in the middle of each bum cheek and then kind of work my way out. The middle, the top, the bottom – as it were – you know under the cheek. That sit-spot. That’s where my dad used to spank me. Hurt like mad every time I sat down for the rest of the day, know what I mean?
No, not really.
What you never spanked? Never spanked Kevin, neither?
Explains a lot. Why your Kevin’s a bit of a tearaway.
Give him a good hiding. Like I do with Gavin. I roasted his backside with that slipper. Bang. Bang. Bang. Hurt like the fires of hell. Even with a big lad like Gavin. His big old bum was bucking up and down and his legs were kicking. Ha! I had to hold him really tight round the waist to stop him running away. He kicked so hard his short trousers went flying across the carpet. I hammered that slipper all over his BTM.
BTM. His bottom. Bum. Posterior. Call it what you like.
Well there’s no need to be crude.
And he’s still struggling. Kicking. Hollering the lot. He brings his hand back to try to stop me. That’s pretty hard to do because I’ve got him right over my knee. You know his face is nearly in the carpet and his bottom is pointing at the ceiling so it’s not easy to get your hand back there. But he keeps doing it and I warn him not to, but it makes no difference.
No it won’t. I suppose it’s hurting him a lot.
Yeah, of course. That’s the whole point ain’t it. A spanking is supposed to hurt, otherwise why bother.
So I warned him but he just kept on trying.
What did you do?
I’m coming to that. I took hold of the waist of his pants. Ha! You should have seen the way his body froze. He knew right away what I was going to go. No, no, please, not that, he yells.
Too late lad.
You took the words right out of my mouth. So I pulls them over his big butt-tocks and drag them down to his knees. Of course, he struggles all the more now.
He would. Who wouldn’t?
And that just encourages me. I grip that plimsol and I put all my effort into it. Whack!-Whack!-Whack! Fantastic! I could see the imprint of the sole glowing bright pink on his bare backside. What a sight! I toasted those butt-tocks good and proper. The spanking of a lifetime it was.
Sounds like it.
I’d still be there now, hammering away, but Liz heard all Gavin’s hollerings and she came in and made me stop. Still I made my point. He won’t want to go over my knee again anytime soon.
I don’t blame him.
Yeah, spanking works. Mark my words.
Okay, I believe you.
Oh look. There’s your Kevin just came in the bar. I thought he was supposed to be revising for his exams.
He is. Bloody hell.
Want a borrow of my plimsoll?
Picture credit: Sting Pictures
Other stories you might like
More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
Also writing school stories as Scholastic here
Charles Hamilton the Second