Illicit drinking buddies

“So what do we do with the two of them?”

“Well, my one’s getting a hard spanking that’s for sure?”

“Spanking? But they’re both eighteen. They’re too old for spanking, surely?”

“The Church says they are not adults until they are twenty-one. And, as long as Jacob lives in my house, he abides by Church rules.” Noah Lund, stretched back on his hard wooden chair, put his hands behind his head, and continued. “They bought and drank beer and that’s illegal in this county. We told them before we came on this trip they weren’t to have beer. And they did. So that’s defiance. That on its own is worth a whipping.”

Alan Brady peered across the austere room at his neighbour. He had never spanked his son in his life. He was bratty teen and way out of control that was for sure. He treated his home like a motel and was disrespectful to his mother. It was probably too late to start spanking him now.

Next door Randy and Jacob paced the bare floorboards. “What do you think they’re saying?” Randy asked nonchalantly.

“I’m getting a spanking for sure,” Jacob whispered.

“Spanking?” Randy was incredulous.

“At least he hasn’t brought his paddle with him,” Jacob said and stopped suddenly. A thought had struck him. “At least I hope he hasn’t.”

The two eighteen year olds lapsed into silence. It was a broiling hot day outside and even hotter in the cramped cabin. Both boys wore tight soccer shorts, they were so small they just covered their underwear. Jacob had noticed the top of Randy’s pale blue Calvin’s peaked over the waistband of the shorts. They were so tight at the front he could see the outline of his friend’s dick. It was obvious that he had been circumcised. His own shorts were just as tight. A boy didn’t want to get a boner wearing these; there would be no way to disguise that.

Neither boy wore a shirt. Perspiration ran down their chests; the room was that humid. Although they wore sports shorts, neither was particularly “sporty” but they spent a lot of time in the open air and their torsos were lean and tanned.

The beer had been Randy’s idea. There was an outlet near the cabins and the sales clerk wasn’t interested in their ages; only in taking their money. They had popped a couple of cans in the woods nearby. Just their luck that Jacob’s dad had decided to take a stroll.

Jacob hadn’t even liked the beer. He was strictly a soda kind of guy. And, now here they were waiting to see what their mad dads would do next.

In the room next door Noah Lund and Alan Brady were nearing an agreement. “We have to treat them in the same way,” Mr. Lund insisted. “They both should get a hard spanking.”

Mr. Brady was doubtful. Yes; his young brat certainly deserved to have his butt roasted, but was he going to offer it up for a spanking? Mr. Brady doubted it very much.

The Lunds and the Bradys were not close friends, but they were neighbours. Mr. Brady had moved his family into town when he won a promotion with his work. The Lunds lived across the street. They were staunch church-goers and the Bradys were not. It was a little-known evangelical sect; so obscure that Mr. Brady couldn’t remember its name. The families didn’t have much in common, but Jacob and Randy had somehow hit it off and before anyone knew it, they had booked a trip to the cabin together.

“I didn’t bring my paddle with me,” Mr. Lund lamented. He had decided for the pair of them: both teens were to be spanked. “We’ll have to use our belts.” He stood and unbuckled his leather belt and in one swift movement, pulled it through the loops until it was clear of his pants. “You should use yours too,” he commanded his neighbour.

Reluctantly, Mr. Brady rose from his own hard chair and removed his belt.

“We should call them in,” Mr. Lund had taken full control. Seconds later, the two teens stood uncomfortably before their dads. Randy could see the furniture in the room had been rearranged. The two hard wooden straight-backed chairs now stood in the center of the room, facing each other a couple yards apart.

“We’ve already been through why you have sinned.” Mr. Lund began. Mr. Brady winced. “Sinned,” that wasn’t the word he had used.

“So now you must be punished. I shall spank you Jacob,” Mr. Lund peered at his own son. Jacob stood impassively. It was what he had expected. This wouldn’t be the teen’s first spanking, and the eighteen-year-old supposed, it wouldn’t be his last. His life was like that.

Mr. Lund turned his attention to Randy. “And your father will spank you Randy.” The boy blanched and looked desperately at his dad, “Daaad!!” he wailed. His father cleared his throat. It helped hide his embarrassment. “You must both be punished in the same way,” he said with little confidence.

Both dads sat in their chairs. “Come on Jacob, you know the deal.” Indeed, he did. To the astonishment of both Alan and Randy Brady, Jacob took two steps forward and in one continuous movement, he leaned forward, put his hands on his dad’s leg and lowered himself over. He reached his hands in front of him and planted his palms firmly on the dusty floorboards. His knees bent slightly behind him and his toes were an inch or so across the ground. His tight green cotton soccer shorts rested over his dad’s knee. He was perfectly positioned to receive the leather belt across his tight butt. Nobody could see, but his dick, encased in the snug cotton shorts, dug into his dad’s leg.

Mr. Brady looked across at the Lunds. The son was submissive. He was ready to allow his father to punish his ass. He had grave doubts that Randy would follow suit. “You too Randy,” he croaked. “Get over my knee.”

Randy stood for a second; his eyes still glued on his friend across his own dad’s knee. The boy’s backside looked vulnerable. His underwear was easily visible through the tight green cotton; the waistband poked above the shorts.

When he thought about it later, Randy had no idea what compelled him to do it. He should have told his dad to check out and stormed from the cabin. Instead, as meekly as his friend had done, he lowered himself across his dad’s knee. His dad was right-handed and Mr. Lund, left-handed. They sat opposite each other, so it meant the two teens were head to head. Randy stared into his friend’s watery-grey eyes. Jacob seemed to be a long way away. He felt his own face flush.

Mr. Brady looked down at his son; he had never seen the boy from this angle before. He had never had such a close-up view of the teen’s butt. He was surprised how solid it appeared. He had buns of steel. They twitched slightly, presumably in anticipation of the hurt to come. Suddenly, Mr. Brady realized he had no idea how to spank a guy. Where should he aim? How hard should he hit? He peered across at his neighbour for guidance. He saw Mr. Lund take his belt, fold it twice so it has about twelve inches long. Then he raised it high and with as much force as he could muster he smacked it down into his son’s seat. The boy remained motionless.

Taking that as his cue, Mr. Brady smacked his belt into Randy’s left cheek. To his astonishment his son was as stoical as Jacob. He smacked it down again. Soon the two dads were spanking in synchrony; the belt landing on the two butts at exactly the same time. It was poetry in motion.

After about three dozen whacks, Mr. Lund stopped abruptly. “Doh! This is no good. These belts are useless. Stand up. Both of you.” He let go his grip on his son and the boy climbed off his dad’s lap. Mr. Brady did the same.

“Go face the wall. Right up close. Noses touching. Hands on head,” Mr. Lund spoke forcibly. He was used to being obeyed. The two teens shuffled into place. “Right stay there. Don’t move until we come back.” He led Mr. Brady out of the cabin.

When he was sure his dad was out of earshot, Randy took his hands off his head and turned to his friend. “That didn’t hurt,” he grinned.

“No but I bet our butts are red,” Jacob replied and put his thumbs in the waist of his shorts and pushed them and his underwear down. Randy admired his friend’s buttocks. They were covered in red stripes; the belt had connected well enough but it was too light to inflict pain.

“Show me yours. Quickly before they come back.”

Randy’s ass wasn’t so red. His dad hadn’t whacked him so hard, but there were a dozen or so stripes across his mounds. Suddenly, they heard footsteps. “Quick pull them up, they’re coming back.”

The door opened. “I thought I told you not to move,” Mr. Lund barked. He stared at his son. The boy’s underpants stuck out over the top of his soccer shorts – it was clear what he had been doing.

“Don’t worry we’ll all be seeing your buttocks, now,” Mr. Lund held two freshly-cut switches in his hand. He put them on the table while he rearranged the chairs. “Now, turn around. Stand by a chair.”

Randy’s eyes pleaded with his dad, but Mr. Brady quickly averted his eyes. This was no time for conversation. Mr. Lund selected the thickest of the switches and tested it in his hands. It was about two feet long and very supple. Unlike his belt, it was up to the job. He swiped it through the air; it made a terrific swooshing noise as it flew.

“Right boys. Shorts and underwear down. Place your hands on the chair. Stick your butts out.”

Randy looked across at Jacob. His friend immediately obeyed. His green soccer shorts and tighty-whitey briefs were in a puddle at his feet. The teen placed one hand on each side of the worn wooden chair seat. He moved his feet a little so that his back was arched. His bottom jutted out. In this position the flesh in his buttocks tensed.

Randy had no choice. If he didn’t do the same thing he would forever look like a coward in front of his friend. In front of his dad too probably. His hands shook as he gripped the elastic waist of his shorts. He didn’t have Jacob’s style, but eventually he was in place, looking down at the chair seat. If he moved his eyes slightly he had a perfect view of his own dick and sack. He had never seen it from this angle before. He had handled it plenty of times in the past, of course, but he usually saw it head-on.

With both teens in place, their dads got to work. Jacob scrunched up his face to absorb the pain when the first slash cut him across both cheeks. He puffed out his cheeks and let air slowly escape through his pursed lips.

Randy howled as his first cut hit the target. He jumped both feet off the ground and lifted the chair several inches.

Jacob stayed calm waiting the next stroke. Randy wriggled and writhed, still clutching the seat of the chair. “Steady now,” his father ordered. “It’s better if you keep still.” He sounded like a veteran, although this was the first time he had ever held a switch.

Mr. Lund sliced ten perfectly placed strokes into Jacob’s naked haunches. They covered the whole area from the top of the globes, across the meatiest part of the mounds and into the under-curves. He stopped short of slicing one or two strokes into his son’s naked thighs. He knew the pain would be intolerable, even for Jacob, who was no novice at this. Mr. Lund intended to deliver a just punishment, not a torture. By the time he had finished, dark red stripes covered the buttocks, some veins were weeping blood. It all looked like raw hamburger meat.

Jacob wheezed; slowly he regained control of his breathing. The agony was intense. His face was as white as a ghost; sweat poured from his body; but he had lived. Even now only seconds after the flogging had ceased, the agony was easing to an intense throbbing. The eighteen-year-old knew from experience that soon it would become a dull ache and then a warm glow.

Randy had not been so stoical. His virgin ass quivered and shook as each successive stroke cut into him. He marched his feet up and down; bent his legs; twisted his body; arched his back; and most dramatically of all, he howled and howled. Tears flooded his face; snot dribbled from his chin. His blood rushed north, south, east and west through his body. He thought he was going to have a heart attack.

All the while he gripped the chair tightly. His knuckles were as white as Jacob’s face. His own face was as scarlet as his hind quarters.

Ten strokes with a switch on the bare ass. It was a proper punishment. It was just and deserved. It was appropriate to the crime. Mr. Lund told Mr. Bradly all of these things later, when his neighbour was having grave doubts. “If they drink beer again, they will know for sure the consequences,” he said a little haughtily.

The switching over, the teens replaced their underwear and soccer shorts and skedaddled from the cabin. Moments later they were in the woods.

“Woooow!” Randy whopped. He had never felt so light-headed. “That was amazing.” His ass throbbed, but in a way the teen couldn’t explain it was a “good” pain. He had smoked weed in the past, but it never gave him such a high.

Jabob pulled his shorts and briefs down. They bundled at his feet. Then he took his dick in his hand and rubbed. “It feels really good if you do this.” Randy stared. He had never seen such a large cock before. His own penis swelled. His soccer shorts were so snug it poked over the top. He pushed them to his feet. Now, two naked teens had their dicks in their hands.

“It’s better if someone else rubs it,” Randy said, recalling in his mind a recent encounter with a girl at school called Mary-Ellen. He reached over for Jacob’s dick and the boy instinctively thrust his hips forward. Jacob’s hot throbbing member felt like a steel rod in Randy’s hand.

Jacob also gripped Randy’s boner. Speedily and a little too roughly he rubbed his fist up and down the five-inch shaft. The dick shuddered and he felt sperm dribbling out of the cock-head and then flowing like a river down his hand.

Fifty yards away Mr. Lund was on another of his treks in the woods. His own cock throbbed. If he didn’t deal with it soon he knew he would fill his pants.

This story was first uploaded in December  2016

Picture credit: Unknown

Other stories you might like

Yellow Pages spanking

Theft of petty cash

The rooming house

More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website

Also writing school stories as Scholastic here

Charles Hamilton the Second

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