Mr Gibson was at home having another row with his eighteen-year-old son, Richard. “Your mock exam results are terrible; at this rate you’re going to fail your A-levels. You don’t work hard enough, you spend too much time at that youth club, and probably in the pub. You’re grounded for the Easter holidays. You stay at home and you study hard and you catch up on all the homework you failed to do.”
“No Dad,” Richard was belligerent. “You can’t do that. I’m in the football team. There are matches. Practices to do.”
“I don’t care,” Mr Gibson retorted, “Your exams are more important. It’s your future.”
“But Dad, we’ve a chance of winning the league and we’re still in the cup.”
“You should have thought about that before. You could have been in the team and studied as well.”
“All right Dad, I will work hard from now on, if you let me go to the football.”
“No, you are grounded.”
“Ah Dad, that’s not fair,” Richard bleated like a spoilt ten-year-old.
“Ha! Think yourself lucky. I know what my dad would have done in this situation.”
“What would he do?”
“Given me a damn good hiding, yes even at your age.”
Richard replied without thinking. “Well do that then?”
His father was puzzled, “Do what?”
“A hiding, give me a hiding.”
“A spanking, don’t be daft. Kids don’t get spanked these days.”
“Why not. Spank me. Don’t ground me. Let me go to the football. I’ll study, I promise.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Mr Gibson wondered what had possessed him to mention his dad. “Go to your room. Do some studying.”
“Oh Dad,” Richard moaned as he made his way from the room.
Later, Mr Gibson told his wife what had happened. “He wants me to spank him,” he finished with incredulity.
“Well,” his wife who was trying to get the dinner going and keep an eye on the washing machine, “I don’t want him under my feet during the school holidays. And he’ll be in a foul mood.”
“So, you think I should spank him?” Mr Gibson was startled, he’d never discussed Richard’s ill-discipline with his wife before, he had never thought she agree he needed a damn good hiding.
“Would it do any harm?” she replied, poking the boiling potatoes with a knife.
More to the point, Mr Gibson thought, would it do any good. “So, I should spank him, do you say?”
His wife was flustered, “Do whatever you think’s best, now give me some space in my own kitchen.”
Mr Gibson retreated to the living room. Give Richard a spanking, if he was honest with himself, he did believe it was something he should have done a long time ago. He loved the boy, of course he did, but his son could be a brat sometimes. He treated the house like a hotel, he mooched around in bed until midday at weekends and Mr Gibson was sure the lad had come home drunk at least once. Was he doing drugs? Weren’t all teenagers these days.
So, it was to be a spanking was it? Mr Gibson had not lied when he said his own father used to spank him. In fact, now he thought about it his dad had given him a good hiding when he failed his school exams. Like Richard he was eighteen at the time. It wasn’t the first time he’d been across dad’s knee but it was the last so doesn’t that prove that it did some good? It made him buck up his ideas a little. He knuckled down and by the summer he passed all the exams quite comfortably. Yes, Mr Gibson had convinced himself. It would be a spanking for Richard.
He thought he’d better not tell his son of his decision before supper; he didn’t want embarrassed silences during the meal as this would upset his wife. When the dishes had been cleared away Mr Gibson took Richard to one side and said quietly, “I’ve decided to let you have your way.” Richard was puzzled and asked for clarification, “You mean no grounding?” he asked cheerfully. “I mean I’m going to spank you,” Dad replied wiping the grin off his son’s face. “Now, go upstairs and wait in the spare bedroom, I’ll be up in a moment.”
Richard trudged up the stairs. A spanking. Well, he had asked for it (quite literally) he supposed. It couldn’t be too bad, could it. What had dad meant by “a good hiding”, was that a special kind of spanking; something really harsh, perhaps. No, Richard tried to convince himself, a spanking, that couldn’t be so bad. Could it?
The spare bedroom was sparse of furniture so Richard sat on the edge of the bed. The room hadn’t been used for ages and there was a dusty, musty smell about the place. Time dragged; dad had said he’d be up in a minute, what was keeping him? Richard who had a lively imagination wondered if this was part of the plan, make him wait so that he would contemplate the horrors of what was to come. No, Richard assured himself, he could take a spanking. If Dad could when he was eighteen, then so could he, Richard. He glanced at his watch.
It was a couple of minutes later that the door pushed open and Mr Gibson stood on the threshold. Richard’s eyes widened at the sight. Dad was holding a wooden clothes brush. Richard recognized it immediately as it usually resided in a drawer in the sideboard in the living room. Dad must have noticed his astonished stare. “Well, what did you expect?” he said evenly. Richard realized he had no answer to that question so remained silent. “Stand up,” Dad’s temper was still even and when Richard roused himself from the bed his dad sat down, perched on the corner of the mattress. He looked at the brush in his hand and then thoughtfully tapped the wooden head into the palm of his hand. “Now, take down your trousers.”
Now, Richard did respond. It was a gasp of astonishment followed by an anguished, “No, Dad ….”
“Yes, of course, you’d never feel a thing through those jeans, a big lad like you,” dad told him. The boy was not convinced and stood motionless as if rooted to the spot. “Don’t make a fuss. Let’s get this done with quickly, your mother has the kettle on.” Still Richard was dumbfounded, so this is what a good hiding meant. He was expected to take down his jeans to allow dad to whack his bum with the brush. As he remembered it the brush was pretty heavy too. “C’mon son,” dad said softly, “it’s up to you, grounded for the Easter holidays, or a spanking.” He tapped the brush into his palm a couple of time to emphasise his point.
Richard thought for a moment. Dad was serious, had Richard doubted that earlier. Had he thought dad was joking and that after a bit of whining he would relent and let him go to the football? Richard knew he could probably get his mother on his side; she never seemed to stop him doing things he wanted to.
“Do you want me to take them down for you?” Dad was serious and Richard was mortified. No, it was bad enough that he had to be spanked but … Before he could complete his thought, dad said, almost pleadingly, “Don’t make a fuss son.” How bad could it be? Richard thought and surprising himself he popped the stud on his jeans and pulled the zipper. The jeans were tight and fitted him like a glove so he had to roll them down his thighs and over his knees until he was able to leave them at his shins. “Good boy,” dad said sounding like he was talking to a puppy dog.
Richard stood and looked at his dad. Mr Gibson was in his late forties and worked on building sites; he was lean, but strong. The hair on his head was thinning and the hair on his face hadn’t been shaved for a couple of days. Richard noticed how tired the old man looked; he knew he worked very hard to provide for his family and for a moment Richard felt a twinge of guilt that he had caused his dad this trouble.
“Come and bend over my knee,” dad slapped the brush across his thigh to emphasise his point. Dad was wearing jeans as well but they were nowhere as fashionable as those Richard had just pulled down and they were getting worn at the knees. “Over,” Mr Gibson repeated himself. Richard looked down at his dad and realised he wasn’t sure how exactly this was done. Should he lay on dad’s lap and try to stretch over the mattress, or was there some other way to do this. Dad might have read his son’s mind because he took a deep breath and signed, “like this,” and he took hold of the eighteen-year-old’s wrist and pulled him forward so that Richard toppled across Mr Gibson’s lap and was face down staring at the carpet. “Put the palms of your hands flat,” My Gibson instructed helpfully and Richard did.
Richard’s face was inches from the carpet and he noticed for the first time what a garish pattern it had. It was years out of fashion and he reckoned if a person looked at it too long it would make them sick. It was odd, he also thought, how the mind works in moments of stress. He had wondered what a good hiding was and now he was about to find out. He felt his father move his own body a little and take hold of the waistband of the pants. “Nooooo,” he couldn’t stop himself exhaling. Dad was going to pull down his pants. Mr Gibson could not resist a smile; his own father had spanked him on his bare bottom that time when he was eighteen and messed up his exams. A spanking wasn’t a proper spanking unless it was on the bare, his own dad had said. Mr Gibson thought he was probably right but he reckoned also that a spanking – any spanking – would be an awesome experience for Richard since it was his first time. It would be a step too far to spank Richard on his bare bottom. In fact, what Mr Gibson intended to do was to take hold of the waistband of the pants and tug so that the cotton briefs fitted snugly around the teenager’s cheeks.
The pants were already snug fitting. Mr Gibson didn’t know but Richard had already discovered that girls were very attracted by the shape of his bottom. He would learn in a year or two that there were a few boys who felt the same way. Dad realized that he had not really noticed Richard’s body for some years and now, with the lad face down across his knees and with his buttocks at a good angle they presented a very good target for a spanking. His son was slim and wiry and there wasn’t enough spare fat on him to sizzle a sausage. His bottom, stretched and raised as it was taut. The phrase buns of steel could have been coined for Richard.
Satisfied that Richard was perfectly presented for spanking, Mr Gibson took a grip of the brush. Using its wooden head, he gently circled around the left cheek, following the contours of the mound. Then he did the same with the other buttock. In this way he was taking his aim. He raised the brush, then hesitated and said, “Don’t make a fuss,” before whacking the brush into the fleshiest (such as Richard had any flesh to speak of) part of the right buttock. He waited for five seconds or so before repeating the move into the other cheek.
Richard gasped. He felt a sting as the brush connected with his bottom. Now, his dad was whacking the brush across his buttocks with some force at about five-second intervals. The stings were merging into a warm throb. It hurt, Richard thought, but it wasn’t so bad. Dad was getting a rhythm with his whacks and Richard noticed how the sound of the brush connecting with his hard bottom seemed to reverberate around the room. Another crazy thought entered his head: if Dad wanted to he could bang out quite a tune with that brush across his bottom.
Mr Gibson gripped his son around the waist to stop him moving and increased the velocity of the spanks. He needn’t had bothered because Richard remained submissive. He closed his eyes tight (the carpet pattern offended him, he decided) and remained in position. The warmth in his backside grew and he imagined there was quite a glow back there. His head was beginning to ache and he couldn’t be sure if this was a result of the pain from the spanking or because he was in effect hanging upside down and blood was rushing to his face. He was getting breathless, as well.
If Richard was a spanking virgin, then so was Mr Gibson as a spanker. He had been on the receiving end a few times as a lad and could remember how he felt during a spanking. As much as the spanking hurt his backside the embarrassment of being draped over an older man’s knee while he whacked his bared bottom with a brush was intense. He wondered if it was the same for Richard, “There,” Mr Gibson said aloud by way of research, “how does that feel. Don’t you feel ashamed?” Richard, unsure if he was expected to answer decided to remain silent.
But, did he feel ashamed? He wasn’t sure. Embarrassed, yes. He knew he could never reveal to any of his friends what was happening this evening. He wasn’t the only one underperforming at school and he was pretty sure none of his mates had been put across their dad’s knee for a darn good hiding.
“The kettle’s boiled. Tea’s ready!” Mrs Gibson called from the landing. It was her way of telling her husband enough was enough. Time to stop the spanking. Mr Gibson welcomed the hint as he had been uncertain how many whacks to deliver and how to finish. “Mustn’t keep your mother waiting,” he said breezily and removed his arm from around Richard’s waist. The teenager took this as his cue to stumble to his feet and awkwardly he rolled his jeans up and zipped up.
Shamefaced, he stood over his father. His bottom throbbed but he wasn’t in that much pain. Dad had been correct he was a big lad and he could take a good hiding. “Well,” dad said for want of something to say and he brandished the brush at his son, “I hope you have learned a lesson.” He paused for dramatic effect in the way that his own father had done back in the day, “Because if you haven’t you know where this is kept.” Richard nodded because he thought he ought to make some response. “And, next time,” dad added hoping for a dramatic effect, “You won’t have your underpants on. Believe me son.”
Richard left the room rubbing the seat of his jeans. Most of the pain had gone but he found he could reignite it a little if he pushed his fingers hard against his buttocks. Yes, Richard believed his father would spank him on his bare bottom and wondered how long he could wait for the next time.
Picture credit: British Boys Fetish Club
Other stories you might like:
A summer to remember
The debut
History made in the headmaster’s study
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Charles Hamilton the Second
Male on male spanking stories 