Flash fiction: stories written in exactly 100 words.
All illustrations generated by Artificial Intelligence (A.I.)
I entered the house and went straight to the living room. Dad was already waiting for me. I knew he had gotten word from the local cops. They had found me truanting from college and smoking dope with the town’s riff-raff. This might be 2024 but in Dad’s head it’s about 1950. He already had the strap in his hand and he waved it in my face in case I hadn’t seen it. ‘Jeans down and get over the table,’ were his only words of greeting. I did as I was told, glad only that I wasn’t getting it bare-butt.
Gareth’s backside felt like it had swollen to twice it’s natural size. His cheeks were like ripe oranges. He stood at the kitchen window and let the tears flow. He couldn’t quite believe that he had spent the best part of five minutes held across Mr. Munro’s knees while the elderly man had blistered his bare buttocks with the back of a heavy ebony hairbrush. He hadn’t expected this when he had been sent here by Brocklehurst University. He winced as he caressed his cheeks with his fingertips, silently vowing that in future he would pay his rent on time.
Sometimes I want to smash my younger brother’s face in. He’s gloating because dad has put me back into short trousers. I’m eighteen goddamit. Dad says I’ve been staying out late and not studying hard enough. So, he’s taken most of my clothes and hidden them. He thinks I’ll be too embarrassed to go out wearing short trousers. He’s right, but it’s probably not as humiliating as what he did last night. He came into my room, sat on the bed, ripped my pyjama bottoms down, hauled me across his knee and spanked me with his slipper on the bare-bottom.
Ritchie you are 19 years old and yet you continue to act like a child half your age. Well, if that’s the way you want it, go and get the paddle and bring it here. Let’s see if the wood can knock some sense into that head of yours. Good, now, stand there. Let’s have those jeans down and assume the position. Grab your ankles. Keep steady. You have nobody to blame but yourself. You should be thankful I’m not taking down your underwear. Now brace yourself. Ten swats. Stop blubbering. You’re old enough to take it like a man.
She knew that, when they got home, her younger brother would be taken into the living room and the door would be shut firmly behind them. An explanation (not that there could be one) would be sought. Then, the eighteen-year-old’s failings would be discussed, his apologies and vows of future good conduct noted but ignored when it came to confirming his sentence. How the punishment would be inflicted: bent over the table. First, six swats of the paddle on the jeans, then six on the underwear and six on the bare. She knew because she always peeked through the keyhole.
Finally, his dad came in looking angry, carrying a slipper. ‘Get yourself into position.’ Travis knew exactly what that meant and he carefully took two pillows and put them on the end of the bed. Then he laid across them, so his bottom pointed upwards and his feet were slightly off the floor. His bum stretched tight against his cotton pyjama bottoms, making the highest point on the eighteen-year-old’s body a terrific target. But that wouldn’t be enough. Dad tugged the elasticated waist and Travis felt the cool breeze, confirming that he was bare. Travis sucked on his folded arms.
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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
Male on male spanking stories 