“You’ll never guess what I saw today,” Alan blew across the top of his mug of tea, wallowing in the suspense he hoped to create in the postal distribution centre canteen. “I was in The Avenue, you know those posh houses.” His co-workers nodded assent. “So, I’m walking up the driveway and I can see through the window and what did I see?”
He paused, genuinely expecting his pals around the table to guess. When no one took the bait, he continued. “There’s this huge front room and this guy, he must have been about twenty, and he’s only wearing underpants,” he sipped his tea, to build the tension. “And he’s bent over the back of a massive settee with his arse held high. And standing over him is an old geezer,” he stared intently at his three pals waiting to gauge their reaction to his impending punchline, “and he’s got this belt and he’s whipping the kid on his arse; giving him a right good spanking.”
“Unbelievable,” a co-worker munched on a sandwich.
“I ain’t lying, why would I lie?” Alan couldn’t hide his indignation.
“No,” his pal explained, “Unbelievable. Who’d think it would happen today. It’s 2018.”
A second postman piped up. “Was it a kinky thing? I’ve heard all sorts of stories about what goes on in The Avenue.”
“Well,” Alan grinned. “The kid didn’t look like he was enjoying it.”
“So,” the first pal spoke again, “It was a proper spanking? Discipline. Punishment, like?”
“Alan says the kid was twenty,” the second postman interjected. “That right? Bit too old to have his bum smacked, ain’t he.”
“I don’t know,” Alan said, “I can think of a few louts round my way who could do with a bloody good spanking.”
Earlier that day.
Mr Grainger slumped on the plush leather sofa and stared at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. Almost ten o’clock and that brat was still in bed, he fumed silently. He heard the sound of the tap running in the kitchen and hoisted himself to his feet and waddled out the room. Jack was making tea, naked, except for a pair of underpants.
“Too bone idle even to get dressed,” Mr Grainger blasted the twenty-year-old. “Look at you.”
Jack switched the kettle on, turned and gave Mr Grainger his best scornful glare.
“You’re late for college. Again.” Mr Grainger growled. “And what time did you get in last night?” Jack shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno.” Mr Grainger flared his nostrils. “Half past twelve. You know curfew is eleven o’clock on a school night.”
The kettle boiled and Jack poured water over a tea bag in a single mug.
“Pah! What did I say I would do if you didn’t pull yourself together?” Mr Grainger fumed.
Jack set his mug on the table. “Wordya mean?”
“A spanking. I said I’d give you a jolly good spanking.”
Jack let his jaw slacken, then he said, “Oh come on Gramps, I’m too old to be spanked.”
“Nonsense,” Mr Grainger waved his arms. “I was still taking a cane to your father’s backside when he was twenty-one.”
Jack stared blankly. The silence could be cut with a knife. He waited for Gramps next move.
“Come with me. Into the lounge,” Mr Grainer gripped Jack’s left ear and propelled him forward.
“Ouch! Leggo!” he cried, but was forced to allow Gramps to drag him away and pull him towards the sofa. He released his grip on the ear and with one swift movement pushed the brat forward so that he was face down over its back.
“Now stay there. Don’t move,” Mr Grainer ordered as he unbuckled his belt and drew it through the loops of his trousers. Jack gazed vacantly at the seat cushion centimetres from his face. Mr Grainger doubled the belt. It was narrow and thin and he held it between his two hands and stretched it so it make a thwacking sound. Jack’s head rose from the settee at the sound of the crack.
“Don’t say you weren’t warned,” Mr Grainger swished the leather belt through the air and took up position by the brat’s side. Jack was small and stocky and fitted comfortably across the settee. His weight pressed into the leather. With his knees slightly bent his bottom was perfectly positioned for Gramp’s purpose.
Jack’s Calvin Klein underpants were a snug fit. He was far from fat, but he carried a little bulk. “A terrific target,” Mr Grainger thought to himself. He rubbed the belt across the centre of Jack’s buttocks, delighting as the brat’s bum tensed. The twenty-year-old was steadying himself for the ordeal about to come.
Smack! The thud of leather hitting cotton-covered buttocks resounded around the room. A line creased the pants where the belt landed. Gramps raised the belt again and lashed it a centimetre or so below it. Then he whipped again and again. Within seconds there were stripes across the whole of Jack’s bum, from below the spine, over the fleshy mounds in into the under-cheeks. Jack took his whipping without a murmur. This perplexed the old man. A spanking should hurt, otherwise what was the point.
Deliberately, he landed a slash low, so that it avoided Jack’s pants altogether and landed on his naked left thigh. “Ouch!” Jack felt that one all right. Gramps watched with great satisfaction as a dark pink line formed. Then he slashed one into the brat’s right thigh.
Mr Grainger might be a senior citizen, but he had some stamina despite his old age. He returned his attention to Jack’s cotton-covered backside and spanked him with his belt for a further five minutes.
“Get up,” he ordered. Jack sprung to his feet. His face was scarlet and his untidy hair soaked in sweat. He rubbed his buttocks, even though they didn’t hurt so much. What pain there was quickly turned to a tingle before almost immediately disappearing.
Mr Grainger returned his belt to its rightful place and sat on a large leather armchair. He spread his legs wide. “Come here,” he gestured to Jack. The brat eyed Gramps cautiously. What did he want? Was he going to take him across his knee for another spanking? Gramps patted his own leg. Now Jack understood. He hurried forward and sat on the old man’s lap. Gramps put his arms around the brat and pulled him forward into a caress.
“Well,” he whispered kindly, “What did you think of that?” Jack smiled, “Not much really. It hardly hurt. Not like the paddle.”
Mr Grainger grinned and pushing Jack to his feet, said, “OK. Go fetch the paddle and we’ll go again.” With mounting excitement, he watched Jack’s beautiful buttocks sashay from the room.
Picture credit: spankingboysdoteu
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
Charles Hamilton the Second