Jack’s arse throbbed madly. The hard metal seat on the subway train reignited the pain every time he moved. So he shifted from one buttock to the other; then back again. It felt rather pleasant.
Fifteen minutes earlier he had left Uncle Colin’s flat. Three dozen lashes with the two-tailed leather taws had battered his backside. His cock was still stiff, raging against the tightness of his underpants, craving to be set free. Demanding release.
Jack could still smell Uncle Colin’s kitchen. He lived in a small “housing association” flat on the seventeenth floor of a tower block. The lift always smelt of piss. The flat wasn’t much better. It wasn’t urine that stank the place out, it was old cooking fat. Uncle Colin made a packet of lard last a lifetime.
The kitchen was small. You could hardly swing a cat in there, but you could swipe a leather strap. It just about held a dilapidated gas cooker, a fridge that could never be silent, and a tiny Formica-topped table.
Uncle Colin was an older man, old enough to be Jack’s father. Perhaps here, I ought to explain that “Uncle” Colin wasn’t really Jack’s uncle; he was in no way related, by blood or otherwise. He was uncle in name only and then for only the few minutes they spent together in the flat, on most Sunday nights.
Jack wasn’t even certain the old man’s name was truly Colin. Uncle Colin was the name he used on boyzblazingbutts, the website where they had hooked up. Man seeks nephew for spanking sessions was the sum total of the personal ad. That and a vague location. It was a short journey on the underground from Jack’s bed-sitting room. What could be better?
Jack got off being spanked. He had just turned twenty and if there was one thing he knew without doubt it was that spanking was better than any drug he had ever taken. Ecstasy for jack wasn’t a small pill and a bottle of designer water, it was offering up his arse – preferably bare – to an older, dominant man.
The train rattled into a station, the platform was heaving with people, his carriage quickly filled. He let his eye wander, searching for the perfect cock. He was as horny as hell. He always was after Uncle Colin. In his mind’s eye he saw the old man, dressed as usual in cavalry twill trousers and a beige cardigan. He always wore a white cotton shirt (although it was clearly fraying at the collar) and a navy blue tie, tightly knotted. Jack had no idea if this was Uncle Colin dressed in his “Sunday best”. He had never seen him at any other time of the week.
Jack knocked on the front door and waited respectfully for Uncle to answer. He was getting on in years, but he was still an energetic man; he stood no more than five-eight, but his back was straight and despite the obvious paunch straining beneath the buttons of his cardigan, he cut an imposing figure.
“Go wait in the kitchen,” it was a firm instruction. Uncle was always in charge. Jack had no idea how the visit would pan out. Last time he had been whipped with a swishy rattan school cane. Two dozen bare. Bent across the back of the threadbare sofa in the sitting room. He still had faint marks.
Jack shuffled into the kitchen and waited contritely. Uncle Colin was taking his time. Jack heard him open a door to the bedroom, then creaking footsteps. Suddenly, the old man appeared in the doorway, hands hidden behind his back.
“Well, young Jack,” he intoned. “Misbehaving again.” It was a statement, not a question. “You naughty boy.” He let the word naughty roll around his mouth, stretching it out. Then, like a magician revealing a bunch of flowers, he brandished the leather taws.
Jack’s eyes widened. He had never seen such a thing before. It was about fourteen inches long and made of brown leather, worn down by use. Uncle Colin gripped the handle and let the business end dangle in mid-air. Then, once he was certain he had the young man’s full attention, he swished the two tails of leather through empty space. It was a terrific whoosh as it flew.
“So, Jack,” Uncle Colin stated grimly, “I hear you have been drinking alcohol to excess. Your mother tells me you were late up for work on Wednesday.”
Jack stood, head bowed, contrite, staring at the faded lino beneath his feet. It was all fiction. None of it was true. Uncle Colin wrote the script. Jack didn’t give a stuff, as long as he ended up with a raw bum.
“Sorry, Uncle,” he whispered, for want of any other response.
“Sorry,” the old man sneered. “You always say you’re sorry, naughty boy, but you never improve your behaviour.”
Jack held his hands behind his back and linked his fingers. He shuffled from one foot to another, still staring sheepishly at the floor. It was, he hoped, the perfect naughty boy pose.
“You leave me no choice,” Uncle Colin caressed the leather strap and then smacked it into the palm of his left hand. “I’m going to have to spank you.”
Oh good, Jack thought, he’s getting on with it. It wasn’t always the case, Uncle Colin would sometimes draw out the role play. Really, all Jack wanted was to get his trousers and pants down.
“Stand there,” Uncle Colin scowled, pointing to spot in front of the kitchen table with his taws. Heart pounding and not at all reluctantly. Jack took up position. “I want you to take down your shorts,” Uncle Colin spoke calmly. He ran his tongue across his lips as without warning they had dried.
He watched intently as the twenty-year-old hitched his thumbs into the waistband of his tight cotton sport shorts. Slowly, Jack lowered them over his crotch and buttocks until they snagged at his muscular thighs. He waited a moment before parting his legs a little to let them slither past his knees and shins to rest on his Nike shoes. Uncle Colin made some saliva in his mouth and washed his lips again.
Jack’s shorts were so short that he could only really wear briefs beneath them. They fitted snugly and revealed the young man’s penis was uncut. “Take them down,” Uncle Colin’s instruction came as a croak.
Slowly, Jack peeled the tight cotton down. His cock was hardening, but it was far from stiff. Uncle Colin had seen Jacks cock and arse before, but nonetheless he took time to admire the long penis. “Bend over.”
Jack lifted his t-shirt so his midriff was bare and leaned forward. It was a warm evening but the hard Formica felt cold against his bare skin. It was a tiny table and Jack had to wriggle around to find comfort. He much preferred going over the back of the sofa; his body fitted perfectly. Or, of course, his personal favourite, draped over Uncle Colin’s lap, face an inch or so above the ground, feet hovering in mid-air and his bare bum delightfully positioned.
The table was low and since he wanted to lay with his stomach and chest across its top he had to bend his knees a little. He folded his arms in front of himself and buried his face in them. He was now submissively in position, arse bared and waiting for Uncle’s administrations. He was at the old man’s mercy.
Jack couldn’t see Uncle Colin make his preparations. He tested the taws by holding it over his shoulder so that the tails tapped against the small of his back. Then I arced it up and forward, making sure it would not hit the ceiling when he tried to lash it down. It cleared with a couple of inches to spare.
Satisfied on his height, he then tested his distance, standing three feet, then two feet from the edge of the Jack’s bare arse. He intended that the taws should lash the naughty boy in the very centre of his two mounds. It look a little practice, but soon he had the aim correct.
He raised the leather strap across his shoulder and brought it crashing down into Jack’s firm globes. The crack! sounded like pistol fire in the small room. Jacks body absorbed the lash and he sucked on his bare arm making trickles of salvia drip from the corner of his mouth.
With the second lash the strap curled itself viciously over the exposed buttocks and unfurled into the meaty backside. Jack’s body jerked. His throat tightened.
It only took three or four lashes of the two-tailed taws to cover the entire area of his now reddening buttocks. Sunset stripes adorned his mounds and already purplish bruises were forming.
Jack gasped as without mercy Uncle Jack snapped another six hard stingers across the very centre of his buttocks. One after the other in quick succession. Rat-tat-tat, it sounded like machinegun fire. Uncle Jack stopped and rested the leather on the very apex of the boy’s bare curves. The sound of the strap against naked flesh was intense, the walls of the flat were so thin he feared his neighbour might hear. What the hell, he thought, he couldn’t stop now. Not yet.
He curled the strap over his shoulder. Jack braced himself for a further onslaught of controlled and accurate lashes. Uncle Colin found his rhythm as the lashes embedded themselves harder and harder into bare flesh.
Jack chewed his arm and rivulets of saliva dripped from his mouth. Despite Uncle’s best efforts, Jack was taking his whipping stoically. Stepping back Uncle Colin snapped the leather down again as hard as he could.
After three dozen exemplary lashes, Uncle Colin was exhausted, his face almost as red as Jack’s arse. Sweat drenched the back of his shirt and his temples ached. “It’s over. You can get up now,” Uncle Colin intoned. Jack lay still gulping in air, he knew it wasn’t yet the time to rise. Uncle Colin slowly exited the kitchen and when Jack heard the bathroom door open and close, he sprang to his feet rubbing his savaged arse furiously. His aching cock pointed at the ceiling. His head was remarkably clear. Twisting his body, Jack admired his burning buttock cheeks. Once again, Uncle Colin had done a fine job. He pressed his fingers into his flesh. The agony had gone and soon, he knew from experience, the pain would turn into a throbbing that he could reignite in the coming hours by applying pressure to his bum. He reached down and with difficulty got his tight cotton briefs over his raging cock. Then, he pulled up his shorts. They were so tight he could not disguise his erection.
He moved to the front door. It was time to go. He and Uncle never spoke after a spanking. Jack assumed he was locked in the bathroom tossing himself off. That was OK with Jack. He craved to be spanked by older men but the thought of having sex with them made his stomach churn. Sorry, but that’s how God made him.
He walked a little gingerly to the lift and made his way to the subway station.
Now, he sat in a crowded carriage, his erection still obvious through the tight cotton sport shorts. Directly in front of him stood a large muscular man, in a cut down vest and tight sweat pants. He was so close Jack couldn’t avoid looking at him, even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t because the bulge in the front of the man’s trousers was inviting.
Jack clenched his fist and sucked on it; he couldn’t stop staring. The ache inside his briefs was intense. Emboldened by the adrenaline rush from the spanking, he spread his legs wide and his cock rose like an Exocet missile. The man’s eyes glazed, he leaned towards Jack and whispered, “You got someplace where we can go?”
Picture credit: Michael Mitchell
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