The hotel has a strict no-noise after 11 p.m. policy. You know that, there are signs up all over the place. Many of our guests have children or are older people and they don’t appreciate being kept awake at nights by louts like you.
I usually have a little speech ready. It hardly ever changes. It doesn’t have to; they’re all the same these lads. They come over here for the sun, drugs, and sex. We’d rather they stayed at another hotel but business is business and I’m afraid these days you can’t turn customers away.
I’m one of the assistant managers and it’s my job to see the no-noise policy is enforced. It’s a tough job but someone has to do it! I’m usually called on one or two times a night. The louts mainly come over from England. They really are an ill-mannered lot. Don’t their parents teach them discipline? I heard they banned corporal punishment in schools a while back; that explains a lot.
We have a party of apprentice plumbers in at the moment. Ten of them, squeezed into three rooms. I can’t begin to describe the mess they’ve made. I suppose they expect the maid to clean up all their filth. Their mothers probably wait on them hand-and foot at home.
I went to patrol the main block of our complex. I heard the racket coming from their room the second the elevator door opened on the fifth floor; it was vibrating. I took a deep breath, exhaled a long, low sigh and strode down the corridor. I hammered with my fist and when they wouldn’t open the door I let myself in with my passkey. I gagged on the stench: sweat, semen and the unmistakable aroma of cannabis.
Two lads were sprawled out on a bed built for one; both totally naked. One, a fair-haired boy with a small, turned-up nose and a rash of ache running down one cheek tried to focus on me. “Turn that noise down!” I shouted. I meant the big boom-box that pulsated on the floor. Perhaps he couldn’t hear me (I wouldn’t be surprised) because he didn’t move. I stormed across the room and did it myself. By the time I turned around both boys were sitting up. The other one, who was tall, lank, and had untidy curling hair cascading down to his shoulders, grabbed a pillow and covered his privates. He was a little too late: I saw his throbbing stalk.
I gave them the speech. A strict no-noise after 11 p.m. policy. That means you too, I said. Why did they think the rule didn’t apply to them? Selfish. Inconsiderate. I let them have the works. They sat impassively; no reaction. Arrogant, snotty-nosed, little …. I didn’t say any of this last part out loud, it was enough that I thought it.
Well, I said, that’s it. Pack your bags. Get out. We don’t want you here. I strode across the small room and loomed over the pair of them. Hurry. Chop-chop. Let’s see some action! That got their attention. The long-haired one started babbling something incoherent. I think the gist of it was that I couldn’t do that. I could, but there was no point quoting the hotel’s contract chapter and verse to him, he was too far gone to understand.
The fair-haired one was less confused. He got the seriousness of his situation. Sorry, he said, meekly. He ran his fingers though his hair and muscles in his chest rippled. The corners of his mouth rose and he showed me his brilliantly white, even teeth. He wrinkled his nose and his bright-blue eyes shone. I suppressed a giggle; I know boys like him, many hang out at a bar near the hotel where they scrounge drinks from holidaymakers.
I played along. Well, I said, maybe you don’t have to pack and leave. He wrinkled his nose and his smile broadened. Thank you, he simpered, oozing sexuality. I wondered where he had learned that little trick. Do they just pick it up or do the boys teach one another?
Don’t be so grateful, I told him and returned the smirk. Mine was not cute and sexy. If a piranha could smile it would smile like me. His grin was still stuck to his face. I put my hand into my jacket pocket. His eyes stared, transfixed. His smile fell to be replaced by a grimace. I held in my hand a small wooden paddle, its blade no bigger than a paperback book. His lips formed the word Oh! but he made no sound.
So, I said, returning to the set speech I usually make at times like this. You can pack your bags or …. I smacked the paddle into the palm of my hand. There was no need to say more, my intention was clear. At this point any of a number of things might usually happen. The boy or boys might get angry; scream and shout and threaten violence. They might plead for forgiveness. A surprising number burst into tears like they were eight years old. Most (and believe me when I tell you this because it’s true) after chatting back and forth with me for a while concede quietly that they really have no choice in the matter unless they want to spend the next few days sleeping on the beach until their flight home.
While the chatting went on, I slipped off my jacket and put it on the hook by the door. I was going nowhere, not until I had done my duty by all my rule-abiding guests. I sat on the other bed in the room. I had done this countless times before (it was the second time that night) so I knew how not to waste my time. The fair-haired lad was frowning now; he exchanged glances with his friend. Both seemed resigned to the fact that matters had to take their course.
Theatrically, I beckoned him towards me with a crooked finger. He clambered from his bed and stood shakily. He stretched his arms out like a child playing at aeroplanes and steadied himself. Still playing the ham, I clicked my fingers at him and waved my hand indicating that he should approach my bed. Without protest he stood close to me, the aroma of marijuana was strong. Up close, I saw his blue eyes were more glazed than sparkling.
Bend across my knee. It is the sort of thing you might say to a naughty child, not to a lad like this who I think must have been at least twenty. He looked over his shoulder at his pal who simply stared back, his eyes popped on stalks. The fair-haired one pushed his fingers through his hair once more and submissively fell forward. The bed was narrow but there was enough room for him to place the top half of his body across the mattress. From experience I knew to trap his ankles with my leg and to take his left arm and hold it against his back. Like this he was pinned down and completely exposed to me.
Although he was by no means fat, his body felt heavy against my knees. That usually means a lad spends a lot of time in the gym. His legs were muscular and his backside firm and beefy. It was obvious to me that he shaved his body as he was completely hairless, even up into his crack. I didn’t resist the temptation to pat his mounds and stroke them gently with the palm of my hand. He had a delightful bottom that simply asked to be spanked. And, so I did.
My paddle might be small but it is made of hard wood and is probably a couple of centimetres thick. It is perfect for delivering an over-the-knee spanking. In this lad’s case the blade covered roughly a third of one cheek, so by the time I’d pounded home a dozen swats the whole target area glowed bright pink. He rewarded my endeavours with a series of gentle wheezes that quickly progressed to yaps. He wriggled his beefy bum and he headbutted the mattress but I had him pinned securely and there was nothing he could do to get away.
Big strapping lads can take quite a lot of punishment, even if they are “spanking virgins”. This might be his first time but that didn’t mean I was going to go soft on him. I owed it to my other guests and I wanted to make darned sure I got no trouble from him for the rest of his stay. Also, when the other apprentice plumbers got to hear what happened it would deter them from breaking the rule.
The smooth, muscular hairless cheeks bounced provokingly each time my paddle crashed into his taut bottom. Like Oscar Wilde I can resist anything but temptation and so was encouraged to crack my wood harder and harder across this naughty boy’s bottom. The yaps quickly graduated to yelps and became full-throated yells. His creamy-white flesh was now flamed with a rosy hue. I whacked down another dozen and stopped. I am not a sadist, I believe in discipline and punishment, but not in torture.
I released my grip and the lad lay across my knees gasping for breath. His naked back glistened with sweat. I moistened my own dry, cracked lips. Still he had not moved. Once again, I caressed his bottom. It was tougher than before, feeling a bit like leather. Eventually I said stand-up. He did so and danced up and down in front of me, his cock bouncing close to my face. He turned away and rubbing his burning buttocks as he went, returned to his bed.
I had forgotten about his pal. Now, it was the turn of the slim, long-hair lout. I waved towards him and clicked my fingers. It was his signal to approach me and take his punishment. His face was pale, despite the tan he had from sitting in the sun. He made no attempt to move so I clicked again more belligerently. This caught his attention.
Sorrowfully, he wriggled his bottom along the mattress. He still had the pillow clutched to his front. He stood, hesitated, thought for a moment or two and them shuffled forward. I supposed he was psyching himself up for the ordeal to come. Now, he was standing by my side, still grasping the pillow. The fair-haired lad had not shown such modesty. Impatiently, I made a grab for the pillow, he resisted, but I was too quick for him. I had it in my hand. The smell rising from it was unmistakable, and so was its stickiness. I looked at the lad and his cock was steel-hard and pointing at the ceiling.
With some discomfort to both of us, I eventually got him flat across my lap.
Picture credit: Unknown
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More stories from Charles Hamilton II are on the MMSA website
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