♥ Site recommended story ♥
Hot and brand spanking new fiction by very special guest author Charles Hamilton the Second . This story is currently exclusive to The Canery! All the characters are aged 18 or over.
When my uncle put me across his knee and spanked my bare bottom I don’t know which of us enjoyed it more, him or me.
I come from a strange family. Mum was one of ten children. Ten! Poor gran; she must have been exhausted the whole time. I bet granddad had a whale of a time though.
Uncle Neil was the youngest of the lot. I was eighteen and he was only twenty-eight. I was causing my mum a lot of problems. The main problem was that I was eighteen. Like so many people that age I was totally selfish, I thought the world should revolve around me. I was arrogant and you couldn’t tell me anything. I disrespected my mother at every turn.
I had left school at sixteen – the earliest possible age – and I hadn’t had anything that you could call a proper job since. I lazed about the flat all day and drove mum mad.
My dad had skedaddled after my younger brother was born and left mum on her own to raise two kids. How could she cope with me? At last mum and Uncle Neil said I needed a “time out.” They said I should go stay with him for a while, until I sorted myself out a bit.
Uncle Neil might only be twenty-five, but already he was a great success. He had an important job with an advertising agency. I’m not sure exactly what he did but it bought him a smashing apartment on the fourth floor of a block overlooking the marina. It had every conceivable gadget. He drove a flash Jeep and spent a lot of cash on his clothes and his looks.
The expensive facials, haircuts and nail jobs he paid for made him stand out in a crowd. He was gym-fit. He tried to encourage me to take exercise – he said I should go running or to go work out. He reckoned it would make me a much happier person. He said when you exercised hard chemicals in your brain changed and it made you feel really good – it was much better than taking drugs. I can’t remember what the chemical was called, but it was something like “dolphins.”
I didn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t be bothered.
He didn’t have a girlfriend. When I asked him about it he flushed scarlet and said he was too busy at work. I didn’t believe him; he would be a great catch for any girl. I reckoned there was some special lady he was trying to capture, but she was giving him a hard time. Who knew, perhaps she was already married; not that that seemed to bother people these days.
Uncle Neil wanted me to get a job. Any job, he said. I whined that there were no jobs, not for people like me who left school with no qualifications. He scoffed. He was having none of it. He said I should take any job going, even if it was only part-time. There was plenty going in burger bars and pubs. Supermarkets always wanted people to fill shelves and carry boxes.
Once I had a job, he lectured me, I could make your way up the company. Or, after a while I could get a better job somewhere else. If nothing else, I could get some “work discipline” and prove that I could get up in the morning and put in a shift – every day.
I ignored him on that too.
After a month with me lounging around the apartment in my underwear most of the time, Uncle Neil snapped. He gave me an ultimatum. It was, he said, my choice. I had to take some responsibility for myself. If I didn’t have a job by the end of the month, he would throw me out the apartment. He said my mum wouldn’t take me back, so I would be on my own.
I didn’t believe him. Yes, he would throw me out probably, but I wouldn’t be on my own. I had nine aunts and uncles – and that was just on my mother’s side. We were family; someone would take me in.
I pretended to Uncle Neil that I was looking for a job. I had to anyway to get my welfare payment each fortnight, but I wasn’t really. If I had been a more sensitive type I should have noticed that he was coming to the end of his tether.
That happened one night. I had just got my money and I went drinking with mates. I got back late and pretty high. Next day, Uncle Neil sat me down and gave me the lecture. I vaguely knew that at work he was a boss of something. From his tone, I knew he was used to being obeyed. He told you to jump; you asked how high? That was, I guess, the secret of his success. Decisive action.
“If you do anything like that again,” he said calmly, “I am going to take you across my knee and spank your bare bottom so hard it will glow in the dark.”
I stared at him. His gaze was steely. I hadn’t noticed before how piercing his blue eyes were. He meant it. He was deadly serious. If my mum had said something like that I would have laughed and told her where to go. I would have used the “F” word a lot. With Uncle Neil, I just gaped. My jaw probably quite literally dropped.
What could I say? I looked him up and down. He had the kind of body that had muscles on top of muscles. I was the opposite. I hadn’t taken any exercise since I was fifteen when we did PE classes at school. I was no match for Uncle Neil. If he wanted to haul me across his knee, he could.
I went to my room confused. I stood at the window and watched the yachts and small boats in the harbour below. Spanking? He’d give me a spanking? I had never been spanked in my life. The cane had been banned in schools long before I was born – before Uncle Neil was born too – and mum never hit us; Lord knows why not, I deserved it.
Uncle Neil was bluffing, I reckoned. He had already said he would throw me out of the apartment; surely he thought that was a bigger threat.
I obviously didn’t know Uncle Neil.
It was only two days later when he asked me to do some grocery shopping. He left a list and some cash. Even I wasn’t so lazy or so stupid as to ignore him. I got the bus to Tesco and wheeled my trolley around the store. Uncle Neil had been right about jobs. There was a notice near the entrance advertising part-time jobs. Apply within. I pretended not to see it.
After I left the checkout, I realised I had more than five pounds in change. He’d never notice. I didn’t think twice about it. It would be my tip for doing the shopping. I stopped at an off licence and spent the money on cheap beer.
I was pretty far gone by the time Uncle Neil got home. He asked about the change. I lied and told him there wasn’t any. He sighed, “Go to bed. I’ll deal with you in the morning.”
Deal with me? I staggered from the room. Deal with me? Was he really serious?
Next morning was Sunday; even Uncle Neil didn’t work Sunday. I laid in bed dealing with my Morning Glory. I had just shot my load into a fistful of Kleenex when he knocked on the door. Hurriedly, I tugged up my Boxer shorts. Just in time. He didn’t wait for permission, he barged in through the door.
I think his speech had been prepared. Certainly, he was fluent, short and to the point. He had warned me about me behaviour. True. He had told me what he would do. True again. So why did I do it? Good question. The answer was probably, “Because I could.” I had been getting away with things my whole life. Nobody had stopped me. It had become a habit. My life was all me, me, me.
“Come here,” he leant forward and grabbed a hunk of my hair. I yelped as he pulled me up and out of the bed. Then without a further word he dragged me from the room and hauled me into the lounge. Even in my distressed state, I could see the furniture had been rearranged. A soft-backed, armless chair had been turned away from the dining table, so it faced into the room.
Still holding a clump of my hair he sat down and stretched his legs wide. Then, he pulled me across his left knee and immediately draped his right leg over the back of my calves. I was pinned down. Uncle Neil and I are about the same height; I was too tall to go over his knee. My elbows rested on the carpet in front of me and my knees bent behind me and still my feet rested on the ground. I couldn’t see this, but my bum was raised at a forty-five-degree angle over his knee.
I was only wearing Boxer shorts and a tee-shirt that I used for sleeping. He pushed his left hand into my shoulder so hard he winded me. While I gasped for air, I felt him grip the waistband of my shorts and he yanked them down over my buttocks and down my thighs and he left them bunched at my knees.
He mumbled something that I couldn’t quite catch. It sounded like, “You deserve this and you know it.” Then he smacked the palm of his hand into my right buttock and then the left. I don’t know what a spanking is supposed to feel like; it should hurt, naturally, otherwise what’s the point. He hit me so hard and so rapidly that within seconds my bum began to heat up. He had strong arms, but very soft hands; even so I felt each and every one of the slaps as he made his way around my globes. He concentrated on the under-curves, just under the cheeks, where they meet the thighs.
I wriggled and squirmed, but with his legs across my calves and with his hand on my shoulders he had me trapped. I was going nowhere. My bum cheeks quivered and I felt my crack open and close involuntarily. Only then did I think he might have a perfect view in my crack and up my hole. I don’t think I have ever felt so humiliated. It was worse because I knew I hadn’t showered since the last time I’d taken a dump. It would be pretty rancid back there.
The pain was building into a constant throbbing across my whole backside. It hurt a lot, but I could take it. I didn’t know how many spanks he intended to deliver, but I was pretty confident he wouldn’t do much damage. Then he stopped.
I felt his body twist and he reached behind him. When I was dragged into the room I hadn’t noticed the heavy bath brush on the table. I hadn’t seen, it but soon I felt it. The first almighty whack across the centre of both cheeks took my breath away. By the time the sixth hit home, I was on fire. By the tenth I was yelping. By number twenty I was yelling.
My heart raced and I gasped for air. I couldn’t suck air into my lungs. Blood raced through my arteries so quickly I thought my ears would pop. Then I realised with horror my cock was stiff. My soldier wasn’t fully on the march, but it was standing to attention. I wriggled and writhed over Uncle Neil’s knee. It was involuntary, it was my body’s reflex action to the pounding it was getting at my rear end. Each time I moved my dick rubbed against my uncle’s leg. In no time it throbbed almost as madly as my bum.
I could hear Uncle Neil wheezing. The effort of spanking me was taking its toll, yet, on and on he hammered the bath brush into my naked arse. I didn’t know it yet but the whole of my buttocks from the top near my spine, over the mounds and into the crease was now toasted scarlet. My bum was so hot you could probably fry an egg back there.
The more he spanked, the more my body gyrated. The more my body spun, the more my prick pulsated. Any moment now I would shoot a load. What could I do? I knew when I masturbated that the way to control an orgasm was to stop tugging for a while and let it settle. I couldn’t do that here.
Even as I thought, “No! No! No!” my whole body shook, like a dog does when it comes out of water. I must have shot a pint of cum over Uncle Neil’s already cream chinos. He let out a mild screech, released my legs and shoulders and pushed me off his knee onto the carpet, where I lay face down, desperately failing to hide my humiliation.
“You dirty bugger,” Uncle Neil snarled. “Look what you’ve done to my trousers.” He tried to sound angry, but I knew he wasn’t really. I was certain, because from my position at his feet I looked up at my handsome muscular uncle towering above me and saw that he had a boner so big and so hard that it could have been a tent pole in the front of his pants.
I gazed in wonderment. My head was the clearest it had ever been. I was glowing. Never in my life had I felt so good. Uncle Neil peered down at me, our eyes met for a brief moment. We didn’t say a word to each other. What could we say? He was my uncle. But we both knew we felt the same way.
More stories from Charles Hamilton the Second are at Male on Male Spanking Stories:
Story © 2016 by Charles Hamilton the Second, used here by very kind permission of the author.
Photo © 2013 by Jonathan; Model: Rod
D I S C L A I M E R
All characters appearing in this story are over 18 and are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.