Two friends having fun
Original Fiction – for adult eyes only
Two friends are
great fans of spanking videos and this encourages them to have a go themselves.
Benny and me are great fans of spanking
videos. Do you know the ones I mean, there are lots of them online? The best
known is probably Sting Pictures and they have been going for more than 25
years. They are the best because of the quality of the filming. It is expertly
shot and edited. There are many others in the market that don’t quite meet the
same standards.
The other thing we like about Sting is the
scenarios they come up with, especially the ones involving schoolboys. Of
course, they aren’t boys at all, everyone’s at least eighteen. Anyhow, the ones
we like especially are where there are prefects and the prefects punish the
‘younger’ boys. They always turn us on and we like to re-enact the scenes.
Unfortunately, we don’t have an authentic
school cane; the swishy ones with the curved handle. I don’t know why but
neither of us is brave enough to buy one. You can get them online, on eBay and
what not. They’re not cheap and we are both university students so we don’t have
much money. Also I don’t think we are brave enough, we both live in digs (not
at the same ones) and it might be a bit awkward to explain to the landlady what
the parcel that’s a metre long and narrow is when it comes in the post. We did
try those stiff canes you get at garden centres but they’re not the same, they
don’t bend and they don’t have the curved handle. But they do pack a punch.
I’ve never been caned with an authentic school cane so I don’t know how much it’s
meant to hurt but when Benny whacked me across the bum (trousers and pants
still up) with the garden cane it made me jump up clutching my arse like it was
on fire. When we had a look, I had a throbbing red line across both cheeks.
Surely an authentic cane wouldn’t do that? How would a lad have survived
six-of-the-best in the old days if that was the case.
Anyway, because we’re pals Benny let me
give him a whack and I made sure to let him have it just as hard as he got me.
So, there we were two mates with sore arses.
Because we don’t have a cane we have to
make the best of it with other implements. We have bedroom slippers, but
they’re not really school punishment tools unless you go for a scene in the
dormitory after lights out which is difficult to re-enact without a dormitory.
We did try it with me playing the housemaster and Danny being the boy sent to
his study for mucking about in the dorm. Then after I jawed him a bit (as that
fellow who writes all the stories online often says) he took down his pyjama
bottoms and I gave him twelve on the bare. It was alright, but the problem was
that the slippers you buy today are lightweight, the soles are made of plastic
or something. Made in PRC. We only have the cheap ones from Primark but when I
had a look in some of the more expensive shops their slippers weren’t much
better. I guess in the Good Old Days they had leather soles or maybe rubber.
One day at my uncle’s I found he had a
pair of white plimsolls. They were old and worn and my heart jumped a bit when
I saw them in the cupboard under the stairs. They’re the kind of thing kids
used to wear for PE class before trainers were invented. I made sure uncle
wasn’t around and I got them out. They used to be white but they were closer to
grey and the rubber soles had been worn down with use. I was a bit surprised to
see them because uncle is not in the first flush of youth and he’s carrying a
bit of weight around the middle (I’m trying to be kind here, but honestly, it’s
a beer gut) so I don’t see what use he has for them. I could tell these were
the kind of plimsolls that kids would be whacked with back in the day. That set
my pulse going and I just had to try them out. When the coast was clear I
gripped one in my right hand and twisting my body a bit I landed a whack on my
own backside. It hurt a bit, even through my jeans and pants. Because of the
awkward stance I wasn’t able to get a good shot. It’s difficult to get the
power going. So, I quickly undid my belt and lowered my jeans and had another
go. That hurt a lot more but I knew it was nothing compared to what Benny would
do to me with it given half the chance. I slipped my fingers into the waist of
my pants and had another go. It hurt much more than before but I was still left
unsatisfied. I had a look at my bum in the hallway mirror and there was a big
red mark and you could see the outline of the slipper. It broke my heart to
have to return the plimsolls back in the cupboard.
I told Benny about it a few days later and
although he doesn’t know my uncle’s fat, he asked what he had them for. I said
I couldn’t see why he needed them and Benny said, maybe he uses them to spank
naughty boys. That took my breath away. It hadn’t occurred to me. My bachelor
uncle might be into spanking. Damn. Blast. What a fool I was. What a wasted
opportunity. I would need to find a way of broaching the subject next time I visited.
“Uncle I’ve been a very naughty boy. I haven’t been studying. I party too much.
I’m going to fail my coursework. Oh uncle, what am I to do?” Ha! I think I’ve
been reading too many online stories. Life’s not like that. Not, my life
anyway.
Because we don’t have the right punishment
tools we started spanking each other; just with the palm of the hand. In the videos
the headmaster usually canes the boy, pants and bare and then takes him across
his knee for a bare bottom spanking. No one said these vids were
historically-accurate documents.
So, we have a little game. We still have
our old school uniforms (we went to different schools but the uniforms are
remarkably similar, only the badges on the blazers are different). I play the
prefect and Benny is the fag (as in servant to the older boy, not the other
meaning) and he has been slacking. Slacking – being lazy, shirking work – is
one of the worst sins in a boarding school so it seems. That and smoking
cigarettes. Still, there has to be some reason to beat a boy and slacking and
smoking is as good a reason as nay,
Right Carstairs, I say. It’s not Benny’s
real surname but it sounds authentic, a name that a boy in a public school
might have in the 1950s. Carstairs I say you have been slacking, where’s my
tea. Where’s my toast. Benny does his impression of a 13-year-old boy, nervous
and scared, and then I say, It won’t do Carstairs. You are a slacker and you
know what happens to slackers in this house don’t you. It’s a rhetorical
question, but Carstairs answers Oh no Winterton (my assumed name), please
don’t, I’ll try to do better.
I pull out a chair and sit down. Come over
here Carstairs, I say and Benny stays rooted to the spot. Oh please no
Winterton, please no, he whimpers. I give him my sternest look and bark, don’t
make me come over there to fetch you Carstairs. He fiddles with his fingers and
twists his knees. He looks terrific in the short trousers we found at John
Lewis. They fit him perfectly. He’s nearly twenty and easily fits into short
trousers meant for a kid. The label says suitable for 15-year-olds but what 15-year-old
wears grey short trousers to school these days?
He does the squirming thing some more and
I growl, Carstairs, I’m waiting, and he eventually with seeming great
reluctance he comes over and stands by the chair in front of me. I snap my
fingers and point to a spot on the floor to my right. Stand there Carstairs,
and he shuffles to the spot. I wait a few moments one, because it adds to the
drama but also to settle myself. My heart races and my breathing is quick. When
I am ready, I command, Take down your trousers Carstairs. There is more
pleading, Oh no Winterton, not trousers down, or no please no.
Be quiet stupid boy, I scold, and without
a further word my hands are at the waist of his short trousers. They have an
elasticated waist and don’t need a belt so all I have to do is release the
catch at the front and pull the shorts down. They are heavy enough to tumble to
the floor without any encouragement from me. Bend over, I command, and again
Carstairs stays rooted. I sigh deeply, Pah! Bah! and I take hold of his left
wrist. I have the strength to pull him forward and down so that he tumbles
across my knee. Now he is submissive. He rests his hands on the floor in front
of him and stares downwards. He is as tall as I am so he doesn’t fit too
comfortably over my lap. He bends his knees and raises his bottom so that it is
in range of my hand for the sound spanking I am about to deliver.
He wears white Y-front underpants that are
a size too small. They show all his assets at the front but at the moment I am
only interested in the rear end. The tight white cotton has separated his
cheeks and I can see the crack outlined clearly. His bum always turns me on
whether he’s wearing trousers, or just underwear. I get especially horny when I
see his bare bottom. I spend a few moments gently rubbing my hand over his bum
and following the contours of his cheeks. The cotton pants feel especially
smooth. I give him a few playful taps on the fleshiest part of his bum and then
again after a sigh, I say, Pah Bah. These are quite useless, and take hold of
the waist of the pants. Carstairs raises his body to make it easy for me to get
them his buttocks and down his legs. His shorts and pants are now at his
ankles. A bare bottom, I hope you feel ashamed, I read that line in a story on
the internet and I’ve always loved it. Oh no Winterton, he whimpers, not on the
bare. No please, not on the bare.
Be quiet, I say, it’s not a proper
spanking unless it’s on the bare. Another line stolen from somewhere or other.
Benny shaves so his buttocks are hairless.
They are also quite tight. They have a bit of give in them but no way is he fat
(not like uncle). I caress him some more and them without a word of warning I
raise my hand and bring it down with a resounding smack across his bum. We are
in the spare room at Benny’s parent’s house and there isn’t much furniture so
the sound of me smacking his bare bum echoes around the room. I like the way it
echoes and that encourages me to smack him harder and faster. It is as if I
were banging out a tune on his bum, like a big bass drum. Slap-slap-slap.
Benny’s skin is pale and it doesn’t make
much to turn it first a deep shade of pink and then a light red. Sometimes when
I use a brush on him (we are playing uncles and nephews in that case) I can
turn his bum a lovely cherry colour in no time at all. His bum is also quite sensitive
and bruises come easily, even when it’s just my hand punishing him.
He loves being spanked and I love spanking
him and I’m sure he would take it in silence for ever, but we are playing a
game and in the game I am the prefect and he is the fag so he has to put on a
bit of a show. Ouch, ouch arrg. He even says yaroo a lot because we read that’s
what Billy Bunter cries when he’s getting the cane. He wriggles a bit as if
he’s trying to get away and I hold him down by the shoulders.
I have already pushed his white shirt and
grey jumper up his back so that I have a clear target of naked flesh. I quickly
go round the circuit (another stolen phrase) and every part of his buttocks
from the top over the hills and into the undercurve glows bright pink. My hand
hurts but I don’t mind. Even through my own pain I can feel Benny’s bum is
heating up. Not hot enough to fry an egg on but pretty damn warm.
I slap and slap and Benny playing
Carstairs settles in for the long haul. He is no longer ouching and arrhing and
nor is he trying to escape. He lays face down over my lap with his bare bottom
raised and enjoys getting his bum spanked by his best friend in all the world.
Picture credit: Sting
Pictures
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