Incident on a Thursday afternoon It was just after mid-day in the sleepy English town of Market Ferrars. Christine Cholmondeley, owner of the general store, was wondering whether to close for lunch when the bell rang and two customers entered.
They were a striking pair - a man and a boy, clearly related. The man was in his twenties, dark-haired, handsome and well-built, probably of sporting disposition. The boy, aged twelve or thirteen, had the same extraordinary good looks, with sleek black hair combed neatly across his forehead, clear flawless skin, large dark eyes, cupid lips and white, even teeth. He wore a loose white tee-shirt and brief blue shorts. His long suntanned legs ended in small blue ankle socks and white Nikes.
The man said, "I see you have a selection of nice hairbrushes in the window. Could I have a look, please?"
"Certainly," Christine said. "The best quality, these. A consignment just in yesterday. For you or the boy?"
"For the boy."
"Ah yes," said Christine, looking at the handsome youngster approvingly. "Beautiful hair - it does need careful looking after."
"It's not for his hair," said the man shortly, "It's for his bottom."
"Oh, shut up, Mike," said the boy, colouring deeply with embarrassment.
"Right, that's another six, Peter," the man said. He said to Christine, "He's my young brother, you see. I look after him when our parents are abroad. Well, frankly he's getting to the age when he's getting more and more cheeky and defiant, and when the only answer is a good paddling with the back of a hairbrush. He's earned another, but I can't find it. If I find that he's hidden it…" He turned to glare at the boy; but the latter, head down and still red-faced, didn't meet either of the adults' eyes.
Christine had brought out some brushes. "Have a look, then. You'll want to look especially at the backs, of course. Different materials, different weights. This one here is a very nice ivory, for example." She picked up one or two brushes, hesitated, then asked, "May I enquire whether your young brother gets the hairbrush on - er - the bare?"
The boy turned round quickly, his face flushing. "Oh, don't tell her, Mike!"
The shopkeeper and the young man exchanged smiles. "Well, there's your answer!" said the latter.
"Best way, my mother always said. We were a big family - I had five brothers, all needing keeping in line. They need to feel it, she would say."
Christine picked up a brush from the row and ran her hand over the back. "This is the best one, then - a lovely solid ebony back. Smooth, but hard and firm." She glanced over briefly to where the boy was standing and pretending to ignore them, looking out of the window. Her eyes slid to the tight seat of his shorts. "And just the right size to land right across his two - um - cheeks. Just what you need for a boy of twelve or so. Since you will be giving it directly on his skin it will sting a lot at the time, and for a while afterwards, but do no permanent damage."
"Excellent!" Raising his voice, the young man said, "You hear that, Peter? I promised you this morning that if there was any more of that behaviour you wouldn't be sitting down for a while. Now you see I'm going to keep my promise."
Without looking round the boy, angry and embarrassed, kicked a small table; the bottles on top of it shook and one almost fell.
"Any more of that," said the man angrily, "And I'll hairbrush your bare bottom right here in the shop, and I don't care who sees." He looked round for a moment, then he asked, "Actually - do you have a back room? The fact is I need to get into the city pretty soon, but have to hairbrush Peter before I go. If I could avoid having to take him home first it would save me a lot of time."
"Certainly - of course" Conducting the pair to the rear of the shop Christine pushed a door open. "There - and there's a chair over there, handy for you."
"Thank you - good.. Come here then, Peter." The man conducted his young brother into the back room, leaving the door open behind him.
"Oh Mike - shut the door, please!" the boy pleaded desperately, looking back with mortification in Christine's direction. She had sat at a table to do her accounts, and would be able to see everything of what was to take place. That he did NOT want, especially as he knew he was going to be punished on his bare bottom!
The young man ignored him. Pulling his brother across to the chair he put the brush on the floor, then started unbuttoning the boy's shorts. The boy had been defiant until now, but his self-control suddenly broke, and, like any youngster who feels his pants being taken down for a spanking, he started to bawl, "Oh no, no - please, Tim! Please, NO! - PLEASE!!"
The boy's voice rose to a howl as, with a swift movement, the young man skinned his young brother's shorts and underpants down to his ankles. For a moment, Christine had a view of long brown legs fading into pale thighs and the two half-moons of the youngster's bottom under his tee-shirt - then, looking over his shoulder embarrassedly at Christine, and pink with mortification, the boy had quickly pulled his vest and tee-shirt down on to his thighs.
"Don't you DARE," Mike snapped, grasping the boy's clothes and jerking them up high and hard, right under his armpits, providing an astonishing view of the unfortunate youngster near-nude, his pale neat twelve-year-old hips and bottom wriggling and squirming wildly. "Don't you DARE cover your bottom when I'm going to punish you on it!"
Then, with a swift moment, the boy was turned over the young man's lap; ominously for the youngster, the latter rolled up his right sleeve before beginning. Christine noted that the boy, doubtless acutely embarrassed by the awareness of her eyes on his exposed body, kept his thighs and buttocks tightly squeezed together as he waited, sobbing loudly.
"Please, Mike - please, please!
"First,' said the young man, "A good sound smacking…"
"No, NO!"
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!!
The man's hand cracked down hard and repeatedly on the boy's bare quivering buttocks; soon they were bright pink and he was beginning to yowl and kick. Then, before picking the brush up, Mike reached down and pulled the youngster's shorts and underpants off completely and dropped them on the floor.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!! CRACK!! CRACK!!! CRACK!!! CRACK!!!
The hard back of the ebony hairbrush landed resoundingly, again and again, on the young culprit's bottom, the young man carefully distributing the smacks all over the youngster's tender rear cheeks. Soon his bottom was deep pink, then scarlet - by which time the frantic boy had long since forgotten about being shy in front of Christine, and indeed, was soon putting on a spectacular gymnastic display for her benefit! He was screaming his heart out now and, as the hairbrush cracked down again and again, he reared up and down almost rhythmically, his bottom-crack opening each time to provide a brief glimpse of his small bum-hole; each time, too, there was a glimpse of his tender boy's genitals underneath, quivering madly as he bounded on the man's knees.
CRACK!!! CRACK!!! CRACK!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!!
It had been a good idea to pull the youngster's pants off completely, thought Christine - he could kick more! And indeed, as the boy's bottom got ever hotter, his long slim legs thrashed ever more rapidly up and down, like a swimmer furiously doing the Australian crawl, and his feet in their Nikes ever more vigorously pedalled the air. Christine wondered whether the boy was indeed a swimmer at his school, he was so nimble and athletic. Well, if so this would be good practice for him! And his brother certainly was expert at what he was doing, too. Christine soon was almost deafened - not just by the resounding crack of the hairbrush, but by the increasingly ear-splitting screaming from the other end!
CRACK!!! CRACK!!! CRACK!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!! CRACK!!! CRACK!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!! CRACK!!!!
At last the spanking was over, and the boy was dancing around on the floor, shrieking like a banshee and frantically rubbing his bare rear. His clothes dropped down, and the boy pulled them right up again with both hands, as high as he could, jumping around to let the cool air get at his burning bot. Now he'd forgotten completely about being shy and, as he danced about, everything in front bounced wildly up and down - almost comically. Christine could hardly suppress a smile as she watched.
After a while the boy's howls died down and his brother helped him on with his pants. He said sternly, " Now, any more misbehaviour from you and I'll hairbrush you COMPLETELY BARE, and with the bristle side, no matter where we are, or who's there. You understand? You know very well that I've done it before, and I'll do it again!"
"Oh-oh-oh!" blubbered the boy.
"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
"Yes-yes. Oh-oh-oh!"
"I'm not convinced you do. Maybe it's best you get bare right here and now, Peter, and I'll just fetch that hairbrush again and make certain."
"No! NO! NO!!"
"Very well, then, but remember." He came across to the counter, the boy with him, the latter red-faced and sobbing, his hair and clothes in disarray.
The young man put the hairbrush on the counter. He said, "I'll take it."