Tim's Strange Ambition


by Realist II

Tim Lyons was just twelve years old. He was a generally happy, sporty and intelligent boy. His parents were reasonably well off. They were absolutely devoted to their only child and he lacked for nothing in the material sense. He was fortunate, too, to have many friends of his own age. He was popular at school. His academic work was good, but he also acquitted himself well on the games field. He was good-looking and was already attracting the attention of girls. You might think that he had all that a boy could want.

And yet there was one thing, and a very odd thing you might say, on which he felt he had missed out. Tim had never been subject to any corporal punishment. Almost all his friends had been occasionally spanked, but he had not. Most of us might consider ourselves lucky to be able to claim that distinction, but not Tim. As far as he was concerned, it was greatly to be regretted that he had not suffered the common boyhood penalty of his peers. If he had been asked to explain his feelings on the subject, he could never have put them into words. It was certainly not that he wanted to suffer pain. Perhaps it was some sort of intellectual curiosity that led him to feel the desperate need to share the experience the lack of which seemed to mark him out from his friends.

Now he was twelve, he knew that the chance of his ever being spanked at home was long gone. But that didn't stop him hoping that his father might undergo a dramatic conversion and become suddenly convinced of the benefits of corporal punishment. I hasten to say that he never put that hope into words. There had been times, particularly recently, when he had thought of suggesting a spanking as a suitable punishment when he had got into trouble at home. But he was perfectly well aware that his father would simply have thought him mad, and would certainly not have taken up the suggestion.

One Monday afternoon Tim was changing into games kit in the school changing room. His locker was beside that of his friend, Chris Somerton. Chris was also changing. The boys were chatting about their shared hope of getting into the 1st XII soccer team that term. Tim was sitting on the narrow bench taking off his socks. Chris was standing just beside him, wearing his school shirt and underpants. He removed his underpants. The tails of his shirt came down to his thighs. He bent to look in his locker for his games shorts. They were not there. He swore under his breath.

"What's the trouble Chris?" Tim asked.

"My bloody games shorts have gone missing."

Both boys looked around. Then Tim saw the shorts. Some bright spark had thrown them onto a hook above the lockers, out of reach of the average twelve year old boy. Chris tried jumping. But it was no good. He couldn't reach them. Then he had an idea. He stood on the bench, removed his shirt and used it to flick at the shorts, in the hope of dislodging them. Tim was watching. At first, he was looking up at the shorts, but then he looked lower. What he saw then caused him to catch his breath. Chris was absolutely naked. Tim had, obviously, seen that before. But this time there was one significant difference. There were two clear, if slightly fading, marks of the sole of a slipper overlapping across the middle of his friend's small round bottom.

Tim looked away in embarrassment. But he turned immediately back. This was not a sight which could be ignored. He found himself hoping that the games shorts would stay over their hook for several more minutes. He was transfixed. Indeed, he did not notice the shorts floating down to the floor. It was only the sound of Chris's voice which woke him from his trance.

"Hey, Tim, why are you staring at my bum. You haven't gone gay have you?"

Tim snapped out of it.

"No, of course not, I just couldn't help noticing that you seem to have had a whacking."

"Oh, I forgot about that. Are the marks still there?"

"Yeah, they certainly are. Did it hurt?"

"It was pretty bad for a while: my Dad's view is that if he's going to slipper you he might as well give it all he's got. But the pain wore off quite quickly."

"What did you get it for?"

"Old Beastie", (the boys' nickname for Mr Bersty), "told Dad about how I didn't do my prep last week when he came to pick me up for weekend exeat. Most masters would just have given me a detention and not said anything else. I reckon Beastie worked out I'd get a whacking if he told Dad and thought would be better than giving me a detention."

"Did you cry?"

"No, I get extra whacks if I cry."

"Did you get it on your bare bum?"

"Of course I did. Look what's all the fuss about? It was just an ordinary whacking. I mean, I don't go asking you about all your punishments, do I?"

"Oh, sorry, Chris. It's just that I've never had a whacking myself and I was wondering what it was like".

"You can't be serious. Your twelve years old and you've never been whacked by your Dad? God, I thought I knew you better than anyone else here and I could have bet that you were the type to get into trouble."

"It's not me. I'm always in trouble, but Dad doesn't believe in corporal punishment. He just sends me to my room or grounds me."

"I wish he'd talk to my Dad and persuade him to give up the slipper."

The boys finished dressing for games and went out to the football pitch.

As the term went on, Tim thought more and more about what he had seen on that Monday afternoon. A plan began to form in his mind. Chris had often suggested that Tim might spend part of the holidays with him. The suggestion had never got further than that. But now Tim was determined to make sure that it did. His idea was simple. If he stayed with Chris and they both got into enough trouble, Chris's father would have to spank both of them. He asked Chris whether the invitation was still on. He was told it was. He telephoned his own parents and begged them to be allowed to spend the first fortnight of the summer holidays with Chris. They were reluctant, but eventually gave in. All was now set.

The first couple of days of the holidays went well. Nothing untoward happened. The boys simply enjoyed themselves. It was on the third day that Tim suggested that they might steal a couple of Chris's father cigarettes and smoke them in the garden shed. Chris's immediate reaction was to be against the plan.

"Dad will go ballistic if he catches us."

"Oh come on Chris, of course we won't be caught. Since when have you been a goody-goody?"

Chris could not allow anyone to think he might be such an appalling thing. He gave in. They crept into his father's study and removed two cigarettes from a half empty packet. Then they set off for the garden shed.

What Tim had not mentioned was that he had overheard Chris's father telling his wife that he intended to build some shelves in the shed as soon as he got back from the newspaper shop. Tim had timed it all to perfection. He knew how long Mr Somerton took to buy the newspaper. He ensured that he and Chris got to the shed five minutes before the expected reappearance. Sure enough, just as they were finishing the cigarettes, Mr Somerton opened the door.

"What the hell is going on here?"

The boys dropped the cigarette ends on the floor and stamped on them. But their crime could clearly not be concealed.

"Go straight to your room and wait for me there."

The boys set off sheepishly. When they got to Chris's room (which Tim was sharing) they discussed their likely fate.

"What do you reckon your Dad will do?"

"There's no way I'll escape at least six with his slipper. As for you, I suppose he'll send you home to be punished."

"He can't do that cos my parents are away. He'll just have to whack me as well."

"He's not going to whack someone else's son, especially one whose Dad doesn't believe in whacking."

"He doesn't know that. If I tell him that my Dad would give me six with the slipper, he'll have to give it to me himself."

"Are you mad or something? If your parents are away, all he'll do if you tell him the truth about your punishments at home is rant and rave at you and then forget about it."

"That wouldn't be fair. I don't see why you should be the only one to be punished. After all, it was all my idea in the first place."

Just then the door opened. Mr Somerton walked in. He held a large leather slipper in his right hand. He was not looking jolly!

"Tim, I am going to punish Chris, perhaps you would be good enough to leave the room. We can then ring your parents and arrange for them to deal with you."

"They're away Mr Somerton. I know they'd want you to punish me for this. So perhaps I'd better stay."

Mr Somerton thought for a moment.

"How do you think you would be punished for smoking at home?"

"Six with the slipper", Tim responded without a second's pause, "and harder than I've ever had it before."

Mr Somerton thought again.

"Well, I suppose you do deserve to be thrashed. But Chris is your host, he must be more severely punished. I will give him six and you four."

"Oh no, Mr Somerton, my Dad would be furious if he thought I'd only got four. And anyway, it was all my idea. Chris tried to talk me out of it."

"Is this true Chris?"

"Well, Tim might have suggested it first, but I am just as much to blame as him."

Some more thinking.

"OK six each. Take your trousers down Chris".

Chris obeyed his father's instruction. Mr Somerton sat on the edge of one of the beds.

"Right, over my knee".

Chris lay across his father's knee. Mr Somerton pulled his son's underpants down. Tim watched. He was fascinated. He noticed his friend's instinctive tensing of his bottom as the slipper was laid across it. Mr Somerton was taking aim. He drew the slipper above his head, as far as it would go, and then smashed it down on the slim buttocks. The sound of the crash echoed round the room. There was a large pink splodge on Chris's bottom. There was a pause for a few seconds. The pink mark became darker. The slipper was raised again. It came down again with the same force. Now there were two overlapping marks. The first had become red, the second was pink. Then the third, the fourth, the fifth and the sixth. At the end, Chris's bottom was bright scarlet. Tim thought it must have been complete agony, but his friend had not uttered a single cry, although his eyes were watering as got off his father's lap and rubbed his burning bottom.

Tim did not wait to be asked. He undid his trousers and pulled them down. He reckoned there was a risk that Mr Somerton would not remove his underpants, so he took them down himself before lying across the waiting knee. His bottom was perfectly round, slim and firm. It was white. He felt the slipper touch as aim was again taken. He tensed his muscles, bit his lip and waited.

Crash. The first stroke had landed. He didn't feel anything for about half a second, and then there was an immense stinging feeling. He wanted to jump up and run away. But he was not going to do that. He bit his lip harder. Just as the pain was beginning to fade. Crash. The second stroke connected. The pain was more than doubled. He felt the water coming to his eyes. He blinked furiously. He did not know how he could possibly get through the next four. But he did. Like Chris, he made no sound at all. At the end, his bottom was throbbing with extreme pain. It felt as though it had been burnt. He grabbed it with both hands and rubbed manically. But he had got through the ordeal. He felt very pleased with himself.

Mr Somerton left the room, with a parting phrase to the effect that he hoped the boys had learned their lesson. Tim did not pull his trousers and pants down. He lay face down on his bed, holding his bottom with both hands. Then, as the pain became more manageable, he lifted his hands free.

"How does my bum look?"

"Wicked", replied Chris, "here, have a look at mine" and he removed his own trousers and pants.

Once the boys had finished admiring the evidence of their punishments, Chris went to the basin and soaked a flannel in cold water. He brought it back and carefully placed it over Tim's burning bottom. "That's what I usually do after a whacking", he said as he returned to the basin to get another flannel for himself.

"That's really cool Chris, thanks, my bum's feeling better already."

Tim was still lying face down on one of the beds. He was reluctant to turn over because he didn't want his friend to see his state of arousal. On the other hand, that state was such that he was in desperate need of relief. It was only during the previous term that he had begun to experiment in this way and, when doing it, he had always thought of that Monday afternoon in the changing rooms and those fading slipper marks on Chris's bottom. He was not surprised, therefore, to find that the combination of his own and Chris' spankings had brought the urge on again. He was just wondering how he was going to be able to get dressed and into the lavatory without his purpose being obvious when he noticed that Chris, who was returning to the bed with his own flannel, was showing the early signs of some hardening himself. Could it be, he wondered, that he was not alone in deriving pleasure of this kind from spankings? He dared not say anything, but he could not help staring at his friend's condition.

Just as Chris got to the bed he noticed Tim's eyes on him. His face reddened in embarrassment as he realised that the early stage of his inevitable erection must be apparent. In his confusion, he dropped the flannel and covered the offending member with his hands. He realised that that just made it worse. He was mortified at what Tim would think of him, and of what he would tell the other boys at school. He had to think of some innocent explanation. What he came up with was hardly convincing.

"Um, er, oh, sorry Tim, it's not what you're thinking. I mean, it's not cos of seeing your bum getting whacked or anything like that. It's just that I always try to take my mind off the pain by thinking of girls and I suppose I was doing it automatically without thinking of you, just cos I always do after Dad's whacked me."

This laboured and weak explanation was entirely satisfactory to Tim.

"That's wicked. I'll do the same." As he said this, Tim turned on his side and revealed his own, rather more advanced, erection.

Chris realised, obviously, that Tim could not have got into that state within seconds. He must have been excited by the spankings. A flood of relief swept over Chris as it suddenly dawned on him that his friend shared his own unusual reaction to corporal punishment. The shock of his dreadful secret being discovered had cooled his ardour, but now the stirrings were beginning again. He thought quickly. They would both want to relieve the pressure. They couldn't both go to the lavatory. There was an obvious risk in using the bedroom. There was no lock on the door and there was always the risk, although a very slim one, that his father would return. But what else was there for it? He took a deep breath and spoke.

"I'd be pretty unobservant if I didn't realise that you sometimes wank after lights out at school and I bet you've noticed my bed rocking a bit as well."

"Yeah, well we're not exactly alone in that are we?".

"No, I mean that's my point. It's perfectly normal for boys of our age. I mean there's nothing to be ashamed about. So, I was just thinking that, well, if you want to have a wank now I wouldn't mind a bit, even though it's my bedroom. And, well, if you were going to do it you could hardly complain if I did as well, could you?"

"Course not Chris. I think it'd be cool. I mean we could see who came first and how much comes out. And we could tell each other what girls we were thinking about and so on."

Chris thought he had better explain the risk.

"The only thing is, there's no lock on the door. Mum never ever comes into my room without asking, but Dad does sometimes. He's never done it after a spanking before, but it wouldn't be fair to you if I didn't admit that it could just happen."

The thought of what Chris's father would do to them if he caught them masturbating served only to increase Tim's excitement.

"I'm prepared to take the risk if you are."

"OK, I'm game, but I might just wedge a chair under the door handle to give us a few moments warning if Dad tries to get in." He pulled a chair towards the door and put it in place. Then he lay down on the other bed. He was on his back, legs apart and knees bent. Tim was in the same position on his bed. Both were now almost fully erect, but neither had yet started.

"Have you ever thought what it would be like to smack a really attractive girl's bum?" Tim suddenly asked.

"Yeah, I sometimes imagine myself pulling a babe's knickers down and putting her across my knee for a spanking before I go all the way with her. That always gets me going."

"Me too. I was just thinking whether you would like to look at my bum sometimes during your wank. I mean you could imagine that it was your girlfriend's bum after you'd spanked her. I wouldn't mind, especially if you let me look at yours too."

"That's a great idea. Hey, why don't we do it kneeling on the floor side by side. If you face one way and I face the other we could look at each other's bums whenever we wanted."

"You're brilliant Chris".

Both boys jumped off their beds and took their positions side by side on the floor. By leaning forward slightly, they could see each other's red bottoms. By leaning back a little they could see how the other was progressing. They both started, slowly pumping their organs and glancing occasionally sideways.

After a few moments Chris spoke again, panting as he did so. "God, I'm going too fast, I don't want to come too soon, but I can't help it."

In his excitement, Tim was losing all his concerns about his reputation. "I'm the same. I know how we can slow down. Why don't we wank each other?"

Chris had been looking longingly at his friend's erection, thinking how wonderful it would be to be massaging it. He, too, had now gone far too far to conceal his true feelings. He didn't hesitate a moment. He let go of his own and leaned over to Tim's. Tim did the same. Each was now, in slightly contorted positions, gripping the other's erect and throbbing penis and pumping, it has to be said, with just as much energy as before.

After a couple more minutes Tim, breathing heavily, gasped: "Oh God, I'm going to come, I'm going to come."

Chris had reached the same stage. "So am I, so am I".

Each tightened his grip on the other and then, as one, they both felt the intense throbbing and, looking down, saw the creamy fluid spurt out. When it was over, they both collapsed in exhaustion.

Tim broke the silence. "That was the greatest it's ever been. Having your hand round my _c_o_c_k_ really made it feel like being up a girl."

"Yeah, I felt exactly the same. I was imagining I was screwing that girl we saw at the swimming pool yesterday. Every time I looked at your bum I thought of hers. It was fantastic."

Once all had subsided, the boys cleaned up and got dressed. When they were satisfied with their appearance, they moved the chair, opened the door and went downstairs. Chris's father came out of the sitting room as they got down to the hall. He looked at the boys in some surprise. Instead of the sheepish looks of shame and distress from pain which he had expected, he saw two faces displaying extraordinary contentment. "Perhaps I ought to be moving Chris on to the cane", he thought to himself.

The rest of the holiday passed all too quickly for the boys. There were no more paternal beatings, but a few days after their adventure with the cigarettes, they had found themselves alone in the house for a whole afternoon. Chris had readily agreed to Tim's suggestion that they should smack each other's bare bottoms ("so we can pretend we're doing it to girls"). Each in turn had put himself over the other's knee. Their bottoms still, of course, carried the marks of the slipper, but the colour had gone and they were both delighted with the redness they caused with six sharp smacks. Neither had been the slightest concerned at knowing that his erection was obvious. Again, they masturbated, but this time they did it to each other from the start.

When the time came for Tim to leave, the boys swore to each other that they would keep their secret, but they also resolved that their spanking games would be repeated at the first opportunity.


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