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Not a Series At All
Spencer

by Wilvalkir

Go to the contents page for this series.

Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 26 May 2009


SPENCER

I knew it was wrong to invade Spencer's privacy, but Linda was beside herself with worry and I couldn't think of where else to turn besides his email account that might give us a clue about our 16-year-old nephew's location. He'd thrown a small tantrum that Friday morning about not being allowed to socialize with his peers until he'd pulled up his grades to a passing level, and had insisted that the bowling engagement scheduled for the evening was “really important” because he had told a certain girl that he was going to be there.

When Spencer turned up missing, I'd driven straight out to Bowl-A-Rama, not particularly giving a damn if I embarrassed my nephew by dragging him home. But I didn't find the boy there, nor did I recognize any of the other teens on the premises. I called home to give Linda my frustrating report, and it was her idea to spy in Spencer's Hotmail account, just in case he'd discussed his plans for the night with somebody else. But she didn't dare do it herself, so I was the one commissioned to park my butt in his desk chair and log onto the boy's PC.

Deciphering his Hotmail password was a cinch. I started with Spencer's favorite Halo character, and when that failed, I tacked the numbers “69” onto the end of the name. Bingo. Now, what the heck was I looking for? Would one of the first few subject lines read: “Here's how to sneak out from under the noses of your clueless aunt and uncle so you can meet us (insert location here)”?

Nope, nothing like that. But there were a dozen or so intriguing bits of correspondence that all had the same title: “Your story: Uncle Ron's Belt”.

Hmm? Uncle Ron was me, and, yes, I HAD bought a new belt for myself the last time I'd taken Spencer shopping at J.C. Penney's. But the purchase was hardly fascinating enough to become the subject of literature ... ?

I clicked into one of the messages. It said: “Great first story! Really hot, but sweet and touching, too. I loved the uncle's tenderness with his nephew afterward! I hate to ask, but is this story true? The details seem so vivid.”

The note was signed by a person operating under the name of “BoyBumRubber”, and I instantly panicked. The news media is always going on about pedophiles preying on kids via the Internet, but that seems too ludicrous to believe. I'm sure things like that happen every now and again, but I assume the media exaggerates and sensationalizes the problem, like they do with everything else ... but I sure as hell wasn't rolling my eyes and changing the channel anymore! Not with this “BoyBumRubber” lurking around in cyberspace and writing emails to MY underage nephew!

I checked out a few more of the emails and found the contents to be similar. The same praise for some story that Spencer had apparently written and posted online, but from readers with less disturbing usernames than Mr. BoyBum. There was no link to this mysterious story in the emails, but I'd determined that it all had something to do with spanking, of all things. One clue was that the messages had been sent from a site called “Malespank.net”.

I typed in the URL. The website that popped up did not appear to be pornographic, but it was obviously dedicated to the exhibition of stories about men being spanked by other men. Weird. I couldn't find a “Spencer” in the author list, so I typed +Uncle +Ron's +Belt into a keyword search engine. The story – written by “NaughtyNephew” – was soon filling my screen.

I recognized the scenario immediately. Why wouldn't I, since it had only taken place the previous week? In the first person voice, Spencer wrote about bringing home his mid-term grade report from school, and his aunt and I finding out that he was failing nearly every subject. My nephew had transcribed the lecture I'd delivered to him about the importance of education nearly word-for-word, which impressed me considerably. I'd thought he was tuning me out the whole time! I was overcome by a strange sense of pride over Spencer not only taking my opinions on schooling seriously, but feeling the need to share my wise words with the rest of the world. And why the heck was this kid getting a “D” in English? Sure, I cringed every now and then over his questionable grammar and punctuation, but Spencer's syntax was good, and his storytelling vivid. Maybe I ought to print this effort of his out and see if Mrs. Grayson, his English teacher, might give him some extra credit points?

Continuing to skim the story, I scratched that idea with the speed of Richard Petty crossing the finish line at the Daytona 500. Spencer's account of the report card incident was rapidly spiraling into a series of complete lies! I certainly had NOT given his bare bottom 20 lashes with my belt for his poor effort in school. I most definitely had NEVER put him over my knee and slapped his naked tail 50 times with my bare hand as a warning of what would happen at report card day if he didn't shape up and start studying. The very thought was horrifying! It had never even crossed my mind to spank my nephew – he was 16, for godssake, not some little kid! Sure, I had swatted the clothed bottoms of my own three children from time to time, back when they were little, but would've never even thought to bare their butts and beat them with a belt. Such drastic measures were hardly necessary to raise a child. I had to admit that Spencer was much more of a challenge than our own offspring had ever been, but still ... a belt?

What REALLY happened was that Linda and I had grounded Spencer for two weeks, so he would have plenty of time to catch up with his unfinished assignments. We know our nephew is a smart kid, and that his only problem in school is an utter lack of interest, so we hoped that his desire to earn back a social life would serve as an incentive for him to start putting more effort into his school work.

“Honey?”

Hearing Linda coming down the hall, I jumped in my seat and closed the Internet window with the speed and shame of someone who had been browsing through photos of women making love to farm animals (not that I've ever looked at that trash, mind you). My wife appeared in Spencer's doorway and asked if I'd found anything interesting.

“No,” I lied, hoping to heck that I wasn't blushing. What I'd seen was most definitely interesting, but not helpful, so there was no need to share. “There's nothing in here but the usual inane teenage chatter – and nothing specific about tonight.”

There was no other option but to wait for Spencer to come home on his own. Linda and I watched a little TV, then she went up to bed. My wife worked on Saturdays, so I offered to sit up and keep a vigil for our nephew's return. Of course, I passed the time on my laptop, perusing the perplexing “Male Spank” website. I re-read Spencer's story first, appalled that he was suggesting to the world at large that his uncle punished his bad behavior with such callous brutality ... but, as I read more carefully, “brutal” was not the right adjective to describe the whipping that my nephew had written about. From start to finish, he had fabricated the administration of a very hard spanking, but he hadn't made me out to be some sort of raging ogre. Not at all. The fictional version of “Uncle Ron” was a firm disciplinarian, but he was always calm and in control. He was an intelligent and steady man – not unlike the REAL me, if you will pardon my arrogance. The man in the story obviously cared a great deal about his nephew, and only wanted the boy to be happy and succeed in life. After the severe spanking was over, the “Uncle Ron” character held and rocked the punished and sobbing boy until his tears subsided. Reading about it filled me with guilt and regret. Obviously, Spencer wanted to be cuddled and loved, but how was I supposed to know that? He was a sixteen year old boy, and he had never voluntarily initiated physical affection between himself and me. Linda hugged the boy now and then, which he tolerated with only minor irritation, but I'd assumed he would reject any unsolicited advances on the part of a pushy uncle. Yes, I'd continued hugging my own two sons during their teen years, but there had been unspoken rules about spontaneous affection: like, just a quick squeeze and never in public. When the boys occasionally felt the need for more substantial physical contact from Dad, they were not shy about slipping an arm around my waist and leaning up against me while we watched a movie, or something like that. My own teenagers decided when and where affection was needed, and Spencer had given me no hints that he was feeling unloved, so I'd naturally kept my distance. Damn, this boy was confusing!

I needed to understand the implications of Spencer's inner fantasy world. I was having trouble wrapping my mind around the boy's motivation to write such a unique story, so I began exploring other aspects of the website where he had published the piece. Malespank was clearly marketed as an adult site, and quite a number of the stories appearing there were sexually explicit in nature. But, alongside the outright fetishism were many stories similar to the one my nephew had produced – sentimental, and often humorous, accounts of domestic discipline. After skimming through a few of these, I started to understand Spencer a little bit better. I sure didn't need a psychology degree to see where the kid was coming from!

Scattered amongst the eroticism, I was able to single out a subsection of writing that was non-sexual in nature, and focused solely on the bond that forms between a boy and a man who cares about his well-being. Whether the account was written from the point of view of a father trying to successfully guide his son into manhood or from a boy who subconsciously appreciates that he is cared for, whether fictional, factual, or ambiguous, the stories were all about the same thing: Love. It was a condition that Spencer had not felt enough of during his sixteen-year lifespan. The boy's mother – my wife's baby sister – loved him in her own way, but she had certainly never been able to push her own selfish needs aside to focus entirely on what was best for her child. Her life circumstances and lack of ability to cope was what had landed her in jail on a drug possession charge, and her son in the care of an aging aunt and uncle. Before me, Spencer had never had a reliable “Dad” figure in his life, and it was understandable that he would subconsciously long for the comfort of knowing that somebody cared enough and was strong enough to watch over him and protect him – even from himself.

However, my nephew's underlying need for stability was apparently NOT so subconscious! He had spelled out his internal desire to be physically loved and physically disciplined quite clearly and in a surprisingly articulate manner. But weren't his aunt and I already giving him that, while also respecting his rights as a developing young man? Obviously, Spencer was tired of being the most mature member of his household, and wanted someone else to take charge and be the “adult”. And I was acting as the man of the house ... wasn't I? I certainly didn't let my nephew get away with acting irresponsibly or self-destructively – not without lecturing and punishing him in response. Was it my fault if he didn't seem to be taking the rules I made for him seriously? The boy defied his aunt and me at every turn, and I'd assumed that he was rebelling against being controlled ... but now that I saw how much Spencer wanted me to have the power in our relationship, his defiant attitude confused me even more. Since my nephew was unwilling to relinquish control, was he hoping that I would storm in and TAKE it? Yes, obviously. But, did I really need to hit him in order to prove my dominance? Maybe.

I fingered the belt around my waist, and winced at the thought of the pain it could cause slicing across a pair of tender, bared buttocks. My nephew couldn't possibly believe that such an act of violence was really an expression of love? But, if he did, he sure wasn't the only one in the world with such an interesting take on the subject of parent/child bonding – the length of the story list on the website in front of me was ample evidence that the boy had some company! I rubbed my tired eyes for a moment, and resumed reading ...

It was a little past two in the morning when I heard a car pull up in front of our house. I set my laptop aside, and craned my neck to watch through the window as Spencer waved goodbye to his friends and came trotting up the walk. He used his key to unlock the front door, then opened it slowly and carefully, trying not to make any noise.

“Spencer, come here,” I said firmly.

The boy's eyes darted to the living room, where he saw me sitting on the couch regarding him sternly. “Can't I get my lecture tomorrow?” my nephew whined. “It's late.”

“Yes, it is late,” I agreed. “And that's one of the reasons why you and I have a problem that needs to get straightened out RIGHT NOW.”

Even a semi-delinquent teen like Spencer is not immune to the “tough guy” voice that keeps my underlings in line at work. The boy grimaced, then shuffled reluctantly into the living room.

“Have a seat, son,” I said tersely. Spencer sat, scowling, but with an unmistakable look of apprehension in his eyes. “Why did you go out tonight when you knew you were grounded?” I asked him.

“I wanted to see my friends,” the boy mumbled.

“At the bowling alley?”

“Yeah.”

“You weren't at the bowling alley, Spencer.”

My nephew looked up at me, startled. “You went there?” He sounded utterly mystified. I nodded in affirmation, and Spencer chewed his lip while he turned the information over in his mind. I imagined that the boy was considering the implications to his social life had I shown up to drag him home in front of his amused friends.

“What would you have done if I had been at the bowling alley?” Spencer asked finally.

I was tempted to say that I would have turned him over my knee and spanked his butt in front of everyone, just to gauge my nephew's reaction to such a suggestion, but I refrained from bringing up the subject of cp ... yet.

“Never mind what I would have done. I want to know where you've been for half the night.”

“We decided to go to the movies instead.”

“The movie theater closed hours ago, son.”

“So, we drove around for awhile. What's the big deal?”

“The 'big deal' is that your aunt and I like to know where you are. And you have a midnight curfew for a reason.”

“Yeah, that totally sucks,” Spencer complained. “Nobody else has to be home so early on a Friday night. It's not fair!”

“What isn't fair is the way you ignore the rules that your aunt and I have laid out for your own good,” I countered. “How are we supposed to keep you safe and on the right track in life when you defy our every attempt we make at setting boundaries for your behavior?”

My nephew stood there in silence, probably assuming my question had been rhetorical. When I continued to stare at him quizzically, the boy shrugged and muttered, “I dunno. I guess I'll stop breaking the rules.”

“No, Spencer, I don't think you will stop,” I said sincerely. “Not until you've suffered a consequence that actually gets through to you. If I had defied my parents at your age, my father would have taken his belt to my bare backside.”

I was lying about this, but since Spencer had lied to the whole damn world about me, I figured that I was within my rights to do some fabricating of my own. In actuality, I had been a responsible and well-behaved kid, and my father had been too quiet and dignified to involve himself in a task as noisy as spanking a son – even the few times I might have deserved it. I'd mentioned the belt just to see if my nephew would react in any way, and Spencer did not disappoint. The boy blushed so hard that I was afraid his face might catch on fire.

Trying to sound stern, rather than completely out of my element, I went on:

“Spanking a sixteen-year-old boy is an awfully drastic measure,” I told Spencer, “but I'm prepared to take that step if you continue to behave like an irresponsible brat.”

“No, Uncle Ron!” the boy protested, his eyes going wide. “You can't!”

I chickened out and changed my mind. I was pretty sure of what my nephew needed from me, but I wanted to be completely sure.

“I can,” I replied firmly, “but, I won't ... this time. I'm going to give you one more chance to straighten up your act, son. Here's what's going to happen ... are you listening to me, Spencer?”

“Yessir,” the boy muttered, his gaze fixated on his feet.

“Your two weeks of grounding is starting over from the beginning,” I decreed. “As punishment for sneaking out and coming home late, you will spend tomorrow morning and afternoon doing chores for me around the house. Without complaining, mind you.”

“Okay,” Spencer murmured. “Can I go to my room now?”

“Not yet. I'm not finished talking.”

“Okay,” the boy muttered again. Our conversation was making the usually confident young man very uncomfortable, but I decided that it was a good thing.

“I need to warn you that if you break your grounding again, or disobey me in any other way during the next two weeks, I will bare your bottom and deliver a good, old fashioned seat warming. Are we clear?”

“Yessir, Uncle Ron.” Spencer's voice came out as little more than a whisper.

“Good. Let's go to bed; we've got a busy day tomorrow.”

As we headed for the stairs together, I reached out to briefly stroke Spencer's blond hair. I hoped the gesture of affection would inspire my nephew to open up his arms for a goodnight hug, but the boy only ducked his head away and turned to shoot me an irritated look. If I wanted to introduce any physical contact into our relationship, I'd better proceed carefully and try not to make my nephew uncomfortable.

The next day, I woke Spencer up just after Linda left for work, despite his late bedtime the night before. I already had his chore list prepared, and I shoved it under his nose at the breakfast table, along with a bowl of Raison Bran. The bleary-eyed boy ate, then got right to work scrubbing the upstairs bathroom. My nephew's performance was lethargic at best, but since the boy was cooperating without complaint, I let the apathy slide. Poor kid was tired, after all.

After his half-assed cleaning of his bathroom, I steered the boy outside and planted him in front of the lawn mower. Cutting the grass was supposed to be his standard job – which he more or less did each week after a good deal of nagging – but this time Spencer had specific and explicit instructions on how to complete a myriad of additional yard working tasks. I had some weekend errands to run, so I told my nephew I'd be back in an hour, and that I expected to find him still slaving away diligently, ideally with some progress under his metaphorical belt.

I returned to a deserted yard and house.

Linda would be home from work by 5:30. If I was assessing this situation correctly, Spencer would show his face well before that time. Privacy would be essential to the success of our little 'encounter' – the fulfillment of the promise he was forcing me to make good on. While I waited for my nephew's return, I re-read his story on the Malespank website. I needed to use his fabrication as a guideline for the forthcoming real-life disciplinary session ... but I couldn't follow his scenario too closely, or he might suspect that I 'knew'. I devised a sketchy plan for how I would proceed, but much of it was based on my nephew's cooperation. I was irrevocably committed to giving the boy a bare butt spanking, but if I had to fight him in order to do it then such an unpleasant event would never occur again. Corporal punishment was NOT my idea of an effective disciplinary method, and was only prepared to employ such a measure if Spencer was undeniably going to benefit from my sacrifice!

Based on the content of Spencer's story, I did expect a certain amount of protest from my nephew – and I got it. The boy returned home at 3:30 with a pouting face and an excuse about needing to spend his afternoon at the local swimming pool because he'd already promised his friends that he would show up.

“But, I'm really sorry, Uncle Ron!” he said with false sincerity. “This is the last time it will ever happen, so please give me one more chance!”

“No dice,” I replied, my jaw set with determination. “You were told to stay home and mow the lawn, and you disobeyed me. Now, it's time for you to pay the price. Let's go to your bedroom.”

I took Spencer by the elbow and marched him toward the stairs. He glared at me, but didn't pull away. I took his compliance as further indication that I was doing the right thing.

I almost smiled to see the startled, yet fascinated, look on my nephew's face when he saw the ping pong paddle that I'd placed on top of his pillow. I'd selected the implement as a replacement for the belt for several reasons. Not only did I want to deviate a bit from Spencer's story so not to appear 'obvious', but I also preferred to use a spanking tool that would work well with the boy placed across my lap. Reading between the lines, I had sensed that my nephew held the intimate over-the-knee spanking position in high importance. In his version, it had only been used after his character was frantic with pain and unable to control himself enough stay bent over his bed. I remembered 'my' line in the story with absolute clarity: “Spencer, since you aren't able to hold still and take your strapping like a man, I guess I need to put you over my knee and spank you like a little boy.”

Being an intelligent man, I fully expected that I would be punishing a “little boy” almost from the very start. Another reason I'd selected the paddle was because I knew it would HURT. If my suspicions were correct, Spencer had a romanticized idea of how a spanking would feel and the full reality of the actual sensation was going to take him by surprise. The boy definitely needed a good dose of pain, so I had no intention of holding back and denying him his due! Because I anticipated a lot of kicking and squirming, I'd decided that securing my nephew across my lap for his entire punishment was the most logical option.

I sat down on the edge of Spencer's bed. I ominously placed the paddle next to my leg, then regarded the boy looking nervously down at me. “You know why you're due this spanking, young man,” I said to my nephew. “Take your pants down, please.”

“Please, Uncle – not bare!” Spencer begged me.

It was all the invitation I needed. The online personification of 'Uncle Ron' had stripped his nephew himself, removing every article of clothing below the boy's waist. Since Spencer was hesitating to undress himself, I took it as a subtle indication that he really DID prefer for his disciplinarian to do the deed.

“C'mere.” I reached up and pulled my nephew closer by the front of his t-shirt. He stood there compliantly as my fingers worked the buttons on his jeans. “I promised you a bare bottom punishment, so that is exactly what you're going to get,” I said to the boy.

“Uncle Ron—” my nephew started to whine as I placed my hands on either side of his waist. I gave him a hard look, and he shut right up. Slowly, I dragged the boy's pants down his legs to just above his knees – but not all the way off. I was not prepared to take things quite as far as 'I' had in the story!

“I'll take your underwear down after you are across my lap. A boy your age is entitled to some privacy,” I told Spencer. “At least, for now. If you continue to push your limits, I might decide later that you aren't old enough to be allowed any modesty.”

“Yessir,” my nephew said, blushing hotly. Was he embarrassed by the obvious bulge in his boxer shorts, or by the threat that I may someday see what his hard penis looked like with my own eyes?

“Over my knee, son.”

With an almost indiscernible whimper, my nephew lowered himself onto my waiting lap. I let him squirm to find some comfort in the awkward position before I adjusted his body further so that his underwear-covered behind was arched high over my right knee.

I told Spencer to “lift up” as I eased the boxers down off his butt. The waistband snagged on his inconveniently located protrusion, but I worked his underwear past the obstruction, and soon the naked teenage erection was pressing against the top of my thigh. I ignored the boy's apparent arousal. I had no intention of engaging in 'sex games' with my nephew, but my in-depth analysis of his published spank fantasy had convinced me that Spencer's needs were emotionally driven, with only a little erotic appeal. True, he was probably somewhat excited at actually finding himself in position to receive the discipline he craved so badly, but arousal in a teenaged boy is not an uncommon state. My nephew no doubt got equally hard when he sat in from of the TV set watching an exciting sports match. In any case, I wouldn't begin worrying about a meaningless erection unless the boy were to ejaculate on my leg – at which point I would definitely re-think this new discipline direction!

Midway through his punishment, Spencer proved to me – inadvertently – that he was at no risk of making a sticky mess all over my slacks ... but, let me back up a bit and start at the beginning:

For the first time in my career as a parent and an adoptive uncle, I was staring down at a pair of round, bare buttocks stretched out over my lap. I no personal experience on how to proceed, but I also knew that administering a spanking is a relatively straightforward task – especially since I felt so justified that what I was about to do was the right thing under the circumstances. All that the delivery of a spanking required was a repeated series of blows applied to a bare and vulnerable pair of bottom cheeks. My primary challenge would be ensuring that my swats landed solidly enough to teach my nephew the lesson he “sorely” needed.

I eased into things, taking the opposite direction of my nephew's infamous story. In Uncle Ron's Belt, the titled implement had made an immediate and impressive appearance, landing fast and furiously on Spencer's literary hindquarters as he lay draped over the edge of his bed. The initial ordeal had been followed by a hand spanking and lecture that I felt were better suited as the opening act. With that in mind, I began to firmly slap my nephew's bare cheeks while scolding him thoroughly about things like obedience and trust. Spencer took his punishment quietly at first, but it didn't take much more than a minute for the heat to build up to a point where he began to move his behind around uncomfortably. Seeing that I was on the right track, I increased the velocity of the swats, raising my voice to be heard over the much louder sound of my hardest slaps. It only took about a dozen of these butt burners before Spencer was drumming his feet against the floor and making little moaning and groining noises. I knew my nephew was beyond listening to me, and I'd basically run out of things to say, anyway, so I stopped talking and concentrated on making the boy's butt cheeks jiggle like crazy as they grew redder and redder. I probably gave the kid at least a hundred good swats before I decided that he'd been warmed up enough. Spencer's entire bottom burned with a deep blush by the time I picked up my paddle and took aim against his little rear.

Now, I knew that the flat, hard surface of the paddle was going to hurt more than my hand. That was sort of the idea. What I wasn't prepared for was my nephew's reaction to the sting of the wood as it slammed against his bare tail. The sixteen-year-old demonstrated his youthful athletic prowess by scrambling right up off my lap before I even had a chance to retract my arm's downward swing! While Spencer hopped around his room clutching his butt and repeating “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!”, I took mildly interested note of the way his flaccid teenage penis swung to and fro like a agitated elephant's trunk. It relieved me that the boy was not enjoying his punishment in any visibly erotic way. He certainly was not eager to return to his former position when I made a polite request to that effect. I had to threaten my nephew with additional violence before he would comply. “Spencer Alexander,” I said, “if you aren't back over my lap before I count to five, I'm going to take off my belt and whip you with it before I finish your paddling.”

“How much more?” the boy whined, as he slowly lay back down across my knees.

“Considering that we haven't even started with the paddle, I'd guess you've still got a whole lot of spanks coming your way, son,” I replied ominously. I really wasn't sure how long I planned to spank him, but I knew I needed to make the punishment memorable.

I made sure to secure a firmer grip around my nephew's waist before I resumed the festivities between his butt and my paddle. Spencer started crying after only a couple more hard swats, which was one of my goals as a spanker. Inexperienced though I may be at tanning teenage hide, I instinctively knew that some healthy tears were necessary to prove that the recipient was getting the message. As I ignored the childish sobs and continued to crisply paddle my nephew's bare butt, Spencer took his expressions of discomfort a step further and began shrilly beseeching me to cease operations at once. It sounded something like:

“No!” *sob* “No more, pleeeze!” *boo-hoo-hoo* “I'll be good! I'll be good! I proooomise! *wahhh*”Please, Uncle, stop!“

If there were two main things I learned from perusing the offerings on the MaleSpank website, these would be the points most emphasized:

A good disciplinarian does not stop spanking just because a boy is beside himself with pain ... and ...

An effective disciplinarian must take time to pay specific attention to the undersides of his spankee's cheeks – the spots that should be especially sore the next time he is required to sit down.

I took the website's indirect advice, and swatted Spencer even harder in response to each of his cries for mercy. With an upward hike of his bright red bottom, I made sure that the final dozen spanks I administered fell directly upon my nephew's dual “sit-spots”, three to one side, then a few to the other, and so forth, until the kid was nearing screaming from the intensity of the burn.

I paused and let Spencer cry for a minute or two while I watched his well-blistered cheeks clench and unclench in agony. When the boy probably assumed that his punishment was over, I surprised him with three extra hard cracks across the middle of his scarlet bottom.

“I” – WHACK! – “Love” – WHACK! – “You.” – WHACK!

“Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!” Spencer wailed, as he writhed on my lap. But he must have been listening to my words, because as soon as he stopped quivering and relaxed, the boy whispered, “I love you, too, Uncle Ron.”

The punishment was over, and this was where my fictional counter-part would commence with sympathetically massaging the pain from my nephew's sore bottom cheeks. I was sympathetic enough, sure, but I wasn't going to behave in any way that even bordered on the inappropriate. Bum rubbing and the like would just have to stay in Spencer's fantasies. I wasn't going to leave the boy without a 100% chaste hug, however. First, I eased my nephew's boxers back over his roasted rear, leaving the jeans alone for him to deal with at his own discretion. Next, I helped Spencer to his feet and enveloped him in what I hoped was the warmest hug of his entire life. He buried his face against my chest and sobbed into my t-shirt. This was the easy part of the punishment, and the moment that made all of the distastefulness and inflicted pain worth it – for both of us, I assumed. I stroke Spencer's hair tenderly while I held the boy and assured him that I'd meant it when I said I loved him.

After a good, long cuddle, we pulled apart. My nephew smiled shyly at me as he wiped the remaining tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. “That spanking really hurt, Uncle Ron,” he said, trying to pout, but not quite pulling it off.

“It was intended to,” I replied. “I hope now you'll remember to obey me when I tell you to do something.”

“Yessir, I will.”

Now was my big moment – it was time to deliver the line I'd been rehearsing in my head ever since I made the decision to paddle Spencer's behind. It was dialogue taken straight from his story, but paraphrased just enough to avoid any copyright infringement:

“I hated having to punish you so harshly, son, but I care about you enough to do it again in a heartbeat, if I ever think that you will benefit from another good spanking.”

“I know, Uncle. But I'll never need another one!”

Famous last words.

I ruffled Spencer's hair and gave him one more quick hug ... before breaking the news that I planned to exile him to a corner in the living room for the next half hour before I sent him back to finish mowing the lawn. My nephew didn't argue, and why should he? The corner thing was his idea, after all! I failed to imitate his story completely, because I did not require the boy to serve his corner time with his throbbing red butt bare and on display. I wasn't convinced Spencer really wanted THAT! In any case, the boy met me half-way by stepping out of his jeans and coming downstairs in only his t-shirt and underpants. Thankfully, Spencer didn't take the initiative of pulling his boxers down unbidden after planting his nose in the directed corner ... but I did notice his hands slipping down the back of his shorts to knead at the aching flesh hidden beneath.

The lawn was mowed and our nephew was showered and changed before my wife made it home from work. The boy did not mention the spanking to Aunt Linda, and neither did I. I was grateful for our unspoken agreement to keep the matter a secret between ourselves, because I was afraid that my wife would not be able to wrap her female mind around the complex reasons why I did what I did. She could never understand the masculine passion for competitive sports, or anything else that was gritty and primal, so something as seemingly brutal as beating a child was no doubt beyond her limited comprehension as well.

In the days that followed, I kept a curious vigil on the “Newest Story” list on the MMSA website. It took nearly a week of waiting and watching, but sure enough, a second submission from 'NaughtyNephew' dutifully appeared. Uncle Ron's Paddle, was the not-so-original title.

I read over Spencer's vividly-detailed account with cringing amusement. It may just have been my imagination, but I sensed an underlying energy and excitement that his previous submission had lacked. Despite the two stories being very similar, this latest really was real! My nephew's more experienced narration definitely reflected a greater understanding of pain and how a boy reacts to it – a knowledge that even I could not relate to fully. However, Spence had obviously not lost his fascination with less realistic elements of punishment, such as being rubbed by his uncle and serving bare-bottomed corner time. “Dream on, kiddo,” I said to myself.

True, some of the facts of our bonding session in his bedroom had been wildly distorted – but that was Spencer's prerogative as an author, right? And not all of the boy's fabrications were completely outlandish. Some of his added touches I actually liked, to be honest.

If I ever have cause to spank Spencer again, my goal will be to paddle him to a such a state of hysteria that he slips and accidentally calls me “Daddy” ... just like in his story!
 

THE END

© Copyright Wilvalkir February 3, 2009

 
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