Hugh (just 18) was angry with himself. How could he have let a pompous little twit like Simon (19 - nearly 20) trick him into that game of strip table-tennis? He stared at Simon’s woefully small, almost hairless genitals. If it wasn’t for the fact that Hugh was dressed in his old school uniform complete with eye-wateringly brief short trousers, he might have been tempted to take matters into his own hands and give Simon what for… well, that and the fact they were both facing their respective mothers and the other members of the Bunbury Ladies Reading Circle, as well as Abigail and Heather, the young daughters of one of the members of said circle.
Hugh had to be content with watching Simon’s mother deal with her son. She was clearly mortified by Simon’s behaviour in front of her guests and was in no doubt that she had to show them how naughty boys were dealt with in her house. It was a simple case that her dignity demanded she did so.
Everyone sensed this and remained respectfully quiet. The only sounds were of Simon whimpering and pleading and promising his mother that he wouldn’t do it again, that he would behave himself in future, if only please, please, please, she wouldn't, not in front of everyone.
“Wouldn’t what, Simon?” Amanda stopped and asked her son.
Hugh had to smirk as he saw Simon realise what he’d just implied by his miserable pleading.
“Come along, Simon… what wouldn’t mummy do if you behaved yourself?” Amanda insisted.
Simon, still standing on the coffee table with his hands firmly on his head and his little schoolboy underpants at his feet, screwed up his face. Hugh thought Simon was about to burst into tears, but Simon was merely stealing himself to tell everyone in the room what he knew mummy would do.
“Spank my bottom…” he blurted out. It was hardly the behaviour of a boy of almost twenty summers and when he realised he’d made a mistake Simon corrected himself and actually apologised! This was done under the watchful gaze of the Bunbury Ladies Reading Circle and their junior members the sisters Heather and Abigail… and of course Hugh.
“Um, I’m sorry, I meant bare bottom, mummy… you’d spank my bare bottom.”
“That’s correct,” Amanda confirmed, “You know as well as I do that a spanking does a boy absolutely no good unless it’s administered to his bare bottom.”
“Yes, mummy,” Simon agreed.
“Now get down from the coffee table and let’s show the ladies how we deal with naughty boys in this house.”
It was obvious to everyone what a struggle it was for Simon to comply. The ladies now knew and of course Simon knew what awaited him. Abigail stepped forward and offered to assist by helping Simon untangle his underpants from his feet which she did showing remarkable efficiency and addressing Simon as if he was nearer twelve than twenty.
“Oh you have got your little underpants into a tangle,” Abigail admonished the blushing boy, “What have you been up to? Come along let’s lift up this little footy… that’s right… now the other one… what a clever boy!”
Hugh could barely contain himself as he watched Simon being assisted by Abigail who now handed Simon’s junior schoolboy underpants to her sister, Heather.
Hugh stepped forward with his arm held out. “Here… let me help you off the coffee table, Simon.”
Simon glared at Hugh.
Amanda smiled and praised Hugh for being so helpful and setting such a fine example for her badly behaved son. However, Margret, Hugh’s mother, couldn’t help wondering what her son was up to, but decided to wait and see and soak up some of the reflected glory of Hugh’s so far exemplary, gentlemanly behaviour.
So, somewhat reluctantly, Simon took hold of Hugh’s hand and stepped down from the coffee table. Left wearing just his school shirt and tie, together with his ankle socks and T-bar school sandals, Simon looked quite ridiculous standing in front of the Bunbury Ladies Reading Circle. As Simon turned to face his mother, Hugh saw the pale cheeks of Simon’s bottom. Hugh glanced around the room whilst wondering whether Simon’s mum would just give him a hand spanking on his bare bottom, or was there a paddle or and hair brush lying about ready to be employed on a naughty bottom?
Then Hugh spotted it… pay dirt! He grinned. Perfect. There, on the sideboard across the room where it had been casually discarded, was a Palio SuperXpress Master table tennis bat. No wonder Simon had won those table tennis games so easily, Hugh thought. If he was playing with one of those he must have known I didn’t stand a chance. He took me for a sucker alright.
It was Hugh’s turn to glare at Simon. His eyes travelled down to look at Simon’s pale bottom once more and Hugh wondered just how red they would turn after a really good spanking with the Palio bat. ‘Dream on,’ Hugh thought, ‘do you seriously expect he’ll be spanked with that bat?’ he told himself… but, you never know. Hugh was nothing if not an optimist.
Simon continued to plead with his mother not to spank him in front of everyone, but it hardly needs to be recorded that his words were in vain. Amanda stood to one side of her son and then took hold of the back tail of Simon’s grey school shirt and with one practiced tug, yanked it up and pushed it firmly into the collar, thus effectively baring Simon’s front from chest to ankle and from ankle to shoulder at the back.
Simon’s penis had by this time deflated somewhat. Abigail, with her comprehensive knowledge of puberty in boys, can’t have been the only person in the room to wonder why Simon had such a boyish-looking penis. Why, it was much smaller and thinner than those Abigail saw in her school books. From where she was sitting Abigail could see that Simon’s foreskin was noticeably longer than the ones she’d seen in the book about how boys develop during their teen years. Could it be that Simon’s penis is even smaller than it looks, she wondered? No wonder he didn’t want his trousers taken down to be measured properly.
“Hands back up on your head, Simon,” his mothered ordered, “... and keep them there,” she added menacingly, expecting her son to behave himself and do what he was told.
Hugh wished he could have seen Simon’s face as Amanda put her left hand on Simon’s shoulder and then raised her right arm. She swung her hand sharply downwards and cracked it squarely across Simon’s left buttock. Simon jolted forward and in the process his penis was seen to slap up against his pubis, much to the amusement of Heather and Abigail. More spanks followed as Amanda swatted her son’s bottom cheeks and in the process turning them a light pink colour. Each time her hand made contact, Simon’s hips pushed out and an incoherent noise was heard to leave his lips. Gradually the noises turned to barely comprehensible pleading, but mum’s hand continued to spank Simon’s bottom turning it from light pink to bright red in colour.
It was only with extreme difficulty that Simon managed to keep his hands on his head. But when mum’s hand finally stopped warming up his bottom, Simon performed a sort of jig for the obvious amusement of ladies of the book club, hopping from one foot to the other in an attempt to ease the stinging sensation left by his mother’s practiced hand upon his bare bottom.
“Well done, Amanda!” Betty Crabbe said as she expressed her wholehearted support for the book club member.
“I’ll go along with that,” Margret, Hugh’s mother, chipped in before adding, “I’d not thought of spanking Hugh standing up… it looked very effective.” Margret looked meaningfully at Hugh, but before Hugh could say anything, Amanda spoke:
“If you think that was effective, Margret, you should see what happens when I use my hairbrush…”
Simon’s head twisted round to face his mother. The shocked look on his face said it all.
“... it’s just a pity I left it upstairs…”
Heather leapt up: “I’ll fetch it, Mrs Waters…” she offered enthusiastically.
Hugh was on the alert. He’d never get another chance like this… do it now, say something, he told himself, before Heather goes for the hairbrush.
Simon looked over to Hugh when he heard him cough politely:
“Ahem… Mrs Waters… um, why don’t you use that ping-pong bat instead?” Hugh said as he indicated the table tennis bat lying on the sideboard.
Everyone turned their heads to see the bat Hugh had drawn their attention to, but before their eyes had properly focused and they’d realised the the use to which it could be put, Simon let out a blood-curdling shriek as he lunged at Hugh.
“YOU BASTARD!!… YOU… YOU LITTLE SHIT!!”
Wisely Hugh, for once in his life, did nothing and simply watched and let Simon dig himself into a hole. It took little more than a second before Simon realised how deep that hole was.
“Simon Waters!!” Amanda snapped, “What do you think you are doing?! And what do you mean by using language like that?! You’re a disgrace! Showing me up like that! Who do you think you are to behave like that in front of my guests! And as for attacking Hugh for absolutely no reason…” Amanda paused and turned to speak to Hugh in a somewhat less vigorous voice: “Yes, that table-tennis bat will be a perfect substitute, Hugh. Thank you for your suggestion.”
The contrast between the two boys was not lost on the ladies. Red-faced and red-bottomed, Simon was on the verge of tears as he was brought down to earth by his mother’s words. With his shirt pulled up and tucked into its collar, and in the absence of both short trousers and underpants, Simon was, for all practical purposes, nude. Hugh, on the other hand, stood smartly and fully dressed. Fighting the urge to look smug, Hugh had the satisfaction of knowing that Simon was getting his just reward.
“But, mum… mummy… it’s my Palio SuperXpress… please… don’t use it… it’ll ruin it for play…” Simon implored his mother.
“Well you shouldn’t have left it lying about, should you… I’ve told you enough times to put your things away… It will be a lesson for you to look after your table-tennis bat... and you can think about that lesson while Hugh uses it to spank your bottom…”
It was hard to know which boy was more shocked, Hugh or Simon. Certainly Simon’s mouth fell open as he finally cottoned on to the circumstances under which he’d met Hugh before.
“Now go and fetch your bat and hand it over to Hugh,” Amanda instructed her disgraced son, “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the shameful language you used…”
Simon knew that meant an unpleasant trip to the kitchen sink for a mouth-soaping before the day was out.
Amanda turned towards Hugh as Simon crossed the room to fetch the table-tennis bat: “What position would you like Simon to adopt? I leave it down to you… Simon will do whatever you require...” There was no need for her to say anything else. Simon knew by the tone of his mother’s voice that he was in enough trouble already to risk upsetting her further.
Hugh looked thoughtfully at the coffee table: “Any position, Mrs Waters?”
Amanda nodded.
Over on the other side of the room Simon picked up his Palio bat. He looked at it and ran his fingers over the red sponge. It was hard, perfect for fast loops and chops, but he trembled to think what it would feel like smacking his already tender bare bottom. He walked back and nervously held out the bat for Hugh to take while looking down and refusing to make eye contact.
Hugh couldn’t resist a sly smile as he told Simon to get back up onto the coffee table… and this time he was instructed to kneel. Reluctantly Simon did as he was told, but baulked when Hugh explained that he was to lean forward over the edge of the table and put his hands flat on the carpet, even though he knew what sort of mood his mother was in.
Simon’s obstinacy did not go down at all well with Amanda and there followed the usual exchange of views: “... but, mum… do I have to? It’s not fair…” “Simon you’re only making things worse for yourself… now do what Hugh says...” “Please, mummy…” before the final “That’s enough!” from Amanda brought the exchange of words to a halt.
All the while Hugh stood patiently to one side and watched as Simon made a fuss and annoyed his mother even further. Never mind, Hugh thought, it gives me the perfect excuse to really put Simon’s Palio bat through its paces.
Finally Simon stretched out and, leaning forward, placed his hands on the carpeted floor. He’d never before felt quite this vulnerable and as Hugh tapped the table tennis bat on his perfectly positioned bare bottom, Simon realised he was left utterly defenceless. Having to support his whole upper body weight on his hands meant he had no choice but to stay in position and take every swat of the bat that Hugh delivered no matter how much they stung.
“How many shall I give him, Mrs Waters?” Hugh asked politely.
“Oh, you carry on, Hugh and I’ll let you know when I think he’s had enough,” Simon’s mother replied. Hugh was delighted to oblige.
Needless to say this news did not go down well with Simon as he waited anxiously for the spanking to begin. He was already visibly tense and, with bottom cheeks clenched, braced himself for the first strike of his own table tennis bat on his own bare bottom. But Hugh simply swished the bat to-and-fro a few times to get the feel of it before he was ready to start. And even then, when the bat first touched Simon’s bottom, it was only for a few taps before Hugh pressed it firmly against the right buttock and teased the increasingly nervous Simon. Although this tactic used up valuable time, Hugh knew from personal experience how it raised the levels of nervous anticipation to stratospheric levels. He could see the effect it was having on Simon whose eyes were squeezed tightly shut in expectation of the first sting of the bat.
A few more taps on Simon’s left buttock and then suddenly Hugh swung the bat down hard on each bare cheek in turn, as if returning some of the strokes he’d received during the game he’d been hoodwinked into playing against Simon. After four rapid swats, Hugh paused and waited for the full effect of the first swats to make themselves felt. Simon twisted his hips and jiggled his bottom as best as he could much to the amusement, it has to be said, of the ladies. Heather couldn’t stop herself from giggling as she watched, while Abigail was astonished at the powerful effect the simple table tennis bat had when applied to a boy’s bare bottom. Even after the first few strokes Abigail couldn’t help noticing how the colour of Simon’s bottom almost matched that of the bright red bat held in Hugh’s capable hand.
Simon tried not not debase himself any further by making a noise, but after another series of taps followed by some truly inspired strokes from Hugh wielding the bat, Simon begged for him to stop, pleading shamelessly as his knees slowly parted on the coffee table and his bottom sagged as he attempted to ease the awful stinging sensation that now beset his neither regions.
Hugh didn’t need to say anything, as Simon’s mother told her son, in no uncertain terms, to push his bottom out properly and to stop whining… it was only a table tennis bat after all, she added.
Throughout these proceedings it should be noted that Hugh’s mother, Margret couldn’t help wondering why Simon reacted so violently to Hugh’s mention of the table tennis bat. It was quite a puzzle. She, like everyone else in the room, could see the remarkable effect of the bat as an instrument of punishment was having on Simon’s bottom. But the curious thing about it was that Hugh, as far as she was aware, had never been beaten with a table tennis bat, so why did he suggest using it to Mrs Waters? If Hugh hadn’t been on the receiving end of a bat, how did he know of its undoubted effectiveness?
In the meantime Simon was struggling to stay in position as Hugh returned every one of the whacks with the table tennis bat that he had received from Simon during the after-school table tennis club… with interest.
As the final wallop of the bat landed on Simon’s sizzling, red-hot bottom, he was left with tears and snot running down his face as he tried to catch his breath. Simon had never known a spanking to sting so much. Even his mother’s hairbrush didn’t sting quite as bad as the table tennis bat. But just as he was managing to get control of himself again, Abigail spoke:
“Please, Mrs Waters, can I have a go?”
“Well, I’m not sure, dear. Hugh’s given Simon quite a spanking… you can see how red his bottom is,” Amanda replied.
But then Abigail’s mother Cynthia chipped in: “Oh, go on Amanda. Let Abigail have ago if she wants to… I don’t think she’ll be able to spank Simon’s bottom as hard as a big strong boy like Hugh…”
Amanda looked down at her son’s bright red bottom and thought about it for a moment before replying: “All right then… but just six strokes,” she said.
Hugh handed the bat to Abigail and told her where to stand for the best swing.
Simon’s head shot up when he felt the first of Abigail’s half dozen stokes of the bat, all of which fell square across the lower curves of his bottom cheeks. Abigail had consciously aimed for this area as she could see it was a paler red than the rest of Simon’s bare bottom and therefore obviously in need of her attention.
After her allotted six strokes which had left Simon wailing like a banshee, Cynthia turned to Amanda: “It sounds as if I was wrong… seems as if Abigail can swing that bat as well as a boy!”
Of course no one was surprised when Heather wanted a go with the table tennis bat as well, to which Simon pleaded that his bottom was on fire and please, please, please no more thwacks with the bat on his bottom. So Amanda ruled that Simon’s bottom had had enough, but Heather looked so disappointed that she suggested Heather might like to try the bat out on Simon’s thighs which Amanda could see were quite untouched and still pale.
“Is that alright with you, Simon?” his mother asked sarcastically.
Inwardly Simon groaned, but accepted the compromise: “Yes, mummy…”
Simon’s face was now a real mess covered in tears, drool and snot, made worse when he tried to wipe his nose as he supported himself with one hand on the carpet. His mother told him helpfully that it wouldn’t be possible for Heather to be able to spank him very hard with the bat and that she wasn’t even going to hit his bottom just as he’d asked.
Once more Hugh’s expertise was called upon to show Heather the best way to grip the handle of the table tennis bat. Unprompted he also told Heather whereabouts to aim for on the back of Simon’s so far unblemished thighs. Heather nodded and set about her task with vim and vigour. She landed the bat on exactly the right spot on Simon’s left thigh… well, it must have been the right spot as Simon reared up and yelped, much to the surprise of everyone watching. Was Simon such a softie, they wondered, that he could react in such a way to a spanking given by a young girl like Heather?
Heather smacked the bat down on Simon’s right thigh which brought a similar reaction. Simon started begging Heather to stop.
Heather paused and looked at Simon’s mother for advice.
“Simon… what do you think you are doing?” his mother scolded him, “I can’t see what all the fuss is about. You asked for Heather not to spank your bottom, which I agreed to, and now you’re making a great big fuss because she’s spanking the backs of your thighs which you agreed she could do… I just don’t know what’s got into you, I really don’t. Now get your head down and let Heather get on with her turn…”
Hugh looked down as Simon steadied himself and waited for Heather to resume spanking his thighs. Hugh felt magnanimous and was almost ready to offer to shake hands with Simon and to call it quits, although Hugh thought it somehow unlikely Simon would be willing to oblige having been utterly humiliated in front of his mother’s guests and spanked with the very same table tennis bat that Simon had used on Hugh’s bare bottom. Simon had been spanked by himself, Abigail and Heather, who had the distinction of warming Simon’s thighs. There really wasn’t much more that Hugh could think of that might add to Simon’s shame… unless, unless he could think of a way to draw some more attention to that pathetic little penis Hugh could just about glimpse dangling between Simon’s legs as he knelt on the coffee table. Every time Heather hit his legs with the bat Simon’s penis would flick up out of sight, his erection long gone.
The last stroke of the bat from Heather finally came and Simon was told he could stand up and climb down off the table. It was clear to Amanda that he was desperate to sooth his stinging bottom and thighs.
“All right, Simon, you can have two minutes…” Amanda didn’t need to tell Simon what to do as he went straight up on tiptoes, pushed his hips forward and reached back with his hands to rub his sore bottom. The spanking dance that followed was perhaps the most entertaining part of the book club meeting. Everyone watched as Simon, bereft of any sense of shame, leapt, squirmed and wriggled about frantically trying to ease the stinging, burning sensation left by the application of his very own table tennis bat to his neither regions. In short, Simon made a complete spectacle of himself before he was told to put his hands on his head and stand facing the room and to watch while his short trousers were measured by the girls.
Abigail and Heather set to work and lay Simon’s short trousers on top of the coffee table.
“Make sure they’re nice and flat to get a proper measurement,” the girls’ mother, Cynthia advised.
“We know what we’re doing, mum” Abigail replied as she smoothed out Simon’s brief schoolboy shorts.
“Gosh, they look even smaller off than on,” Heather said as she laid the measuring tape along the inseam of Simon’s short trousers.
“Hold it tight… that’s it, now let’s have a look,” Abigail said as she peered down at the tape. “You were right, Heather,” she announced, “... one and a quarter inches exactly! Let’s just check the other leg… yes, that’s the same… one and a quarter inches.”
Abigail looked up: “We needn’t have taken down Simon’s short trousers after all…”
“... but if we hadn’t taken them down, you wouldn’t have got to spank his bare bottom,” Heather observed.
“... and you wouldn’t have got to spank his legs either,” Abigail added.
Hugh knew what was next on the agenda and decided to show himself to be a paragon of virtue in the eyes of the ladies by offering to take off his own schoolboy shorts so they could be measured by the girls. The offer accepted, Hugh sidled over towards Simon. He needed to be as close to Simon as could for the simple reason that it would give him opportunity to conclusively humiliate his adversary. Hugh had never felt so reckless. Making sure that everyone would see, Hugh pulled his shirt up out of his short trousers and, with his head down, tucked the tails under his chin. Next he unhooked and unzipped his old prep school shorts and then Hugh ‘accidentally’ caught the waistband of his underpants under his thumbs and pushed sharply downwards. Trousers and underpants together were, in the blink of an eye, rumpled around his ankles before Hugh ‘realised’ what he’d done. He stood up straight so that everyone in the room would at least have a glimpse of his penis which his underpants, until that moment, had contained.
Hugh immediately apologised for his ‘mistake’: “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…”
But before Hugh had chance to bend back down again to retrieve his underpants, Betty Crabbe stopped him: “Just a moment, Hugh,” she said, “This looks like an opportunity to test Abigail’s earlier observations about the size of a boy’s penis post puberty. We’ve all seen Simon’s… er, specimen which really doesn’t seem to support Abigail’s theory. Now we have a second… er, specimen which, on the face of it, might prove Abigail to be correct after all...”
Hugh acted as if he was shocked by this suggestion and looked over at his mother.
“Mum…?” he queried, for all the world as if the last thing he wanted was to have his penis compared to that of Simon, “Pleeease… this is so embarrassing.”
Of course Hugh couldn’t wait to be compared to Simon whose pathetic little tiddler... now that it was soft, it looked smaller than ever.
“Don’t be silly, Hugh,” Margret, his mother, replied, “It will be a valuable lesson for the girls… Now finish taking off your trousers and underpants and go and stand next to Simon.”
Hugh, doing his best to look crestfallen and with a hang-dog sigh replied, “Yes, mum…” giving everyone the impression that what he was doing was done under great sufferance.
Hugh slipped off his short trousers and placed them on the coffee table, together with his underpants, next to Simon’s trousers. Turning his back to his audience to walk the couple of paces to stand next to Simon, he caught his adversary’s eyes and grinned. The look on Simon’s face made it all worthwhile… he was supremely, utterly humiliated.
Hugh slipped his arm around Simon’s waist and pulled him close so their thighs were once more touching, only this time both boys were bare from the waist down. Simon struggled, but Hugh held him tight.
“Well, what do you think, Abigail?” her mother, Cynthia asked, “Does the size of Hugh’s penis support your theory?”
“It’s not my theory, mum,” Abigail replied, “It’s what we were told in sex ed. class. Anyway, it was the length of a boy’s erect penis and Hugh’s isn’t erect…”
“Neither is Simon’s… not now,” Heather giggled.
“But even so, from where I’m sitting Hugh’s penis looks to be at least five inches long as it is,” Cynthia observed, “Won’t that do?”
It was Maureen Carter’s suggestion that caused a gasp of astonishment: “Wouldn’t it be possible for Simon and Hugh to… well, after all, Abigail said their lesson was about the length of a boy’s erect penis. I don’t see why we can’t ask the boys to, er… display erect penises for comparison and, perhaps… um, measurement. I mean, the girls have already been using my tape measure… and I’ve no objection should they wish to use it to establish if they are being taught correctly...”
“Well, I for one agree,” Betty Crabbe said in her usual forthright manner, “It’ll give Abigail the undoubted benefit of hands-on experience through the acquisition of empirical data…”
“You mean to say that you think it’s in order for Abigail to measure the length of the boys’ erections?” Margret countered in a tone of voice that was meant to sound as if she was shocked at the very suggestion, but she couldn’t keep a straight face before adding, “Go ahead then… by all means. It looks as though Hugh’s halfway there already as it is…”
“Mumm…” Hugh once more feigned his innocence.
