Adam Jensen and Christopher Bennett had been friends for as long as either of them could remember. Their mothers had been pregnant at the same time, and the two boys were born only a few weeks apart. Later, as toddlers and before kindergarten started, their mothers had each taken turns hosting a small neighborhood `play group' -- the 1950's substitute for pre-school; a luxury that had not as yet come of age. Neither boy remembered much of those early childhood days, but each knew that their interest in spankings had been kindled during those early play group sessions.
Play group wasn't all cake and coffee for the mothers, and games for the children. No, sometimes things got out of hand; one child would push another, or refuse to share a toy. When that happened, cake and coffee were put down and the offending child was turned over his or her mother's knee for a quick lesson. A brief spanking that all the mother's had, early on, agreed was best delivered with briefs pulled down, i.e., on a bare bottom. Both boys knew that sort of thing had happened to them, more than just a few times, but that didn't matter. What they remembered most clearly about those early lessons was watching it happen to each other, or to one of their friends; and strangely enjoying the experience.
But that was long ago. Now the two boys were nearly twelve and had just finished the sixth grade. Over the years they had remained the best of friends. They did everything together. They taught each other to ride a two-wheeler, and had taken swimming lessons together at the local YMCA. They joined the cub scouts together, and both boys enjoyed fishing and camping. They were in the same classroom at school, and often did their homework together. And quite naturally, as you might expect, the two friends frequently engaged in mischief together. Mischief that, often enough, netted each of them a good spanking.
Unlike the earlier spankings each boy received as a toddler, in a group session over their Mom's knee, the spankings they received now were private affairs. Chris and Adam both knew that even a minor transgression, when and if discovered, meant a private spanking session with their dad; a long, hard, hand spanking; followed immediately by an equally long, but much harder, hairbrush spanking; delivered in the privacy of their respective bedrooms.
Neither boy looked forward to a session with his dad. What boy does? Still, each did miss watching the other get walloped. And, while they certainly tried their damnedest to avoid getting caught, they did not allow the certainty of an impending spanking, if caught, to curb their inherent appetite for mischief. From the moment they bid farewell to their mother's play group, and entered elementary school, they got together secretly, after a spanking, to compare bottoms and boast about who had received the harder spanking.
Still, there was something missing. Each boy knew that the other, no less than himself, enjoyed these post spanking get togethers, but they missed watching each other get spanked. Both boys remembered how, even as toddlers, the visual image of watching the other boy's bottom turn color, from a pale flesh tone to a vibrant pink, left them with an insatiable tingling sensation, and a sense of empty longing.
So it was, sometime in the third grade, that the two boys struck a bargain. If, either of them was spanked for something that both had done, but for which only one boy or the other was caught, the boy who had escaped his just deserts was obliged, at the earliest possible time, to present himself, to the other, for a spanking. A spanking no less severe than that which he would have received from his own dad. It was, between the two friends, a matter of honor! And, strange as it may sound, each boy found the experience electrifying; something that, regardless of the intense pain involved, neither would have passed on, nor sought to avoid.
Sunday dawned bright and sunny that mid summer's day. After going to church with their parents, Adam and Christopher wasted little time getting out of the house to play and explore their neighborhood. The Y, which should have been open, was closed for some much needed maintenance. The gym floor had been painted and the operators of the Y decided it was better to close for the weekend than risk having the new paint ruined.
Without the organized activities at the Y to keep them busy, Adam and Christopher were left to their own devices. Both boys knew what they wanted to do. They wanted to explore the new housing track that was being built on the edge of town; about a half-mile from their own neighborhood. Running in an out of those half built houses was fun. Climbing from one floor to another over staircases that were only half completed and navigating from one room to another, through the open walls, was exciting, and lent itself to any number of imaginary adventures..
Each boy remembered the stern warning their fathers gave them just yesterday. Some kids, it seemed, had been ransacking the new development and the builders had asked the police to put a stop to this vandalism. Both fathers made it clear that there would be hell to pay if either found out that their son was in any way responsible for this mischief.
Nonetheless, both boys were prepared to throw caution to the wind. They weren't vandals. They just wanted to have a little fun. And, with the Y closed for the day, what else was there to do? So, with that settled, the two friends set off together, on foot, in pursuit of high adventure. As the boys approached the skeletal structures of these half built homes, their spirits soared.
The two friends spent the afternoon letting their imaginations take them where it pleased. One hour they pretended the houses were bombed out ruins, and they were two GI's separated from their units, trying to avoid the enemy. The next hour they imagined themselves to be archaeologists, exploring ancient ruins. It was, during this game that the two boys decided it would be fun if one of them (Adam) hid in the basement and pretended to be an ancient mummy while the other boy hunted for a secret entrance to the Pharaoh's burial chamber.
Sadly, no sooner had Adam ducked into the basement than Christopher's dad drove by, spotted his son exiting one of the larger corner houses, and quickly pulled his car into the as yet unfinished driveway. Before Christopher knew what was going on, his father ordered him into the back seat of their car. All at once, Christopher's stomach got that empty, hollow, and nervous feeling. The feeling it always got when he knew he was in trouble. The kind of feeling it got when he closed his eyes on a swing, or was plummeting down that first big dip on a roller coaster. As he climbed into the back seat, his father turned around and started shooting off one question after another; not really waiting for, or even wanting a reply.
"What did I tell you just the other day? Didn't I tell you that I didn't want you playing around these new homes? Do you know what would happen if the police drove by? Do you think you'd like being dragged down to the police station? Do you know what kind of bill I could get from the owners of this construction site if you were blamed for damages? What's got into you boy?"
There was a long silence. Then, in a voice that was calm yet foreboding: "You just wait until we're home, son. You've earned yourself a good, long, hard spanking, and I'm going to make sure you get exactly what's coming to you!" There followed another long pause; the silence was deafening. The emptiness in the pit of Christopher's stomach seemed to deepen. Then his dad spoke again.
"Is Adam with you?"
Christopher pretended not to hear.
" . . . I asked you a question son; you better speak up and tell me the truth."
"What question was that?"
"Don't you get smart with me. You're in enough trouble already. I asked you if Adam is here. The two of you are always playing together and always getting into some kind of mischief. Now, is he here, or not?"
"No," Christopher lied, " . . . he wasn't home, so I went looking for him. I just got here a minute ago. I wasn't doing anything. I didn't break anything. . .honest."
"No excuses. I told you to stay clear of this housing development, didn't I? You've earned yourself a good spanking, and when you climb into your bed tonight you'll know you've had one."
On that note, Christopher's dad started the car. Before going home, he needed to stop by the green grocer's to pick up some vegetables for supper.
The basement of the half completed house in which Adam hid as the mummy, in hopes of scaring the pants off his friend, opened towards the back of the lot. It didn't take Adam long to figure out what was keeping his friend. He knew Chris would cover for him, but he didn't want to be found there if Mr. Bennett started probing around the property. His showing up like that, was bad news. If he found Adam on the property, after Chris said he wasn't there, there would be double spankings for both boys. So, as Chris and his dad talked in the car, Adam deftly left the basement and ran all the way home.
When Adam discovered that he'd managed to make it home before Chris, he was relieved. He sat down on his front porch for a few minutes, to catch his breath, then he cheekily dropped by his friend's house to ask Mrs. Bennett if Chris could come out to play.
"Chris isn't here right now, I thought perhaps the two of you were out playing---
Just then Mr. Bennett's car pulled into the drive way.
"Oh, there he is now," continued Mrs. Bennett, "I guess he and his dad must have gone out together."
Adam knew better. He knew Chris was in trouble and that his friend would get a bare bottom spanking before the day was through. He wished there were someplace he could go to watch, but there wasn't. And, in spite of his earlier bravado, Adam began to realize that tomorrow, it would be his turn. Tomorrow, Chris would experience what Adam was being denied. Tomorrow, Chris would not only have the opportunity to watch his friend's bottom being spanked, he would be the one wielding the paddle. Still, Adam knew it was important not to let on that he knew what had happened. He turned and ran to greet his friend.
"Hey Chris, where've you been?"
Mr. Bennett answered for Chris. "Where he shouldn't have been, I'm sorry to say. Chris is in a lot of trouble. He won't be coming out any more today." Then, turning towards Chris, he quietly told his son to get up to his room. "I'll call you down when it's time for supper."
Chris knew the routine all too well. He'd spend the rest of the afternoon in his room, worrying about the spanking. Then, during supper, his dad would recount this afternoon's events in complete detail. Chris would be expected to listen attentively and answer any questions his dad asked. The last question was always the same.
Chris hardly touched his food. He wasn't hungry; his stomach was too upset.
". . . I don't want any lame excuses, Chris, but if there is some extenuating circumstance that you can give me to explain your behavior, tell me now. If not, is there any reason why I shouldn't give you a spanking?"
With that final question asked, the lecture was at last over. Chris knew better than to further anger his dad with a phony excuse. He looked up at his dad, tears welled in his eyes. He shook his head and, in a weak voice choked with emotion, quietly said "no."
"Since you're not finishing your supper, you may get up now and go to your room. Your behavior today has, by your own admission, earned you a good, long, hard, spanking. I'll be up to take care of business after you've had your bath. Now get up and don't dawdle. I expect you to be ready when I get there. Don't forget"
Forget, Chris thought to himself, how can I forget? That's all you talked about all evening. No, Chris would certainly not forget. He was quite familiar with the routine. While the tub was filling, he'd put everything into position. He was expected to pull the chair out from behind his desk and position it near the bed. Then, he would place the wooden hairbrush on the foot of his bed; within easy reach of the chair.
The hairbrush hung from a hook just outside and to the left of his closet door. His father insisted that the wooden hairbrush be kept out, and in plain view (not covered), at all times. This, his father told him, would help him remember to stay out of trouble. Obviously, there was something wrong with that theory; it didn't work. Instead, seeing that hairbrush every night often got him aroused. He'd start thinking about spankings and the next thing he knew, he'd be touching his privates, playing with himself, fantasizing about spanking and being spanked, fantasizing while he masturbated. But those were make believe spankings; this was the real thing.
Chris quickly stripped down to his underpants, grabbed a clean set of underwear from the chest of drawers in his room, gathered his dirty clothes together, picked up a towel from the linen cabinet in the hall, then quickly dashed into the bathroom. He immediately stuffed his dirty clothes into the laundry hamper then climbed into the tub. He'd have to hurry. No time to dawdle. Get in; get washed; get out. Chris knew that everything had to be timed just right; if he took too long in the tub, there would be an additional spanking. If his father got to his room before he was finished bathing, he'd haul Chris out of the tub and give him a few extra hard smacks on his wet bottom before taking him to his room.
Forewarned, Chris finished quickly, dried off, hung the towel up to air dry, put on the clean underwear he'd wear to bed that night, and returned to his room to wait. Wait for his father, and his spanking. How he hated the wait. As much as Chris may have fantasized about spankings, and as much as he enjoyed spanking and being spanked by Adam, a spanking from his father was different.
On those occasions when he agreed to be spanked by Adam, the feeling in his stomach was one of nervous anticipation. This feeling actually helped abate the pain of the spanking. The feeling he had now, in the pit of his stomach, was more akin to an empty hollowness; a sense of impending horror. He wished, with all his heart, that the spanking was over. Shit, as long as he was wishing, he wished, more than anything, that the tables were reversed - that it had been Adam, not he, who was caught. When this spanking was over, and he kept telling himself this (over and over), when this spanking was over; when, at last, he crawled under his covers to soothe his punished bottom; he could take solace knowing that tomorrow it would be his turn to spank Adam.
All at once, Chris could hear his father's heavy footsteps climbing up the staircase. The pit in his stomach tightened and started to burn. Thoughts of punishing Adam's bare bottom vanished, and with those thoughts, the erection he'd started to achieve also vanished. That was another thing different about being spanked by his dad. The terror in his stomach always left him impotent. Impotent until the spanking was over. Only later, after he was in bed, under his covers, did his penis begin to perk up and ease his suffering.
His father's footsteps were getting louder, then they stopped. The next thing Chris could hear was his father urinating in the adjacent bathroom and then the sound of the toilet being flushed and water running in the sink. Suddenly, the door to Chris's room opened. His father walked in. Calmly, quietly, he took a seat on the bed next to his son. For a few seconds he didn't say anything at all. When he spoke, he spoke deliberately and without anger.
"I don't know why we keep having to have these sessions. Yesterday, I told you not to play around that new housing development and today, the very next day, I find you there. I will not tolerate that sort of deliberate disobedience." Then, after a brief pause he continued, "I don't enjoy spanking you son, but your behavior today really leaves me no other choice." Having said that, he paused for another second or two then stood up. "Okay son, it's time for you to get that good, long, hard spanking I promised you."
As his dad sat down on the chair that Chris had set out for him earlier, Chris took up a position directly in front of his father; head and eyes cast downward to avoid eye contact. Chris did his best to fight back the flood of tears that were welled up inside him. He knew, from previous experience, that if he cried too soon, his dad would interpret that crying before your hurt response as Chris's way of trying to get out of a good spanking and he'd just spank that much harder and longer.
His father reached out and turned Chris around, so that his backside was facing him. Then, he slipped the thumb and index finger of his two large hands around the waist band of Chris's briefs and pulled them down to his knees. Then he lifted his son up and positioned him so that the boy was kept slightly off balance, head just above the floor, both arms secure, and with his bottom raised up so as to present an easy target.
The hairbrush remained at the foot of Chris's bed. His dad wouldn't be needing it just yet; that would come later. First he would administer a thorough hand spanking. A spanking that would soon have Chris squirming. A spanking that would leave Chris's bottom warm and stinging, but was only a prelude to the hairbrush spanking that would follow immediately afterwards. A spanking that, in toto, Chris would not soon forget.
Mr. Bennett raised his hand high over Chris's bottom and quickly brought it down. The effects of this first slap sent a sharp shot of pain to Chris's brain that arrived about a quarter of a second after the sound had reached the same location. The slap also sent a ripple outward in all directions across Chris's now pale flesh but soon to be pink, then red colored bottom.
Chris fought, as best he could, to keep from crying. He knew this would, in the end, be a losing battle. The slaps fell in rapid succession. His dad spanked hard and with purpose, covering both cheeks thoroughly with slaps! The boy's stoicism soon gave way to a constant stream of protests, apologies, and pleas for the spanking to stop; accompanied by his continual efforts to wiggle out of position so as to escape the next swat.
(SLAP) "PLEASE STOP. (SLAP) I'VE HAD ENOUGH. (SLAP) NO MORE, PLEASE. (SLAP) I'M SORRY. (SLAP) NO, STOP, (SLAP) PLEASE, (SLAP) I CAN'T TAKE (SLAP) ANY MORE. (SLAP) I'M SORRY. (SLAP) PLEASE, I LOVE YOU. (SLAP) I'LL BE GOOD (SLAP) PLEASE DON'T SPANK (SLAP) ME ANY MORE (SLAP) I'M SORRY!!"
But the spanking continued unabated. Chris's father never lectured during the spanking. Instead, he concentrated on the job at hand. He knew that so long as Chris had the strength to voice these protests, the spanking had not served its purpose. The hand spanking would stop only after Chris began to quiet down and accept his punishment. Then the real spanking would begin.
(SLAP) "please, (SLAP) I'm sorry (SLAP) sorry"
Then, without so much as missing a single beat, Mr. Bennett reached over and picked up the hairbrush.
(SMACK) "NO PLEASE (SMACK) (SMACK) (SMACK) sob (SMACK) (SMACK) stop (SMACK) (SMACK) (SMACK) (SMACK) guttural sobbing (SMACK) (SMACK) (SMACK) (SMACK) (SMACK) continuous sobs (SMACK) (SMACK) (SMACK) (SMACK) (SMACK).
Chris stopped all signs of protest. No more squirming about. No more wiggling to avoid the hairbrush. Just acceptance. With that, Mr. Bennett finally returned the hairbrush to the foot of Chris's bed. He allowed Chris to rest, still stretched over his knee. His underpants had long since been kicked to the floor. His son's bottom, now thoroughly punished, was almost glowing and quite warm to the touch. After a few minutes he lifted Chris off his lap and placed him on his bed. Then, before leaving the room he returned the hairbrush to its hook and returned the chair to its normal spot under Chris's desk. As his father exited the room all that could be heard from Chris was the weak but constant murmur of low level sobs, interrupted now and then by the boys irregular attempts to catch his breath.
After ten minutes or so, Chris recovered sufficiently enough to climb under his covers. He was angry, and it was difficult to contain that anger. But, the spanking was over. During the spanking he had, at some point, kicked off his underpants; but made no effort now to retrieve them; they'd only be in the way. Now the healing process would start. His bottom felt as if it were on fire. He rubbed his bottom gently to soothe away the pain. The impotence that always accompanied a spanking by his father began to taper. His penis began to stir and, within seconds was as hard as ever. Slowly, his hands edged away from his fiery bottom and reached towards another area that offered relief from this hurt; relief from his hurt, but not his anger. The anger Chris felt would recede slowly, but in truth, this anger would never go away; not completely.
As Chris started to masturbate he remembered his friend Adam. Tomorrow there would be another spanking. A spanking much like the one he had just endured, yet altogether different. A spanking that Chris knew, strangely enough, both boys would enjoy. A spanking whose legacy was one of love and friendship; not anger. With those thoughts, and the release brought about by masturbation, Chris finally defeated the twin fires that had earlier threatened to consume his heart and bottom. Quietly he drifted off to sleep.
Chris woke up at around nine the next morning; much later than usual. His father had long since left for work but he could hear his mother in the kitchen. His punished bottom was still plenty sore but nothing like it was last night. Chris rubbed his bottom a few times and would like to have seen what it looked like in a mirror but there wasn't one in his room. So instead, he tried twisting his body and neck; not much help. He picked his underpants up from off the floor, put them on, then left his room to go toilet and take a shower.
Immediately after entering the bathroom Chris locked the door. He stripped completely, opened the door on the medicine cabinet to an angle of about 45 degrees, took a whiz, flushed the toilet, then put the toilet seat down. He did this last part, not because his mother kept reminding him to put the seat down, but so he could climb on top of the seat to catch a glimpse of his bottom in the medicine cabinet's mirror. Not as bad as he thought. He was certain that his bottom would be bruised, but that didn't seem to be the case. Still, it did seem to be a bit off color and, when he touched his bottom, it felt a bit dryer than usual; parched. Having satisfied his curiosity, Chris stepped down and started the shower. The water felt refreshing. After a few minutes he turned off the shower, dried off with the same towel he'd used the night before, then wrapped the towel around his waist. After giving his teeth a haphazard brushing he returned to his room!
After getting dressed and making his bed, Chris went down to the kitchen for breakfast. He poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down to eat.
"You really should eat more than that, honey," said his mom. "You didn't eat much last night. Would you like me to make you some bacon and eggs?"
"No thank you, all I want is cereal."
"Then let me get you some orange juice at least, you need something more than just cereal."
"Okay mom, thanks,." said Chris with a smile.
"What have you got planned for today?"
"I don't know. The Y's closed on Mondays. I'll probably just hang out around the house."
"I'm going out of town with Adam's mom this morning. We probably won't get back home until some time after four o'clock. You'll have to make yourself a sandwich for lunch, there are plenty of fixings in the Fridge. It's really far too nice of a day to spend hanging around the house. If you change your mind, and do decide to go out and play, I trust you'll use better judgment than you did yesterday. I don't know why you couldn't have just stayed around the neighborhood and played with Adam, instead of running down to those new tract houses and getting your dad all upset. Although, I suppose you have learned your lesson and won't be doing that again."
Chris ignored this last comment. "Can Adam come over while you're gone? If you say it's okay we might work on models in my room, or play cards or a board game or something."
"Sure honey, I'll tell his mom that its okay for the two of you to play at our house, but you've got to promise me that you two won't get into any mischief, and will clean up any messes that you make. Do you understand me?"
"Yes mom, I promise." Great, thought Chris. Getting together with Adam is going to be a lot easier than I thought; and I know just what board game we'll play.
"Well, I've got to get ready. Be sure to put your dirty dishes in the sink when you're finished."
When his mom was ready to leave, Chris walked with her to Adam's house and rang the door bell. Adam answered the door. Adam was happy to see Chris, but he also knew that there was a debt to be paid. A debt of honor, and one that Adam would pay off, in full, later that day. This, made his stomach flip; just a little.
"Hey pal, what'dya say we go over to my house and play. I guess my mom and yours are gonna be out all day and my mom says its all right for the two of us to play in the house if we don't make a mess or anything. Perhaps we can play a board game or something," said Chris with a sly smile, enjoying his little joke.
"Sure, said Adam." The play on words had not been lost on Adam. Chris's last remark, and sly grin, caused Adam's pecker to stir and brought a slight blush to his cheeks..
After the two mothers left, the boys walked back to Chris's house. Chris smiled at his friend and remarked, "Guess we have the house to ourselves."
"Looks that way. You know, before your dad drove up yesterday, I was going to scare the pants off you when you came down to look for me. I guess your dad beat me to it, huh?"
"I'll say. I don't think he ever spanked me that hard before! You want to see my butt?"
"Sure, but don't you think we ought to go in the house first?" joked Adam.
When the two boys entered the house they went straight up to Chris's room! Adam immediately noticed the hairbrush hanging next to the closet door and his mood became more somber. He thanked his friend for covering for him yesterday, explaining how he ran all the way home to avoid the possibility of being caught.
Chris explained the side trip his father had taken before coming home. He also told his friend how his mother had asked him, just this morning, why he couldn't have just stayed home yesterday, and played with Adam, instead of getting into trouble. Both boys grinned at the thought of that suggestion,
"Funny," said Adam, "but I really do feel bad that you got a spanking. Did it hurt as bad as you said?"
"You bet it did," Chris answered in a tone that suggested both a hint of wanting sympathy, but also suggesting a sort of pride. "He made me stay up in my room all afternoon and all I did was think about getting spanked. When my dad finally came up to do it, he made the spanking last a real long time. It seemed like forever."
Adam listened attentively to his friend's story. He understood that scary, jittery feeling of having to wait for a spanking. He knew the feeling of pain and confusion that overtakes a boy when the spanking starts, and the realization that there is no escape hits home. He truly did understand all of what his friend was telling him.
"First he spanked me with his hand, real quick; on and on without stopping," continued Chris, "and then he started using the hairbrush."
Adam winced as his buddy continued to spell out how vigorously that hardwood hairbrush had been applied to his already bared and well warmed behind.
Chris reviewed the spanking completely. He didn't leave out a single detail. Ordinarily, he would have exaggerated the spanking a little, but the spanking his dad gave him last night didn't make that at all necessary.
When Chris finished relating the story, Adam shook his head, completely understanding the image that his friend had created with his words. Adam thanked Chris again for keeping him out of trouble. Of course there was never any doubt in Adam's mind that Chris would do that. The two boys were friends, best friends, and they would do anything for each other.
"And now its my turn," said Adam emphatically, ready to live up to his part of their bargain.
"What kind of spanking do you think your dad would have given you," asked Chris?
"I'm sure he would have given me the same kind of spanking you got; maybe even harder," Adam suggested. "Don't know really; can't tell.
There was a silence that passed between the two and in an instant there was an understanding that the spanking, soon to be meted out, would be substantial . . . equal to the one that Chris received the previous evening.
"We've got the house all to ourselves for the next three or four hours," said Adam. "I think you oughta take advantage of the situation and . . . you know, give me the kinda spanking your dad gave you, like I was your brother or something."
Chris, who would dearly love to have had a brother, smiled at his friend. "Okay, but I warn you this is gonna hurt. Your behind's gonna be mighty sore. You sure you know what you're letting yourself in for?"
Adam did. It was what he wanted. It was part of the deal he and his friend, his brother, had struck up three years ago.
"Sure. Its the only fair thing to do. Let's see if I got this straight--. . . "
As Adam started to outline the proposed spanking, as he understood it, Chris felt his penis stir and begin to harden. Soon, he had quite a pup-tent pushing out against the crotch of his pants. By the time Adam finished, he did too. This obvious detail could not be overlooked by either boy.
Adam paused for a moment then a big grin spread across his face. "To make this spanking a little different, why don't I stay in the tub too long. When you find that I'm not ready, you can give me a few extra swats with the hairbrush, you know, while I'm still soaking wet. The kind of swats I hear the big kids at school get in PE. How does that sound?"
"Sounds good to me," said Chris with a grin that ran almost from ear to ear.
But, in spite of his outward Bravado, Adam was suffering mixed emotions. He and Chris had never had as much time to devote to a spanking as they were being given today. His friend had covered for him yesterday, and he really appreciated that. However, it was clear from the description of the spanking that Chris had outlined earlier, a spanking that Adam had not only requested but added to, that this was going to be some spanking. Still, judging from the strength of the boners in both boys pants, Adam knew he would do his best to hold up his end of the bargain. This was, after all, a matter of honor.
Adam finished setting everything up in Chris's room ten minutes ago. Since then he had been waiting, in the tub, for his friend. Chris was obviously taking his time and deriving some pleasure from making him wait. Before Chris had gone downstairs, he had also drawn Adam's bath, and the water was very hot. Adam's hard-on had immediately gone limp in the hot water, but he knew that was only temporary.
All at once, the bathroom door opened wide. Chris must have tip-toed up the stairs to surprise his friend.
Mimicking his dad, in an exaggerated fashion, Chris smiled broadly at his friend and announced, "So you're still in the tub are you? Get up. You and I have some business to take care of boy."
Adam stood up quickly, and started to reach for a towel.
"Not so fast, son," interjected Chris, as he quickly brushed Adam's hands away from the towel rack. "When I tell you to get ready for a spanking, I mean for you to be ready on time, not dawdling in the tub." Chris was clearly enjoying the moment and having fun stepping into character in the roll of his dad. "You have just earned yourself a little extra punishment."
As he spoke, Chris gently placed his hands on Adam's shoulders and turned his friend about so that he was facing the tub, with his back towards the center of the bath room. Then, placing a firm hand on Adam's back, he directed his friend into a waiting to be paddled position. As he did so, he continued to speak.
"A couple of good hard swats across that wet bum of yours with the hairbrush will make you think twice about keeping me waiting, don't you think?"
Adam had been highly aroused when he volunteered for this little bonus, but the hot bath soon left him quite limp. He found Chris's mimicry of his dad quite amusing, but now, dripping wet and bent over the bath tub, he began to question the wisdom of his earlier suggestion. Fortunately, he didn't have long to ponder that decision. Chris returned almost immediately.
Adam's rear was already a little pink from the effects of the hot bath, and Chris found it difficult to take his eyes off his friend's shinny wet and dripping bottom. Bending over the tub, Adam's bum was clearly crying out for a good spanking. And so, not wanting to disappoint --
The first swat took Adam's breath away. Not only did it send a wave of sheering pain racking through his already warm behind, but the acoustics in the bathroom seemed to amplify the intensity of the smack. The sound created by the hardwood hairbrush striking his wet skin reverberated throughout the room. Indeed, because Adam was dripping wet, the hardword surface of the hairbrush seemed to almost adhere to the surface of the boy's buttocks. Adam didn't have long to fret about this. No sooner had the pain of this first smack reached its peak, than a second swat found its mark on the opposite cheek.
Chris was amazed at how pink Adam's bottom was after only two smacks with the hairbrush. The rectangular shape of the hairbrush stood out clearly on each butt cheek; two islands of bright pink in a sea of lesser pink. Chris decided that two swats with the hairbrush were enough for right now. He knew that too many swats with the hairbrush, now, would diminish the effectiveness of the long hand spanking he planned to give his good friend. The two swats Chris gave his friend would provide a brief, but sufficient, foretaste of what would later come in bounty.
"Let that be a lesson to you boy. Now hurry up and dry off, I be waiting for you in the other room, don't keep me waiting."
Adam didn't, he dried off quickly and dashed to Chris's room.
"Now that we've got that out of the way, I hope you are ready for a good, long, hard, hand spanking." Then, after a very short pause long enough only for Adam to approach the chair, Chris took his friend by the arm and pulled him across his lap.
Adam was soon in position. His left arm wedged back against Chris's body; his right arm extended forward, dangling in mid air; his head almost touching the floor; and his bottom thrust upward in such a way that it presented a beautiful and most inviting target. A target made all the more inviting by the presence of a hairbrush shaped bulls-eye near the center of each cheek.
Chris admired the view for a second but was anxious to zero in on this target; to strike while his friend's bottom was still hot. Without further delay, he raised his hand high and brought it down with deliberate speed.
(SLAP!) Adam again seemed to lose his breath for a half-second or so but remained in position. Chris gave his friend a few seconds to compose himself then continued (SLAP). Again Adam let out a quick gasp. Chris was enjoying this, and could feel his penis spring to life and grow more erect with each spank. Moreover, he knew from experience that Adam was also enjoying the spanking.
Chris was right about that. He knew his friend well. Adam was enjoying the spanking. True, he had been startled by the intense pain of the hairbrush, and the first few hand slaps, but he soon made up his mind that no matter how intense the spanking got he would bear it without protest. For you see, both boys took pride in seeing how long they could control their emotions; how many spanks each could take, from the other, without asking for a time-out.
Unlike the spankings given to them by their respective dads, the two boys had agreed, early on, that a period of time-out would be granted if requested. But, having made that agreement, neither boy had ever abused this privilege. More often, the spanker would declare a brief time-out during the course of the punishment. However, this type of time-out was always incorporated into the punishment. For example, during such a time-out the spanked boy might have to stand with his hands on his head, or in a corner.
Again and again, Chris's hand descended, making firm and furious contact with Adam's bare and ever reddening bottom-cheeks. At first you could easily make out a pattern of hand prints but, as the spanking progressed, each cheek soon took on more and more color. After each slap, the area spanked would pale for a half second or so, then return to an ever brighter shade of pink; a vibrant and healthy shade of pink.
Tears were now flowing freely down Adam's face. Try as he would, he could not hold back his tears, nor could he stop his feet from kicking about and his bottom from squirming, first this way, then that, in an effort to avoid the full impact of his friends punishing spanks.
"Get up," said Chris with an affectionate smile for his best friend. "Have you learned your lesson? Not yet I think, but soon my friend, soon. Now I want you to stand, right where you are, with your hands raised and held out parallel to the floor. Don't let them drop! When they fall, the spanking will resume."
Through tears, Adam managed to smile at his friend. His bottom was hot and he was finding it difficult to stand still. To relieve the anxiety brought on by this spanking, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. This body movement, and the temporary relief he was enjoying from his friend's harsh, yet loving, punishment, got him aroused. In a matter of seconds his peter, which had been hanging limp when he first stood, was now standing fully erect, tall and straight, almost perpendicular with the floor.
Chris watched his friend's penis jump to attention and wanted to joke with his friend about having only asked him to hold up his arms, but he didn't. Neither boy enjoyed being teased on this subject. Both boys were truly amazed by the spontaneous and seemingly uncontrollable manner in which their peckers behaved, as though the organ had a life of it's own, but they were also very self-conscious and sensitive about this subject. Besides, Chris knew that his own penis would have done the same thing, if it were not being constrained by his clothing. As it was, he knew his clothing wasn't hiding much.
Adam's arms were growing increasingly heavy. After holding his arms up and out for almost five minutes, each arm felt like it had a lead weight attached to it. His penis was as upright as ever, but his arms seemed determined to go in the other direction.
"Looks to me like you are growing anxious for the second half of your punishment," Chris remarked with an impish grin. "Are you really in such a hurry to get re-acquainted with the hairbrush?"
That last remark, and Chris's impish grin, got Adam laughing, and this laughter sapped what little strength he had left in his arms. Almost immediately, his arms fell to his sides.
"So you think this is funny do you?" queried Chris, who was trying hard not to laugh himself. "We'll just see how funny you think it is when the hairbrush starts falling on your behind."
Within a matter of seconds, Adam was back across his friend's lap staring down at the carpet in Chris's room.
Chris knew that this session, unlike the hand spanking that both boys had clearly enjoyed, was somehow different. Part of the bargain the two friends forged three years before was an agreement that the boy getting the spanking must get the same degree of punishment, from the spanker, as the spanker received from his own dad. No more. No less. Chris's dad had spanked him to a point beyond caring, now it was Adam's turn.
Chris raised the hardwood hairbrush high in the air and brought it down on his friend's warm pink bottom with speed and purpose. Then, about three seconds later, he repeated the process; again and again, first on one cheek, then the other.
From the start, Adam found it difficult to control his emotions. He knew that Chris was spanking him the same way his dad had spanked him the night before. Just as the sting of one slap eased, the hairbrush would strike again. In less than a quarter minute, Adam was crying, and crying loudly. He was squirming and kicking with all his might.
Chris knew how the hardwood of that hairbrush felt as it made contact with bare skin. He knew that each swat stung like hell. He knew how the sound of the brush striking bare skin, and the pain that followed that contact combined to create a torrent of pain. And knowing this, Chris started to cry!
Still, the punishment went on. Through tears, Chris kept the strokes raining down on his friend's bottom, one after the other, with strength and vigor. Adam's bottom was no longer pink; it was fast becoming red. The kicking and squirming began to abate but had, by no means, stopped. Until this stopped, Chris had no choice but to continue. His friend was sobbing now and rivers of tears were flowing down both boys' cheeks.
Finally, Adam relinquished all attempts to control his situation. He stopped kicking. He stopped squirming. Such protests had, at long last, come to an end.
Chris set the hairbrush down on the floor. His friend lay sobbing across his lap. Suddenly Adam started to shiver and quake as he sobbed openly. Chris placed his hands on Adam's back, patted him gently, and said, in a voice full of love and compassion, "Its over now Adam, its over."
After a minute or two, Chris helped his friend to his feet and hugged him with all his might. How he loved this friend, his brother in spirit, for being his friend; for taking this punishment; and for sharing his joys and pains. Soon the two boys were laughing and hugging each other unashamedly.
Chris and Adam were playing in the front yard when their mothers returned home.
"Did the two of you have a good day," asked Chris's mom?
The two friends looked at each other and smiled. Then, without really meaning to, they answered this question at the same time. "We sure did, the best."
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