Seeing Simon

When I was 13, I became friends with another boy in my village who was two years younger. As was not uncommon at the time, we were both still getting our bottoms smacked when our parents felt it necessary.

Less common was that for both of us, the main disciplinarian was our mother. With me, it was because my father was away on business a great deal. Simon’s mum had been a nanny before her marriage, and so possibly his dad felt she had more experience in disciplining children and was content to leave it to her.

I think both us boys had got to the age where we were starting to eroticise corporal punishment, particularly in my case. It wasn’t long into our friendship that we began to share confidences about the various smacked bottoms we got, how it was done etc.

I mostly still got hand-smacked, with the occasional dose of the slipper for very bad disobedience, whereas Simon told me his mum used the same hairbrush she had used as a nanny for those families who allowed corporal punishment of the youngsters.

Listening to him describe his punishments was very arousing for me, and I could feel my penis harden inside my trousers as we talked about it.

Unfortunately, I never got to witness Simon’s mum smacking him, but one day I did more or less walk in on the aftermath.

I called at the family’s front door to ask whether Simon could come out to play and when his mum opened the door, I could hear him crying somewhere in the background.

I asked whether Simon could come out, and his mum said: “Well, he’s just been punished, so I don’t know whether he’ll feel like playing.” However, she called to him and eventually Simon came to the door, his cheeks stained with tears and red from rubbing.

We made our way to the woods, where we loved to play, and of course I asked (quite superfluously) whether he’d had a smacked bum. He nodded and said it was because he’d not tidied his room up.

I asked whether it had been on the bare bottom, which again was superfluous, because I knew from previous conversations that Simon’s mum – like mine – always took down pants before applying the smacking.

I grew bolder and asked him to show me his bum. At first he refused point blank, but eventually he turned his back to me, eased down his jeans and then his underpants. He revealed a most beautiful smacked bottom. When I got done, I was usually left with just a couple of little crimson patches on each cheek. But Simon’s buttocks were cherry red from the cleavage down to the tops of his thighs. It must have hurt very much.

Fascinated, I brought my face close to my friend’s backside and before I could stop myself I found myself applying a kiss on his left cheek. I remember how warm it felt against my lips and I could smell his bottom.

It was a defining moment.

Contributor: Charles

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