Jamey Visits Uncle Ron Ch. 02

I twitched. His hand there, and his instruction, in my ears, startled me. "My pants?"

"Yes, honey. You know why. Pull your little shorts down."

I inhaled deeply. Reaching back with both hands, I had to push up my t-shirt. I fumbled and found my waistband with my sweaty fingers. Both thumbs slid under the elastic. I exhaled, and pushed.

Uncle Ron had stepped back, I had sensed his shifting position, or heard it, and he was watching. My gym shorts slid down, and I paused for a moment, and glanced back over my shoulder. Uncle Ron was standing with his arms crossed, his eyes watching me, watching me push my shorts down, but he remained silent.

I let go, the elastic still stretched around my thighs, and the shorts stayed there, for a moment. Then, feeling selfconscious about standing, revealed, in my underpants, my knees drew together, like a sudden reflex, and the elastic relaxed, and the shorts came loose and fell to my ankles. I fumbled again, started to crouch to reach down and pull them back up.

"Leave them there," Ron says. I hear his footsteps, feel him come up behind me. My hips respond with a little forward jerk when I feel his hand again on my bottom, and this time I'm just in my underpants. His hands are firm on my, hip and shoulder, straightening me out of my crouch, putting and positioning me where he wants me.

I feel his one palm, cupping, and then his other hand, its fingers finding elastic, sliding in, and then pulling on the waistband of my briefs, and I'm aware that he's inspecting me, feeling me, and he speaks again, this time gruffly. "And what are these? Explain."

I feel the elastic stretched up, out. My knees knock and my hips strain.

I think I might have whimpered a little. My mind was very busy, and I wasn't keeping track, so lost in the anxiety and shame of the moment. His flattened palm, too, was busy, cupping and moving and feeling my bottom in my underpants. I felt my hips twist again, feeling manipulated, my knees weakened and touched again too, as he groped and inspected me. I pushed my lips tight together and gasped through my nostrils. I almost lost my balance, I leaned forward slightly, recoiling from him, his bulk, his masculine hands on me, and I had to brace and catch myself, my hands on the desktop, my waist bent slightly.

"Answer, me, son." He still had one hand on my bottom, the other in my brief's waistband.

I found enough of a voice to squeak a stuttering reply.

"My...uh..uh..underpants?"

"Yes. What did I tell you earlier, son?"

"But they were still damp!" I whined.

He let go the elastic, and it snapped. Then I felt his other palm tighten on my right cheek, his fingers gripping the single buttock through the white cotton, with increasing pressure.

"What did I tell you earlier, son?" he repeated.

I felt my shoulders twitch and jerk. A whimpering wail fluttered my lips, and I moaned. My hands flexed on the desktop.

He squeezed my bottom cheek, then slid his hand to the left, and squeezed the other one, felt it, groped it. And then, he smacked my bottom, hard.

My knees dipped and my mouth was trembling uncontrollably, and he spanked me again, hard, with his right hand.

I felt the tears coming again, my mouth quivering. I couldn't stop it. I started to cry. I rested my hips against the edge of the desk and put my face in my hands. "I, I, I... you told me..."

He stopped spanking me, and I felt his hand on the back of my neck. He was trying to soothe me, quiet me. Or no, was he making sure I felt his authority? Yes.    I hiccupped.

"Yes, I told you. What did I tell you?"

"To wear the panties."

"And you disobeyed me." His hand slid down my back again, and I felt his fingers grasping my waistband, pulling it down, pulling my underpants down. Baring me. As soon as my underpants were pulled down to my upper thighs, his other hand, his left, landed hard, palm flat and slightly cupped, on my bared skin.

"Did SPANK you SPANK think SPANK I wouldn't SPANK notice?" He paused to let this sink in. "I SPANK notice!" SPANK, SPANK, SPANK. He stopped. "Do you understand?"

I sobbed and twisted in front of him, my weight gyrated me, bending over the side of his desk trying to recapture my balance, and I faltered, then leaned against his desk, supporting myself with both hands. His hand swung, spanking my bare bottom hard, several more times.

He stopped. "Why?    Why did you disobey me?" Then he resumed. He spanked. He spanked steadily now, his warm, cupped hand landing on my bottom with loud smack sounds. I was so ashamed and emotional, and I continued to cry.

I realized then that he was watching my face while he spanked me, while my hips jerked and my knees swayed, while he disciplined my bottom, my first bare bottom spanking in at least 7 or 8 years.

He stopped, and he watched my face as my lips moved and trembled and I got them under control enough. "It feels weird," I said.

"The panties?" he said. He chuckled. Then he laughed. He felt my bottom, both cheeks, and I winced and twitched, feeling his flat hand checking the heat and soreness of my rear end. He started up again, smacking my bottom over and over, one cheek, then the other, repeatedly.

"Yessss," I wailed, twitching and jumping and moving under his hand. Then, during one gyration, when his hand stung a sensitive sit spot, my left knee jumped and had a weird little back-kick reflex, and my shorts, barely holding on around my ankles, flew off one of my feet. We both looked at them where they had landed in the middle of the office.

Uncle Ron chuckled again, then he quickly pulled my underpants down a few more inches, so they were bunched around my knees. "Keep them there," he said.

He left me leaning on his desk, twitching and sobbing with emotion and shame, and went around and sat in his chair.

"We're going to go upstairs together, in a minute, and retrieve the panties. You will need to be wearing them for your spanking. But first, now that I've...hmm...got your attention, let's talk about some of those other items we were planning to discuss."