Curious George


by Thomas Hobbes <Tomhobbes_98@yahoo.com>

"I have half a mind to whip you for this, boy! Maybe you can give me one good reason why I shouldn't?"

"No, sir," George answered meekly, his gaze glued to the dusty dirt floor of the shed.

"It gives me no pleasure to have to thrash you, George, but this time you have left me no choice."

"Yes, sir," George mumbled. His stomach began to knot in the silence which followed and he knew what came next.

"All right, then," his father sighed, "get me the strap."

George took the three short steps across the shed, took the worn leather strap down from a peg on the wall, then turned and handed it to his father.

"Take your pants down, boy, and bend for a whipping."

"Yes, sir," George answered. Turning his back to his father, George unbuckled his jeans and let them drop round his ankles, then stepped out of them. He pulled his briefs down and off, then bent well across the small oak bench in the middle of the shed, his legs splayed, everything private on display.

"I didn't even know you liked girls, son," his father said, then he laid the first hard lick with the strap across George's backside. An angry crimson stripe resulted and his father seemed to wait for it to bloom before continuing the lecture and the strapping.

"I don't!" George answered, his grip now tightening on the bar bear the dirt floor below his chin.

"Then why were you out there half nekkid in the woods with Sara?" His father underlined this question with a second, harder lick.

"Dunno!" George quickly yelped, the fire now burning hot in his butt.

"You don't know?!" Three more licks, each harder, continued the interrogation. "Better come up with something better than that."

"Jus' wanted to see what she had, I guess. Curious." George replied. And, he might have added, she had very little. Surely not enough to have paid this price. He felt the strap snap across the stripes already laid down.

"Curious?! You were curious, George?" His father was getting into a rhythm now of question, answer, whacks, and another rhetorical question "George, most boys do play doctor," he added, another lick to underline his point, "but when they are four or five years old. You're thirteen!" Whack! Whack! "Was she worth it?"

"Noooooooooooo," George howled in reply. He had kept his grip only because he knew worse would come if he let go and raised up. But his hips were dancing worthy of a Soul Train regular by this time. "Stupid bitch WANTED it," he howled.

"What?!" There was anger now in his father's voice. "She wanted WHAT, boy?!" The strapping stopped and silence demanded George answer the question.

"My thing! Geez." George was near to tears and now had no way out. "She said she wanted me to . . . . to . . . well . . . to . . . you know. . . . do it."

"DO IT?!" his father yelled. The strap still hung there, waiting like a snake ready to spring.

"YES. But I told her no. Just told her no. I didn't DO it!" Tears welled up in George's eyes as much from the humiliation of this inquisition about his private life as from the scalding his butt was taking. "She just touched it!"

"You told her no, but took your clothes off for what?" The strap cracked hard once again. Then another. And another.

"No. Well, she got me to take my clothes off and I chickened out." And George thought to himself, once I saw the real thing I wasn't much interested, really. He also thought about some of his male friends whom he found far more intriguing that way. "Pleeeeease, sir! I won't do it again."

"You bet your well strapped ass you won't, boy." The interrogation stopped but the strapping continued until his father was satisfied this was one lesson that would be imprinted for life. George just hung onto the bar for dear life. Wicked lick after wicked lick. Then, suddenly, it was over. His father pulled him up by the shoulder, turned him round, and hugged him, boner and all. "Please don't make me take you out here again, boy. We're both getting too old for this."

"Yes, sir," George sniffed. His father handed him the strap, turned, and walked back across the yard toward the house. George put the strap back on the peg. He gingerly pulled his briefs back up over his scarlet butt and his hard on, then pulled his jeans up. And he caught sight of his best buddy standing outside the shed window making faces at him. Before George could finish wiping his nose, Bret had slipped into the shed and was standing there with a smirk on his face.

"Came over to see if you could go frog hunting and heard your ol' man out here givin' you a whippin'," Bret said.

"So you thought you'd watch? You pervert!" George smiled.

"Yeah, well, who's the pervert, dickhead. I see that boner you got in there. And I saw it full mast when you put that strap back on the hook."

"No more than you got in there, pervert," George replied, looking at Bret's crotch, a prominent lump outlined.

"Hey, I got a brilliant idea, George," Bret said.

"I'll bet," George replied. "Every time you get a brilliant idea we both end up grounded for a week or worse."

"Nah, not this one." Bret unzipped his jeans and yanked his erection out. Nothing George had not seen before. "How 'bout a circle jerk?"

"Some circle, Bret. You and me."

"Well, two's better than one, George, and I guarantee you will feel better for it!"

"Yeah, and if we get caught that last lickin' will look like a Sunday school picnic compared to what we'd both get."

"So," Bret sneered. "Chicken? Your ol' man won't be back."

George opened his zipper, yanked his out, and watched the dripping from his swollen purple tip. He looked at Bret and both began to stroke.

"Challenge!" Bret said as he moved to stand alongside his best buddy. "Whoever shoots farthest gets a free jack off on demand from the other."

"You're on," George answered as he quickened his pace. He soon felt the wave ready to crest and, watching Bret start to shoot, George blasted his own shot nearly two feet out onto the dirt. Bret had lost his bet. George looked at Bret and smiled. This was one bet he intended to collect. Curious George would have his curiosity satisfied. He had wondered often enough what that would feel like. And this time he would not get caught.

"That was some kind of lickin' George," Bret said as he began to stuff his still half hard dick back into his jeans. "Lemme see the damage."

"You saw it already, you perv!" George replied.

"No, I didn't. Can't really see diddley from out by the window. Besides, I was afraid your ol' man might catch sight of me. C'mon, George, let me see your ass. Got me so hot I nearly creamed my jeans just hearing you in here takin' the leather."

George, figuring this was his own personal red badge of courage, once more peeled his jeans and briefs down, then turned to show off his purple ass, stripes and all, to his buddy.

"Whoa! He really toasted you!"

"Yeah, tell me about it, moron," George said with more than a little pride. "Bet you wouldn't have hung on like I did."

"Hung on?" Bret asked.

"Yeah, idiot, hung on. You bend over the table and hang onto the rung down there and you don't let go. Period. You just don't let go."

"Show me," Bret said.

George laid himself over the table once more, his crimson ass with the purple stripes on display for his buddy as he reached down and grabbed hold. He was having fun showing off and felt himself start to harden again.

"Looks like he didn't miss one square inch, George!" Bret looked down and saw the strap marks hip to hip and even into the crack. "Gad. He even nipped you in the hole with the strap!" Bret pulled George's scalded cheeks apart.

"Hurt?! Man!" George said, playing the courageous warrior. "And nipped my nuts once, too," he added, lying. He rose up from the table and saw his dick rising once more and quickly began to yank his briefs up with his back turned to Bret. "Bet you couldn't take it that hard." He smirked at his double entendre.

"You want to get it again, BOY?" Bret teased, reaching round George from behind to grab George's erection. With his other hand he began to trace the slight weals on George's ass and let his finger follow them into the crack.

"No, not now you don't." George answered, shoving Bret's hand away as he pulled his briefs up. "You owe me one, remember? And I plan to collect. But not here. And not now. If my father caught us now we would be dead meat, Bret."

"Yeah, you're right."

"But remember, you owe me. One good jack off, Bret. I name the time and the place."

"I know."

"So keep a nice little tube of hand lotion with you. Makes it that much nicer."

"Ah, don't rub it in," Bret said with a smiled, answering George's joke.

"No, I won't rub it in, you will. And I may have you do my crack and my hole first."

George stood up, pulled his briefs up, then his jeans. He was looking forward to the afternoon.


More stories by Thomas Hobbes