Meeting Johnny

Title: Meeting Johnny

Genre: Slash yes, no sex

Couple: William & Austin no discipline between these guys so far, Johnny is the one to get his butt toasted.

Summary: William and Austin leads a quiet life in London, the new neighbours will change that.

Author’s note: This was my first, my very first spanking story (that I finished), so be nice, please.

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Johnny, the Neighbours’ Punk – Part 1

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Meeting Johnny

It was a rainy night in November. I had just waved off my sister, Belinda, at the train station, as she was going back to Bristol after spending a week with my boyfriend, Austin, and me, here in London. I was both sad to see her go and a little bit relieved. She and Austin get along far too well for my taste, and it worries me since he’s bisexual and had a pretty libertine lifestyle, before I met him at least. Anyway, trust comes natural to me when I’m in love – it’s one of my many vices.

Well, when I returned home, I found Austin cleaning up the kitchen, something I normally did, as I’m somewhat pedantic when it comes to tidiness, and especially in the kitchen.

“I made some tea,” Austin said meaning it as a question whether I wanted some.

I did, and we sat down in front of the telly, my cocker spaniel, Timmy on my lap. Timmy was mine before I met Austin and that’s why we still refer to it as my dog, even though Austin loves him as much as I do, and helps me with him.

“So alone again,” I said letting the full significance of that hang in the air.

“Yeah,” Austin’s voice lingered, “I suppose you’re not interested… I’ll be quick?” He’s used to me not being interested in his ‘all-nighters’ as he puts it when he means having sex until dawn.

“Well I’m not sure I want that,” I said, letting my voice linger like his had and I saw a hint of disappointment in his face that really turned me on, “but I’m not getting up early?”

His smile told me that he understood my hint. He bent forward, pushed Timmy off of my lap, and kissed me; it was one of those wet kisses that I had to dry off by kissing his cheek and rubbing my face in his brown hair.

The next day I woke up around nine. Austin had already left for work, but I remained in bed for a little while longer. I always wonder how he is capable of staying up all night and then leaving for work at seven anyway.

I had the day off and was going to enjoy it, so I sat back and turned on the telly. At half past nine, I tired of being lazy and went up. I had a quick shower and then made my way down the narrow staircase to the bottom floor. We live in one of those old Victorian houses that has such narrow corridors and stairs. We have furnished it in a pretty old-fashioned style, with mostly antique furniture and so on. I love this house, even though it’s pure hell cleaning it.

Usually, my kitchen view is over a lovely park with high trees and shrubs, but this day a large truck was in the way and I realised that we were going to have new neighbours. The house next door had been empty for quite a long time now – for London that is.

When I took Timmy for a walk the truck had just left and the door to the house was still open. Boxes, brimming with things, covered the steps up to the door. A teddy-bear, presumably one that had fallen out of one of the boxes, lay on the pavement. I picked it up when Timmy got his eyes on it.

“Fuck it! Fuck all o’ya! And fuck this house and this fucking city!” a voice suddenly came from indoors, and my head flew up; I’ve always really disliked cursing and that was the worst I had heard around here. A minute later a boy, I’d say about sixteen came out of the door. He kicked one box and when he saw me with the teddy-bear he snatched it out of my hand and threw it inside with the words:

“You can stuff that where it feels good, you fucking idiot!”

Then he glared at me with a hateful stare that actually made me take a step back. Timmy started to bark loudly.

I have to take the time, now, to describe what this boy looked like. He was 5’7”, slender, but not skinny and dressed in a leather jacket that was so torn it looked ready for the dustbin, as did his jeans and the little I saw of his black T-shirt. His hair was shaped into purple spikes that covered his entire head. He wore an earring in his left ear and had he was flipping a cigarette in his right hand. Across his right cheek was a red mark that was turning blue and I guessed he had been smacked pretty hard. I couldn’t say that I blamed whoever had done it.

He spat on the ground before me and then left kicking everything in his way.

I felt disgusted, and I quickly tried to calm Timmy down so that we could go on.

Well, I didn’t know it at the time, but that was my first meeting with Johnny Firth. My second meeting with him was ten times worse (from his point of view) and this is how it happened:

It was a Saturday, in the beginning of December. I had kept my eyes n the new neighbours, but not ever really spoken with them, only about them with our other neighbour Mrs. Jones, she had quite a lot to say about them. Their daughter, I found was named Annie and I had seen the adorable girl many times, she always had blond curls tied up in bows and was always dressed like a doll, except when she wore her school clothes. Johnny, the eldest of the three children – there was also another boy, Harry, who was three – was rebelling, but he did go to the same public school as his sister. So he too wore a tidy blue blazer and a tie every day, though I often saw him putting on his torn leather jacket as soon as he left the house.

The parents, Adam Binns and Susan Firth-Binns worked from about seven in the morning to eight at night, I had seen them when they came and left and was able to check every day since I work mostly at home. They had a nanny or an au-pair, but I was pretty sure that the children looked after themselves during the day, all but little Harry. I had come to understand from what Mrs. Jones said when we spoke that Annie quite adored her elder brother and also that Annie’s and Johnny’s stepfather Adam, didn’t get along with Johnny at all, which I didn’t find strange at all.

Anyway, the second time I came face to face with this little anarchist, or what I should call him was this cold Saturday. It was raining – what did you expect, snow? We’re in London, for God’s sake! – and I really delayed taking Timmy out, until he nearly scratched his way through the door.

I was very cold and wet, and my temper was reaching its limit. Timmy was soaked, but he was determined to plunge through every single puddle and chase every bloody squirrel. When I let him inside I told him to sit – he really is a quite well-trained dog – but instead of obeying he rushed straight into the living-room and right up on the sofa. I exploded.

“TIIIMMYYY!! NOOO!!!” I rushed up to him and dragged him from the blanket that thankfully covered the silk, and towards the door to the backyard. “Out you go, Timmy, bad dog!” I ordered, now calmer but with a still stern voice. He looked pleadingly at me with big, dark eyes and whimpered. I pointed out in the rain and snapped: “Now, Timmy!”

He stole out passed me, glancing at me with remorseful eyes and his tail between his legs.

I dried up after Timmy and then went out in the kitchen, where I found a note from Austin saying he had to go to a meeting and would be gone all day. I slammed my fist against the table and cursed him.

I sank down in the sofa, wrapped a clean blanket around myself and turned on the telly. There was a sad, black and white film on, which I watched, but I only became annoyed with the heroine’s tear-filled monologues, and finally turned it off.

Suddenly a loud crash made me look up, Timmy started to bark and I thought it was he who had tipped something over, but it wasn’t. Kneeling next to the barking Timmy, was the boy from next door, his hair now coloured green. He was trying to get something out of his pocket and at the same time keep Timmy off him. At length he gave Timmy a piece of candy or something. My blood-pressure was high when I walked out in the backyard. He didn’t see me until he stood up to leave.

He gasped and only stared at me for a second. Behind him were a broken flowerpot and a pile of dirt. His look changed as I eyed him from head to toe. He glared at me and tossed his head to show he wasn’t afraid of me.

“Just what do you think you’re doing in our backyard?” I asked trying not to let my anger smother my voice.

“Non of your fucking business!” he stated and turned to leave through our back gate. I grabbed his arm.

“What about the pot?” I barked.

“That’s your problem!”

“Oh, I think it’s yours!” I said slowly. “You’re paying for it, one way or another!”

He made an effort to get free, but my grip was too firm. Then he spat in my face and kicked me. I swung him around and twisted his arm up on his back. He moaned loudly, but remained still so that I wouldn’t hurt him.

“That’s better!” I said and he muttered something that I didn’t catch. “What was that?”

“Fuck you!”

“I think your parents will be surprised that I found you in my yard,” I said while pushing him indoors. “Won’t they?” I added when he didn’t say anything.

“You can’t tell them! You can’t! They’re not supposed to know!”

“To know what?” I asked. When he didn’t answer I twisted his arm so that he whined.

“That… that I can sneak out through your yard from my window,” he grumbled.

A thought struck me and a vicious grin was spreading across my face.

“You’re in trouble then, aren’t you?” I said and he turned his head to look at me.

“You’re gonna tell them, aren’t you?” he said angrily and I shrugged my shoulders. “You mustn’t, Adam will kill me, for sure!” he said in a plaintive voice.

I grit my teeth to prevent myself from showing my delight.

“What will he do?” I asked trying to sound a little concerned, but not too interested.

“He’ll beat me bloody! Please, I dunno where to get the bloody money, but I’ll pay for the damn pot, just don’t tell him!”

“I see,” I pretended to hesitate and think about it and then I said: “There is a way of course, but I guess you wouldn’t want that.”

I let him go and he turned, his eyes suspicious and at the same time curious and hopeful.

“What, tell me!” he ordered.

“If you’re punished by me, I’ll keep your little secrets,” I said gently and it took him awhile to realise the effect of my words. When he did, his narrow, spiteful eyes widened and he swallowed hard before taking a step away from me and eyeing me all over, first uneasy and then more and more scornful.

“You’re gonna beat me?” he uttered mockingly. “You and who else?”

“Don’t you think I could take you on by myself?” I asked with a pleasant smile.

“No way!” he mumbled and I saw a faint glitter in his eyes; whether it was ridicule or defiance, or perhaps something else I had no idea at the time.

“Well, perhaps I couldn’t use physical force to punish you…” I said slowly (I was pretty sure I could, he didn’t know that I did exercised quite a lot). “…but if you want me to keep your parents from knowing about your running away and breaking your neighbours stuff…”

I didn’t need to finish the sentence he yielded, reluctantly, but he yielded.

“What’ll you do to me?” he asked as if he had no idea, perhaps he hadn’t.

“Well first I’ll have you take off those trousers,” I said intent on letting him keep is underwear on.

“But I’ve got nothing underneath,” he objected.

“Pity,” I said without even hiding my smile.

He looked shocked and then shook his head saying that he’d rather I beat him on the seat of his trousers. I didn’t really mean to, but at those words I couldn’t help but laugh; he was so innocent somehow.

My laughter made him lose his temper and he turned around to leave through the back door, but I was quicker than he had expected and grabbed his leather jacket from behind. He turned around, twisting out of the jacket and took a swing at me. The blow was hard enough to make me stagger, but lucky for me, it was misdirected. Instead of making me withdraw and let him leave, the punch made my blood boil. I took a good hold of his arms as he tried to leave and fought to get him to the sofa. He slid on the carpet since his shoes were wet and we both landed on the floor, me on top of him. I stood up, dragged him from the floor, and tossed him on the sofa. He was heaving for air after the fall had knocked it out of him. I slid my hand under him and unbuttoned his torn jeans. He struggled and writhed but I put my left knee on his back and dragged the jeans of him. His scream was a child’s protest – no words only a cry through clenched teeth, filled with anger and distress.

“It’s no point, son!” I said and pulled him up, never letting go of him.

He refused to look at my face and kept his head bowed, studying our red carpet as if he had never seen one before. His bare thighs were white and hairless, smooth like a baby’s, and with lovely goose pimples. He held both hands in front of him and covered himself shyly.

“Do you want me to ring your parents?” I asked.

He just barely moved his head in a negative gesture and I reached out my hand. I didn’t grab him though, but just held it out, my palm upwards, bidding him to come closer. He advanced on me at a leisurely pace, dragging his feet.

At length I placed my hand on his shoulder and as I sat down I made him bend over my lap. I shoved him further over until I had his lovely bottom – quite bare – precisely where it ought to be; laid open to my discretion. Then I took a firm grip around his waist and let my right hand rest on his thigh.

“Are you ready? Or have you changed you mind now?”

“Just do it, so I can get out of here!” he muttered.

I waited and watched his bum clench; he was nervous, despite his resolve to act tough. His bottom was very round and smooth. I took a deep breath, it was awhile since I had done this. Austin wasn’t in to it and I also was the little more passive in our relationship, so it just didn’t seem like a good idea. My fingers were of course itching though, and to get my hands on this punk’s downy arse was just what I needed.

I raised my hand and let three hard smacks rain down on his right cheek with hardly any time in between. He nearly sprang right up from my lap, gasping and cursing, but I pinned him down with the weight of my upper body. Another three on the opposite buttock was enough to make him try to cover his bum with one hand. I simply grabbed it, shoved it into the small of his back, and then continued to spank harder and harder until I heard him sobbing. His cries grew louder and he wriggled and squirmed, but I was relentless – to tell the truth, I was enjoying myself far too much to let him go just for the sake of a few wails.

“I don’t deserve anymore!” he determined.

“I’ll judge how much you deserve!”

I smacked each cheek in turn three or four times and went down over the thighs with hard slaps that made him jump.

“Please! I can’t… I can’t take this!” he blubbered. “You have to stop!”

“I don’t have to do anything!” I said with all the authority I could muster.

“No, but please!” he yelled, kicking and fighting to get up.

“Lie still and I’ll stop a lot sooner!”

I kept it up for ten minutes, at least, before I suddenly realised that he had stopped squirming and was beginning to hyperventilate. I stopped the smacking immediately.

“All right, we’d better stop,” I said and stroke his back.

Gently I helped him to stand up, but his legs wouldn’t carry him, so instead I allowed him to sink down on the sofa. He sat there sobbing hysterically, his face red and his eyes swollen from crying. He dried his tears on his sleeve and choked a few times before he had his weeping under control.

“I think I overdid it,” I said quietly.

He swallowed and glanced at me, with his red and swollen eyes, and then he smiled forcedly.

“Shit, that bloody hurt!” he said.

“Well, what did you expect?”

“You won’t tell them, will you? I mean, you did promise,” he said referring to his parents.

“I never break a promise, at least not one I’ve made when I was sober,” I said and smiled a little. He looked at me, and this time his face actually lit up when he smiled. “It seems you’ve forgiven me for the spanking,” I stated.

“Oh, well, yeah I suppose!,” he said, “as long as Adam won’t find out!”

“He won’t, not from me anyway.”

“Great!” The little brat rose and pulled his jeans up. “Nice to meet you!” he said and then he left through the backdoor and disappeared into the rain.

I went up and let Timmy in, then went out in the kitchen to prepare something for Austin and me to eat.