From: sfpo8@aol.com (SFPo8) Newsgroups: alt.sex.spanking Subject: Summer Party Date: 2 Jul 1996 17:51:21 -0400 I wrote and posted this over a year ago, but it seemed appropriate for the coming week, since it is really a July 4th story. As I have explained, I can only read and post once weekly because, at present, I am living at a friend's home in the country. The fact is that the home is exactly the same place as the one I had in mind when I wrote this reminiscence of something which never happened but which I often thought about as a child. Disclaimer - If you don't enjoy fantasies involving kids getting spanked, there ain't much here for you. ****************** Summer visits to our grandmother's were always special times, long, leisurely days when my cousins joined Cindy and me in swimming and hide-and-seek and rolling on the grass on the big front lawn. Those were days of relaxed, innocent pleasure I will never forget. And there was one day in particular which included spankings I will never forget. My mother had planned a very special party for July 4th. All our friends and our cousins and their friends would be invited, about two dozen children in all, from nine-year old Alice, my aunt's youngest, to Cindy, my sister, who at thirteen was older than me by a year. This was when children still dressed up for such events and thought it natural to do so. I was in my best seersucker summer shorts and jacket, and Cindy wore a frilly yellow dress with white lace at the hems and sleeves. The other children were equally formal, but that did not stop us from playing boisterously on the lawn as soon as the other children began to arrive at 11 o'clock, whacking the croquet balls here and there without much concern about rules, tumbling into the juniper bushes, or throwing pebbles into the little pond with the goldfish at the end of the lawn. It was a warm and sunny day, and the adults were in too indulgent a mood to bother telling us to keep our clothes clean and not knock over the wickets. We were all just a bit out of hand, and we knew it, and we knew it was all right. There was a plate of cookies on a table on the long porch which overlooked our play; Cindy and I had been told that this was dessert, to be saved for lunch, but we loved those rice crispy treats Aunt Gladys prepared, and we found ways to edge up on to the porch and sneak one or more now and then. The first time we were not seen. The second time mother told us to put them back and behave ourselves. The third time her patience had been too sorely tested. "Cindy! Hal! I told you to leave those cookies alone. Do you want to get a good spanking right here in front of your friends?" We assured mother that we did not. We looked downcast and repentant. It was enough. We went back to play with the others. The crisis passed. Unfortunately, Cindy and I were met on the lawn by Brian, our eleven-year old cousin, who had overheard what had been said to us. "Cindy and Hal got caught!" he told the others. "They were going to get a spanking. They had to put the cookies back...bad boy, bad girl." He shook his finger at Cindy. "My mother wouldn't really do that," Cindy sneered. "I'm too big to get a spanking. And if I want a cookie, I can have cookie, too. This is my place, and Hal and I can do what we want. You're the one that would get spanked, Brian, and you'd probably cry. Wouldn't you? Poor little Brian! Poor little baby Brian . . ." "I don't see you getting any cookies," Brian answered. "You better not dare, either. Those are for all of us, and if you don't do what your mother said I'll bet..." Cindy hated Brian, and I didn't like him very much either. He was a nasty little boy, and since he was a whole year younger than I was, it was humiliating to have him be the one doing the teasing. It was still a good half hour to lunch time, or perhaps the whole issue could have just been dropped on the pretense that we were about the get the cookies pretty soon anyway, but since that was not the case, we either had to put up or shut up. At least, that is how it seemed to me. "Come on, Cindy," I said. "Let's show him." I stuck out my tongue at Brian, and Cindy and I strode back toward the porch. "What are we going to do now?" Cindy hissed at me. "Mom's right over there, and you heard what she said." "I know, I know," I answered. "Look. I'll go over and talk to her, and you can kind of slide down to the table, you know, with your back turned towards it, and then sneak a couple of cookies while she's not looking. It won't be hard. Don't worry; you won't get caught. They'll never miss another couple of those cookies. And we can go down to the lawn and eat them right in front of Brian, and even if he tells, we'll just pretend he made it up." It seemed simplicity itself. When you are twelve, adults can seem very stupid, and you can seem very clever on a summer's day in the country when the spanking which is just around the corner hasn't even been considered. I strolled over to my mother and tried to find some way to get her attention; Cindy sidled in the opposite direction, looking pointedly away from the table of cookies. For a moment all went very well. My mother turned to me, away from watching the porch, about to ask me why I had come up to speak with her while she was engaged with the other grown-ups, and beyond her shoulder I saw Cindy side-stepping toward the table, hands stiffly behind her to grasp the forbidden cookies. Grasping them! Quickly dropping her hands to her sides, and stepping, sideways back towards me, and then . . . a scream, a screech of pain and surprise, and there was little Alice, who had been playing with her dolls on the floor when Cindy stepped on her hand, and everyone turned and saw Alice, tears in her eyes, and Cindy, cookies in her hands. My mother was at Cindy's side in three steps, grabbing her by the waist, turning her over and delivering a sound smack to Cindy's little frilly panties. It couldn't have hurt much. But Cindy panicked. After all, all the other kids had stopped to watch. It was just too embarrassing. "Hal made me do it!" she shouted. Little Alice continued to bawl. Alice's mother rushed to her side. "Your children. . . well, really, I mean if they were mine. . I don't see how you can allow such behavior." My mother blushed. She really had no choice, even though she did not want to humiliate my sister, at thirteen, any more than she had to. Or me. "Come here, Hal." she ordered. And I came, as I watched my mother continue to deliver a good, hard spanking to Cindy's pantied behind, while Cindy struggled, not too hard, knowing that struggling would prolong and intensify the humiliation of a punishment which was less painful than embarrassing. A dozen more smacks were delivered, and then Cindy was on her feet, watching mother yank down my short pants, put me over her knee, and apply her hand to my underpants until I began to kick and shout for forgiveness, and in truth the spanking did hurt my behind more than my pride. By the time I pulled my pants up, I felt a spreading warmth in my seat, and I felt even more warmth in my face as I stood up to see all my cousins laughing and talking with each other about my over-lap performance. Of course, Brian was the worst. "Cindy got a spanking! Hal got a spanking! Told you! Told you! We saw England; we saw France; we saw both their underpants! Is your bottom sore, Hal? Where's the cookie, Cindy?" and much more of the same biting eleven-year old sarcasm. The other children chimed in with similar remarks. If only we had been able to find some distraction, some way to soothe our wounded pride, those would have been the only fireworks that day until nighttime. It was, fortunately, lunch time, and Cindy and I found it not very difficult to take our seats with the others, even though I was quite aware of a distinct tingle in my backside when it came in contact with the wooden bench set up at the long picnic tables. I could put up with the tingle without difficulty. I think Cindy could have, too. But Brian was across the table from us, and he, and his friends, our friends we had thought, had just seen something which was not discussable but very present in our minds, as well as in our rears. To us, it seemed, they smirked and giggled to each other all through the lunch. They made faces. They asked, from time to time, "Is the bench comfortable, Hal?" "Why are you wiggling, Cindy?" Their mothers shushed them from time to time, but they continued to torment us with a subtlety which only we could understand. Miserably embarrassed and put down, in our own minds, by the bratty antics of our playmates, Cindy and I continued to seethe. Of course, ice cream was served for dessert. With rich chocolate sauce. And those cookies. But the cookies were withheld from Cindy and me, which we could have tolerated, and Brian used the occasion to launch one more lengthy discussion of what we wanted everyone to forget. "Cindy and Hal won't get any cookies; they got a spanking instead. Would you rather have a spanking? I wouldn't. Umm, this cookie is delicious. I'll bet that spanking hurt, though. You were really yelling, Hal, and you didn't get any cookie at all, but you got cooked, at least your bottom did, and you, too, Cindy, boy, you looked funny when your mother..." It was something about Brian's tone, and his smirking, and the heat, and the fact that he was really younger than I was, and . . . well, I don't know what it was. All I know is that I took my chocolate-covered ice cream and threw the plate at him, and half of it hit the little girl sitting next to him, who began to scream, and Cindy told her to shut up, and Brian yelled at Cindy, and Cindy threw her ice cream too, and it got pretty messy very fast. You see, my mother told me the next day, we were the hosts, so it didn't really matter who did what to whom first or second as much that it was our fault, and that was why we were singled out. Actually, I guess, it was fair. But it wasn't fun. Suddenly my mother was standing above us, one hand holding each of our arms, pulling us to our feet. "Children!" she shouted. "Stop this immediately. Hal and Cindy are going to be severely punished, and you better behave or you will be too. Hal, Cindy, say good-bye to your friends. We are going upstairs, where you will have a bath, and the spankings you deserve, and then you will go to bed. No more party for you. I am sorry, children, but Cindy and Hal can't play with you any more today. They have been very bad, and they are going to be soundly spanked and sent to bed, and I think the rest of you had better learn from them what happens to naughty children." I have never been sure what was the worst part of what happened next. Certainly it was awful to have to say "good night" to each child; it was about 1:30 in the afternoon. It was awful that they knew what was in store for us upstairs. Their looks of mixed triumph at our impending punishment and awe of what it would consist of were enough to make us want to run and hide. And that was what we could not do; we had to politely say good night to each child for fear of the severity of what would come next if we did not. And, of course, the insufferable Brian had to say to my mother, " Are you going to spank them on the bare bottom?" to which my mother replied, "Yes, I certainly am." We were marched upstairs to the room we shared at grandmother's house, where we were ordered to strip off our ice-cream spattered clothes while mother went to prepare a bath for us. It had been several years since Cindy and I had bathed together or seen one another naked; Cindy was, after all, beginning to show the changes which had been expected since she had her first period a year before. So it was with some lack of certainty that we began to remove our clothes; for the past two summers we had been careful to give each other privacy by one of us changing in the bathroom while the other remained in the shared bedroom. Now Cindy, sensing my uneasiness as well as her own, stepped out of my sight into the bathroom, where mother was filling the tub, to remove her dress while I hesitantly removed my jacket, shirt, and trousers. Standing there in my underwear, not certain to proceed, I heard my mother call, "Hal? Get in here! Don't you know your spanking will be worse if you make me wait?" The tone of her voice made me move without thinking, as instructed, so that I was confronted, upon entering the bathroom with the sight of Cindy, naked, crouching down as she got into the now-filled tub, holding her hands across her chest and looking at me with a pleading expression as much as to say, "Don't look at me, please." In truth, there was no time for me to look, for mother grabbed my by the hand, seated herself on the small stool which ordinarily held towels, and, in one motion, stripped down my undershorts, bent me across her knee, and began to apply her hand to my bare backside with vigor. I was immediately aware that it was my nakedness, or at least my naked bottom, which was on view to Cindy, yet as the sting of the spanking began to build, I could not help but wriggle and writhe, flailing my arms and legs and giving Cindy a clear view between my legs. The slaps echoed off the tiled bathroom walls with the volume of gunshots, but soon my own cries of "Ohhh! Mommy! Please don't OWWW! Oh, my bottom OUCH No, don't OWWW!" were echoing even louder. It was then that I realized that the bathroom window was wide open, which meant that the sounds my mother's hand being firmly smacked against my behind, as well as my own pleas and howls, were being easily overheard, and no doubt enjoyed, by the children on the lawn below. My mother had no concern for my embarrassment at being overheard while spanked any more than with my embarrassment at being watched by Cindy. Her only purpose was to see that my behind was soundly smacked until I was reduced to a crying, helpless, and entirely subdued little boy, and in about five minutes that purpose was accomplished. Tears streaming down my face, I was set back on my feet so suddenly that I had no time to cover myself to hide from Cindy's gaze, nor was she prepared to care for her own modesty as my mother stood, grabbed her arm as she sat rinsing herself in the tub, and yanked her to her feet. For the first time I saw that my sister had developed a dark triangle where her legs came together, and I remember clearly standing, clutching my burning bottom in both hands, looking directly at Cindy's new acquisition while she stared directly at my penis, slightly enlarged and pointing up, to my surprise. It was a moment of awe and discovery for both of us, but only a moment. I was propelled by mother's right hand towards the tub just as mother's left hand pulled a dripping girl across her lap and began spanking her as soundly as she had me. I sat down and felt a jolt as my reddened behind came in contact with the still fairly hot bath water, but the jolt was almost instantly forgotten as I gazed with fascination at the sight of Cindy's bottom being spanked, her little legs waving in the air, a slit of heretofore secret folds of skin making itself visible to my eyes as she twisted her body, to no avail, trying to avoid the sound spanking which was now being applied to her damp bottom cheeks. Shortly two slightly damp children with blazing bottoms were standing side by side being toweled off. Cindy and I knew enough to stand still and let mother work off the balance of her anger by the rough way she applied the towel, even when she rubbed it unnecessarily against the red skin on our bottoms, already entirely dry. Then we were told to put on our night clothes and get ready for bed, which we hastened to do. Mother drew the blinds, pulled down the covers on our adjoining beds, and motioned us to slip between the sheets. "Now, you two can just lie here and think about how naughty you have been, and how you are missing a very nice party. You may not play, or talk; if I catch you two out of bed you will be very sorry children. You know, grandma has an old wooden hairbrush on her dressing table, and if you children give me one more bit of trouble today, that hairbrush is going to be used to give you the spankings of your lives. I will come back around six to bring you a little supper. Good night, children. I hope this will teach you a good lesson." She quietly closed the door, leaving us in the dreamy, warm half-light of a summer afternoon. We lay there, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, hearing the children outside shrieking and laughing, feeling the warmth in our bottoms and the coolness of the sheets. I slipped my pajama bottoms down to see if the sheets would cool my burning skin, and my sister started to say something, but I held my finger to my lips. Mother might be outside the door. I made a gesture, and then pulled the sheets down to show her what I was doing, and with a suppressed giggle she twisted in her bed, obviously pulling up her own nightgown to do the same thing. A few minutes passed. There was no way we could sleep. The laughter from outside went on; reflections and shadows of running children on the lawn flickered on the walls and ceiling. We began mouthing words at each other, but we could not make ourselves clear. Finally Cindy whispered, "My bottom is really hot. How about yours?" "Sshh. Yes, it's on fire. Look!" I turned on my side so Cindy could see. "Show me yours." "O.K. See? Is it red?" "Yes, it sure is. Shhh!" "Don't 'shh' me. It was all your fault. And I saw you, looking at me in the bath. And I saw more than that. You know?" I was a bit embarrassed, but interested. "You mean when I was standing there and, my, uh, you know, my 'thing' got big? Well, it's not my fault. It just happens sometimes. And I saw your thing, too, you know." "It's not a "thing," silly, it's your penis. Grow up. I know another word for it too. 'Dick.' That's what the kids at school say. I saw your dick." "Well, I know that! There's another word, too, but I think it's really dirty to say. And I know the word for what you have, 'vagina', and another word, too. Bet you don't know it." "Bet I do, too. Girls talk about that stuff all the time. You think you're so smart. You mean 'pussy' don't you? See? I know all those words, and some others, and . . ." "Bet you don't know what 'cunt' means, but you should, because ..." "Hal, that's real dirty talk, and I don't want..." We were talking quite loudly now. Too loudly. Neither of us had noticed that the door to the bedroom was open. Mother stood in the doorway. Somehow, we were suddenly aware of her presence, and of what she held in her hand. "This is about the limit, you two. The limit of my patience. I told you what would happen if you disobeyed, but I never dreamed I would hear such language - in my own house - from both of you. I thought I had taught you a lesson, but I guess you have a lot more teaching coming. And you are going to get your first lesson right now. Hal! Get out of bed and come over here. Cindy! Get out of bed and come over here. Now, which one of you is going to get your spanking first? Because if I have to wait long for one of you to get over my knee, the spanking is going to be that much worse." Cindy beat me to it; I think she knew how awful it would be to watch that hairbrush applied to already sore bottom-skin, and anticipate its effect. She was across mother's lap in a second, lifting her nightgown obediently and in another second I saw the hairbrush smack down on her reddened bottom and heard her cry out and knew what was in store for both of us over the next ten minutes. Two dozen stinging blows turned Cindy's bottom from red to blazing scarlet, and all the pleasures of watching, again, her little body twisting and writhing and seeing her forbidden secret parts did not make up for the terror I felt at knowing how much it was hurting her and how much it would hurt me in just a few moments. Her tears indicated how much more severe this spanking was than what we had felt earlier. When my turn came, I quickly yanked my pajama bottoms down and lay across mother's knees, gritted my teeth, and waited for the first smack of wood against my already sore seat. OWWWW! It was far worse than I had expected. OHHHHH! I shouted louder than Cindy, but shouts and pleas did no good; two dozen smacks descended on my blistering behind, as Cindy watched and held her own sore bottom firmly with her hands, tears still flowing. At spank number 24, I lay motionless, weeping, hearing Cindy's sobs along with my own. And hearing, then, one more thing, the last thing I wanted to hear right then. "All right children, back into bed. Those spankings were for talking, which I expressly forbid; I am sure you will not be talking any more this afternoon. I had intended, if you were good, to let you watch the fireworks after supper. But your language, those dirty words I heard . . . well, I am afraid that the fireworks are out. At least, the fireworks the other children will enjoy. We will be having some fireworks in here after supper, and you can think about them now, for when I return with your supper, I will also be bringing back the hairbrush. And you will each go over my lap again for an even harder and longer spanking then. Unless you get in even more trouble, in which case I will bring you downstairs and spank you in front of all the others." Cindy and I were actually grateful that our spankings that evening were in private, although the other children must have heard us howling and shouting while mother applied the hairbrush to each of us in turn with even more vigor than before. While the other children waited for a fireworks display, we lay there feeling the fires build once again in our now thoroughly spanked bottoms. But afterwards, in spite of the danger of being caught and spanked yet once again, we found ways to soothe one another, gently, while the rockets exploded outside, and the memory of Cindy's hand gently stroking my blazing bottom is one which remains with me with special clarity to this day. Hal - whose summer days were wonderful but never quite as exciting as that.