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Pool Party Symphony

By Lawrence Kinden All Rights Reserved ©

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Pool Party Symphony

I'd never been spanked before. For that matter, I don't even really know how I found myself bare bottomed over Donna Hampton's daddy's knees getting my first. I did know that there was an audience of four little girls watching this painful, humiliating experience from the safety of the pool. It was Donna's birthday and as her birthday was in the middle of the summer (this year's summer being a particularly blistering example) she always held a pool party. This year, the summer between sixth grade and seventh, was the first year I'd been invited. Apparently boys just hadn't been allowed before.

Now I wished I'd never been allowed.

The panic, pain, and embarrassment was all I could think of while Mr. Hampton's hand kept smacking my unprotected posterior. I knew I was kicking and bucking like a frightened colt. I knew I was screaming and sobbing with each smack. I knew I was making a total fool of myself in front of Donna and her friends, and I didn't know how I'd ever live it down.

"Go stand over there."

I took me several dazed moments to realize that Mr. Hampton had put me on my feet and was pointing to the corner where the backyard fence met the house. I was being put in the corner after my spanking. Worst of all, somehow I had lost my swimming trunks entirely, leaving me bare under the summer sun and the gaze of the girls.

I wiped the tears from my eyes so I could see where I was going and stumbled to the corner, keeping my eyes down, away from the embarrassing stares I was certain came from my playmates.

"You're next, young lady, get your butt over here. Now."

Shocked, thinking I must be hearing things, I looked over my shoulder to see that Mrs. Hampton had joined her husband on the poolside and was pulling Mandy Hayes, Donna's best friend, from the pool by her wrist while Mandy protested futilely.

"Honestly, Mrs. Hampton," said Mandy, "We didn't mean anything by it. Please don't spank me, please!"

At the same time, Mr. Hampton was glaring at the three girls left in the pool, ordering them to remove themselves from the water and line up to receive their own chastisements as they too tried to defend themselves verbally. I still didn't know what we were in trouble for. I might have found out had I listened to the protestations, but I couldn't help noticing details, like how Mr. Hampton's brown slacks were darkened across his lap from where I had laid, soaking him in pool water. Like how Mandy Hayes' curly brown hair lay slicked back to her head. Like how her wet, dark brown skin sparkled in the sun. Like how her pink swim suit bottoms peeled off her bottom like a banana as Mrs. Hampton prepared her for a spanking.

Mandy pulled hard against Mrs. Hampton's grip, but she was just a little girl against the strength of an adult, and in moments she was face down over Mrs. Hampton's navy-blue skirt, her cries ringing out over the backyard, the sounds of a firm palm against her naked, wet bottom a sharp counterpoint.

I was mesmerized. I watched as the girl bucked and squealed and kicked, just as I had. I watched as Mrs. Hampton's carefully manicured hand slapped into the soft flesh of Mandy's bottom and how that soft flesh bounced, almost like water itself. I watched as the skin turned from chocolate brown to a deep shade of red.

I don't know how long it was before I was ripped from my fascination by the protests of Amy Ling, Donna's neighbor. I didn't know Amy very well. She'd never been in any of my classes, though I'd seen her around school. I was torn between watching Mandy's continuing spanking and watching Amy's forced disrobing. Mr. Hampton's thick-fingered hands grasped each shoulder strap of Amy's swimsuit and pulled them down her body to bare her bottom, bearing the rest of her in the process.

"But my parents don't spank me on the bare any more!" Amy protested. "Please, Mr. Hampton, no!"

But she, like Mandy was soon over the parental lap. And now I was faced with a symphony of spanking, Mr. Hampton playing upon Amy Ling and Mrs. Hampton upon Mandy. I was torn between focusing on one or the other, Mandy's full-throated screams of pain and frustration or Amy's demure squeals and pleas for leniency, between Mandy's energetic bucking or Amy's tightly controlled reactions. But like a properly played symphony, the parts could not be extracted. I was taking it all in at once.

Mandy's spanking ended before Amy's. Mrs. Hampton put her on her feet with abrupt efficiency and pushed her in my direction with instructions to stand with her nose in the corner. My attention was again on her dark skinned body, clad now only in a smooth, pink, swimsuit top. My gaze roamed her body as she walked toward me, from her red eyes, to her grit teeth, to her frantic motions as she rubbed her bottom. Then we were standing together, I watching the proceedings, she standing with her nose to the corner, still crying loudly. My own crying, I realized, had faded to fascination.

Amy's spanking continued, a brief solo while Mrs. Hampton grabbed for Rachel Gonzales, Donna's cousin on her mother's side. Rachel was fast. She eluded Mrs. Hampton's first grasp, ignored her order to come here this instant, but Mrs. Hampton was a force not to be denied and in a moment Rachel paid for her resistance. Mrs. Hampton had Rachel by the ear and was spanking even before she was bared and over her lap. Rachel's suit, like Mandy's was a two-piece, so Mrs. Hampton had only to insert her long-fingered nails into the waist band and tug to bare the brown-skinned girl.

Now it was Rachel and Amy who's duet serenaded the yard, though Mandy's cries continued and her proximity to me caught my attention. For a moment I looked at Mandy instead and she looked at me at the same moment and in the next, she was hugging me, hanging on me for support. I gave it gladly, her wet body against mine.

Rachel, like Mandy, was a fighter. She howled as she was spanked and squirmed hard and a couple of times I thought she might get away. Water whipped from her long, raven hair as she squealed and squirmed. I wondered what would happened if she managed to escape. Where would she run? What would happen when she was caught? But Mrs. Hampton's grip was tight, and the slim girl's howls soon turned to sobs.

I was surprised when Amy joined us. She wasn't sobbing or rubbing at her bottom as she came meekly our way. Her quite submission to the spanking, especially as she'd been worn down by its relentlessness, had been drowned out by Rachel's louder cacophony. When she arrived, Mandy broke off hanging on me to hug Amy and I couldn't help but notice Amy's bare, budding breasts and dark nipples. She too had completely lost her swimsuit in the proceedings. I also noticed the stark contrast in Mandy's dark, chocolate colored skin pressed to Amy's light coffee-colored skin and how Amy's spanked backside stood in more stark contrast than did Mandy's.

My attention was drawn back to the spanking by the sound of Donna's panicked pleas. "Daddy, not the belt, please not the belt. I'll be good. I'll never do it again."

But without remorse, Mr. Hampton had drawn his black, leather belt from it's loops and doubled it in one hand before ordering his daughter, "Bare your bottom and lay across my lap."

And Donna did as she'd been told.

Rachel's spanking was concluded while Donna slowly pulled off her lime-green swimsuit, bearing herself to her audience. Rachel was pushed our direction with similar instructions. She joined us for a group hug. Her skin was still wet.

I swallowed hard.

Now Donna was playing solo, the focus of the symphony, her piteous cries a prelude to the sound of leather though air, the sudden fortissimo of a belt on butt and high-pitched squeal of a contrite girl. And on it went. I watched the belt rise and fall, I watched the weals rise on pale skin, I huddled with my beaten brethren, breathless and terrified. Donna cried loudly, but she did not fight it. She moved only when the belt hit her, then lay still for the next. Her bottom was quickly a crisscross of red marks, but it seemed like forever before Mrs. Hampton gave Mr. Hampton a subtle nod, the directors flick of a baton, and the spanking was over.

Donna was sent to us with a sharp order and a sharper swat. Then Mrs. Hampton looked at us, huddled together, and said, "Noses against the fence while we call your parents."

With gasps, we scrambled to obey. I pressed my nose firmly against the white-painted planks of the fence. Donna joined us moments later. The sliding back door opened and shut.

My tears had faded though I still shuddered in shock of both what I'd experienced and what I'd witnessed. Now, with the immediate danger over, I took a moment to really understand that I'd just been treated a view of these girls that few would ever have. Here they stood next to me, mostly or totally naked, and recently spanked. Damning the consequences, I removed my nose from the fence to look at the bare bodies, the red bottoms, the squirming girls, and within moments my fascination was made physical as my boyhood stiffened and grew. My hand grasped firmly as an automatic reaction.

Around me, the sniffles and moans of the girls played a quiet, fading conclusion.


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