Lillian's mother was a large woman; we're talking fat rolls on fat rolls. She was one of those large women who wheeze when they exert themselves and who you wonder how they manage to go the bathroom. Her face seemed to be in a perpetually droopy frown and she always smelled faintly musty. She was also mean spirited and quick with a harsh admonition or, more likely, a harsh spanking. The number of times I witnessed Lil with her bare ass on display getting wailed on by her mother are too numerous to recall.
So one hot, summer day, I found myself over at Lillian's house, just a few houses down from mine. My parents were out and weren't going to be home for several hours. Rather than join them on a boring shopping excursion, I'd elected to go to Lillian's. Lillian's mother was in her bedroom and had warned us to keep quite while she napped. Lil and I were in the living room watching television with the volume down low, melting into the couch. There was no air-conditioning.
Since we were alone, we felt free to hold hands. You see, Lillian was my girlfriend, not that we advertised the fact. We often held hands when we were alone together and once we'd even kissed. In class, I wrote her love poems. We'd not yet been caught.
On television was some inane cartoon that I wasn't particularly interested in. Instead, I focused on Lil's hand in mine, our closeness, her shoulder just barely touching mine, her knee pressed close against my thigh, the sweat beading on her skin and mine and mingling in those places we touched.
When her mother came thumping down the short hall from her room, she was clearly audible as much from her footfalls as from her wheezing and groaning. Quickly, we released each other and scootched apart.
"It's hot as hell in here," she complained as she crossed through the living room to the kitchen where she opened the refrigerator. Her passing left an aura of mustiness in her wake. She took a bottle of soda from the refrigerator, opened it with a hiss, and slugged half the bottle. Then she fixed us with a glare.
"You two better keep it down," she threatened, "or I'll take you over my knee."
She'd never spanked me before, but she'd threatened me an awful lot. My parents never spanked me and were strongly against it, but the threat always made my heart speed with fear.
She crossed through the living room again, passing between us and the television when it happened. Some cartoon character made a mention of "hell", and that brought Lil's mother up short. She turned to face us, and fixed Lillian with a furious glare.
"Damnit, girl, what have I told you about swearing?"
It didn't matter that the word wasn't really all that bad, that it had come from the television, or that she had just uttered worse, I could tell by the tone of the woman's voice that a spanking was coming. I was certain that she wasn't even really mad about the word; she was just cranky and wanted to hit someone. And the thought of watching Lil's thin frame dragged over her mother's fat thighs, of seeing her roughly disrobed, of witnessing yet another assault on her cute little bottom, made me sick to my stomach.
I stood up, peeling myself from the couch where my sweat had left a damp spot, and faced her. "It was me," I quickly confessed. "Sorry, Mrs. Woolery."
She turned her piggy eyes on me. She put the bottle of soda to her mouth and slugged the half that remained. I swallowed hard, my knees shaking, the heat of the summer and the tension of the situation making me sweat that much harder.
"You've had this a long time coming, missy. I don't care if your parents don't spank you." She tossed the soda bottle behind her and grabbed my elbow.
My mind went blank, my body went numb. I couldn't believe what was happening. I was nearly sick to my stomach until I remembered to breathe. That's when she jerked my arm hard enough to wrench my shoulder and pulled me down over her thighs. Here, so close to her, the smell of must was pervasive. She grabbed me around the waist and slid me over her lap so that my bottom was properly centered. This had the inadvertent effect of putting my face in Lillian's lap. I looked up at Lillian who was looking down at me, her eyes wide with fear. She mouthed "I'm sorry". Tears were already tracking down her cheeks.
Lillian's mother was rough as she pulled at the hem of my dress to remove it from her target. The dress was short, made for hot summers such as this. My panties, which were damp with sweat, she peeled down my ass so that they ended in a roll at mid-thigh. Thus bared, I shivered; the sweat covering me seemed like ice.
"This'll teach you to watch your god damned mouth," she growled.
Her hand against my ass was like a club had hit me. The air was knocked from my chest or I'd have howled, instead I squeaked pitifully. I arched my back in a desperate attempt to escape the pain that exploded on my nethers. I squirmed, trying to get off her lap, but she held me tight.
"Hold still, brat."
She spanked me again and tears leapt from my eyes. My vision went pale and fuzzy as I struggled to get my breath back. I focused on filling my chest as she spanked me a third time. The pain of the spanking was secondary to the pain in my chest and I focused on my lungs, willing them to fill.
When finally I drew breath, it was an explosive affair. My ears popped, my throat went raw, and I could see again. But more than that, as I took in that breath, I drew in the sweet scent of Lil. I realized that in my desperate attempt to breathe, I had stopped arching my back, stopped struggling and was again face down in Lillian's lap. Her hands rested on my head, stroking my hair softly.
"Quit your crying."
She hit me again. I gasped and again Lil's scent filled me. Lil too was clad in a short summer dress which had ridden up her thighs immodestly. My cheek rested on her thighs, my tears mingling with her sweat, the tip of my nose touching the damp of her purple, cotton panties. I had, I must admit, spent many a daydream thinking about Lil's panties and how I might come close to them. This had never been amongst those dreams, but I couldn't help but marvel at how close they were.
At the next heavy spank, I pressed my face into Lil's panties and took in a great breath. Lil gasped, her thighs clenched. The pain of the blow mingled with the intoxicating scent of the girl. I felt dizzy, my skin tingled where it didn't burn; I swallowed hard and cried piteously. I knew I was trapped, the fat woman had hold of me and I couldn't get away. But there was a part of me that didn't want to.
As the blows continued to rain thunderously, I lost myself. I became only the suffering pain of the spanking and the rich joy of the scent. The dichotomy roiled me, twisted me up so that I didn't know what to think and so thought nothing at all. I sweated and cried and smelled. I accepted my spanking as an intrinsic part of my self as though the spanking had always been and would always be, and I pressed my self into Lil's panties and felt her press back.
In the next moment, Lil's mother hauled me to my feet. She held me by the shoulders, her fat fingers digging into my flesh and shook me hard.
"Don't ever use language like that in my house again. Understood?"
She slapped my thigh and I yelped. I was still sobbing. She slapped me again and I nodded quickly, stammering agreement.
"I'm going to lie down. You two go outside. I don't want to hear a peep out of either of you."
She let go of me and I stumbled back to the couch trying to stifle my sobs. Next to me, Lil was sniffling. Her mother fixed her with a glare and my stomach clenched.
"Quit your crying or I'll give you something to cry about."
Lil hiccupped and nodded and stammered an apology. The fat woman lumbered out of the living room and back to her lair.
It was much hotter outside, but we found a bit of shade to huddle in. I pulled off my sweat sodden panties and laid them in the sun to dry. I had tried to pull them up but with my swollen bottom and their tangled position, they wouldn't lay comfortably against my skin. Lil sat down cross legged and I rested my head in her lap laying tummy down. She whispered her thanks while I sobbed silently. Neither of us spoke above a whisper, not wanting to attract the attention of her mother.