Subject: Growing up together Date: Wed, 2 Oct 1996 20:40:57 +0100 From: James Stephenson To: laura@goodkitty.com Growing up together by James Stephenson I remember the day clearly, even 'though I was only twelve at the time. My older sister, Sharon, was thirteen and was just starting to get into going to parties. They were usually at weekends - on a Friday or Saturday night - when there was no school the next day but for some reason, I can't remember why, this one was on a Wednesday. I remember Mom wasn't very happy about it but Dad said she was getting old enough to be trusted and she should be allowed to go provided she promised to be back by eleven. Well, of course, she promised, and eventually it was agreed that she could go. She was becoming boy mad at the time and I remember grumbling at her for spending so long preening herself in front of the mirror and messing around with make-up before she went out that night. As usual I went to bed around ten o'clock but didn't get to sleep and as the time went on I began to wonder whether she was going to be home at the time she'd agreed. The more the time went on and the deadline passed the more I began to wonder what had happened - had there been an accident or something? Of course, I realised that the most likely explanation was that she was simply late, but that triggered the interesting thought of how Mom and Dad would react when she did come in. I suppose they were fairly strict with us but then we were both pretty well behaved and didn't give them any real cause to have to tell us off very often. However I had a sneaky feeling that this was going to get Sharon a real rocketing and probably get her banned from going out for a couple of weeks or so. Sharon and I got on quite well usually and I certainly didn't wish her any ill-fortune, but on the other hand there's always a bit of a thrill involved in seeing someone else in trouble. I must have begun to doze off but was woken by the noise of the front door shutting. I heard voices downstairs and peered at my alarm clock to check the time. Christ! It was just gone 1 o'clock! If Sharon had only just got in she was over two hours late and with school tomorrow as well. I heard Dads voice raised but couldn't quite make it out so I slipped out of bed and crept on to the landing. I could now clearly hear Dad give her a real scolding and every so often I could hear her timid replies, but I couldn't make out what she was saying. Quietly I slipped down the stairs until I was at the living room door and able to peep in without being seen. Sharon was standing there, dressed in her party frock - a very pretty one in pale blue cotton with white lace trimmings, short sleeved and finishing a couple of inches above the knee. She had her head bowed and hands clasped in front of her and even back view I could see she was very red faced. Mind, so was Dad - I'd never seen him so angry. As I watched he was accusing her of drinking alcohol as well. She was denying it but he could presumably smell it on her breath - we were both occasionally allowed a drink at home but it was definitely forbidden in this sort of context. "You will not lie to me Sharon. I know you've been drinking and you know I will not stand for it." "Oh for Christ's sake..." she retorted - I was flabbergasted. Sharon and I simply did not say things like that and in Dads present mood it seemed most ill-advised. "I beg you pardon - I think it might be a good idea if you were to start by apologising for that last remark." "Why the fuck...." her voice tailed off. She knew as I did from the expression on his face that she had really gone too far now. "Come here young lady." he growled reaching towards her. She was clearly frightened and I was literally open mouthed as he took her arm and pulled her towards where he sat. She cried out as much from fright as anything as she tumbled untidily face down across his lap. She had to reach forward with both hands to the ground to stop herself falling further and as she did so, he planted his left hand in the middle of her back to hold her firmly in place. Then, before she had a chance to react he reached for the hem of her frock and pulled it up with the hem of her lacy underskirt exposing her legs and white nylon pants. He transferred the frock and underskirt to his left hand to hold out of the way and raised his right arm high. It sped down towards her defenceless backside and then there was a crack like a pistol shot as his large hand struck the skin tight seat of her knickers. She jerked and yelped but he took no notice and repeated the performance, this time smacking her on the far side of her bottom. Within a few seconds as the smacks rained down on her, she was crying and unsuccessfully begging him to stop. Several really hard smacks landed below the bottom of her knickers and so I could clearly see the reddened flesh at the very top of her legs. I think he smacked her about a dozen times altogether before letting her up. When the spanking did finally cease, there was almost a strange sort of silence as she awkwardly got to her feet and stood there snivelling before him. I was mesmerised - there may have been a few times when we were very young that Mom had slapped us across our legs for being naughty, but I couldn't recall Dad even slapping either of us before. Certainly there was no precedent for the hiding he'd just given Sharon. "Come in here." My heart stopped. I'd been so wrapped up in these astonishing events that I'd not taken enough care to avoid being seen. I was terrified as I stepped gingerly into the room. I was almost certain that in his present mood, I was about to get something like I'd just seen him give my big sister. Sharon turned to watch me come in so I actually saw the tears streaming down her face and smearing her make-up for the first time. However, despite my fears, he was not so angered by her behaviour as to treat me irrationally. Instead he took the opportunity to lecture both of us about staying out late and to warn both of us that if we ever disobeyed him like Sharon had, then we knew now what we'd get for it. With that he ordered us both to bed. We shared a room, but Sharon was too upset to talk and I didn't know what to say. She undressed quickly but with her back to me all of the time, and then slipped into bed. She was crying for a while but I was wide awake and going over in my mind again and again what I'd witnessed. I must have fallen asleep eventually, but I when I woke up I was immediately thinking again about the events of the previous night. I turned over to face Sharon's bed and saw she was already awake. "How are you feeling Sha?" She pulled a face. "Okay I suppose." "I've never seen Dad like that before - he really walloped you didn't he?" "You're telling me. My bottom was so sore and blazing hot for ages afterwards, but I think it was the shock of him doing it as much as anything. Thinking about it now I suppose I have to agree that I deserved it but I never imagined him doing anything like that. I thought I'd get told off and grounded perhaps, but I suppose I just answered back once too often. I can hardly bear to think about facing him and Mum this morning - especially him. I mean at my age, to have a man turning my skirt up and smacking my pants is a bit humiliating even if it was Dad." "Does it hurt now?" I was still more fascinated by the physical side. "No not really - it feels a bit tender, that's all." We talked a bit more but time was getting on and neither of us were about to risk getting into trouble for not getting up. As soon as Sharon was out of bed I asked the question I'd been dying to ask all morning. "Let's have a look at your battle scars then." At first she looked annoyed and then her expression softened and I think her own curiosity was the deciding factor. She was wearing a night-shirt with nothing under it so it was a relatively simple operation to bare her bottom for inspection. My first reaction was disappointment that there was nothing to see, but then a closer examination revealed that wasn't actually the case. In fact I could quite easily make out not just areas of reddening, but actual finger shapes especially in the middle of each of her pale buttocks and at the top of her legs where he'd smacked her without even the scant protection of her panties. It was as she pulled her knickers on that another thought struck her. "Oh shit, we've got swimming today at school. I can't do that or everyone will see the marks because there's no way my costume will cover that far down." Strictly, she was right but effectively it was probably very unlikely that anyone would notice the marks unless they knew to look for them. Nevertheless, had I been in her position, I'd probably have decided to skive swimming as well. When we went down for breakfast, the atmosphere was decidedly uneasy. It was Sharon who started to ease matters. "Dad, about last night." He looked up from the paper, obviously not sure what she was about to say. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry about coming in late like that. You had every right to be cross. I've learned my lesson now 'though." "Good Sharon, I hope you have. Because I didn't like having to spank you any more than you liked me doing it to you, but you have to learn to take the consequences of your actions. Now, apart from the fact that your mother and I have agreed that you won't be going out for at least the next six weeks, and only then if you've been behaving yourself, let's hear no more about it." Sharon wasn't very inclined to say sorry and her obvious remorse impressed me. All the same, six weeks of not being allowed out at all must have come as another bad blow. *** As the day went on I kept thinking back to the night before and although Sharon had sworn me to secrecy, at lunchtime I told my best friend Catherine about what had happened. That was another revelation because she reckoned that her Dad had once used a leather belt on her brother for smoking. I travelled home with Sharon as usual but she was still rather subdued so there wasn't much conversation. I did get out of her that fact that she'd successfully skived off swimming and no, she hadn't had a look to see if the marks were still visible. The trouble was, I couldn't get out of my mind the big question - how would I have reacted if it had been me instead of Sharon? Eventually, and inevitably, she got angry with me for going on about it so much and she suddenly turned on me. "Look Andrea. I don't want to keep thinking about it, and I don't want to keep hearing you go on and on about it, right? If you're so keen to know what it feels like then try swearing at Dad tonight and I'm sure he'll oblige. In fact, even easier, if you don't shut up about it for once and for all, I'll spank you myself and then you'll know." "Okay - I'll let you." I heard myself say. Sharon looked as taken aback as I felt when I realised what I'd just said but before I had a chance to make out I was just joking, she quickly said "Right - well they're both going out tomorrow night so we'll see how you feel about it then." At that stage, I knew I was committed. I wasn't quite sure what I'd let myself in for, but I wasn't especially scared, and in any case there was no turning back. *** All day at school I felt as though there was some spectacular intrigue in which I was involved and all around me were oblivious to. Looking back, I doubt if any of my friends would have understood why I was so excited - they'd have just thought I was crackers. In the evening Sharon didn't mention what we had agreed to do but I knew she hadn't forgotten because she kept giving me strange looks - I go the impression that she was just convinced that I would chicken out of it. In fact, when Mom and Dad did finally go out and leave us, it turned out to be Sharon that was having second thoughts. "Oh come off it Andrea - you don't really want me to smack your bottom for you." "Yes, I do." I insisted - I just want to know what it feels like." "Don't be daft - I'll tell you. It simply hurts. That's what it feels like." "What sort of hurt?" She sighed. "Look, I'm not going to smack you and that's final. I just couldn't do it. It seems so silly - it's not as 'though you've done anything to warrant it." I thought for a moment. "Sha - there's something I haven't told you." I could see the immediate look of distrust on her face but she was curious as well. "You swore me to secrecy about Dad spanking you the other night - well, I told Catherine at school." "You did what!" she shouted angrily "Why for Christ's sake? God I'll kill you! I've never been so publicly embarrassed in all my life. If she knows, everyone at school will find out and I'll be the absolute laughing stock of the place." I quietly waited for her immediate fury to subside. "So you still can't think of a reason why I should be spanked?" "I see - is this a trick to con me into smacking you because if it is then you're in for more than you bargained on?" "No trick Sha - and I am sorry I told Catherine." "Alright, I am going to give that spanking you asked for and what's more I'm going to turn your skirt up for it just like Dad did with me. Furthermore, don't bother asking for mercy when you find out what it's like because I'm going to give you ten smacks however much you protest." I remember feeling more than a little scared about what I'd let myself in for, but it was too late to change my mind now. We went into the living room and closed the curtains - we had a big detached house so sound wasn't a problem but we didn't really want any of the neighbours opposite to glimpse the following goings-on. Sharon sat in the big armchair and I very carefully and gingerly lowered myself across her lap - it was certainly unlike the undignified way she had been compelled to sprawl over Dads knees two nights ago. She waited patiently while I wriggled into a reasonably comfortable position with my hands on the floor one side and my toes on the floor the other. "Right." she said when I was finally still and I felt the hem of my skirt being pulled up and on to my back. I remember thinking that the cool air on my upper legs felt odd which was rather a ludicrous thing to be bothered by at such a moment. I felt her weight shift slightly as she raised her arm high in the air and then suddenly there was a loud smack as it came down. Although I could feel her hand on my right buttock, for a second I was unaware of any more physical sensation than that. Then the stinging suddenly came through - still, it wasn't as bad as I had feared and I was actually surprised by how little it hurt. I speculated that she hadn't really put much weight into the first one. She seemed to wait briefly for a reaction from me and when none was forthcoming she presumably deduced that it hadn't hurt and she'd have to wallop me harder than that. The second smack was harder and tingled rather more. Again she waited in vain but then, she told me afterwards, she decided that she just wasn't getting through so she focused her attention on the thought of her friends at school finding out about Dad spanking her because of my big mouth, and she set about the remainder of the spanking without further pause. The sound of her smacking my upturned bum echoed loudly around the room for about another half a minute I suppose. She only delivered the ten she'd promised although she must have been disappointed, as I was in a way, with my total lack of reaction. It did smart - no doubt about it - but I wasn't near to crying or anything like that. I scrambled awkwardly to my feet and clutched my hands to my seat. It was quite hot and burning but in a way it wasn't an altogether unpleasant feeling. "So are you glad you know what it's like?" "Yes - it's not so bad really is it?" She snorted. "Well I don't imagine for one moment I can smack you as hard as Dad did me the other night, and you were prepared for it as well. Let's have a look at the marks then." Unlike her spanking, she'd been careful to only smack me on the part covered by my knickers so the only way to see the damage was to drop them and then twist around in front of a mirror in the hall. It was quite red and you could make out fingermarks but I had to agree she was probably right - Dad had smacked her rather harder than that. It tingled for a little while but while on the one hadn't I felt that thrill you get when you know you've been doing something you really shouldn't, I was also somewhat disappointed by the fact that it had stung less than I expected and there was something of an anti-climax to the event. We didn't discuss the matter much more - it clearly didn't have the same interest for Sharon as it did for me - but I couldn't stop thinking about it and wondering how we could have made it more realistic, and what it would be like if I'd let her smack my bare bottom for instance. Although it had nothing to feed on, my curiosity about the whole subject only seemed to intensify, and when, several weeks later, I had the house to myself for about half an hour, I suppose the ensuing events were inevitable. It was a Saturday morning and Dad was taking Mom and Sharon to the shops, so as soon as I saw the car going up the road I was up in the bedroom. I happened to be wearing denim trousers at the time but in seconds they were on the bed with my knickers and I was naked from the waist down. It didn't take long to realise that smacking my own bottom was far from elementary - I knew, I suppose instinctively, that it would be more effective if I was bent over but that made it a difficult convolution to actually get much of a swing in. I tried a considerable variety of positions from lying across my bed to a sort of backward somersault on the floor. I managed to get my bottom quite red and tingly and it was fairly stimulating, but was still dissatisfied. Firstly, I was nowhere near to wanting to cry, so I felt unconvinced that I was even near to emulating what it would be like to be spanked for real, even with clothing on. Secondly, the whole process hurt my hand as much as my bottom which didn't seem to be the idea of the exercise at all. I was terrified at the thought of anyone coming back while I was half- undressed so I elected to abandon the experiment after about a half hour of smacking and examining the effects in the mirror, but I was determined to try and get it right. There seemed to me to be three fundamental obstacles; one was the psychological one that I couldn't bring myself to smack as hard as I could, secondly I could not find a good stance to smack my own bottom, and third was the fact that, as I mentioned before, it hurt my hand more than my bum. I actually tackled the first one of these as being of pre-eminent importance because at the time I thought it was. I bought myself a notebook and started recording anything I did wrong in the book with the view that I would then have to be punished when the next opportunity arose - most of the misdemeanours listed were pretty negligible or even imagined, but I had to keep the book carefully hidden because it would have been terribly difficult to explain away. There weren't many times when I had the house to myself to experiment like this but I made the most of every such opportunity. Sharon didn't know about any of this although I persisted in talking to her about the subject as well on any pretext imaginable. It was the beginning of half term week. "Don't you ever wonder Sharon, what it would be like to get your bottom caned at school?" She sighed - Mom and Dad had gone out to the shops for the afternoon and she obviously felt cornered. "Funnily enough, Andrea, no I don't." "But, thinking of how upset you got being spanked by Dad that time..." "Listen Andrea - I don't want to discuss that. As for discussing what it would be like to be caned on the bottom, there are many reasons why I don't spend time thinking about it - for one, girls are hardly ever caned at school now, secondly, neither you nor I have ever been in sufficient trouble at school to get more than lines, and thirdly, in the few instances where girls have been caned I've never once heard of the caning being on their bottoms - always across the palms of their hands." "Okay." I persisted "But just supposing - I mean, if it had been a few years ago, then girls were caned more often and I bet they got it across the bum sometimes as well. I'd love to know if I could have endured it without crying." Sharon took some persuading but eventually I wore her down and she agreed to cane me. She was further perplexed by my insistence on getting dressed up in the school uniform for the exercise. I had to fetch a garden cane from the shed first - I found a reasonably thin and supple one about two feet long which made an exciting swishy noise. "You have to tell me to touch my toes and then give me six of the best." I instructed her. She groaned. "Look I'm doing this because you've asked and aren't going to give me any peace until I do it - that doesn't mean I don't still think you're bloody crackers and it doesn't mean I have to do all the acting to go with it." "Okay, okay." I was concerned not to aggravate her into refusing to go through with it. "One quick question 'though - would I have to turn my skirt up do you think?" Surprisingly, in retrospect, she gave the question serious thought. "Well your skirt's quite short so touching your toes is possibly going to show off your knickers anyway - on the other hand it would still be in the way. Yes, I think you should." Heart pounding I pulled up the hem of my school skirt as I bent over and took up the proper position. I doubt if many recipients of real canings ever willingly touched their toes properly, but I was more than willing and performed the stance exactly to the letter. Sharon did hit me quite hard - having said that I didn't cry and I could have stood more. What was strange was the change in her attitude. When I stood up afterwards and clutched my hands to the throbbing seat of my knickers there was a smile on her face. "So, what does it feel like?" "It's hard to describe - hot and stinging but not altogether unpleasant." "So drop your knicks and let's see the marks then." It was the first positive sign of interest she had shown although for a moment I was reluctant to do as she asked. Then I had my knickers around my knees and was twisting round to try and see the marks for myself. There were clearly six red lines across both buttocks and although these weren't raised at all they felt hot to the touch. Sharon seemed very genuinely entranced with what she had accomplished like an artist inspecting the canvas of her latest masterpiece. I had to go and change out of my school gear - that would have been a bit hard to explain when Mom and Dad got home - but Sharon came up to the bedroom with me and we chatted further about what it had felt like. What seemed to me to be most significant of all, it was Sharon that suggested we hide the cane in our room "just in case" - I think we both knew at that moment there would be a next time. It was a fortnight or so before "the next time" came around - the marks had taken about a week to fade completely before which had quite impressed Sharon. As soon as we knew we were going to have the house to ourselves there was an almost electric tension although nothing was said until they had left. "Fancy another caning do you?" asked Sharon. I was delighted to see that Sharon had lost none of her new fund enthusiasm, but I wasn't going to let her off so easily this time. "On one condition - I get to cane you as well as the other way 'round." She scowled. "It's you that enjoys being whacked - not me." Still, for whatever reason - whether it was curiosity about how it would feel or just the fervour with which she wanted to cane me again, she ended up agreeing. The understanding was that I would cane her exactly as she'd caned me last time - six of the best across her knickers. Then, in return, I'd get six off her but this time, since I was more experienced, I'd get them on my bare bum. We both dressed up in our school uniforms, with much giggling, and retrieved the cane from its hiding place. Sharon was obviously a little afraid that if she couldn't tolerate it as well as I could she, particularly being a year older, was going to lose face. As a result, she insisted on caning me first. I pushed my knickers down to my knees and bent over as before. She lined up the first stroke and then drew back her arm. It stung incredibly and I gasped in surprise at how much more it hurt than the I remembered it from the last time. "Keep still Miss Bartlett." she ordered me - the tone of voice and choice of surname rather than forename was excellent. I tried to compose myself for the next. That was just as hard as the first had been but at least this time I was ready for it and just bit my lip and waited. Clearly disappointed by the lack or reaction Sharon waited a moment before the next one. That, when it made contact, was hard enough to make me almost lose my balance. It was also hard enough to ensure a spontaneous yelp passed my lips. The next two were similar to the first but then the delay warned me she was planning on really putting everything into the final stroke. I heard the whistle of the cane through the air and the loud crack of the cane across the lower part of my buttocks an instant before the agony started. Being the last stroke I felt able to justify leaping up and clutching my hands to my seat, although quite frankly I couldn't have kept still anyway. "Jeez, you did that like you meant it." I managed to say at last. She smiled. There was a radiant glow to her face that perhaps reflected the radiant heat of my backside right then - a quick glance around confirmed that my bottom was traversed with six very vicious looking weals which were very definitely raised up this time. For a few minutes I indulged in bottom rubbing while Sharon enjoyed drinking in the spectacle - at least I hadn't cried even 'though I was confident that the caning I'd just put up with must have rated alongside any the headmaster of our school would have bean capable of administering. As the initial anguish began to subside and I could stop hopping around quite so much, Sharon's expression altered. She knew that she was only a very short time away from being on the other end of the cane and was probably wishing she hadn't agreed. On the other hand, she wasn't about to lose face now. I pulled my knickers back up since they were a bit of an impediment to movement and allowed my skirt to fall back into place. "Right Sharon, I think it's time you really found out what it feels like for yourself." She tried hard to look unconcerned but she wasn't that good an actress and she must also have realised that I could have a very early opportunity for revenge. Actually, whilst I had no intention of letting her off lightly I had already made the decision to show some restraint. After all, it had taken long enough to get her interested in trying this out at all and I wasn't about to throw it all away on one occasion. She tried to look as composed as possible in the circumstances as she pulled up the hem of her dress - Sharon had always been slimmer than me and her pursuance of dancing classes over a number of years had firmed her body and legs as well as giving her a dignity and grace which she was applying perfectly as she bent forward and effortlessly touched her toes. The knickers she wore were thin pale blue cotton and sufficiently brief to have left half of her buttocks bare in the present position. I was going to have to be careful not to strike her below the knicker line until I had seen how she was taking it anyway. The first stroke was probably too gentle - Sharon hardly moved and gave no verbal reaction whatsoever. The second landed only a fraction of an inch above bare skin and was considerably harder than the first although the crack of the cane landing on the tightly stretched fabric was nothing like it had sounded when she had caned me. Sharon drew her breath sharply this time but didn't speak and her stance never wavered. Okay - I drew my arm back. I wanted desperately not to put her off but she had to feel it. The next two landed slightly higher and she only gasped again. Two left - now was the time to see how she could really handle it. I aimed very carefully and put much more weight behind this one. The cane rally whistled through the air and cracked hard across an exposed region of her bottom. She yelped with surprise and her hands left her toes - for a split second I thought she was going to stand or clutch at her bottom. "Keep still Miss Bartlett or there'll be extra." I tried to sound as authoritarian as possible however strange it seemed but she was far enough into the characterisation by now that she followed it perfectly. Instantly she resumed the correct position although I did notice that her legs weren't so straight now as they had been. The last one - it was tempting to try and reduce her to tears but that would have been counter productive in the long run. It was still quite a sizzler and on bare flesh again but slightly higher than the red line produced by that fifth one and not quite as hard. She stood up without waiting to be told and clutched hr bottom in her hands. There were no tears but it was a few minutes before the smile returned. "Okay - so what do you think?" "Certainly hurts more than being smacked doesn't it? You realise we're both going to be bruised from this?" I nodded - it had occurred to me that this was going to be something of a problem. The previous caning had been in holiday time so it hadn't mattered - this was right in the term time and we both faced the problem of PE and swimming at school when it would be very difficult to ensure nobody saw the give-away blemishes. Swimming wasn't a major difficulty - once a month everyone skived swimming for "the excuse" and frequently used it at other times as well. PE was more awkward, and the PE teacher terrified all of us anyway. We discussed this for some time as well as examining each others bottoms and in the end we agreed that we would each truant from PE that week. To our way of thinking, the risks were enormous - although, as mentioned before, caning at school was very rare and an offence like this wasn't going to bring about such a reaction, we knew that one risk was of being ordered to attend an extra evening PE session which was rumoured to be very tough and inhuman. As it was, we both got away with it. *** There were a number of other similar incidents over the next two years - Sharon, having been far more repressed about the subject to start with became as obsessed as I was. We used to scour old film books for pictures of the heroine being spanked, we got a real buzz out of related newspaper articles and so on. We both had boyfriends from time to time, but that didn't stop us wanting to find opportunities to be alone together to explore our CP fantasy world, and for some reason which in retrospect I can't explain, we never thought to connect the two. Then Sharon came in one night after going to a disco with her current boyfriend and seemed strangely withdrawn. I thought they'd just had a quarrel or something but when were lying in bed she turned to me with a question. "Have any of your boyfriends ever slapped your bum?" I laughed - of course they hadn't. It turned out that Martin had been dancing with his hand resting on Sharon's backside most of the evening, and then when she'd made some cheeky remark at one point he'd slapped it - just the once and, she went on to explain "It tingled a bit but not much - it was just a gesture and nothing at all like the sorts of things we've done with each other. It just started me thinking." It started both of us thinking. We both had been going out with our present boyfriends for some while - well both were just over a month anyway which was quite a while by our standards. I don't know why we'd never thought about being smacked by a boyfriend, but it was quite an exciting and seductive idea. The problem was, apart from the fact they would probably think we were crackers, we were both well beyond getting turned on by a smack on the seat of our skirts whoever it was from. On the other hand we were both sufficiently inhibited that we had gone no further than kissing with any boyfriends up to now. It certainly wasn't really thinkable to start dropping our knickers for them to smack us, both because of the humiliation and immorality of exposing oneself to a member of the opposite sex like that, and, perhaps even more compellingly, because there would be a distinct danger that they wouldn't want to stop there. It was, perhaps, significant that neither of us had any apprehension about whether we'd be able to handle the physical aspect. Probably, from that night on, the sands of time were trickling through and sooner or later it had to happen. In the end it came, perhaps fittingly, that Sharon's Martin came back into the picture. They had split up, but still saw each other because they were in the same class at school and there was no animosity. One evening he came round to pick up a book she was lending him, there were only the three of us in the house and we sat around talking and drinking coffee. I can't remember exactly what it was that Sharon said but she made some fairly insulting remark to Martin and he replied that he ought to put her over his knee and spank her. There was an ominous silence for a moment when I'm sure he must have thought she was angry with him for making such a sexist remark. It was actually me that broke the silence - feminine instinct told me that this was going to happen and I was determined not to be left out of the action. Consequently, I said that I agreed with Sharon. I think he probably twigged by now that something unusual was taking place and that he wasn't really in control. Of course, what he couldn't realise as yet was that we were forcing him into apparently taking control so everything he did to try and recover his authority only played more into our hands. "Okay - so maybe I should spank the pair of you." he propositioned. We couldn't keep from grinning which served to provoke him further - the big danger in retrospect was that there had to be a strong likelihood of him just walking out. "Don't worry Andrea - he's a wimp and he wouldn't dare. Even if he could, you'd not feel it." He was furious by now and was inevitably provoked to go further. "I will you know - the pair of you apologise now or you're going over my knee." There was a dramatic pause and then Sharon got to her feet and crossed to where he sat. She stood alongside him and for a moment I thought she was going to actually get across his knee of her own volition. "Martin - piss off." I must say he moved fast. In a split second he seized her arm and she was tumbling untidily over his lap. We were both wearing skirts but although Sharon's skirt did ride up her legs a bit as she plunged forward he made no move to turn it back. However, as he began to spank her I was somewhat surprised by the apparent force he was using. He was raising his arm very high and the sound of the smacks echoed around the room. I think he hit her about eight times before he let her up. She was slightly flushed and as she stood she grasped the seat of her skirt with both hands so I was left in no doubt that she'd felt it. Nevertheless, I was not about to chicken out now, even if Sharon had let me. "And what about Andrea then - you threatened to wallop her as well?" He looked less certain now - whacking Sharon had clearly used up some of the adrenaline and he didn't know me as well either - counter to that, I had the positive impression that he'd rather enjoyed the experience and wouldn't be averse to a second opportunity if I gave him the slightest chance or pretext. I stood up. "I dare you - wimp features." He didn't hesitate any longer. Before I had a chance to react he had grasped the upper part of my arm so firmly that it was bruised the following day, and then I was stumbling forward and across his lap. I had no time to organise my landing and I ended up with my tits pressed uncomfortably hard against his leg. Whether he realised my discomfort or whether I just wasn't in a good position for him I don't know, but he pulled me further over his knees which relieved the problem but left my bum high in the air where he wanted it. The first smack landed and I was surprised - firstly it landed very high on my left buttock and secondly, although it clearly had considerable force, there was no initial hurt. Then a second later it began to scorch. It was nothing I couldn't handle but I had never been smacked quite like that before. Apparently he realised his aim hadn't been too good because he corrected it for the second smack which landed square in the middle of the other buttock. I felt that one straight away. He was into his rhythm now and another four smacks came down in rapid succession. When he stopped I think he was half expecting me to be crying and was surprised by my composure. The truth was, although it was stinging delightfully, my overriding feeling was with the excitement of really being spanked by a member of the opposite sex. That night, lying in bed, Sharon and I talked about it for ages. We simply had to formulate a scheme to get him to do it again and again. What's more we were talking about whether we could coax him into turning our skirts up next time, or maybe even.... *** It came in handy that Martin had a brother, a year older, who had a car. We had known both of them for some time by now although we had never actually teamed up with them both to go out anywhere. The trouble was that we were getting nowhere fast with getting Martin to wallop us again, and Sharon had a hunch that Martins brother, John, might be more easy to persuade. Perhaps, we reasoned, we could get them into a situation where they had to do something to save face if we ridiculed them enough. The other issue we had to consider carefully was that of sex. I was now sixteen and Sharon was seventeen and we were both still virgins. However the plan which was developing was very much to go for broke this time and try to get them to spank us on the bare. There seemed a high probability then that they would find the experience as sexually stimulating as we certainly would and that intercourse might well follow on. We had agreed with them to go for a picnic out in the countryside - from our point of view that meant we could get them miles from anywhere so that they could give us thorough spankings without having to worry about being seen or heard. The drawback was that there would be nobody to come to our rescue if they wanted more than just to wallop us. In the end we were, albeit nervously, certain and we laid our plans carefully. Little did the lads know, but the place we asked them to take use for a picnic we had been to only a few weeks before with our parents. After lunch that day, we had left them sitting outside a pub while we took a short walk and quickly found a beautiful but secluded place which was ideal for a picnic and even more ideal for what we had in mind to happen when we were there again. There was quite a thick wood with a very overgrown path through it which suddenly opened into a grassy area alongside a small lake. I had dreams about the place for several nights beforehand. The actual night before we went, I don't think I slept at all. Unusually, Sharon and I didn't have one of our regular whispered conversations, but I'm quite sure she wasn't sleeping either. It was a perfect day - gloriously sunny and hot. We had spent a considerable amount of time planning down to the last detail what to wear and the good weather was a tremendous stimulus. We both wore pale blue dresses, hem lines modestly just above the knee. Then bare legs - Sharon had favoured stockings, suspenders and lacy knickers at one stage but practicality dictated that stockings would suffer too much in the walk through the wood. We both had plain white thin cotton panties which we had bought especially for the day - the only distinguishing feature was that they we were a size larger than we usually bought so they would come down easily. The finishing touch was a pair of white ankle socks each - something we had stopped wearing years before but which made us feel like naughty schoolgirls all over again. We had prepared the picnic the night before so it was just a matter of waiting for them to arrive. "If Dad knew what was going on" Sharon whispered in my ear "I bet we'd both be in for more than a smacked bottom!" I giggled at the thought. I must say that, of the two of them, I fancied Martin more than I did John, but that was okay with Sharon because she went for the athletic types like John who was in his university rowing club and played squash and tennis. It all went like clockwork. We directed them to the place we had discovered and set up the picnic. I don't think the lads suspected anything out of the ordinary because we did a surprisingly good job of acting naturally. We had taken a some wine with us although Martin refused to drink because of driving and that served to relax us still further rather than worrying about we had planned to do. After the meal we almost inevitably started fooling around and it was Sharon that saw the opportunity to start the ball rolling when she managed to grab Martin's baseball cap and run away with it. He gave pursuit and she threw it to me. John tried to grab the hat away from me but I managed to pitch it back to Sharon in time - by now she was standing on a rock right by the lakeside and instead of throwing it back she held it out over the water. "Don't you dare." shouted Martin. I could see where this was leading for Sharon but I wasn't sure how I was going to get involved as yet, but Sharon was one step ahead of me. "I will - keep back or it goes in." "Give it back here or else...!" "Or else what - are you going to smack my bottom again?" "I might just do that if you're not careful." "Well you'd have to do better than last time - I never felt a thing. Perhaps I'd better take my knickers off to give you a better chance if you try it again." "I wouldn't push your luck - now give it here." I'd been watching John carefully during this stimulating exchange - it was satisfying to see that our judgement about him seemed to be confirmed by the fact he was clearly not in the least bit shocked by the conversation but, rather to the contrary, was grinning from ear to ear. It was at this point that Sharon used a flick of the wrist to propel the cap back to me again, and John took his opportunity to join in. "Come on - give it here or you might just get the same medicine as your big sister's in danger of getting. "Huh - off you? Big deal!" I have to admit that I wasn't awfully happy with the way this was turning out - for one thing, as I've said, I fancied Martin more than I did John, and for another, I was very conscious of John's more brawny physique. Nevertheless, the situation was developing too fast to pull out now. "Throw it in Andrea - go on." Sharon called across. "If that goes in the water then which ever of you is responsible...." Martin never finished his threat because John made a grab for the cap and I flicked it back to Sharon. It was an easy catch - well, it should have been. With a great show, Sharon quite wilfully fumbled the catch, and after a few half hearted attempts to regain control, the cap fell into the water. Nobody had anticipated what happened next - with all of the theatrical performance perched on the wet rock, Sharon suddenly lost her balance and with a squeal of dismay she tumbled headlong into the lake. It was only shallow and she had no real difficulty floundering to the side and staggering out with a helping hand from a laughing Martin. However, we gathered from the screams of agitation that the water was somewhat on the cold side! For a moment I think we has all forgotten what had been imminent just a few seconds before - well, all except Martin that is - he had seized Sharon's right arm to pull her out of the water but he didn't let go when she was on terra firma either and suddenly she was falling again, only this time he was sitting down on the rock and was tumbling face down across his lap. I remember shouting encouragement although I'm unsure of who to - Sharon was clearly unprepared for the way things had happened but I was thoroughly enjoying the scene. Her soaking wet dress clung too her and had also become somewhat see through in the process, which meant that her knickers showed quite clearly through the fabric. Whether Martin would have had the guts to carry out his original threat or not, her fate was sealed now. She was struggling to escape but he held her easily and peeled up the sodden skirt to expose the equally water-logged pants. These too had become more than a little translucent and with no apparent hesitation his hand was in the waist band pulling them down. Sharon's frantic resistance intensified as Martin cracked some remark about warming her up. Then he began - and, boy, did he give her a walloping! She was howling in anguish almost straight away and her buttocks were quickly a pair of bright crimson globes. I was so wrapped up in the spectacle that I didn't notice John moving up behind me until it was too late. Had he grabbed my arm, I would still have coped, but when he moved he'd suddenly swept me right off my feet and was carrying me across towards the on-going spanking that Sharon was getting. I too tried hopelessly to resist. John took me right over to where the other unequal battle had paused while Martin watched this latest development. "Don't forget this one as well Martin - it was her that threw it after all." "Yes - well you can deal with her." I groaned inwardly - to say I was having second thoughts about the whole thing would have been a serious understatement. There was another rock nearby and John headed for that - I had the awful fright for a moment when I thought he was going to chuck me in the lake as well but he sat down and grappled me rather roughly over his knee. I glanced across to Sharon who was gasping and making the most of the brief respite. I was alarmed to see, as she turned her to head to watch what was happening to me, that there were tears running down her face - after all we'd done together in the past, surely a spanking couldn't be that bad? I was poised to find out. I sensed John turn my skirt back by the cooler air on my upper legs and then his powerful hand was gripping the waist band of my pants. Unlike Sharon's soaking wet ones, they should have come down easily but he was in no mood for finesse and I was horrified to feel them pull sharply and to hear a ripping sound as they came down. I seem to remember saying something faintly blasphemous as I realised that I no longer had any control over what was about to take place. It was a strange feeling - half naked, out of doors where, literally I suppose, anybody might have discovered us, exposing my bare bottom to a boy I hardly knew and him about to give me a prodigious walloping. You have to remember that there were several "firsts" here - most significantly perhaps was that I had never actually been spanked by anyone other than my sister and therefore, obviously, never by a male. The first blow was incredible - the fierce burning followed a second after I had been rocked by the impact on the left buttock but before I had time to react he had given my right buttock the same treatment. I'd just watched, and enjoyed watching, Sharon getting at least a dozen smacks, yet it seemed inconceivable to me at that instant that I could cope with another one. John was not, as it happened, offering me any option. He slowed the pace a little but didn't lessen the force and as the tears ran down my face and I begged him to stop, I was bucking and writhing without the slightest thought to the fact that I must have been giving him a real eyeful of my most intimate attributes. When he did pause I was still sobbing and gasping for breath and nothing was said or done for a minute or more. My bottom was roasting - it was nothing like any of the smackings Sharon had given me for certain! When I recovered my composure a little I half glanced across to Sharon - she was still held in an unseemly position across Martin's knee but she had been more engrossed in watching John's efforts at turning my bottom into a crimson furnace than in worrying about her own plight. "They seem to like doing things together John - what say we finish off in unison?" I could have wet myself - it wasn't just Sharon that was going to get more by the sound of it. It was a strange experience - I watched Martin raise his hand high over my sister's bottom. I could see she was watching me and that it was a virtual certainty that John was mirroring Martin exactly. Martin's hand sped down - there was an especially loud crack and I leapt forward - their synchronisation was impressive. They gave us each a total of five more smacks after that - with more time to plan them, John took the chance to aim more carefully and by the time he stopped the tops of my thighs were as hot as my poor bottom. It seemed entirely natural that, when they let us get up we rushed into each others arms for comfort. For a while the lads just watched - we must have looked pretty silly standing there with our knickers around our knees and Sharon still soaking wet. After a while, we began to disentangle and John and Martin approached us. Quite unexpectedly, Sharon suddenly threw her arms around John. In a matter of seconds they were getting impassioned - he sneaked a hand up her thigh until it was on her bare bum. I caught a glimpse of the blotchy red area which Martins hand had caused there, now being lovingly fondled by John and I was immediately jealous - I wanted a male to comfort me and not unnaturally turned to Martin who was more than willing to oblige. I think John and Martin were still taken aback by the extent to which we had not just been willing but had actually anticipated events - it wasn't them, for example, that had thought to bring a packet of condoms along. All good things must end, and eventually we had no option but to begin to pack up and get ready to go home. There were a few difficulties. Sharon's knickers were still wet and, even worse, were exceedingly muddy after they had been carelessly discarded during the intimate performance. My knickers were damaged beyond repair after John had so brutally pulled them down, so, much too the amusement of the lads, we made a formal presentation to them of our pants for souvenirs of the day and reconciled ourselves to having to go home with no knickers on. We had now had an opportunity to examine each others bums - I have to say that Sharon's was more marked than I had ever seen from a mere spanking and she said the same about mine. It was still a little sore even as we travelled home and it was obviously going to show signs of what had happened for days. Nevertheless, we were both rather more pre- occupied with the fact that we had just surrendered our virginity and if we were a little reserved on the journey back it had nothing to do with the spankings. *** That, not surprisingly, was not the last time. Martin eventually went away to university but Sharon and John moved even more to a no-holds- barred relationship which finally led to them marrying some three years later. By that stage John knew all about our interests and we had both been thrashed, walloped and smacked by him dozens of times. He kept up his physical fitness and I can't recall a occasion when he didn't drive us to tears. He had a particular liking for a rattan cane which he had acquired from somewhere which used to have us crying from the first stroke. The best man at their wedding was a lifelong friend, Richard. The first time we met I was attracted to him, but was now wary about getting into any relationship which might not involve corporal punishment. I needn't have worried because John had briefed him in advance and when I made the blunder of calling him "Dick head" I was suddenly upended and given a remarkably vigorous smacking. It transpired later that Richard, although he had never found a willing partner before, had been curious about chastisement for even longer than we had and owned a genuine leather tawse. He also now owns a riding crop but that's always just there as a threat - he once gave me a single stroke with that, and not very hard even, and I couldn't believe the agony. One of these days, if I do something really wrong, I'll probably find out what he can really do with it, but that is one thing I will assiduously try to avoid. Occasionally Sharon and John come over to make up a foursome and once a year we all pack a picnic and head off into the country.