Summertime Reds

by the Crimson Kid

(All rights reserved. This story’s setting is late June of 1975 at a Christian summer camp in the U.S.A.)

Although they were inside Sisko Hall’s kitchen area and the maternal chastisement was taking place outside on a porch picnic bench, the rhythmic sounds of a thick plastic hairbrush cracking against naked boyish buttocks were unmistakable to those overhearing them.

Miriam Palace chortled. “Marcie’s quite unhappy with Rodney, isn’t she?”

Her cousin Paul Royalton pursed his lips, empathizing somewhat with the five-year-old since he’d been on the receiving end of Marcella Valentine’s bare-bottom blisterings on numerous occasions himself.

Brittany Sinclair, at sixteen two years younger than her co-workers, giggled knowingly. “That’s a sore subject with Paul, he’s gotten plenty of pants-down paddlings from Marcie and he remembers every stinging smack… Don’t you, dear boy?”

The solidly-built blond felt his facial cheeks flush. “So you haven’t, Brittie?”

The extremely pretty brunette smiled saucily at him. “Only a couple times, not since I was twelve years old.”

Miriam tittered lightly. “Weren’t you walloped bare-bottom-up over Marcie’s knee just last year, Paul, when you were seventeen?” She nudged him with her elbow. “We both saw that, Brittie, didn’t we?”

The sixteen-year-old nodded. “Did we ever! Your bottom’s quite cute when it’s white, Paul, but it’s even more attractive when it’s glowing such a dark red…And honestly, Miriam, didn’t his crying while Marcie was plastering his rump with her hairbrush sound just like Rodney’s does right now?”

The slightly plump assistant cook twirled a strand of dirty blonde hair with her finger. “He was bawling like a baby,” she affirmed.

“That was two years ago,” her cousin sputtered, “Just before I turned seventeen.”

“Okay, but you still carried on like a kindergartener, the tears were gushing down your face for almost the whole buttwhacking.” Brittany snickered. “I’d say twelve minutes of weeping and wailing out of fifteen that you spent across Marcie’s lap. Where did you learn to wiggle your fanny so shamelessly like that?”

She knew from her own experience that squirming under the effect of a sound spanking was a natural reaction but she enjoyed teasing the young man she’d known since early childhood—be blushed so appealingly when embarrassed and it was quite useful in keeping his male ego in check.

“He’s done that forever,” Miriam noted cheerfully. “He also likes to prance in place and howl after his naked fanny has been scorched, we’ve both seen that performance plenty of times.”

Her fellow female giggled. “How true.”

Outside, the seat-smacking sounds had finally stopped but the frantic howling of a well-punished five-year-old boy continued to pierce the air.

“I’ll bet that Rodney’s dancing around rubbing his red-hot hiney now,” the buxom blonde noted smugly. “I’m going to sneak a peek, I love it when bad little boys get their bare rear ends blistered good and hard.”

As Miriam crossed the dining area toward a front window, Paul turned to the lithe brunette who hadn’t moved. “Aren’t you going to join her and have a laugh at Rodney’s expense?”

She shook her head. “No, I feel a bit sorry for him even though he deserved that walloping. Besides, I prefer watching BIG boys get it on their bouncy bum-bum cheeks—and it’s only a matter of time before you’re bare-bottom-up over Marcie’s knee, dear boy.”

He snorted. “Right, sure! I’m eighteen years old now, smartass.”

Brittany shrugged. “You were almost seventeen when Marcie gave you that pants-down paddling at her house, she didn’t care how old you were then—of course, she turned you into a blubbering kindergarten baby right away.”

Paul’s expression was striken as he realized how clearly his childhood friend remembered a highly embarrassing incident that he’d tried to submerge into his subconscious. He’d accepted Marcie’s punitive retribution for carelessly making a sassy, suggestive remark that had offended her deeply, while in return for witnessing his corrective c omeuppance both Miriam and Brittany had agreed to keep it a secret among the four of them.

“It wouldn’t happen now, Brittie, you can count on that,” he asserted curtly, feeling angry and humiliated that she’d brought the subject up.

She touched his arm gently. “Don’t be mad, I was only playing…You took your medicine bravely, considering how long and hard Marcie whomped your bare behind with that paddle of hers. Boy, her feelings were really hurt but your seat ended up hurting a whole lot more.”

“I’ve got to finish up the dishes.” The blond’s pale blue eyes regarded Brittany coolly before he departed into the dishwashing room. She sighed unhappily, aware that she’d inadvertently managed to prick his personal pride with what she’d intended as playfully affectionate teasing.

One of the reasons she’d chosen to spend most of her summer vacation as a kitchen aide at Camp Gabrielle was to be in close proximity to Paul, upon whom she’d developed a teenage crush, but he didn’t respond normally to her attempts to be mildly flirtacious.

“So you don’t think that Marcie would spank you now if you deserved it?” Miriam demanded of her cousin that evening, an hour after the post-supper cleanup had been completed.

He shook his head. “I’m too mature for that now.”

She guffawed. “Come off it, dear cousin, you’re smart enough but you still have the classic weaknesses of the male gender—immaturity being one of the main ones. Really, I should have the authority to paddle your bare buns whenever I think you need it—which would be often, if I had my way.”

The cousins were sitting side-by-side on the overstuffed couch in the living room of the cinderblock cabin shared by the two teenaged girls, watching the flickering flames in the fireplace; they were dressed more warmly (bluejeans, Camp Gabrielle sweatshirts and tennis shoes) than the white cotton shorts, official maroon t-shirts and sandals that the support staff wore during their daytime duty hours in the summer heat.

“That’s never going to happen,” Paul stated breezily. “Why would I ever allow you to…uhhhh…do that to me now that I’m an adult?”

“You can say the word, it’s S-P-A-N-K, that’s ‘SPANK’ you,” Miriam stated pointedly. “Why, you ask? Because you might deserve it on occasion, and you certainly need a good, sound SPANKING on a very regular basis, that’s why!”

(The fact that she would thoroughly enjoy administering blistering-hard, bare-assed butt-beatings to her cousin was also an excellent reason for her being allowed to do so at her discretion, she believed, but mentioning that aspect of such a fantasized disciplinary relationship didn’t seem prudent at the moment.)

He blushed slightly. “Like hell I do!”

“Profanity in my presence, that’s a spanking offense,” his cousin noted. “You’d get it good and long and hard, pants down with your plump rump fully bared—but not your privates, that wouldn’t be proper.” She paused pensively. “Swearing would call for a walloping with a nice solid wooden paddle, like the one Simone and I spanked your bare bottom with a few years ago… You DO remember what great fun we all had back then, don’t you?”

Paul recalled rather vividly how deeply embarrassed he’d been at being paddled on his exposed posterior, first across Marcie’s thighs via her crisply-cracking wooden hairbrush while his two female cousins watched gleefully and then, while still held bent over her lap with his bare backside starkly elevated, by each of the girls using his mother’s wooden racquetball paddle. He’d also been kissed by Marcie after she’d marched him into the corner to spend time in teary-eyed, red-bottomed reflection on his misconduct, and that single kiss had effectively made the whole highly humbling and hurtful experience worthwhile.

He winced in remembrance. “Ahhhh, only vaguely.”

“Vaguely, my ass!” Miriam’s tone was condescending. “Speaking of asses, dear cousin, are you willing to literally bet yours that you couldn’t still get it toasted over Marcie’s knee just like Rodney did today? Well, much longer and harder, obviously, and with something sturdier than a plastic brush, but otherwise it’s your basic bare-bottom blistering—like you’ve gotten from her all those times in the past.”

The young man nodded thoughtfully—he didn’t see how he could lose such a wager now that he was legally an adult. “So what kind of bet are you proposing, dear girl?”

“Let’s wait until Brittie’s out from her shower,” his cousin suggested, “Then we’ll get down to the devil’s details.”

Three hours later, attired for sleeping, Brittany popped into her cabinmate’s bedroom.

“Don’t you think we could lose this wager, Miriam?” she asked anxiously. “After all, Paul is technically a grownup person even if he can be immature at times… So why would he let Marcie whack his buns now?”

The older teenager smiled slyly. “There are several reasons, but let’s just say that I know what he desires and requires deep down in his s ubconscious—plus he has quite a bit of his crush on Marcie left, and from her he’ll accept a bare-assed butt-blistering as a show of affection.”

The brunette still looked uncertain. “He’ll be bawling while she applies a paddle to his naked fanny, making it big-time red, sore and stinging, and he’ll think that’s a sign of love?”

Miriam nodded. “As Tricky Dicky would say, trust me.”

Two days later the issue was decided, although the person initially chastised was Marcella’s daughter Rapunzel. That spanking occurred on the same picnic bench that had been the site of her brother’s corporal correction, with the strawberry blonde eight-year-old wearing a damp bright pink one-piece bathing suit that her extremely annoyed mother had yanked down to knee level before pulling the whimpering girl across her formidable thighs.

Miriam once again was peeping out a front window of Sisko Hall to observe the punitive proceeding, but she found the maternal lecturing during it to be more intriguing than the hairbrush walloping itself.

“I told you…(SMACK!!) Not to go… (WHACK!!) Into the water… (CRACK!!) Until I got there! (SPLAT!!) Paul’s the lifeguard… (WHAP!!) But I’m your mother! (SMACK!!) He had no business… (CRACK!!) Saying that you… (WHOP!!) Could go in… (SPLACK!!) Without my permission! (WHACK!!) He’ll soon be just as sorry… (WHAP!!) As you are now… (SPLAT!!) Young lady!”

Given Rapunzel’s frenzied kicking, squirming and wailing under the relentless paddywhacking of her defenseless derriere, she paid scant attention to her mother’s commentary, but their teenaged peeping eavesdropper was quite interested in its implications.

“Sometime today,” Miriam announced quietly, returning to the kitchen where she and Brittany were eating cupcakes, “Probably after our supper cleanup’s done.”

The kitchen aide’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”

The blonde smiled tautly. “That buttwhacking Rapunzel just got, it involved Paul somehow—and Marcie sounded rather annoyed with him.”

Her friend returned the smile. “Enough to want to spank him?”

Miriam nodded smugly. “She’s going to give my darling cousin a good old-fashioned, bare-assed country lickin’, that’s what I’m hoping for.”

The younger teenager focused on how sweetly vulnerable Paul always seemed to become whenever he’d been reduced to a sobbing, teary-eyed and sore-bottomed boy. It was voyeuristically entertaining to witness him being seriously walloped on his naked buttocks by a strict feminine disciplinarian, but she also appreciated his temporary acceptance of her caring comfort afterwards. “Me too…If he’ll accept his due punishment.”

“After you’ve finished with the dishes,” Marcella addressed Paul bluntly during the after-supper cleanup, “I want to have a talk with you in my cabin, so come properly attired for an intensive discussion.”

Brittany stifled a giggle. “Somebody’s gonna get it.”

“Can’t we settle this right now, Marcie?” her male co-worked asked anxiously. “I just meant to tell Rappie that it was okay with me if she went swimming.”

“You overrode my authority as her mother, I’m certain that you overheard the sound spanking that she got for listening to you.” The thirtyish head cook fixed him with an implacable stare. “If you’re a person who takes responsibility for his mistakes and accepts their consequences, I’ll see you by seven o’clock.”

As she turned away, the two younger females exchanged looks. Would Paul follow those instructions in spite of his technical adulthood?

Then Miriam grinned as her sharp hearing caught her cousin’s under-his-breath response. “Yes, ma’am…”

When the nervous young man was admitted to Marcella’s cabin at six-fifty-six that evening, he was confronted with the impatient presence of four females—unexpectedly including Rapunzel.

“Paul showed up for his spanking, Mommy,” she announced. “You were right, Miriam.”

The eighteen-year-old kissed her cousin’s cheek. “That’s my boy, he has his faults but he doesn’t lack integrity.”

“I’m dealing with a major-league fault right now.” Marcella motioned at the sofa. “Bend way over the back, young man, get that sassy caboose pointing at the ceiling.” She turned to her other vistitors. “You pull his sweat bottoms down, Miriam—Brittie, your belt please.”

Paul looked uncertainly at Rapunzel. “Rappie’s going to watch?”

“She got her naked fanny paddywhacked because of you,” Brittany pointed out, “So this’ll be her payback.”

Rapunzel tittered. “Besides, I saw your bare hiney when Mommy paddled you that time at our house, I was on the stairway looking down…Boy, did you ever kick and cry!”

Two minutes later, with Paul jackknifed over the sofa’s back, sweatpants swaddling his ankles and supporter-framed buttocks openly exposed, Marcella stood to his right and doubled over Brittany’s thick, flexible tan leather belt. “This strapping is for undermining my authority as a mother,” she pronounced sentence, “Then you’ll go over my knee for a bare-bottom blistering with the Jokari paddle—your punishment for causing Rapunzel to get spanked.”

Rapunzel, standing to Paul’s left, clapped her hands. “Make it really long and extra hard, Mommy.”

Her left hand tightly gripping the belt’s ends, the woman drew back her arm. “Count on it, honey.”

The corporal correction that Marcella immediately administered was a “good old-fashioned, bare-assed country lickin’” that left its three feminine witnesses nearly breathless; it ended up with the strong-armed woman breathing heavily at its conclusion while its masculine recipient had been reduced to a sobbing, quivering, completely humbled penitent with an intensely-stinging seat covered with crisscrossing bands of fiery scarlet. Paul had yelped, wailed and squirmed for most of the twelve-minute strapping, but he’d spent its final two minutes merely whimpering.

The over-the-knee “bare-bottom blistering with the Jokari paddle,” delivered as promised following ten minutes of extremely embarrassing pants-down cornertime, constituted the second part of the most severe spanking that Paul had ever received from Marcella, fifteen minutes of retributive, ass-thrashing hellfire that left him blubbering babyishly while his exposed posterior throbbed sizzlingly, glowing a deep maroon hue.

“Such a satisfying sight,” Brittany chirped happily, knowing that Paul would require aloe cream rump massages for several days.

While he was undergoing his first one twenty minutes later, with the brunette straddling his back as he lay prone on her bed, Miriam recounted their wager.

“Anytime we decide to plaster your precious rear, with whatever implements we choose, as long and as hard as we want just so your hiney’s not bleeding or seriously bruised,” she recited, “For true discipline or plain spanking-good fun—and of course, bare-bottomed always.”

Brittany nodded, her gentle hands working. “Let’s give him tonight off though, we have almost all of summer vacation to paddle him at our pleasure and this blazing-hot behind has to hurt soooo very much.”

“Okay, but he’s in for it tomorrow.” Miriam snickered impishly. “No more summertime blues for us ladies, now it’s ‘summertime reds’ for Paul’s bare buns.”

{The End}