Garage Game

[Story Depicts Spanking]

Let's play house. I'll be the mommy and you'll be the little kid," she said

I shrugged.

House wasn't my favorite game, I was more a go outside and kick the ball kind of kid, but it wasn't terrible either. I wanted to play with her, so, really, I was up for anything.

"And look at this mess," she said, gesturing around her parents' garage. "You've been very, very naughty."

Of course, the mess wasn't mine, it was just part of the game. But the tone she used... My eyes widened and I felt a tingle low in my tummy and tripping down my back. Excitement? Fear?

"And you know what happens to naughty little kids, right?"

I swallowed hard.

Only moments ago, I thought I knew what this afternoon's entertainment was going to be. We'd played "house" before. But now a whole new set of possibilities was unfolding before me.

And I liked it.

She took my hand and led me to the old, worn out couch wedged between a supply closet and a pile of old stuff. Her parent's garage was used more for storage of stuff then sheltering of cars.

I swallowed hard as she unzipped and pulled down my jean shorts. My chest tightened, and breathing became hard. She took down my underwear next, but they were a little tight and so ended up just below my bottom in a tight, pale-blue roll. Thus prepared, she pulled me over her lap and I went willingly.

I didn't go because I wanted a spanking, but because of the excitement of the forbidden. We weren't even supposed to be in the garage, away from her parents' supervision, let alone pulling each other's clothes off and smacking each other's bottoms.

For a little girl, she spanked hard. Not as hard as daddy, but hard enough that I gasped and squirmed. She had one arm firmly around my waist while the other rose and fell, delivering hard, quick spanks. I squealed, a sound sweetened by her hand on my bottom, smacking sharply. Before long I was squeezing out tears, yelping with each smack, and wishing it would never end.

"What the hell is going on in here?"

My playmate screamed and jumped to her feet. I ended up on the garage floor, my hot, red bottom in the air. I looked up into the furious face of my playmate's mother and fear stopped my heart. But it wasn't me she was after.

My play-mommy was talking fast and frantic, but her real mommy was having none of it. I scrambled away from the couch, my shorts around my ankles, my underwear around my thighs, and watched as the girl who had spanked me with such authority was pulled, kicking and screaming, over the wide, authoritative hips of her mother.

From my vantage on the floor, I could see the real mommy's black skirt was accompanied by black underwear. The secret knowledge made my bottom sting all the more.

My playmate's dress was pulled up and her pink underwear down (to just below her bottom) and then a bright red handprint covered first one cheek, then the other.

I held my breath, listening to spanks and cries and squeals as sweet as my own.