Five of a Kind

Obviously, as a lad, I had never attended a teenage slumber party.
But being the accommodating sort, I agreed to let my daughter,
Darlene, invite four of her 13- and 14-year-old friends over on a
Friday night when my wife was out of town. I mean, how much trouble
could girls be?

I rather enjoyed the chatter and gemutlichkeit, as Darlene was too
often moping around alone. I didn't know at that time how popular
she really was. I stayed away from the girls -- Arlene, Barbara,
Cathy, Darlene and Elaine -- all evening, reading in the den and
watching an old movie. Occasionally I checked in on them, each time
retiring when they found my attempts at charm and humor pretty much
an intrusion.

Once, about 11 o'clock, I popped by Darlene's room to jokingly
remind them that it was bed time. At midnight, I rapped on the door
again and, with a smile, said if they didn't quiet down and go to
sleep I might have to something drastic across their backsides.
They giggled, I withdrew and fully expected them to turn out the
light and settle in.

At 1 o'clock, the chirping and giggling seemed to have picked up,
and I silently walked upstairs. I smelled something oddly
reminiscent of my past, and puzzled over the aroma until it dawned
on me it was the scent of incense! At the same time I saw what I
thought was smoke curling from under the door.

Thinking something might be wrong, and without knocking, I pushed
open the door. What I found left me speechless -- but only for a
moment. The girls, in their nightgowns or flannel PJs, were sitting
on the bed and sprawled out on the floor smoking marijuana! Stout
Barbara had her hand inside Arlene's nightgown, Elaine was lolling
her head around on the floor, Cathy was doing bicycle exercises on
her back with her feet pumping in the air, and Darlene was inhaling
deeply on the mischievous, and still very illegal, weed.

WHAT IS GOING ON?!? I huffed. In the slow motion surrealism
familiar to anyone who has ever partaken of the drug, the girls
just stared, then unwound from their activites at six frames per
second, and giggled or drooled.

Impaling Darlene on the angry glare only a father could muster, I
shouted: "How dare you bring drugs into this house! I am sick of
you. New school, new friends, and now look!"

Lanky, straw-haired Arlene; chunky Barbara; dark-skinned Cathy;
perky Darlene and pouty Elaine just stared. Darlene did attempt to
grind out the roach as I spoke. She was impassive, but I could hear
the familiar gears shifting in her head.

She began to speak -- nothing intelligible yet -- but I cut her
off. "I am going to put a stop to this. I am going to fix you girls
good! No, I'm not calling your parents. I'm calling the police!
This is illegal. You, too, Darlene. Let's put all of you through
the juvenile court system and see how you like that!"

Darlene finally spoked: "Daddy," she purred. "You don't mean that,
do you? That seems SO harsh for just fooling around a little."

"This is NOT just fooling around," I bit. "If you were younger, you
know darn well what I would do to you for a big mistake like this.
But you're older now, and it's time to pay an adult price."

The other girls zoomed in on us intently, as if at ringside at a
wrestling match. "Dad, let's not be hasty here," she argued, still
self-possessed, working out some sort of compromise in her mind. "I
wish you could just give me a spanking and have it done with, but
not in front of my friends -- they were foolin' around, too."

I paused, deciding whether to go ahead with my threat to call the
police, and noticed that the other girls were coming to their
senses and looking extremely worried. Arlene was about to cry. Then
Darlene asked: "Dad, just leave the room for one minute and let me
talk to the girls about this."

My daughter was always so persuasive it's a wonder that she EVER
got a licking a child. Anyway, I waited for a minute while I heard
Darlene imploring her friends about something. "Dad, you can come
in now," she called from somewhere inside the room.

If I was surprised when I had barged in those few minutes earlier,
I was dumbfounded into disbelief when I opened the door now.

There they were! Five teenaged girls arrayed along the edges of
Darlene's high bed, bent over with their flannels pulled down and
their nighties high on their back exposing 10 firm cheeks just
asking to be paddled.

"Is this OK, Dad?" my creative daughter asked. "Give us a licking
for what we did and leave the cops out of it? Everybody here
agreed. Just don't tell their folks, or the cops. We voted, and we
figure we deserve it."

Had any of these girls been spanked before? I asked out loud. Each
in turn -- Arlene and Barbara holding hands on the side closest to
me, Darlene at the foot of the bed and Cathy and Elaine holding
hands on the far edge of the bed -- nodded wordlessly.

"Well," I hemmed, "perhaps this would be suitable. But, believe you
me, there will be no giggling when I'm done!"

"Please Mr. Denton, you may give us what we've got coming," Arlene
informed me.

Seeing my duty as God gave me the sight to do, I picked up a ping
pong paddle that Darlene wished she had never left lying around and
approached my daughter first. She flinched only slightly as I
raised my right hand and exploded a POP! across her bare bottom.
"NNNNNNNNGgggggg" she winced. There was an audible shudder from
Barbara, immediately to her left. Barbara was probably the most
embarrassed, because her bottom cheeks were bigger than anyone
else's. They gave me a wonderful target of opportunity, and I did
not let it pass. CCCRAAACCCKKK!! and the green paddle left a bright
red imprint on Barbara's sitter. Bobbie, as they called her,
screamed as if she were at a revival meeting.

To her left, closest to the headboard, was lanky Arlene, who was
primly holding her blue nightie up at midback. Her ass was the
flattest, most boyish, in the room, and I did not think I could do
her bony hips justice. So I asked her to rise from her knees, told
her to bend over far, across my left forearm at her waist. I
rehiked her nighty and delivered a crisp WHHACCKK!! The very proper
Arlene shot forward suddenly, but contained vocal expressions of
discomfort to a mere "eeeeek."

I strode to the other side of the room toward skinny Elaine, who I
had suspected was the "fastest" of the girls. The fact that her
bottom was serenely relaxed, cheeks naturally apart while at rest,
convinced me of her character. She refused to plead, impassively
prepared for what I was about to apply. "SMMMACCCKKK!! Elaine, so
demure until now, burst into tears and jerked her hands back to rub
her burning cheeks.

Finally, and with much trepidation, I came up behind dusky Cathy. I
hesistated long and hard, for, you see, Cathy was African-American.
I am a fair man, but I am also very much aware of political
correctness. Cathy, short and sassy, sensed my bewilderment. "It's
all right, Mr. Denton, I'm just the same as THEY are. I just won't
show as much red." I couldn't tell whether she was being cute or
sarcastic, but while I was deciding, Cathy kicked one foot into the
floor and implored, "Get it over with, sir. I've been whipped
before."

I slammed the paddle hard across Cathy's jouncy buns, and she
jerked foward involuntarily, while gasping loud from the blow.

Now I had spanked each girl once, and we all knew they deserved a
lengthy paddling. Figuring this would take forever, and would wear
out the carpeting, I announced: "You will each be spanked hard, one
naughty girl at a time, and I will decide who gets how much."

Darlene, figuring correctly that she would come out much the worse,
sighed a heartfelt, "Ooooh! I remained behind Cathy and spanked
rapidly and evenly about 10 times, until she was barely able to
maintain her position. When I finished, Cathy was crying steadily
and groping through the tears for her fallen pajama bottoms.

Moving back toward Elaine, whom I instinctively blamed, I sat on
the bed next to her and brought that paddle down from Mt. Olympus
extremely hard about a dozen times. Elaine was no lady now! She
bucked and writhed and hollered hellbent.

I bypassed Darlene to take care of portly Barbara, who had been
sobbing loud as she watched her friends getting paddled. "Your
turn," Barbara. "Don't be a big baby," I cautioned.

"Bbbbutttt, Mr. Denton," she stammered. "I...I...I've nnevverr
bbeenn sssppannnked bbbeefffoorre!"

Being a man of compassion and justice, I offered to have her driven
home to her parents and then reported to the police. Barbara began
crying, but mumbled that she'd rather get her first spanking.
Although this terrified girl didn't realize it, I was very gentle
with her -- lightly smacking each cheek three times each with the
paddle before beckoning her up to go stand in the corner. It didn't
matter, because Barbara yelled and screamed as if her nails were
being pulled out.

Then it was stoic Arlene's turn. She was quivering now, but
prepared to take what was coming. Because she had let Barbara's
hand inside her nightie, Arlene would get extra. Four cracks of the
paddle left her sobbing. "That was for your behavior with Barbara,"
I announced. "Now, the rest for smoking dope!" As much as I liked
Arlene, I had to give her a good paddling, and so I did. Twelve
more hard cracks left her fair skin on fire, and she cried as hard
as anyone, though she never tried to escape the punishment.

That left Darlene. With each of the four well-paddled girls now
standing in the room's four corners -- the room filled with "ooohs"
and "eeeks" and "owwws" and "waaaahs," I took my time. I told
Darlene that she was responsible for this terrible end to what had
been a wonderful slumber party, and that she would not escape
punishment. In fact, since she had been regularly paddled this way
until about age 11, I would have to take a different tack with her.

"I know," she whispered compliantly. "I'm sorry, Dad. I think we've
all learned a lesson."

Darlene, bent over the foot of the bend, her knees straight and her
toes on the floor, nightgown up to her shoulders so that her young
breasts were bare against the bedspread, flinched again once she
heard the belt whisping through the loops of my trousers.

"Twenty, young lady," I pronounced, wrapping the 40-inch strap
around my right hand until about 15 inches remained free.

"Yes, sir!" Darlene said, resigned to the whipping.

I made them hard, but also fast so that this most upsetting event
would end sooner rather than later. THWAP SMACK WHOP WHIP SMACK
WHACK SMACK CRACK WHOP THWOP THWAP SMACK WHIP SMACK WHACK SMACK
WHAP STRAPP THWACK WHOPPP!! As had been custom in the past, Darlene
counted each and every one of them, sometimes as a gasp, sometimes
as a choking sound, sometimes through screams of guilt and pain,
sometimes in a bare whisper, sometimes as a proud pronouncement.

Darlene was not too proud to cry, however, and she did so
copiously. After all, it was the hardest spanking she ever got up
until that time. When she arose after number 20, her ass bearing
the imprint of my leather belt, Darlene came to me for a hug. Not
wanting to make her friends feel left out, I beckoned Arlene,
Barbara, Cathy and Elaine over for their very own goodnight hug and
a tender rubdown of their very young, very sore bottoms.