I grew up in southwest, rural Texas. There were only three families living out in the country where I was raised -- my family, my two male cousins' house, and two male friends who were brothers themselves. It made for six rambunctious boys, who were within three years of each other.
So we were all sort of our own little gang. Except for our moms, there was not a female to be found at our isolated homesteads. Consequently, in the hot Texas summers, we boys went around with as little clothing as possible. Ragged cutoffs jeans were the rule. Sneakers and ballcaps were optional accessories. Skinny dipping and napping in the nude afterwards on large flat rocks were favorite summer time activities. Needless to say, we all sported nice overall tans on our slim bodies.
With such minimal attire, it didn't take long to have a naughty boy completely naked for a spanking. It wasn't a perversion, but rather a simple course of events. I can recall several times coming across a bare, tanned playmate getting his squirming bottom walloped.
Since it was such an isolated area, getting a licking outside was not all that uncommon, but we were never spanked in front of strangers. On rare occasions, all six of us were lined up for bare butt tannings together.
We were not in much hurry to get dressed after a licking either. Rough denim material rubbing up against a freshly spanked bottom was not fun! The spankee usually would stay naked until his tender rear had cooled off sufficiently. It was kind of a red badge of courage among us kids.
Our most memorable group summer spanking occurred at the my friends' house. We were 8-11 years old that year. (I had just turned 10.)
We had gotten a hold of some matches, and accidentally started a fire in the old tool shed. No one was hurt (well, not from the fire anyway) and the damage was minimal. The parents of my two friends went ballistic.
Six scared, sun tanned kids were marched to the back porch. There we had to take off our sneakers and drop our cutoff shorts before entering the house naked.
We were tersely ordered to put ourselves over the back of the family sofa. It was a good thing we were all skinny guys because we were squished butt cheek to butt cheek across the back of the couch. Four of us were dangling, while the older two were just on tippy toes.
The dad came in with the dreaded razor strop. Without a word, he smacked it across his oldest son's bottom. The boy yelped and squirmed, and we could feel his motion all the way down the line.
The second bottom was whacked and we all shuddered again. My brother was third. He howled and wiggled, when the strop toasted his buns. I was growing panicky. Was the strop striking just one cheek, or two, I wondered.
I was pondering this thought when I heard a really loud CRACK and my ten year old cousin -- who was next to me -- screamed and bucked. I tried to tense my own bottom, but I was too late.
CRACK!
I shrieked as the strop landed sharply across the sensitive area where the bottom of my rear meet the top of the back of my thighs. It burned so bad.
The younger brother of my friend was now bellowing as his father applied the strop across his bare behind. I thought he was going to fall off the couch.
Much to his surprise -- and mine -- his dad brought the strop down again on his unsuspecting younger son.
Before I could react, the man delivered a solid swat across the center of my cheeks. My head shot up, I shouted in agony, and wiggled mightily between my two compatriots. By then my cousin, the one next to me, was experiencing the "benefit" of his second lick with a razor strop.
My friends' father worked his way back down the line... adding a new red stripe of agony and pain to each boy's bare rear. We were all sobbing our hearts out by now. We struggled to keep our balance atop the back of the sofa, but were able to do so because we were all squished together. Each of us was sporting a red, smarting bottom that was still pointing upwards for further attention.
My friends' father told us boys who liked to play with fire deserved to feel a little fire where it would do the most good. He then started to move swiftly up and down the line of reddening little bottoms, smacking each one briskly. Each time, he made sure he struck a part of our rears that wasn't red already. Apparently, it only took five trips to accomplish that. I don't know about the others, but I thought my rump had burst into flames.
He ordered us up to our feet with our hands on our heads. I wanted to rub my rear so desperately!
Once we all were standing there -- with tears streaming down our faces -- he told us we each had one more lick coming. He added that he thought it would benefit us if we each observed the others getting it. We were to go in the order we had been in.
His older boy, who was 11, went first. I was shocked at how red his bottom was already. I wondered if mine was that scarlet. He positioned himself up over the back of the sofa on tippy toes. It elevated his bottom perfectly. His father laid a sharp crack across both "sit down" spots. The kid screamed and rolled off the back of the couch clutching his flaming buttocks.
My older cousin, also 11, went next. Like his friend, he could make it over the back of the sofa on his tippy toes. His red rear was offered up, and the razor strop landed with force across his "sit down" spots. He hopped up howling and rubbing franctically.
My eight year old younger brother was next. He hoisted himself up over the sofa back, but had to extend his arms to the cushion below to balance himself. I could not ever remember seeing his little butt redder than it looked now. He might have been small, but the strop struck across his tender "sit down" spots with great velocity. He shrieked and actually somersaulted over the couch to the floor in front of it. He hopped up and did the fire dance.
My year old younger cousin was next, and I gulped hard because I followed him. After he positioned his red bottom, I could see his buttock cheeks clench. The strop snapped across the target area, and he let out a mortal moan as he grabbed the stinging flesh.
All eyes turned to me now. My little rear was still pulsating, and I was sure it was as red as those I saw around me. I tentatively stepped forward and hoisted myself over the back of the sofa. The material felt warm and sweaty. I inched forward a bit and found myself slipping forward until the top of my head landed on the sofa cushion.
Unknownst to me, it caused my own "sit down" spots to be parallel to the floor. My friend's father took advantage of the excellent target being offered, and brought the razor strop straight down with a resounding smack across the crease between my rump and legs.
Like my brother, I hollered and somersaulted forward off the couch to the floor below. I was lying there tummy down rubbing my blazing buns, when my younger nine year old friend receive a solid whack from his father's strap.
I got up, wiped my eyes, and looked around. Bright red bottoms abounded in the room! Each had a brilliant crimson stripe across its "sit down" spots, which meant each boy would be remembering this day for a while every time he sat down.
We got lectured for a while, then put in corners around the house. We were served lunch afterwards, which we all ate standing up at the counter without a stitch of clothing on.
We stayed naked -- by our own choice -- for the rest of the day. We laid on our tummies on the soft grass in the shade and talked about who got the worst licking. The others agreed that, when I accidentally slipped forward, I exposed my "sit down" spots more than anyone else. I winced at the accolade.
When it was time to go home, my brother and cousins gingerly put our cutoff on over our sore little bottoms and walked our bikes home. Our friends told us they just took cold showers -- for their sore bottoms -- and never bothered to get dressed that day. They ate dinner on their tummies while watching TV, then went to bed naked with still pink little bottoms.
My cousins later told me they got scolded and had to do some naked corner time before showering and going to bed nude.
My folks knew we had gotten walloped. They lectured us and inspected our bare bottoms... I guess to see if we had been properly punished. We got sent to bed without supper and elected to shower and sleep in our birthday suits on top of our sheets... hoping the night air would help cool our sore rumps. I remember feeling the warm tingling across my fanny, as I drifted off to sleep.
We six were lucky in one respect. It seemed all the parents believed if their boys had been soundly spanked by another parent, there was no need to do it again at home. You have no idea how grateful we were for that small favor.