More Neighbors - 1

I was taking the dog out and heard unexpected voices from the backyard next door. My neighbors, the Portman’s, were away for a few weeks and had asked me to keep an eye on the place, and to retrieve a few deliveries that they had forgotten to would arrive during their absence. At first, I thought maybe they had returned early from the trip but then heard two separate female voices talking and then some girlish giggling.

I took the dog inside and returned to the separating wall to identify the interlopers. As I approached the wall, I got a whiff of weed and was astounded to find Beverly, our neighbor to the back and another woman sitting on the edge of the pool. They were wet - apparently having just emerged from the water - and passing a joint as they chatted. I could not make-out the details of the apparently amusing conversation. Beverly said something apparently hilarious as her friend burst out laughing.

“Hi, Beverly,” I said, startling the two.

“Hi,” she replied attempting to hide the joint.

“Nice night for a swim,” I observed.

“This is my cousin, Misty,” Beverly replied. “We were feeling a bit frisky and decided to sneak over for a dip” I had expected the ‘visitors’ to be neighborhood teenagers so was completely unprepared to see this pair of mature women sitting poolside - wet on the outside and complete baked on the inside. Beverly was a recently-divorced empty-nester. I figured Misty to be about the same age. “You think Mona would mind?” Beverly added.

I thought back to an incident earlier in the summer when the owner of the pool, Mona, caught her eighteen-year-old daughter, Beth, and her friend drinking beer on the pool deck. “How’d that work-out for Beth?” I replied.

In that case, Mona had been out to dinner with friends. The girls had lost track of time and were surprised when Mona bellowed, Beth Portman! Drinking beer. Come inside immediately!” It was mid-evening and I had been tending my box garden in the fading light. Mona’s tone caught my attention and I waited quietly to eavesdrop on the ensuing exchange.

“But, mom!” Beth whined.

“Beth, you and Amy come inside this instant. We need to discuss this matter right now,” Mona replied.

“No, mom, I don’t want to ‘discuss’ this with you,” Beth countered. The way she emphasized the word ‘discuss’ caught my attention and assumed it to mean something more severe than dialogue.

“Beth, get yourselves inside this instant or I will get my hairbrush and handle this out on the pool deck where everyone can see get your fannies spanked,” Mona threatened. I heard Beth mutter something, perhaps a comment to her friend. I risked a peek and saw Beth and Amy hurrying towards the back door, apparently fully convinced that dawdling might worsen their fate.

When intended or not, the back door had remained open and I could hear Mona’s voice - a scolding tone - but not all words were distinct. I did hear a “…get over my knee…” then a sharp whack followed by a loud shriek. The vocalization - likely Beth’s - turned to sobs as the impacts to her bottom continued. I could only imagine the scene inside - Beth over her mom’s knee, bikini bottoms pulled down to expose her bare tush as a hairbrush vigorously warmed her bare cheeks. Whether or not appropriate given the age of the spankee, my body reacted as expected to the mental image of a shapely bare bottom being heated with a hairbrush. Then there was a pause in the sound of brush against bottom but the sobbing continued.

Then I heard Mona say, “It’s your turn, young lady,” presumably beckoning Amy to assume the position for her own turn with the brush. Quickly the sounds of brush whacking bottom resumed and now there were two voices crying.

Later, Mona had relayed key details of the incident to Beverly who then told me. When she had seen the girls drinking by the pool, Mona had fetched her implement of choice - a trusty wooden hairbrush - and an old-fashioned minute timer. Each girl was compelled to lower their bikini bottoms and go over Mona’s knee then turn the timer over to begin a minute of hard swats.

Beverly’s description of the event had again induced an involuntary and quite evident physical reaction from me, that Beverly noticed and joked about - then and for some time afterwards.

Now, Misty leaned in and softly said something, perhaps, “What does he mean?” A quiet, whispered discussion ensued between the two, both frequently looking in my direction.

Finally, Beverly stood and walked over to me, “If we accept Beth’s fate - but from you - will you keep our trespass and dalliance our little secret?”

I could have immediately said ‘yes’ but wanted to extended the drama appearing to cogitate on the question. “Yes. I can keep your secret from Mona,” I replied. “Shall we do this at your place, or mine?”

“We’ll be right over,” Beverly agreed. They exited the gate at the back of the Portman’s yard and then entered into mine. I led them inside and left them for a minute in the living room. I returned having retrieved my bath brush. Misty looked wide-eyed at the formidable tool, knowing I intended to apply it with force to her ample bottom.

“Beverly, I think I will have you go first,” I began. “Turn around, bare your bottom and bend over - hands on your knees. You’ll each be getting two dozen and I expect you to count them.” Beverly lowered her bikini bottoms to reveal her generous, soft cheeks. I tapped the brush against each and marveled how her flesh responded to the light contact. I drew back and gave her left cheek a hard swat.

“One!” she groaned. A dozen on each cheek left emerging light bruises on each. She pulled up her suit bottom and I turned to look at Misty who was fidgeting nervously.

I immediately saw her dilemma - she was wearing a one-piece suit. I was prepared to make an allowance for modesty but she moved to where Beverly had been and quickly lowered the straps from her shoulders and shrugged the tight Lycra suit down to mid-thigh. Her large breasts now were freed and I was momentarily flummoxed by their appearance but then tapped the brush against her bare buns and drew back to give her left cheek a hard swat. “Wait,” Misty pleaded, “Can I bargain down to a single dozen?” I looked at her quizzically. “I guarantee I can give you a blowjob worth at least a dozen swats,” she explained.

“Deal,” I agreed. I slowly delivered a dozen good swats, maybe swinging a bit harder than I had for Beverly. Upon the twelve, Misty turned and slunk to her knees, opening my pants and taking me in her mouth.

“What the heck,” declared Beverly, who popped the clasps on her bikini top, exposing her own magnificent breasts, and then joined her cousin for a tag-team approach. I was amazed at how long I actually lasted before I warned about the impending release. They backed away slightly, both continuing to stroke with their hands until I virtually erupted. The first stream fell across Misty’s face and Beverly caught the second mostly in her mouth. Subsequent minor spurts landed on their neck and breasts, perhaps the most unbelievable finale I had ever experience.

Beverly stood and gave me a salty kiss, “Thanks for keeping our little secret. Now I know where to come when I’m naughty.”