In Hot Water

The other girls were already chatting and gossiping by the time they entered the locker room. Most of them were bleached blonde, expensively clothed upperclasswomen who failed to so much as notice Mamta Amani as she filed in after them. Mamta wondered again if this was the wrong sport for her. She had swam at her old school, but her old school had been a whole let less cliquish and a whole lot more ethnically diverse, and the swim team here seemed to be the “popular girl” sport.

“So,” said one of the blondes as Mamta picked out a locker and began undoing her jacket, “I just decided who my favorite actor is.”

Mamta looked up at her teammate, hoping this was a conversation she could get in on.

“Oh?” Asked another blonde. “Who?”

The first one moved her slim body in a way that indicated Mamta. “Tim Curry.”

It actually took Mamta a few seconds to get it, while the girls around her were chortling away. Was that really the best they could do? Really? She felt like she should be offended or something, but that was too stupid to even count. She sucked a slow breath into her petite mouth and thought for a moment.

“I liked him in It,” Mamta offered slowly, wondering if perhaps this could be salvaged, “and the voice acting in cartoons.”

“That’s very interesting, darling,” said Blonde #2, making eye contact with Mamta for a fraction of a second before turning back to her friend. “Anyway, I SO can‘t wait to see the second part of New Moon!”

“I KNOW! I’m rereading the whole series just to get ready!”

Mamta looked around for a sympathetic face, but every head was pointed away. Classes would start in two weeks’ time. Were they also going to be like this?

Well, socializing wasn’t the reason she was here anyway. Mamta pulled off her shirt and skirt and began digging her swimsuit out of her backpack. To do this, she had to bend over the bench that her pack was resting on, with her back to Blonde #1.

“Heh,” Mamta heard a chuckle, “here‘s a fun fact about swimming. If you‘re tall and slim, you go through the water faster. If you‘re short and have…um, what‘s the civilized term…very generous hindquarters, then you just might be out of luck.”

“WHAT?” Blonde #2 looked up in shock, “Are you calling me fa-”

She saw what her friend was smirking at, and her expression changed.

“Oh. Hahahahahaha!”

Mamta’s eyes widened indignantly, and she quickly sat down. Her peers continued to titter.

“Oh god, its actually spilling over the side of the bench! Too much pilaf, huh? Lot of carbs in all that rice!”

She felt a sting at the corners of her eyes. What had she done to invite this? How could she make it stop?

“Check out her back,” said #2 as she pulled off her bra, proudly exposing a pair of breasts that made Mamta’s flat chest all the more depressing, “I’ll bet you can see her blowhole! MAN THE HARPOONS!”

She just barely prevented herself from making a sound. She couldn’t let herself give them that satisfaction. Mamta awkwardly slid out of her undergarments and - still sitting on the bench, worked on her swimsuit. She really didn’t think she was overweight. Her stomach was actually very slim, her breasts were small, and she had a very smooth, almost cherubic Indian face that was absent of chubby cheeks or neck fat. The only thing about her that wasn’t thin was her bottom, but that made up for everything else. For a petite woman, Mamta had quite expansive hips, and each of them supported a soft, head-sized globe that pointed straight out behind her. It really didn’t match her frame at all.

“Speaking of ginormous asses,” said #2, “I can’t believe Cheryl is on Team Jacob. What a stupid whore.”

As they slipped back into their Twilight discussion, Mamta took the opportunity to stand up and quickly pull her suit the rest of the way on. She stole a glance at the mirror. Her tan, bright-eyed face stared morosely back at her. That suit didn’t cover nearly enough of her derriere; her cheeks were almost bulging out at the bottom. Unfortunately, it was the closest fit she could find.

…

Coach Bartelli was an overweight, mustached man with an all too apparent coat of black body hair. “Welcome back,” his voice echoed across the pool as he glared up at this year’s girls’ swimming team. “Great to see all your young, idealistic faces, however long they last. Welcome to swimming. Obviously.”

The girls lined up by the pool, as was customary. Bartelli frowned at them.

“So, warmups. So that you don‘t pull your muscles, drop off the team, get fed up with sports, and grow up to be a bunch of inanimate lard sacks like me. Jumping jacks! Make like you‘re being electrocuted!”

Mamta went through the stretches and exercises, carefully avoiding looking at the other girls. Fortunately, she was soon given something much more pleasant to look at in the form of the lifeguard, who strode out of the office. Like the rest of the team, Mamta had already met Andy. Andy was a freshman at the community college across the street. Tan, rugged, with smooth muscles that clung to his tall frame like a tight jacket. When Mamta had visited the pool before, Andy’s topless presence at the side of the pool had kept her attention, and probably that of most of the other ladies present. It took a good deal of concentration to remain focused on her situps.

“Alright,” said the coach when they had done their last butterflies, “before we actually get in the water, I need to tell you about our new disciplinary policy. The school can‘t afford to pay me - or any other poor shmuck - to hold detention anymore. So if you screw up, you get treated to the brand new ‘on the spot disciplinary procedures.’ In case any of you didn‘t read the lovingly typed and printed twelve-page activities booklet that I spent days writing for you - and I‘m guessing that‘s all of you - here‘s what that entails. If I say-”

Mamta had no intention of screwing up, and she had skimmed the lovingly typed and printed twelve-page booklet. She knew she should really pay attention anyway, but just then Andy the lifeguard bent over to check a loose rivet in the diving board, pointing one of the roundest, tightest rear ends Mamta had ever seen in a bathing suit right at her. By the time she realized that she wasn’t listening, the coach had finished his speech.

“Time to get in the water now,” Coach Bartelli said, gesturing halfheartedly at the pool. “Don’t worry; if you drown, the school is completely liable.”

The cold water bit at her dark, tan skin as she slipped into the water. The coach instructed them to start with one lap each of crawl, breaststroke, and butterfly stroke, just to “make sure no retards accidentally slipped through the tryouts.” Mamta, as always did well on the breastroke, as her large thigh muscles propelled her quickly. When it came time to do crawl, she had to spend more effort to keep up with her teammates. Butterfly, which was an all but new technique to her and had little to do with leg movements, saw her coming in last.

“Great,” Bartelli congratulated them as he stared at the floor, “real impressive. Now, for this part we’re going to need to pull the cord down the middle of the pool. Um…” He looked at Mamta, who had caught his attention by being last, “whatsyername, Mexican girl. Go help Andy set it up.”

Mamta’s face blushed scarlet under her tan, as peals of blonde laughter rang in her ears. She climbed out of the pool, not making eye contact with anyone as she walked, dripping, around the pool toward the coiled rope.

“How’s it going?” Andy asked as he walked up beside her.

“Oh…” she giggled nervously as she felt his body heat on her wet skin, “…um…I’m having a good day so far.”

He grinned, making her heart accelerate. “So far.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. He just chuckled and shook his head. She felt herself blushing again.

“So,” he said as he hauled the biggest coil of rope to the edge of the pool and put it down, “what have you heard about on-the-spot-discipline?”

“Um…” she blushed again, “I think I know the important parts.”

She bent down to tie the rope to its hook, and immediately felt a hard slap across the underside of her wet bottom, making her gasp and almost fall into the pool. She looked up at him in shock, one small hand darting to the injured part of her rump.

“Mmm,” he murmured before she could say anything, “we’ll see if it worked.”

He chuckled and walked away with the other end of the rope, leaving her with her hand on her butt and nothing left to do. She stared after him for a second, not sure she could believe he had just done that. Then, unsure of what to do about it, she dived into the pool and swam back to her teammates, reaching them just as Andy finished tying it up.

“Circuit time,” said the coach, “crawl edition. Swim up the right side, go under the rope, swim back on the left, repeat. Keep track of your laps, ‘cause hell if I’m going to be bothered. Ten minutes, go.”

For some minutes, they swam (“I said crawl, dammit! Oh, yeah, that’s right, keep snickering at me…”) furiously back and forth, slipping under the rope at each end. Mamta felt herself getting tired. Damn, she really had let herself go over the summer. She stopped for a moment to catch her breath, cursing herself and most of the people she had to interact with these days, at the far end of the pool. As she was panting, she suddenly felt a rough hand grab and squeeze the underside of her left buttock where it was poking out from under her suit. Mamta squealed and nearly lost her grip on the edge of the pool.

“Is that a handprint, senorita?” The voice of Blonde #1 came from right by Mamta’s ear. “Does your mommy still spank you for hogging all the rice pudding?”

Mamta looked furiously over her shoulder. Everyone else was swimming. Coach Bartelli was staring at his corpulent belly and miserably shaking his head.

Blonde #1’s face was right in the middle of her vision, grinning with perfect, white teeth. At that moment, something snapped.

A high pitched scream echoed across the pool as a palm smacked across Blonde #1’s face, jarring her head to the side and sending her golden hair flopping wetly around behind her. Everyone stopped swimming and turned around. Andy was staring intently from his perch on the lifeguard tower. Bartelli was peering across the pool with a somewhat bovine expression.

“This,” Bartelli finally said, “is going to be a really long school year.”

Blonde #1 treaded water away from Mamta turning around to make sure everyone could see the pink handprint on her face. “She hit me!” the girl exclaimed as if everyone didn’t already know, “She actually hit me!”

Bartelli’s mustached face disappeared into his hands. Mamta felt her heartbeat echo in her skull. The girls all looked at each other. Over on the side of the pool, Andy was staring at Mamta with an almost dumbfounded expression.

“Everyone, get over here,” Bartelli finally said. The girls swam back to him. He looked at Mamta with hard eyes.

“Did you hit whatsername?” he demanded sternly.

Mamta looked down at the water. She felt her hair drooping limply against her back.

“Yes,” she said quietly. Blonde #1 was about to indignantly clarify what her name was, but Bartelli cut her off.

“Is there a reason you hit whatsername?”

Mamta looked up at him. No one had seen the other girl grab her ass under the water. If Mamta accused her, she would just deny it, and her friends would all back her up. She glanced nervously across the pool at Andy. He was still watching the developments with great interest, leaning forward at his post so he could hear better.

“She was teasing me,” Mamta said, hopelessly.

Bartelli sighed and looked back at the blonde. “Whatsyername, is it true you were teasing the Latina?”

“I was just asking her if she was alright!” the blonde insisted vehemently, “And my name is-”

“Did anyone else see what was going on before she slapped her?” He gestured limply at each of the two girls as he spoke their pronouns. No one said anything.

“Alright,” groaned Bartelli, rolling his eyes at the high ceiling, “everyone, get out of the water.”

As the eleven dripping girls climbed out of the water, Mamta felt her body vibrating, a sense of impending danger coursing through her with the adrenaline. Bartelli motioned for Andy to come over to the bench at the head of the pool. Andy complied, his chiseled face starting to look a bit excited, as if he were looking forward to something.

“In the pool,” said Bartelli, “on-the-spot discipline is the duty of the lifeguard. Figures. Girl who slapped the other girl, come over here.”

The blonde and her friend were grinning from ear to ear. The other girls were watching intently, their expressions falling somewhere on the spectrum of sympathy to cruel excitement. Mamta felt her insides sink as Andy walked over to the bench. Her eyes widened when Bartelli opened the box of swimming equipment and fished out a clear, lexan paddle, and grabbed a plastic folding chair with his other hand.

“Watch this, girls,” Bartelli demanded as he turned his fat, glowering face to the rest of the team, “nobody wants this repeated too many times, or they’ll call a staff meeting and yell at us and I’ll probably miss my reruns.” He handed the paddle to Andy, who took it a little too eagerly, before setting down and unfolding the chair so that its back faced the team. “Ten strokes. Let’s get this over with.”

The terror was rising in her. Mamta looked at Andy. His alluring musculature was a double edged sword, in that it would allow him to swing that paddle viciously hard and fast if he wanted to, and unless she had misdiagnosed the lust in his eyes, he would want to. He had been waiting for this. Hoping for this. She then looked back at her teammates. The blondes were whispering excitedly to each other.

Moaning softly under her breath, Mamta approached the chair and - following the coach’s instructions - bent over it, sticking her oversized bottom up into the air and at the rest of the room. A few droplets of water hung for a moment to the naked undersides of her melon-sized buttocks before dripping down to the floor.

“Um…” Bartelli seemed suddenly very distracted as he beheld her offered rear, “..wow…uh…ten strokes Andy. Start now.”

Mamta closed her eyes and sucked in her breath, gripping the edge of the chair’s seat with her hands as she felt thirteen pairs of eyes feast on her shamefully exposed buns. She felt a hormonal heat in the skin of her back and thighs as Andy came close to her, his body heat touching her skin and causing involuntary reactions. She gripped the seat tighter, digging in her nails.

Andy lost no time. He held the paddle just behind Mamta’s prominent buttocks and straightened it out, making sure that its flat, transparent surface was perfectly opposed to her thickest curves. Then he raised it up, and brought it flying down into her flesh, making her soft bottom splash and spread out under the force. The first crack of the paddle reverberated across the room, echoing dramatically.

“OOWWW!!!”

Mamta’s fingers gripped tighter at the chair. Her body shivered. Her skintight bathing suit offered little in the way of protection, and its wetness actually served to amplify the force. The sting was immediate, powerful, and fiery.

As the girls watched with wide-eyed enthrallment, Andy lined up the battle again, this time positioning it a little lower, over the part of her bottom that was hanging out. When it connected this time, it bit into wet, naked skin.

“AHH!!!”

Her cry of pain was almost a loud moan. The paddle lick sent ripples of movement down her muscular thighs and caused her to bounce a little on her toes. Her bottom and thighs were pretty tight for their size, but the paddle was still enough to make the former jiggle and bounce.

The third paddle lick was exactly like the second, leaving another layer of pink across her half-naked sit spots and making her large rear end bounce as if it were on springs. The fourth was higher, at the rounded tops of her cheeks, and compressed the flesh in a different direction. After every lick, she cried out and shook her legs, trying desperately to distract her body from the pain. Some of the girls were starting to look a little horrified, involuntarily grabbing their own swimsuit-clad bottoms as they realized that they too might someday be subjected to this treatment. Bartelli’s eyes were almost bugging out of his skull.

The tenth crack of the paddle was like a bucket of gasoline tossed on a forest fire; a sudden spike in the burning pain that then disappeared into the rest of the inferno. Fire! Her ass was on fire! After the tenth stroke Mamta rose to her feet and seized her abused fanny with both hands, breathing deeply and stamping her feet in a frenzied spank-dance. The two, rounded bits of bottom that stuck out from under her suit had been turned from light brown to a sunburned pink.

“Ow! Ow! Ah!”

Andy stood back, trying to suppress a satisfied smirk, and put the paddle back away. Bartelli stood in place for a full ten seconds, mouth hanging a little bit open.

“Um…” he said when he managed to remember where he was, “…yes, so, don‘t do that again. Ass you can see - as, I mean as you can see - I…uh…I‘m not putting up with any…uh…shenanigans.”

Mamta turned her soft, delicate face over her shoulder to look at her teammates with dewy eyes. A few of them looked really sorry for her. The blondes and their handful of cronies were grinning, though a couple of them looked as if they thought this was a little too much.

“We’ve still got fifteen minutes,” said Bartelli, covertly adjusting his swimsuit to make sure that nothing was visibly poking out, “and I don’t want you to suffer any less than I did in high school. Frogstroke, come on!”

They quickly returned to the pool. Mamta avoided making eye contact with anyone as she walked gingerly back to the water. She winced when she bent her hips to jump back in. The cool water felt good on her paddled bum, especially when she took a second to pull her bottoms out to let some water under the fabric, but the leg motions for the frog stroke - which she was normally very good at - were painful. She got off to a slow start, feeling the burn with every stroke. She broke the surface once to see Blonde #1 beside her, smirking toothily. She did her best to ignore it and keep swimming. It was a long, painful, uncomfortable quarter hour.

Finally, the timer rang, and Bartelli motioned for everyone to get out. “Same time tomorrow,” he said, still looking a little distant and distracted, “shower and dry off and go home. I don‘t want to see any of your smug, youthful, all-your-life-ahead-of-you little faces until tomorrow.” He then turned away and whispered a little mumble that sounded almost like “that…ass…”

They filed off into the locker room, Mamta making sure to keep at the back, one hand still clutching her stinging hindquarters as she went. From across the pool, she saw Andy sitting at his post, still watching her. She felt a little flutter of excitement and nervousness in her tummy.

As they entered the locker room, various conversations began to start up around the room. Mamta over to her locker and started pulling off her suit. Her bottom stung and burned deeply as she pulled at the waistline. She leaned forward a bit to help get it down, when a blonde voice (yes, even her voice was blonde) sang out from behind her.

“Rotundo ass is all pretty pink! I guess your mommy isn’t the only one who spanks you!”

The other blonde swooped in beside her friend. “That’s what you get for slapping me, you little bitch! He should have given you twice that many.”

“Don‘t worry, Ash,” said Blonde #2, “he did it really hard. Look at how she’s wincing!”

“Mmm, good point. I wonder if I should say hello to that lifeguard after practice. I’m sure he knows which girls deserve his respect; he obviously knows which ones don’t!” She leaned over and delivered a hard slap to Mamta’s ample rear, making the girl squeak in pain and almost lose her balance. Several girls laughed.

Growling in frustration in rage, Mamta pulled her swimsuit back up and marched back the way she came. She was not going to put up with this. She’d wait in the hall that connected the locker rooms to the pool until the other girls had all gone. She didn’t care how long it took. Mamta stood in a corner in the damp hall and closed her eyes, struggling for happy memories to fill her mind with and drown out the sounds of showers and gossip and vapid giggles from the next room.

Finally, the last of the showers turned off, and she heard her beloved peers finish their exit. Breathing deeply, Mamta went back into the locker room, shed her ill-fitting suit, and turned on a shower. It was a struggle to find the right temperature; at first, the hot water stung her pinkened buns and made her wince and hiss with pain. Then it was too cold, and she danced involuntarily out of the water’s reach. Finally, she managed to hit a happy-ish medium that was warm but not hot, and stood under it.

As the warm water came down on her face and gently cascaded down her smooth body, she closed her eyes and let her mind wander. The sting in her butt seemed to have crept through her torso, and was now causing a tantalizing little prickle in her womanhood. She whined softly to herself as she wrung out her hair, bringing her left hand downward and pushing at the front of her vulva. A lusty tingle rewarded her touch as she found her mind’s eye rest itself on Andy. The way he looked and smiled at her, the way he shamelessly flirted with her earlier in the practice. Warm water coated her skin, giving her a sense of isolation and privacy. Slowly, she crept her hand further down her front…

A strong, masculine arm wrapped itself around her middle, pulling her naked body against a wall of hard, hot muscle. She started to yelp as her soft bottom was pressed painfully against a male body, but another hand clamped itself over her mouth. She tried to struggle, but his arms were like iron bars under a layer of rugged skin. She kicked her legs in a futile attempt to flee as he dragged her out of the shower and toward one of the benches. As he half-carried her across the room, she managed to turn her head up and catch a glimpse of her attacker’s face. Andy’s dark eyes were full of intense determination, his face showing exertion as he steered her to their destination. Mamta felt her heart go crazy.

With a strained grunt, he sat down on the changing bench and pulled the half-struggling Mamta over his lap. His trunks were tight around his crotch, and she felt something iron-hard pushing into her belly through them. Knowing what was coming, she gritted her teeth and clutched the tile floor. Andy pushed her torso a little further over his knees, putting her ponderous, glistening-wet cheeks right over the edge of his lap, so that they pointed at the ceiling. He admired their bounce for just a second, and then started the spanking.

His hand was like sandpaper against her pink, paddled buttocks, rasping and burning her flesh with each loud, wet slap. The sound as his palm connected with her wet, rosy cheeks was like a firecracker echoing in the enclosed locker room, and the pain exploded and sparked in the wake of each smack. Left sit spot, right sit spot, left, right, left right…he spanked her harder and faster than she had ever experienced.

“Ahh! Ohga…I…ahhhh!”

Her voice got higher and higher pitched as she futiley begged and wriggled, but she was careful not to be too loud. The forest fire in her bottom was back, and with a vengeance! She couldn’t yelp fast enough to keep up with the spanks, couldn’t wriggle in any way that would diffuse the pain. She was helpless, bound in place, as her bottom just hurt more, and more, and more…

Andy’s arm had to be getting tired, and his palm was certainly in pain, but he had the willpower to ignore these obstacles. He spanked on and on, faster than the second hand of the clock, exploding volley after volley of fireworks against her bouncing fanny. Her sit spots were red, red like ripe strawberries or lustrous tomatoes, and the rest of her bottom ranged from something just shy of that to hot pink as the layers of sore handprints piled on top of each other. He kept his left arm pressed hard on her back, and his right rising and falling, until the juiciest parts of her ample rear were a shade that bordered on purple and she was almost on the brink of tears. Then, before she lost control and started screaming loud enough to be heard outside of the room, he stopped. She kept writhing and panting over his lap, her abused bottom completely dried off.

“Andy…” she begged, her voice barely a whisper, “Now, right now!”

“Of course,” he whispered back, playing with her wet, black hair. His voice was low and gravelly. “Over the bench.”

Mamta stumbled to her feet and bent over the end of the bench, sticking her red and pink ass up at her paramour. Andy lost no time in scrambling around behind her and - having ditched his trunks at some point - sliding his impressive length of rock-hard penis into its eager socket. Mamta gasped as he pumped his hips into her spanked ass, pushing down on her back and forcing her chest against the bench as he pumped in and out. The sex was fast, furious. Mamta reached around behind her, grabbing his taut bottom and pushing and slapping it to make him work harder. Andy grabbed a handful of hair from the back of her scalp and pulled, making her look up at the ceiling and gasp, as he thrusted deeper and deeper into her slick vagina.

Andy didn’t seem to notice when she had her first orgasm; even as she lolled her head back and clamped a hand over her mouth to keep herself quiet, he didn’t lose speed. Her second climax was stronger, building on the afterglow of the first, as she rose on a wave of pleasure above the agony in her bottom, riding the ocean of pain on a soaring raft of orgasmic ecstasy. She was almost ready for a third orgasm when Andy stopped, his body shuddering, and she felt a spasmodic twitch inside of her as his penis erupted.

The two of them lay, panting, on the changing bench, his penis slowly retracting from her as it shrank back into flaccidity. The bench under her crotch was wet with her emissions; they’d have to clean it off thoroughly before they left. Slowly, her boyfriend of three months brought a hand back to her head and slowly massaged at her neck and chin. She moaned weakly, enjoying his touch.

“You,” Andy said huskily between deep pants, “are completely insane.”

Mamta giggled. “Didn‘t we plan it together?”

“I didn’t think you were going to do it on the first day of the damned schoolyear,” he said, almost indignantly, “and I really didn’t think you were going to physically assault one of your teammates.”

“Those girls are bitches,” Mamta said bitterly, “if it weren’t for you, they’d have kept me off the team.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, I know. They‘re just jealous of you. Your intelligence, your sophistication, your looks. Heh, one of them tried to flirt with me after practice.”

Mamta purred at his compliments. They always did wonders for her self-confidence.

“But…slapping them across the face? Even if they’re bullies, that’s kinda…”

Mamta grinned mischievously. “I know. She totally deserved it, but I shouldn’t have done that.” Silently, Mamta really did enjoy the irony of her current situation. She could do whatever she wanted to those horrible girls during swim practice, and she’d be rewarded for it with the kind of sexy, public paddlings she had fantasized about for years. But yeah, slapping someone in the face was kind of not okay; she’d be more subtle in her mischief from now on.

“Oooh,” she murmured, changing the subject, “my ass is on fire.”

Andy chuckled, straightening up to massage her big butt with both hands. “Mmhmm,” he hummed unsympathetically.

Mamta closed her eyes and enjoyed the attention her nude Adonis of a boyfriend was applying to her ravaged rear. She had met Andy a few weeks after her family moved to town. They had been sure to keep their relationship a secret, as Mamta wasn’t sure what would give her parents a worse heart attack; the fact that she had lost her virginity before getting married, or the fact that she had lost it to a non-Hindu. It was fortunate that she was eighteen, so she could get The Pill without them being informed.

“You should get back to the pool,” she mentioned after a pleasant minute.

“There’s still a few minutes until the open swim, and I doubt Bartelli cares where I went. Mmm, you’re so beautiful.” His hands moved up to her back and began massaging that as well.

“You too,” she whispered back.

Just then, the door to the locker room flew open, and both the young lovers looked up with a start. Coach Bartelli was standing in the doorway, mouth hanging open under his thick moustache.

“WHAT THE FUCK AM I LOOKING AT????”