by Emily Tilton
“Why don’t we eat now, before the steaks get cold?” he said. “We can go inside, afterward, and finish talking about what you heard over dessert. Mindy’s pound cake is out of this world.”
Mindy smiled gratefully at him, and they all took his suggestion. John felt like he needed the protein after the high-octane conversation—especially since it was apparently going to begin again inside. Cathy, too, seemed hungrier than usual, or maybe she just wanted to concentrate on her food rather than on the dialogue.
Half an hour later they sat in the Landises’ living room, around the coffee table, enjoying the truly excellent cake. Cathy, to John’s satisfaction, had already complimented Mindy on it several times, obviously wanting to make it clear that she didn’t want the strangeness of the evening’s conversation to get in the way of their new friendship. John liked Doug and Mindy immensely; whatever happened with this attempt at impromptu marriage counseling in family discipline, he hoped they would remain friendly.
Doug led them back into the discussion in a completely unexpected way. “While we were clearing the table, I talked to Mindy about the way I think we should tell you about how things are in our house, and she agreed, even though I know you’re going to see her blush. Mindy, go ahead and get undressed.”
Mindy rose from her seat on the couch next to Cathy, and moved around the coffee table past her husband, who took her hand briefly to squeeze it in apparent encouragement, and looked up into her face with love. She faced Cathy from its other side. John and Doug sat in easy chairs on either side of the table, and Doug now turned his a little toward his wife.
Cathy said, “What?!” She looked at John, but he had nothing at all to say: he was watching Mindy—blushing, yes, but otherwise apparently unselfconscious—take off her blue cotton top to reveal a lacy green bra.
Chapter Seven
Cathy had no idea what to do. She liked Mindy. She liked Mindy more than practically anyone she had met since… well, if she were honest, since high school. As much as sorority sisters were supposed to be the best of friends, she hadn’t ever felt like she could tell hers anything true about her feelings or thoughts. She had liked socializing with some of John’s buddies’ wives while he was in Afghanistan, but only because it relieved the boredom and loneliness a little. When John had left the Marines, they hadn’t kept in touch, even though John would go out drinking once a month with the two men from his unit who lived near them now.
But as she watched Mindy start to take off her clothes, Cathy remembered how she and Mindy had seemed to bond, a week ago, the day Cathy and John came over with a coffeecake and a bottle of wine. They were both military wives who didn’t feel like a great fit for the military-wife mold. They both loved ‘80s music and movies. They both were on the verge of getting pregnant—Mindy had said frankly that she and Doug had started trying, and Cathy, who always felt that she and John were on the verge, if they could just get ahead, had said she and Doug were too. It hadn’t even felt like a lie, really.
Cathy had looked forward to seeing Mindy again, and maybe to telling the truth about her and John and even asking for advice. Then they had heard the spanking, and the sex. Then John had accepted this invitation to dinner that seemed now to have turned into something… something else. She hoped John felt sorry, now. She looked over at him, and saw that he didn’t look sorry at all, despite the fact that he was watching the adorable Mindy Landis take off her little red skirt to reveal lacy green panties that matched her bra.
She realized at that point that although she had intended with what seemed like every fiber of her being to get up and run out the door, she had now, after her single What?! remained stationary, on the couch, with another woman stripping off her clothing in front of their husbands only two feet away. Her eyes couldn’t seem to leave Mindy, now clad only in her lingerie—her matching lingerie, which could only mean that she had put it on for her husband to take off, because… because he had told her to? Did he tell her what underwear to wear? Did he mean to have sex with her again today? Did she have any choice?
“I… I can’t,” she said weakly, turning to John, sitting in the easy chair to her right. At least he hadn’t turned his chair the way Doug had, she thought, grasping at mental straws.
“Hands on your head,” Doug said quietly, and Mindy obeyed, lacing her fingers atop her wavy, shoulder-length red hair. Mindy’s attention had focused on him—that, too, made the scene a little more bearable. If the girl in the green lingerie had looked Cathy in the eye, she felt sure she would have found the will to rise and run, even if her knees gave out halfway to the door.
Doug spoke again. “You look very beautiful, Mindy. Thank you for wearing that special lingerie, as I asked you to.”
A renewed blush crept into Mindy’s cheeks. “Thank you, sir.”
Cathy felt faint, as if there wasn’t enough air in the room. Mindy did look beautiful, Cathy had to admit, but her mind drew back from using the word beautiful to describe a half—more than half, truly—naked girl. Her rather small breasts—Cathy’s were bigger, but not much—looked perfect, their pink quarter-sized nipples just barely and naughtily visible through the lace of the bra. Down below, across her flat, pale tummy, the matching panties left even less to the imagination and…
Oh, no. Cathy realized for the first time that Mindy didn’t have any hair down there; the lace of the skimpy panties, through which Cathy thought she could almost make out the cleft of Mindy’s pussy, took away any doubt.
The sight shocked her so deeply that she uttered a noise that approached closely to the word Why? though Cathy’s throat felt too thick to say anything intelligible.
Doug must have noticed where Cathy’s eyes had gone. “Why is Mindy shaved between her legs?” he suggested. “Is that what you’re wondering, Cathy? Mindy, go ahead and pull down your panties to show your friend what you look like down there.”
She felt her brow pucker as her eyes went from Mindy’s panty-covered pussy to the nearly naked woman’s husband’s gentle—though also lascivious—gaze, and then to John. Cathy’s own husband looked back at her and she could see the same lustful quality in his eyes, but also something very tender, toward her specifically, his wife.
How had they gotten here? How the fuck had they gotten here?
By telling yourself sex isn’t important, and letting that make you resent your husband. Some part of her had shot the answer back instantaneously.
What had Mindy said? Her neighbor’s voice came back to her, clear as a bell. I told him I didn’t know where his socks were. I used a swear word, and a disrespectful tone. And I did know where his socks were.
Cathy had done the same thing. She had done it so many times. Not socks, maybe. Just… sassiness. Bitchiness. Swearing out of frustration, disrespecting John because she couldn’t be bothered to answer him civilly. Do that enough, and things get out of kilter, and you can’t see the path back to where you started, when your Marine was about to ship out, and you let him put his hand between your legs for the first time—the first time anyone had ever done that.
It just feels too naughty. It feels like you need a spanking, because of the naughtiness, but you don’t have anyone to give you a spanking and you just have to forget about the whole thing.
You tell yourself that sex isn’t a big deal. You just have hang-ups, from your childhood, maybe, and that’s okay. Other people, sorority friends and military wives, talk about wild sex, and blowjobs, and pleasing my man, but John’s such a nice guy, and he won’t be mad if you don’t really like to feel naughty like that—if you don’t like to be naked with him, that way.
And you end up in your new neighbors’ living room, with your lovely new friend taking off her clothes, demonstrating… something. Your lovely new friend who has no hair on her pussy; who is now, at her husband’s command, actually pulling down the lacy green panties so that you, unable to look away, see how… how naughty she looks, in the place where her husband puts his cock.
A tiny sob
came from Cathy’s throat. She heard John say, with a little frustration but still very gently, “Okay, Cath. I can see this is too intense. Let’s—”
But Cathy interrupted, in a choked voice that she nevertheless managed to make more intelligible than anything she had uttered in several minutes. “No. We’ll stay.” She looked down to find that her hands had balled themselves into little fists in front of her black-and-white striped top. She remembered the sensible beige bra she was wearing underneath it, and found herself suddenly annoyed to think that she hadn’t owned anything lacy since her wedding-night nightgown, which she had of course never worn again.
She looked up at John, who now had a little crinkle between his eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I think we probably already have enough to talk about.” He glanced at Doug and Mindy, who turned from their mutual smiles at one another to look at the Linds—Mindy with an air of quiet dignity despite having her panties around her knees that nearly took Cathy’s breath away, Doug with calmly raised eyebrows.
Not sure where she gained the confidence from, but now feeling somehow on firmer ground though she heard her voice quaver a bit, Cathy said to Doug, “Why is Mindy’s pussy shaved?” Her face felt hot as she spoke the words, and a little dizziness spun her mind round when the terrible word for vagina came out, but the idea that John thought they should be here, watching the little show it appeared Doug and Mindy wanted to put on for them, seemed to carry her through.
It was so very, very naughty. But if John wanted to do naughty things, well, he was her husband, wasn’t he? Maybe the answer had been there all along. Cathy suddenly wondered whether, if John hadn’t been so good at controlling his temper, all this might have been solved on their wedding night. Or even before, all those nights she had cock-teased him, letting him touch her breasts but removing his hand every time it strayed further down.
A vision of what it might have been like nearly blinded her to the strange scene of the present, for a moment. Cathy coming out of the bathroom in the honeymoon suite, about to get into bed, about to turn out the light and await the naked husband whose big, hard penis she wouldn’t really have to see, and she certainly wouldn’t have to touch. John, telling her not to get into bed yet. Telling her he wanted to inspect her pussy first. Raising the hem of her nightgown, seeing the beige nylon, growing angry.
“Brides don’t wear this kind of underwear, do they, Cathy? I’m afraid I have to punish you. Take those panties off right now, and lie on the bed over these pillows. Bottom nice and high. Look at that hair between your legs. We’ll take that away tomorrow.”
Then, the spanking she had never had; John’s enormous hand rising and falling, Cathy crying out as her bottom grew redder and redder. Squirming, showing him her private parts because she couldn’t help it. The light still on, when he got between her legs afterward and deflowered her, looking down to see his penis moving in and out, bloodstained in proof of her lost virginity.
She blinked, and saw the room again: Doug looking patiently into her face, his expression seeming to say that he understood, somehow, how hard this must be for her, but he and Mindy wanted to help.
“I have her shave down there because it looks prettier to me, in panties like those, and because it makes her feel more submissive.”
Cathy swallowed hard though her mouth felt terribly dry. She tried desperately not to look; she hadn’t really seen before, but had managed to turn away toward John, or look at Mindy’s tummy instead, but now she felt she had no choice, that John had somehow given her an unspoken command that she must study her new neighbor’s bare pussy and learn from the sight.
She felt her breath coming raggedly, now, as she examined the demure cleft of Mindy’s outer lips, saw how modestly the pinkness of the inner ones peeped out just a tiny bit. The shame and… and the heat came together: heat everywhere—everywhere. Cathy didn’t even really know what her own pussy looked like.
On the sweet, delicate inner lips, Cathy thought she saw a glistening, and that made her swallow again.
“Isn’t she pretty down there?” Doug asked. His voice sounded a mile away.
Cathy felt that even if she hadn’t agreed, which she did, wholeheartedly, she couldn’t refuse to pay a compliment that Doug Landis had requested. “Yes,” she whispered. “Very pretty.”
“Thank you, Cathy,” Mindy said softly from above—half a mile away, maybe, across the coffee table, rather than the full mile to her husband in his easy chair.
“John,” Doug said. “What do you think? Does my wife have a pretty pussy?”
Cathy turned, swallowing yet again on nothing, hoping beyond hope that she would see the tender look again, rather than the one she feared, the one of raging lust for a woman who would shave her pussy for her husband, who would take off her clothes in front of the neighbors when her husband told her to. And she saw it: she saw the gentle smile of love for her.
“Not as pretty as mine does,” he lied, so gallantly that Cathy thought her heart would break. Maybe mine is prettier, Cathy thought sadly, but you wouldn’t know any more than I would, because I’ve never, ever let you see it.
Chapter Eight
Doug hadn’t expected this, of course, but he couldn’t help enjoying it—nor did he feel the need to help his enjoyment. He didn’t mind admitting that he had often wanted to show Mindy’s sweet cunt, kept so smooth for him at all times because he required it of her, to another couple. He didn’t know whether it would lead to actual swinging, though he doubted it.
Cathy was very fuckable indeed, in an innocent young wife who doesn’t know what she really needs sort of way, but she and John would clearly have to come to a much deeper understanding than they had right now before that kind of thing would become a possibility. Doug had told Mindy that he wanted to watch another man fuck her, and wanted her to watch him fuck another girl, but the closest he had come to enacting the idea was having her masturbate while watching that kind of porn video. Those porn nights, as he called them when he told Mindy she would have one, texting from work Porn night tonight, babe, were so hot, though, for both of them, that Doug felt sure he would find a way to make it happen for them sometime. He thought John Lind might well be up to the task of taking his wife in hand, but he wouldn’t want to push them into anything that didn’t in the end help their marriage rather than hurt it.
Still, to go from what seemed likely to be a repeat of the June Stanton situation, with Cathy spreading nasty rumors around the neighborhood, to an adorable little dominance-and-submission scene where Doug could finally fulfill his fantasy of showing off his lovely wife in and out of her lingerie, seemed like a good start—and very fun in its own right. He pushed things along a bit.
“Mindy plays with herself sometimes,” he said, directing the words at both the Linds. “She didn’t before I fucked her for the first time, but I had her do it front of me, and then I gave her permission to do it by herself, as long as she texts me first to ask if it’s alright.”
Cathy’s face had gone very bright red, as she looked at Mindy’s shaved cunt. Mindy had her eyes closed, and she breathed quickly and shallowly through her nose.
“Babe, how often do you touch yourself down there, these days?”
She opened her eyes and looked into his. He saw love, and shame, and anxiety. Most of all, he saw the thing he most wanted to see: trust. Mindy trusted him to guide her, and the new neighbors, through this erotic maze.
“By myself, sir, or when you make me do it in front of you?”
“By yourself, babe.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cathy shift on the couch a little, as if something in her panties had grown distracting.
“Almost every day, sir,” Mindy said.
A little sound, like a sob came from Cathy at that. Her eyes had closed, and her chin had dropped. Doug addressed John, then, though the words had much more to do with Cathy.
“John, do you let Cathy masturbate?”
He certainly didn’t want to throw any pitches John coul
dn’t hit, here, but he thought the Marine probably had enough instinctive dominance to send this one out of the park. John didn’t disappoint him.
“Cathy’s a good girl. She doesn’t play with herself.” He looked over to his wife, and Doug’s eyes followed his. On Cathy’s face, to his satisfaction, he saw that just as Mindy had cottoned to the idea of self-pleasure when Doug first told her to put her hand down and show him where her cunt felt best when she touched it, then to keep touching herself there, this innocent wife, if John handled her properly, would be able to unlock her real, submissive sexuality with a few compulsory masturbation sessions.
John, it seemed, had seen the same thing in Cathy’s slightly wild eyes, as she looked back at her husband, apparently helpless to do anything but sit, watch, and listen. “But if she asked permission, I’d say yes, as long as I watched, the first few times, to make sure she knows that her pleasure is a gift from me.” Cathy’s head had started to shake, very slowly, but her eyes, still looking into John’s, told a different story. John, like an experienced baserunner, clearly saw his chance. “In fact, I think your idea is a really good one, Doug. Cathy will show me her pussy, and play with it in front of me, tonight.”
Cathy shuddered, and her eyes darted to Mindy’s cunt again. Doug’s wonderful wife had listened and watched all this with a secret smile on her lips; now she had focused on Cathy’s face, biting her lip at the sight, Doug knew, of her new friend’s attention to the bareness between her thighs. He felt his cock get very hard at the fleeting fantasy of Cathy being made to go down on Mindy, of the two girls head-to-tail in the big bed in the Landises’ master suite.
Then Cathy looked up, and Doug watched her eyes lock on Mindy’s. Mindy’s smile widened a little, and Doug felt sure that the only thing Cathy could take away from that mutual gaze was the reassurance that to feel the arousal that had clearly begun to make her ache between her own thighs would only make her happy, because—like Mindy—she had a husband who loved her.