by Trent Evans
Celina groaned then, Von dropping to a knee behind her, his long fingers tracing the thick reddening welts laddered across both of her thighs. A frantic whimper escaped Celina’s lips as her husband squeezed a welt.
“You do good work, Hunter. Already swelling nicely. Good pattern too.”
“I told you, Von.” Troy said from behind Hunter, mirth in his voice. “You should’ve seen him with Lacey last Christmas. In fact”—Troy stroked the rounded hip of his wife, nodding at Hunter, a predatory gleam in the man’s eye—“let’s show him right now.”
* * *
That Hunter now stood on a sun-splashed deck, a naked woman bent over in front of him, awaiting her sentence, felt several galaxies past surreal. That didn’t mean he didn’t love every fucking second of it though.
It seemed his entire awareness was dominated by the alluring sight of round, pale buttocks, Lacey’s darkened eyes, her frightened — and yet, lust-filled — gaze as she chanced a look back at her guest tormentor.
“Let’s start off with a spanking for my girl,” Troy said, patting her hip. “You remember how Hunter spanks, don’t you?”
“Start?”
“Is there a problem with that, Lacey?” Troy asked, a new hint of steel to his voice. Hunter knew his friend was the kind of man who sought compliance in his woman in the bedroom — and he’d have nothing else.
“No… I’m sorry.”
Hunter could almost hear her hard swallow.
“Good.” Troy dropped his gaze, as if talking directly to the generous curves of Lacey’s plump bottom. “You’ll obey any command he gives you.”
“Yes, Master.”
Troy’s big hand squeezed one of Lacey’s buttocks, his fingertips sinking deep into the rich flesh. “You’re to address him as ‘Sir.’ Understand me?”
“Yes, Master.” Her voice had grown quieter with each command, as if she were readying herself, resigned to what was about to come.
Hunter’s cock was at full mast now, just at the soft, meek sound of her words. He remembered that night too well, her cries, her pleading, her tears. The wetness of a pussy he wanted more than anything to touch, to soothe — to plunder. He remembered the sweetness of holding her afterward, as she wept.
Most of all he remembered his deep gratitude.
They’d shared a part of themselves that couldn’t be more intimate. And they’d done it simply to help him feel better, simply because they were his friends.
And now you’re going to do this again. Some days, it’s good to be Hunter.
Troy raised an eyebrow at him, giving him a subtle nod toward his wife. Permission.
“You know what to do, my friend,” he said, squeezing Hunter’s shoulder, then stepping back.
Now all of Hunter’s vision was that glorious broad bottom, Lacey’s temporary surrender laid bare for all the world to see.
She was his — for the next few minutes anyway.
He was vaguely aware of Celina being drawn to the side, the whispered tones of Von warning her she wasn’t to look away, that he wanted her to watch this.
God, did Hunter want to do this.
He stepped closer, reaching out and touching her bottom, smoothing his palm over her skin, feeling the trembling of her muscles. The soft vulnerability of her flesh, of her position, only fired his lust higher, summoning the ancient predator, the instinctive hunter and conqueror he believed lurked deep within every man.
He stroked and massaged each curve and line of both buttocks, squeezing them in his palms, drawing a sigh from her as his fingers quested lower with each pass across her skin, until upon his fingertips, he could feel the humid heat of her arousal, a mere whisper from his touch. But it wasn’t time for that.
Not quite.
Drawing back his hand, he slapped her bottom as if swatting a fly, delighting in the way her flesh moved, the jiggle and shudder of the soft cheeks.
“Good girl, Lacey,” Troy said from somewhere behind him. “You keep them nice and soft for him. Let him see how you move.”
“Yes, Master,” she murmured, the tension in her voice unmistakable.
Was it fear? Mortification? Anticipation? Hunter hoped it was all three.
He spanked each cheek crisply then, pausing between strokes to watch the movement, to listen to the sharp intake of breath. The sound, out there in the clear afternoon, was unlike anything he’d experienced, even the breeze seeming to hush to listen to the music of Lacey’s punishment.
Hunter shifted position then, changing the side he swung from, landing several hard smacks all over her right buttock, enjoying the way the pink blush grew angrier with each blow. He caught the underside of her generous bottom in an upward spank, her rich flesh upon his palm, setting the cheeks bounding upward, watching in satisfaction as she clenched reflexively, the cleft drawing to a thin line. Troy’s growled tone had her loosening immediately though, that thin line opening again into that alluring divide, the pale curves bright in the sun, the tender space between her cheeks deep in shadow.
“Harder,” Troy murmured. He drew close, speaking into Hunter’s ear such that only he could hear the words. “You know she can take it. Remember.”
Hunter laid down quick, sharp smacks across the other side of her ass, and for a crazed moment, he wanted to take a gentle bite of the soft flesh, to claim her in yet another — though no less possessive — way.
Christ, this is torture.
Lacey cried out for the first time, taking a tiny step toward the railing as Hunter landed a particularly harsh blow upon the crease just under one cheek. Rather than take mercy on her though, Hunter grasped her by a hip and smacked that same spot twice more, each strike harder than the last.
Lacey gasped at the sting as he took a step back, searching the increasingly congested canvas he was using to paint her pain upon. He found two spots higher up, still pale, and spanked them until they too flushed satisfactorily. Hunter’s cock spasmed as he watched her buttocks clench and squeeze, loosening again, her thighs visibly shaking. He stroked them next, loving the lush softness, the vulnerable, pale flesh fair crying out for its share of punishing strokes. Hunter caressed her legs, making her wait, catching the strong scent of her arousal, carried on the warm afternoon breeze. He wondered what he’d find there between those thighs, imagining the dripping furnace he’d glimpsed all those months ago after he’d had his inaugural taste of disciplining this yielding, submissive beauty.
He pinched her thigh softly, loving the way she held her breath, waiting, dreading, wanting.
“Spread your legs, Lacey.” Hunter said, needing to take this a step further, willing to chance a rebuke. The potential reward was too sweet not to try.
She froze for a long moment, and Hunter thought she might defy his order.
“You heard him, Lacey girl,” Troy said, his voice thick now. “Legs open.”
As Lacey complied haltingly, her smooth sex could just be made out in the shadows between the creamy thighs, a hint of the moisture collecting at her swollen labia. Hunter wanted to cup the heat of her in his palm, make those plump lips wet with her own secretions, expose the hard clit he knew throbbed amid her folds and pinch it gently between his fingers.
Soon.
Celina drew in a sharp breath to the sound of Von’s deep chuckle. Von had drawn Celina into the cage of his arms, holding her tight to his body. His huge tanned hands kneaded Celina’s full breasts, squeezing them brutally hard, those reddened nipples of hers standing straight out, seemingly even more prominent than they’d been the first night when Hunter had watched Von take his own wife over a knee.
Then Hunter realized why Celina’s nipples looked even more inflamed now, the woman throwing her head back, her hands gripping Von’s thighs, her lip clenched between her teeth, eyes closed tight as Von pinched both hard tips, the coral flesh now squeezed white between his strong fingers. He kissed and nibbled at her neck as he rolled and twisted her nipples, her soul-deep groan a mix of pain and lust and need.
God, if only I had a few hours with her to myself. What a sorry girl she’d be.
He stopped to feel the tiny ridges formed around the imprints of his fingers left from the harder spanks. He wanted to give her even more, but he feared they’d be here all day watching him punish her if he indulged himself much more — and he knew she still had a paddling to go through.
Once her flesh was a suitable shade of deep pink, her breath coming fast, little whimpering sounds of discomfort drawn from her sweet lips, Hunter relented.
“That’s a good start,” he said, taking a step back, rubbing his palms together, hoping his cock hadn’t left a wet spot of precome at the crotch of his jeans. He was so hard, he was sure even a whisper of a touch would have had him going off like a rocket.
“We should have Hunter over to our house again soon,” Von whispered into his wife’s ear, her eyes flying open in fright. He bounced her martyred breasts on his open palms. “That’s a man who knows how to handle a woman’s body.”
Troy squatted behind his wife, his hand coursing over the reddened flesh. He caressed and stroked her bottom for her until her breathing had calmed, the hamstrings growing less taut. A sheen of wetness had formed at the small of her back, a few beads of sweat running down between her shoulder blades. Hunter experienced a momentary flash of possessive jealousy as Troy’s hand slipped between Lacey’s thighs, a long shuddering sigh wrung from her as her husband pushed several fingers deep inside her. Thrusting within her briskly for a moment, Troy withdrew the digits, bright with her secretions, and licked them off one by one.
“She can cool her heels for a minute,” Troy said, craning his head up and back at Von. “I think there’s someone else that needs to be… sorted out.”
The tall, taciturn man gazed down at the trembling Celina. “Back over to the rail. It’s your turn.”
Dragging her feet the entire way, Celina took her place once more, Hunter struck at the prominence of the twin buttocks, the skin a dusky olive… though he suspected it would be an entirely different color in a couple of days.
Lacey attempted to move from her position again, and Troy stilled her, a hand on her back, another wrapped in her hair, turning her head toward the impending punishment.
Von paced left, then right, swishing the fearsome crop in the air as he went, his gaze never leaving the quivering nates of his now clearly frightened wife.
“You know I can’t whip that bottom of yours, but that’s not going to save you.”
“No… Master.”
Von laid the shaft of the crop across her trembling thighs, sighting it between the marks Hunter had already left. She froze for an instant, then he snapped the leather against her, and Celina whined softly. Carefully lining up the crop once more, this time a mere hair above the first stroke, he sliced in once more. This time, her thighs squeezed, the dark slot of her sex momentarily hidden as she tensed at the pain.
“Please…”
“Be quiet, girl.” Von struck twice more, each time finding flesh Hunter hadn’t yet marked, the second stroke, higher up her legs, drawing a pained yelp. The line it left quickly began to fill in, flushing a deep pink, a welt just beginning to swell.
Feeling a strange need to comfort, to show her he was still there with her, Hunter touched Lacey’s hot buttocks, palming one of them and squeezing gently. Troy didn’t stop him.
She pushed back a tiny bit, giving Hunter all the confirmation he needed. He caressed Lacey’s inflamed, reddened bottom as Von paused a moment, running the back of his hand over the latticework of darkening lines. Then he stood back, measuring a stroke that would land diagonally across both legs. “Steady, girl. You’re doing fine.”
He snapped it home and she bit off a screech, her leg raising up. Then she began to cry softly.
Von held himself close to her then, running his hand up and down her far hip, whispering to her. Finally, still weeping, she nodded against her arms, and Von reached under her, gently squeezing a heavy, pendant breast and planting a kiss on her ear.
“She’ll still have those marks on Saturday morning,” Von said, crossing his arms, the length of the crop tucked into the crook of one elbow. The man’s erection was a prominent bulge in his jeans. Hunter wasn’t the only one turned on by all this female discipline.
He wasn’t sure if that reassured him or not.
Von continued, looking to Troy and Hunter now. “They’ll be a nice decoration. A reminder to everyone who sees her that she’s a well-disciplined wife.” He threw a glance down at Celina’s welted thighs. “Isn’t that right, girl?”
She blubbered a moment, still struggling with her tears. “Yes… Master.”
Troy sauntered over to the case, laid open on the table, his fingers dancing from one implement of pain to the next. He picked one up, tucking it behind his back as he returned to Lacey and Hunter. He looked pointedly down at Hunter’s hands, still kneading both of Lacey’s buttocks, her tiny whispered moans a lovely sound indeed. Troy winked at him.
“I don’t blame you. But you’re going to need your hands for a minute or two.” He brought a thick leather paddle around from behind his back, holding it out to Hunter. “She’s ready for a little more I think.”
Just then, Lacey looked back, her eyes flying open as she saw what Hunter now held in his fist.
“Oh my God.”
* * *
“Is there something wrong, bad girl?” Troy advanced toward her, as a cat might stalk cornered prey, taking his time, savoring every second.
“Please, no more?”
Lacey knew it was futile, even as she knew that deep down she wanted more — she just would have preferred somewhere other than broad daylight to get it.
Don’t lie to yourself.
Troy’s hard hand touched her back and she arched up toward it, needing his touch, despite the pain she knew he was about to cause her through the proxy of Hunter’s strong arm.
Her husband’s hot breath tickled her ear. “Here’s what I think, bad girl. I think you’re going to be good for Hunter. I think you’re going to stay still for him, let him hear your cries, your tears.” He took her earlobe between his teeth, squeezing down until the sting made her hiss. “And you’re going to love it as much as he is.”
He smacked her ass hard at that, standing up once more and pushing her hair over her left shoulder, preventing her from hiding her face from the watching Von and Celina.
They aren’t the only ones who’re watching.
Lacey looked again across the greenbelt that bordered the back yard as it sloped down the hill. How far was that next house? She thought it was a couple hundred feet at least, but even that was much too close. The breeze picked up, the air cool against the sweat running down the trough of her spine, the wind seeming almost icy against nipples grown hard as stone, despite her mortification at being displayed in such a way for all and sundry to watch and enjoy.
You can tell yourself that’s mortification you’re feeling, but I think you know the truth of things.
Hadn’t that been one of the most terrifying, yet fascinating, things about the prospect of moving up to White Valley? Oh, she and Troy had visited before, of course. They’d had more than a few “demonstrations” at Von’s house — though she’d yet to see an actual Session — fresh heat bloomed on her cheeks as she thought of it — what the submissive women of White Valley called The Spanked Wives Club.
Just thinking the words made her want to hide her head exactly as she was doing now, only peeking up occasionally to assure herself th
e second floor deck of the house across the greenbelt was still unoccupied.
Please, God.
A quick glance behind her almost made her yelp in fright. Both men stood directly behind her, their intense gazes focused on her ass, Hunter lightly tapping the stiff leather of the paddle against his palm. She hid her head against her arm again, her hair flying up, the wind catching it and fanning it across her upper back, tickling her skin.
“That’s right,” Troy said, his voice thick with lust now. “Hide your head, bad girl.” A hand brushed her hair away, the heavy fall of it hanging limply over her left shoulder again, once more depriving her of that symbolic protection, taking away that shield with which to hide her shame.
Lacey wished she could take care of his arousal for him. She knew she could. And she knew they might go easier on her if she did.
But you don’t want them to go easier on you, do you?
“Oh, no,” she whispered against her arm, tensing for the blow she knew was coming.
Cold leather tapped against her thighs, just below her still-flaming buttocks, and she grew still, waiting.
The first stroke was always worse than she expected, always a surprise, and it startled a cry from her lips, the leather seeming to stick to her skin for a heartbeat before being drawn away, the sound shocking, the burst of hot pain even more so.
Troy liked to draw out a paddling sometimes, talking to her, fondling her as he made her wait for — and dread — each stroke. As evil as he was in that regard, even she had to admit that it made her pussy positively drip. It was the control, mostly, the knowledge that her implacable husband held her in the palm of his hand, and no matter what it took, no matter how many tears he had to make her shed, he would make sure her will bent to his.
And she wouldn’t want it any other way, God help her.
The second stroke landed lower toward the middle of her thighs and she clenched hard against the ripping sting of the blow. She dreaded the paddle in any normal circumstance — but when wielded against her poor defenseless thighs it was pure hell.
“Lower now,” her husband muttered somewhere behind her. “Harder too. She can take it. I want her to remember you tomorrow when she sits down to watch the Session with us.”