The Spanked Wives Club (5 page)

“Good… good,” Keenan said, sitting back once more and waving a finger toward the waiting woman. “Turn around.”

She moved slowly, pausing a moment, as if contemplating defiance. Then she obeyed, turning her bottom toward them, the smooth, shapely buttocks only marred in a couple of places by fading marks, a light ghost of a bruise blemishing the paleness low on one cheek. Her back was strong and firm, tapering down to the pleasing sweep of her hips. Hunter was struck with an urge to stroke a palm down the length of her lovely legs, to feel the strength and grace so apparent in the limbs.

Keenan leaned forward once more, until perched on the edge of his seat, reaching out to trace fingertips across that mark, a pride of ownership plain in his touch.

“Flawless, yes?”

Hunter swallowed, shifting his legs again in response to his increasingly throbbing cock. “She’s… incredible.”

She made a tiny sound at that, shifting her weight slightly, and Keenan clasped her hip as if to calm a fractious animal. He pressed a quick kiss to her soft flank. “It’s okay, girl. I told you, didn’t I?” Keenan shrugged, glancing over at Hunter. “She still thinks of herself as this hideous thing, despite the beauty we can plainly see before us.”

Hunter remembered Lacey again, how she’d been convinced she was ugly, fat, worried that Troy wouldn’t think she was good enough for him anymore — especially after the baby came.

How deluded the girl was.

If Lacey were his, he’d never let her go. Hell, he’d told Troy the same thing — and the man hadn’t argued either. Both men knew how special, how beautiful Lacey was — even if she’d never allow herself to see it.

Jesus, Hunt. Get her out of your head.

Hadn’t that been one of the reasons he’d agreed to Troy’s proposition of a visit out to White Valley? To start anew? To find someone who’d finally accept Hunter for what he really was?

Thoughts of his best friend’s wife weren’t exactly what he’d had in mind when it came to the idea of starting over.

Keenan made Amy wait a moment more, then drew back into his seat, holding up his hand, finger twirling.

“You can turn back around.”

Hunter wasn’t sure if he saw relief in her blushing face, her eyes darting from him then to Keenan before she took up her previous position, chin up, gaze forward.

“What day is it, dear?” Keenan’s fingers drummed on one arm of his chair. “And why are we here?”

“It’s Wednesday, Sir.”

“More specific. What happens on Wednesdays?”

Amy’s pink tongue darted out to wet her lower lip. “M-Maintenance. Sir.”

“That’s right. What happens on Maintenance days?”

Hunter knew about the Friday Maintenance Nights Troy and Lacey had instituted. It surprised him though to witness another couple that apparently practiced the same thing.

Amy flicked a glance at Hunter, which drew a growl from her husband. “Eyes on me. Hunter’s here to watch how we handle things here in the valley.”

Eyes once more on her husband, she swallowed. “Sorry, Sir. Maintenance is to… reinforce my submission to you.”

“What else?”

“Please,” she whispered, looking at the floor, fresh tears coursing down her flushed cheeks.

“What
else
, Amy?”

“And to punish me for any faults or times I’ve disobeyed you. To correct me for things that you… may have missed during the week.”

“Or that you didn’t report.” Keenan unbuttoned one of the sleeves of his dress shirt, rolling it up a sinewed forearm as he spoke. “Speaking of which — do you have anything to tell me? Any instance of disobedience or failing to follow my instructions?”

“Oh God,” Amy dropped her gaze again, shutting her eyes tight. A tear dropped onto one of her breasts, wetness tracking down toward a deep pink — and very hard — nipple.

“We’re waiting, girl.” Keenan finished rolling up the other sleeve, the hair on his arms dark against deeply tanned skin. “Better to get it all out now. If I find out about it after the fact, it will go worse for you.”

She looked up, more tears cascading down her cheeks. “I — spoke angrily to my mother again. Twice, on the phone. She… was nagging me.”

“About what?”

“To book a trip out to see her and Dad.”

“And why would that be nagging?”

Amy sniffled, her brow furrowing. “I… I just saw them two months ago.”

“They’re your
parents
, Amy. Book the trip. That’s an order.”

She met her husband’s fierce gaze then, staring silently for a moment, as if waiting for something.

Keenan sighed. “No, you won’t be punished for that. You’ve got plenty to have that cute ass tanned for already, my girl. Now, anything else?”

“No, Sir.” Amy straightened slightly, wiping at her face with her inner arm again.

Hunter marveled at the way she kept her hands glued to the back of her head. He wondered just what went on between these two. It was surely a deeper, more serious dynamic than he’d even witnessed between Lacey and Troy. He wasn’t sure he felt entirely okay with it, but regardless, his cock was still hard enough to pulverize rock.

Part of him had no problem at all with what he was witnessing.

“Before we begin, I want to hear it.” Keenan tipped his head in Hunter’s direction. “Our guest should hear it too.”

Amy drew a deep breath, her breasts rising, the single tear glistening at the tip of her nipple now.

“I — we — have agreed to this. Please discipline me as you see fit, Sir.”

“You’re sure about this?” Keenan’s gaze flashed. “You’re not being forced into this, are you?”

Amy chanced a glance at Hunter once more, and what he saw in her eyes loosened the grip the tension in the room had on him, even if only a little. He saw two things in those eyes — fear, and lust.

The same two things he’d seen in Lacey’s gaze when he’d disciplined her all those months ago.

“No, Sir. I’m not being forced,” Amy said softly, a slight rasp in her voice.

“Good.” Keenan held out a hand. “Over my lap, girl.”

Time seemed to slow as the woman negotiated her place, draped across Keenan’s thighs, her breasts swinging like bells below her as she adjusted herself, her face flaming red once more before she lowered her head fully, the veil of her hair concealing her shame.

“It just occurred to me, Hunter, that you’re on the wrong side.”

“What?” Hunter’s mouth was so dry, his voice had been reduced to a hoarse whisper.

“The wrong side to watch her punishment. You can’t even see her ass from there, can you? Her head is toward your side.”

Now it was Hunter’s turn to blush, and Keenan grinned at it.

“No… that’s really okay.”

Amy wiggled and Keenan slapped her bottom lightly. “Stay still. If I want him to see your bottom, you’ll let him. Clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, miserably.

“You sure?” Keenan asked, patting her buttocks, a glint in his eye as he looked over at Hunter once more. “View is much better over here.”

Hunter, for one moment, considered if it would make him a complete bastard if he actually got up and stood behind her to watch her husband spank her ass.

He decided he wasn’t
that
much of a dick. Not yet anyway. He shook his head.

“Suit yourself,” Keenan said, giving him a wink. He looked down at Amy’s back, his hand rubbing circles over her bottom, the other holding her tightly by her waist, tucking her close to his body. “Ready, girl?”

“Yes… Sir.”

The first smack rang out loud and harsh, and Hunter blinked his eyes, startled. Amy merely wriggled slightly, barely seeming to register the effect of the blow. Keenan tipped her further over his left leg, dropping her head lower, her long auburn curls brushing against the floor. The new position forced her to brace her hands on the carpet, exposing her swaying breasts to Hunter’s too-keen gaze.

Then Keenan began, striking each buttock hard several times until seeming to find the rhythm he wanted, taking up a steady drumbeat, smacking her over and over, left then right. Sometimes he would vary his spanks, landing several in a row on the same spot until she shrieked, while at other times he’d lift each cheek in turn, whistling in several hard blows across the sensitive junction of her thighs and buttocks.

Keenan paused, bending over his wife and whispering something to her such that Hunter couldn’t make out the words. Then Keenan rubbed her bottom slowly for her, both men listening to her sniffling. Tucking her close once more, Keenan began again, smacking still harder, tipping her over so far now that Hunter could clearly see the crowns of both buttocks, her flesh glowing an angry red.

Taking his time, Keenan continued her punishment, stopping at several intervals, sometimes to simply caress her stinging flesh, murmuring to his wife, while at others, he’d whisper to her in harsh tones. She’d open her legs, and his fingers would delve between her thighs, Hunter’s position precluding a clear view, but the wet sounds leaving no doubt that Keenan’s fingers deeply plundered his wife’s charms. He’d work her up until her hips bucked, her cries turning to pained moans. He’d finally relent, Amy’s breath coming hard and fast, as he wiped his fingers on her hip, leaving a glistening trail of wetness. Then he’d lay a palm on her bottom once more, taking up her punishment yet again.

Spanking her long and hard, Keenan did not let up until his lovely wife was openly weeping, her legs kicking up at each hard blow. With one last harsh flurry of smacks, her flesh bounding and shuddering, Keenan finished off her punishment, leaving Amy sobbing forlornly over his lap.

Hunter, shocked, was torn between wanting to comfort the girl, and yet not wanting to interfere with something so intimate between a man and his wife.

Troy had warned him that they took the philosophy of “man as the head of household” seriously here in White Valley.

Holy fuck, he wasn’t lying.

His wife’s sobs reduced to sniffles, Keenan took her into his arms. She went freely to him, clinging to him fiercely, fresh tears spilling as she laid her head on his chest, her lips a bright, swollen red, eyes closed tightly. Keenan stroked her hair, pressing soft kisses to her head, her temple, his thumbs wiping away her tears. He rocked her like that for several long minutes, Hunter watching, rapt, horribly turned-on, and feeling horribly out of place at the same time.

Eventually, Amy seemed to relax, and Hunter realized she’d actually fallen asleep. Keenan’s knowing gaze met Hunter’s. “So, what do you think of our ways? Do you think White Valley is the place for you after all?”

Hunter swallowed down a painful lump, thankful his arms were across his lap, hiding the erection tenting his jeans.

“I… think I might be looking into a longer stay.”

Keenan grinned, kissing the top of his wife’s head. “This is only the first taste, my friend. There’s so much more to come.”

Chapter Six

“W
here’s your fancy little tablet?” Ford got up to go refill his mug, talking to her over his shoulder. “You want some coffee?”

“Coffee would be great.” Falon tapped her small notebook on her bare knee. “As for the tablet, well, pen and paper never run out of power. I’m not the best typist either.”

“Just the pretty face then. Teleprompter reader.”

“Uh, not exactly. I’m just a producer, remember?”

Ford noted the way she looked at the floor, blushing a little as she said the words. He set the mug down on the desk in front of her. Ghostly steam danced above the chipped rim,
White Valley Paradise
emblazoned on the side in yellow and red.

She crossed her bare, gleaming legs, the skirt she’d chosen a light denim, a black long-sleeved turtle neck a dark counterpoint to the bright hair pulled back in a single ponytail. Her leather sandal slapped against her heel as she nervously bounced her foot. She’d chosen something a little less all-business today, though by no means plain.

He was fairly certain Falon Moore couldn’t be plain if she tried.

She watched him as she took a sip, wincing a little as the scalding liquid touched lips glossed a faint peach color. He shouldn’t have observed that it rendered the blonde of her hair even lighter, almost a platinum. A good look for her.

Stop.

Ford dropped into his chair, the leather creaking, the pant leg of his uniform catching for a moment on the ragged tear at the front of the bottom cushion. Gray light filtered in through the windows of his office, the cool overcast morning a welcome relief from the heat that seemed to take up permanent residence in White Valley during the summer months.

“Thank you again for agreeing to see me, Sheriff.”

“Why don’t we use Ford?”

“Deal — but only if you call me Falon.” She flashed a quick, uncertain smile.

“Fair enough.” Ford took a drag of the pleasingly hot coffee. A little burnt, but it would do the job. “What can I tell you that your source hasn’t already blabbed to you?”