The Spanked Wives Club (9 page)

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.

Turning back to his task at hand, Hunter smacked those gorgeous buttocks again, over and over, making sure every inch of soft, warm flesh blushed a deep pink. She went up on her toes once and again, as he spaced out two hard smacks, waiting several seconds between them, the blows ringing out in the still afternoon air, her bottom shuddering each time. He delighted in watching her bottom bounce and jiggle as he punished it, yet knowing at the same time that he needed to maintain his control.

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.”

* * *

“I
s 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 the 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 her husband and Troy stood directly behind her, their intent 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 again, the heavy fall of it hanging limply over her left shoulder again, once more leaving her with no protection from their regard, no 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.”

She didn’t have time to absorb exactly how that might go, the third stroke smacking her just above the backs of her knees, the pain the worst yet. She dipped her knees, bringing her hips in, trying to cope with the fiery sting, her eyes already watering. How many?

“Get your bottom back up, girl.” A strong hand clamped her hip, jerking her upright, her legs straightening, exposing the vulnerable thighs once more to the pitiless lash.

Two strokes, both hard, landed in quick succession, the tip of the leather biting like fire along the outside of her right thigh, her long, keening whine bitten finally off with every ounce of will she could muster.

“Very good,” Von said, off her right. “She felt those.”

I felt all of them, you motherfucker!

She cringed inwardly, knowing the terrible punishment she’d be in for if she ever let such intemperate words past her lips. Von and Troy both believed in stoicism under the lash, and in the case of her husband, defiance in that regard would only earn her — she knew from hard experience — more strokes.

Much better to endure, show him how much she wanted to obey him — and focus on the sweet reward that came after the pain.

She hadn’t yet come to terms with the way harsh punishment still turned her on, how being taken to the edge of her tolerance made her clit sing, her sex gush. Troy, of course, had learned of it long ago, and more than once, he’d taken her deeper into the land of red torment than she ever thought she could go, masochistic tendencies or not.