Perhaps it was Lorraine Demby to whom the honor of inaugurating Northbrook's secret "Wife Spanking Club" should really have fallen. Or perhaps, viewing it from a different direction, credit in a kind of negative way ought to have been given to Lorraine's stuffy husband Edward, a corporate officer who at forty-six seemed to take more interest in business and money-making than in the pleasures of the flesh; and also to Madge Warrens twenty-eight-year-old husband Bob for his negligence in the conjugal bed.
It was about three-thirty on a Friday afternoon in late July, and buxom thirty-six-year-old honey-haired Lorraine Demby was playing stud poker with black-haired twenty-five-year-old Madge Warren at the former's ranch-type house on Murgatroyd Avenue. Madge lived two doors north, and since Bob was a sales engineer for a firm of management consultants in Chicago's Loop and now visiting headquarters in Dayton, Ohio until late Sunday night, the charming black-haired young matron had readily accepted Lorraine's invitation for a gossipy little chat, some cards and refreshments. Ed Demby was also out of town for this weekend, his heavy machinery firm having sent him to Mitchell, South Dakota to address a farmers' cooperative with a view towards getting a sizable number of orders for tractors, binders and threshers in which his firm specialized.
Both couples were childless, and what exasperated mature Lorraine the most about her husband's lackadaisical bedroom performances were that he had been found to be sterile, perhaps the result of a virus sustained in early adolescence. She didn't regret not having children because he was much too stuffy a man to have made a good father. But at least, she had often told herself with bitter nostalgia, since there wasn't any danger of her getting pregnant from him, he might at least have tried to satisfy her in bed. Of late, it was perhaps once or at most twice a month that the paunchy, graying corporate officer visited her bed. Even then it was a kind of jack-rabbit session, which left her frustratingly eager just at the moment when he spent himself and could do no more. He would grunt with a mild show of appreciation, pat her on the hip and then turn over and soon be snoringly fast asleep. There were times when she would put her finger to her clit to gain the appeasement which his inept fucking had denied her. Bored as she was, Lorraine Demby had begun to think that perhaps a lover would be the solution. Though somewhat plump, her body was still very magnificent and appetizing, her skin as youthful as that of a girl's, and there were smoldering passions which Ed Demby had never stoked and banked throughout their married life of sixteen years.
Back in college, as a freshman, Lorraine had pledged to a secret Greek-Letter society, and as was customary, had gone through a tough initiation along with about six other timorous young pledges. The superb amplitude of her juttingly rounded bottom had made her sorority sisters-to-be eager to use their paddles on her, and so instead of going through the mill as the other girls had done, she had been saved to the very last. They had made her lower her panties with her own hands down to her calves, then bend over and touch her toes, warning her that to leave the position would mean extra swats. As her carnation-tinted tautly drawn lush bottom globes had thrust out, shrinking in justifiable apprehension, her "Big Sister" had come up in front of her and gripped her earlobes with both thumbs and fingers to make certain she would stay down during the paddling. And then the president of the sorority herself, a wiry, insolent-featured black-haired girl of twenty-one, a notorious Lesbian had started her off with a terrific wallop across the base of her shuddering ass-cheeks and drawn a wail of pain and a frantic wiggle of Lorraine's succulent naked hips. She had had to take about thirty-five swats, and she had been crying and twisting and wriggling uncontrollably. Each time she tried to lift her head, her "Big Sister" had jerked at her tender earlobes and forced her to keep her head down. Twice she had put her hands back protectively, imploring mercy, and finally two girls had gripped her wrists and drawn them out on either side of her so that she was absolutely helpless. Ten extra swats had been the penalty for covering up, a total of forty-five. When it was over, Lorraine's magnificent ass was swollen and dark-red, and she could hardly stand. Her "Big Sister," Minerva Tatby, a petite and precociously vicious junior of twenty, had taken her back to her own room to console the sobbing and half-fainting blonde pledge. She had made Lorraine strip naked and stretch out on her bed on her belly, while she pretended to rub cold cream on the flaming bottom globes. Her expert caresses, her sly touches of Lorraine's asshole and pussy had aroused certain new and titillating sensations in the buxom young pledge's virgin flesh. And then, a little later, Minerva had tactfully unlocked the door and gone into the bathroom, whereupon the president of the sorority had entered, wearing only her bathrobe and sandals, and with a dildo strapped to her loins.
Whimpering and squirming as the mentholated cream had begun to burn and yet alleviate the fires in her well paddled naked ass, Lorraine Demby had hardly sensed that her "Big Sister" had been replaced. Not until she had felt slim fingers stroking the insides of her thighs and beginning to tweak the pouting lips of her pink slit and then to goose her gently, had she realized that the soothing procedure was somewhat singular. And when she finally looked back and discovered it was Genevieve Barton, the sorority prexy, she had cried out in fear.
"Keep your trap shut, pledge, or back you go for more swats," Genevieve hissed. "Now get on all fours and shove your face down to that pillow and don't yell, or I'll make you wish that you'd never been born!"
Tearfully, Lorraine Demby had obeyed. Mounting behind her exactly as a man might do dog-fashion, Genevieve Barton had reached for Lorraine's big love gourds, slyly pinching the nipples till they stiffened and throbbed with erogenous attunement. Then slowly she had thrust the tip of her dildo into Lorraine's gaping pink cunt, thrusting it to the barrier and then, with a sudden dig, perforating the virgin cherry.
Under the pain, Lorraine Demby had bucked and screamed and begged for mercy. Minerva had then emerged from the bathroom, stark naked, knelt in front of her, seized her earlobes again and compelled her to service her with mouth and tongue while she was undergoing a vigorous dildo-reaming.
After the sorority president had left the room, Minerva Tatby proceeded to console the weeping, shuddering blonde pledge. She had taught Lorraine how to pussy rub and do sixty-nine, so that before the night was over, the pledge was consoled for the pain of her spanked bottom.
Lorraine Demby was thinking now as she studied her lovely young next-door neighbor's wife across the table from her that it might be very entertaining to have a little affair with Madge Warren. Girl style, of course, because she was willing to bet that Madge wasn't any happier in bed than she was.
Madge Warren looked much more girlish than her twenty-five years. Part of it was because her face was exquisite, like a gamine, her black curls formed in modish guiche with the points coming forward on her slantingly high-set cheeks. Her high forehead, daintily penciled brows, her large, ingenuous, widely spaced hazel eyes and her dainty Grecian nose with mercurially flaring thin wings, and most of all her ripe and rather petulant mouth expressed a kind of nervous dissatisfaction with the status quo. As she played cards, her mannerisms betrayed a nervousness, which Lorriane shrewdly suspected, could well have come from frustration in the sack. She knew that Madge had been married three years and that Bob did a lot of traveling. But until now, she really hadn't thought about the young couple's marital problems, her own having dwarfed them by comparison. Besides, she herself had had to put up with this annoyance a good deal longer, she suspected.
As Madge suddenly threw down her cards and leaned forward on a call, the buxom blonde matron smiled teasingly; "Relax, honey, that sure beats me all hollow. What do you say we knock off the cards for a bit and just have a nice long girl-talk?"
"If you'd like. My goodness, sometimes I get so bored I could scream, Lorraine. I wish we could start a club in this quiet suburban heaven of ours, anything just to get some action."
Lorraine suspected that here was a clue which the young brunette wife was casting out in the naive hope that it would be taken up. "Club, baby?" she echoed. "Action? Whatever do you mean, Madge?"
"Oh, you know," Madge gestured almost helplessly. "We've lived here ever since we got married, and I don't know half the people in the block. Yet a lot of them aren't much older than Bob and me, and I'd like to make friends. Maybe we could have a bridge club, you know, or do some charity work or help plan for the community. Anything except just sitting home all day waiting for the phone to ring and for your husband to come home."
"And then, I take it you still are restless," Lorriane shrewdly hazarded.
Madge looked at her, then blushed furiously. "What do you mean by that, Lorraine?"
"Come on over and sit down on the couch, honey. You're all tense and upset. Let Aunt Lorraine give you a little massage," the buxom blonde matron artfully suggested.
Madge giggled nervously and she seated herself on the wide low couch and leaned back, crossing her lovely long legs. She wore a thin blue cotton dress, and her shapely, sinuous calves and long. nervously muscled thighs were sheathed in tan-colored, gauzy nylons. As she leaned back, yawning a little and putting her hands to the back of her neck, the movement thrust out the bold, widely spaced pear-shaped globes of her luscious titties, and Lorraine's eyes glistened with a sudden light of desire. She hadn't gone the girl route since her days at Leigh Girls' College, but the sight of Madge Warren's tempting, resilient figure was beginning to get to her. It would at least be a novel change after the boredom of the past few years. Once in a while Ed invited customers over or some of the men from his firm and once in a while their wives too, but these parties were invariably just as stuffy as Ed himself. And the only thing that really happened was a little too much drinking, loud talk and once in a while a clumsy pass by one of the men, so blatantly off key that Lorriane could laugh it away and not even be affected.
The buxom blonde, wearing a green housecoat and sandals, seated herself beside the young housewife, eyeing her covertly. "What's the matter, baby, aren't you getting it regular enough?" she suddenly hazarded.
Madge gasped, stared at her with a startled look in her widening hazel eyes, and then turned a fiery red. "What-what ever are you talking about, Lorraine?" she stammered.
"Don't give me that, honey. I can tell what it's like to have the empty-bed blues. My gosh, you've been married just three years, but I never thought the honeymoon would be over that soon, not with a shape like yours. Why, if I were a man, I'd keep you barefooted and in the bedroom twenty-four hours a day so help me!"
"Lorraine, what-what a way to talk!" Madge Warren gasped, her color deepening and her eyes averted now as she put her hands awkwardly in her lap and seemed to hunch herself over. One leg was still crossed over its lovely long twin, and the tension which rippled through those luscious thighs was clearly visible. Lorraine's eyes devoured them, as she moved slyly closer. "Oh come on, you're a big girl, Madgie baby," she intimated in a husky voice. "I mean, how long has it been since Bob screwed you-not only that, but made you come?"
"Lorraine, how can you talk that way!"
"Because I believe in being honest, sweetie. Now you take me, and I wish you would-no. skip that for the time being. What I mean is, Ed and I have batted it around for sixteen years, and right now the two of us act as if we were both pieces of furniture. I'm lucky if he comes to bed once or twice a month, believe me."
"Oh no!" Madge Warren looked at her friend with a kind of curious, titillated interest. "But you-you're so attractive, Lorraine! How could any man not make love to you?"
"Ask yourself the same question, honey, because I'm sure it fits. Come on now, 'fess up to Aunt Lorraine. If you were my age, I'd understand. But good Lord, you're just twenty-five and you don't even look twenty. And the way you're sticking those knockers out in that nice thin dress which shows everything you've got, Madgie honey, I don't see how Bob can keep his hands off of you."
Madge Warren's blushes now had spread to her temples and her thin creamy throat. "I-I-I you're embarrassing me awfully, Lorraine. Can't we-can we drop the subject, please?"
"We could, but what's the point? Look, I'm in the same boat as you, so you better know it. Our hubbies are out of town, and they might just as well not be even married to us-or am I reading the signs wrong?"
"What signs?"
"Why, look at yourself in the mirror, sweetheart. The way your hands shake when you're dealing the cards, the way your voice gets out of pitch and you get jumpy and excited over a mere nothing. The way you cross and uncross those lovely legs of yours-it all adds up, Madge, don't think it doesn't. What you need is a good hot fucking and a creaming, I'll bet."
"Oh Lorraine, for heavens sake, don't-don't talk like that!" the young black-haired beauty gasped.
"Look, honey, it's between friends. I'm on your side, see? Don't you think I'm in the same boat? Do you know what it's like, Madgie," here the buxom blonde matron leaned forward, her left arm around the younger woman's waist, her right hand lying across Madge's folded hands, "to toss and turn all night long just because your stupid oaf of a husband can't read all the signs? There was a book out by Dr. Marie Stopes a long time ago, almost before you were born, honey, and she said something like this, if I remember. She said that a woman gives a man a lot of indications and subtle signs when she's ready to be laid, and heaven help him if he doesn't catch on. Well, Ed hasn't caught on for longer than I want to talk about. But what I don't get is with a gorgeous shape like yours and all that sexiness that makes a man want to drag you off to bed the first time he looks at you, honey, is how that nice guy Bob can let you go without taking care of what you really want and need. Tell Auntie Lorraine, be a good girl!"
Madge fidgeted, her blushes deepening, keeping her face averted from Lorraine's. She felt the pressure of the older woman's arm and gasped nervously as she became aware of the physical presence of the buxom blonde. "I shouldn't talk about such things-it's not fair to him," she quavered at last, looking down at the floor.
"It won't go any farther than yours truly, word of honor, now give," Lorraine eagerly insisted. By now, her round full thigh was pressing tightly against Madge Warren's exquisitely slimmer, longer leg, and the emanations of sensuality had begun, though unknowingly, to pervade the beautiful young brunette's anatomy.
"Well, I just can't put my finger on it. Everything was so nice during the honeymoon. We-I mean-I never had a fellow before-so I looked to him to show me. Oh of course, I'd read the books-"
"Everybody does. Go on!" Lorraine laughed softly, giving Madge's waist a sly little hug with her left arm.
"Well anyway, we both agreed we didn't want a baby for the first couple of years until Bob got settled in his job. Then we-well, as I said I never had a man before so I didn't have any comparison. You know. And he seemed to want to come to bed a lot, the first year anyway."
"They always do. Okay, dish me the rest of it, honey. Don't hold anything back from your Auntie Lorraine."
"And then last year, when he got this promotion, he began to travel a lot. Then I guess he got tired. But, well, there were times when I'd change in my bedroom and he'd look in and tell me he was going to bed early. I'd be in my slip or my bra and panties, but it didn't make any difference. And now, he's doing more traveling than ever. like just this week, you know."
"Poor baby," Lorraine commiseratingly murmured. "It's a shame to treat a hot little piece like you that way. You're so cute, I could just eat you up. If I were Bob, I would, so help me!"
"Lorraine-you-you get me awfully embarrassed when you talk that way," Madge Warren breathed.
She tried to pull her hands away, but Lorraine held on tight. And the pressure of the older woman's left arm round the slim young waist indicated clearly that the buxom blonde matron had no intention of changing the subject or, still less, her interest in the luscious black-haired creamy-skinned beauty beside her.
"I know just what you're going through, because I went that route myself," Lorraine confided. "It gets so a woman doesn't even bother anymore putting on a nice slinky negligee or sheer nylons or anything. Time was, the first year or so, all I had to do was sit down in bed and change my stockings, and old Ed would come at me like a bull in a china shop. Today, I bet I could walk naked in high-heeled pumps in front of him while he's reading the paper after dinner, and he'd just look up and grunt and ask me if I wasn't cold or why didn't I put on some clothes. That's men for you, honey!"
"But I don't understand it!"
"Let me ask you one question. Do you and Bob talk about sex? You know what I mean. Different positions and stuff like that?"
"Oh heavens no," Madge Warren gasped, her blushes again returning more hotly than ever. "My folks were awfully strict and my mother didn't tell me very much. My girlfriends at college and high school, I guess, told me most of the things I know. But I just couldn't bring myself to say anything. I mean, I don't know enough, and if a man isn't interested, why should I-you know-push myself at him?"
"Oh honey, are you a babe in arms! Only trouble is, not the right one," Lorraine Demby quipped. "I tell you what. Slip off your clothes and get down to your scanties, stretch out on this nice couch, and I'll give you a massage and rubdown. It'll relax you a lot. You'll see. And you can do it to me, how's that? It's a nice way of getting all the kinks smoothed out when the man of the house is neglecting his duties, I'll tell you that."
She rose from the couch, looked down at the blushing black-haired woman, and smiled knowingly. Only a few weeks ago, Lorraine Demby had gotten quite by accident some "adult material" mail in her mailbox. When she had opened it, she had discovered a catalogue of artificial devices. The idea of the cordless vibrator and also the dildo had piqued her imagine. Just as a lark, she'd sent off an order for several gadgets, and they had arrived, a few days ago. The thought occurred to her that here and now was an ideal time to try them out, and Madge would be a delicious subject. It would be sort of killing two birds with one stone, because the closer she got to this lovely creamy-skinned piece of neglected young pussy, the more eager she was to see if she could still be turned on the way she had been when she was a pledge and had to bend over for the paddle from her "Big Sister." Exchanging love-spankings would, she hoped, stir her up and maybe ease Madge's tensions in a very rewarding way for both of them.
CHAPTER II
Lorraine Demby knew perfectly well that it was up to her to make the first move. So, though she didn't really think that Madge would be bold enough to go ahead and undress as she had suggested, she hurried to her own bathroom and took off everything. Then, hastily applying the perfume atomizer to her armpits and the thick dark-blonde bush of her cunt, she went back into her bedroom and put on a pair of black net panties and a matching bra which left the nipples sticking out through the tiny little holes at the peaks of the cups. Because about the same time the artificial sex-instrument catalogue had come in the mail, there'd been another one from a Hollywood novelty attire company, and she'd rushed off an order for some very exotic lingerie which, her original hope had been, might just wake up stuffy old Edward to her realization that he had been neglecting a good thing in his own house.
She grinned at herself in the mirror, rubbing her palms lightly over her nipples till she felt them stiffen and tingle with erogenous awakening. The muff of her cunt was quite visible through the sheer black net sheath which shaped out faithfully the luscious globes of her bottom. Then she put on a pair of black high-heeled pumps, and then pulled open the bottom drawer of her dresser, where she had hidden the dildo she had bought as well as the cordless vibrator, carefully wrapped in several pairs of old panties which she scarcely wore anymore.
She brought out both these items, then marched back to the kitchen where she quickly heated some coffee and cut two pieces of chocolate cake from the portion still left in the refrigerator. She put two cups and saucers on the tray, two plates, for the cake, and the dildo and the vibrator right beside them, and then went back to the living room.
Just as she had thought, Madge Warren hadn't undressed at all. She sat there, and her mouth opened wide and her eyes widened too when she saw what Lorraine was wearing . . . or rather, not wearing. "Lorraine!" she gasped in a choking voice. "Wherever-oh my goodness-I never saw undies like that before!"
"Naturally you didn't. I sent away for them. A special firm makes them. It's time for refreshment, baby. The pause that refreshes, you know? Try my chocolate cake, I'm sort of proud of it. That's about the only thing my husband notices anymore, my cooking. He's stuffing himself into an early grave, and probably that's why he wants to go to bed to sleep instead of to fuck."
"Lorraine!" Madge turned scarlet at the use of that four-letter word.
"Well, it's true. I just hope and pray that your young husband doesn't go that same route, baby. Look at me. Don't you think I've still got a pretty good figure for my age?" Proudly, Lorraine stood up after setting down the tray on the coffee table beside the card table, and narcissistically cupped her big full titties, closely spaced gourds which measured a good size 39. The aureole were very wide at a dusky coral, and the nipples were already pert and stiff, thanks to her own self-manipulation back in the bathroom. She saw that Madge's eyes were fixed on them, and she smiled: "No, no silicone, baby. That's nature. You'd think Ed would pay some attention to a pair of bombers like this once they were in bed next to him, but he doesn't."
Madge had lowered her eyes modestly, only to discover that there were two items on the refreshment tray which were entirely novel to her. "Oh my goodness!" she gasped. "What are those?"
"Coffee and cake, baby, what else?" Lorraine teased.
"No, no! You know what I mean-oh my goodness! That-that looks like a-like a-"
"Say it," Lorraine urged. "Don't be afraid or ashamed. That's the trouble with marriages these days, nobody comes right out and calls a spade a spade or a prick a prick. That's an artificial prick, baby. And the other thing that looks like a smaller one is a vibrator. It's got batteries inside and all you do is press the little button and presto, you're in business. Let me show you."
Bending to the tray so that her bubbies thrust hard against the gauzy black net sheath of the bra, she picked up the vibrator, turned it on, and then slyly applied it right against her crotch.
Madge's mouth and eyes widened to extreme, as the young black-haired bride stared speechless at her friend's salacious maneuver.
"Poor baby," Lorraine consoled, "I forgot you're still practically a babe in the woods if not a babe in arms. Now my idea is to get you back into the latter and happier stage. As well as myself back to Ed, if anything this late in the game can wake old Ed up. But first let's have our cake and coffee, and then I'll fill you in on the facts of life. It's going to be a job, I can see that."
"What a thing to say, Lorraine!" Madge weakly protested.
"It's your own fault, honey. I bet if you'd come out in a pair of undies like this and show Bob what you've got to offer and talk dirty to him and maybe open his pants and take out his cock-"
"Ohhh, Lorraine! For heaven sake, don't talk like that, you'll have me blushing to death," Madge Warren gasped, her cheeks a fiery red.
"Well, I suppose I should talk," Lorraine Demby conceded. "I haven't been able to coax Ed into a good fuck in longer than I want to remember. That's why I sent away for these little gadgets, baby, But let's not let the coffee get cold."
She sat down on the couch beside the lovely blushing brunette, and a few moments later they were enjoying cake and coffee. Nonetheless, Lorraine noticed with great amusement, Madge's eyes kept straying towards the vibrator and the dildo left on the tray there in front of them.
"Mmmmmm, that was wonderful cake, Lorraine," Madge praised her hostess.
"Think nothing of it, honey. Now then, why don't we come to my bedroom and I'll give you a practical demonstration?" the honey-haired buxom matron purred. Her eyes were devouring Madge's lovely blushing face, and then the thrusting pears of the younger woman's bubbles against the thin dress. "Come along, baby. Aunt Lorraine has a pretty good idea of what we both need."
Madge Warren hesitantly rose, and gasped as she saw her hostess quickly pick up the dildo and the vibrator and walk ahead of her out of the living room. Almost hesitantly, she followed, until at last she was in Lorraine's luxurious bedroom.
"Yeah, you guessed it, baby, Ed and I have separate bedrooms. And don't think there aren't plenty of nights when I'm here all by my lonesome when these little gadgets come in awfully handy. Handy when a girl's randy-hey, I made a poem, didn't I? All right, Madgie, why don't you start taking off your clothes? I want to show you exactly how these work. And there's something else
I want you to do for me."
"What-what's that, Lorraine?" Madge nervously quavered. She kept her eyes averted from the obscene artificial objects which reminded her so much of a male prick in erection, and Lorraine noticed this with a good deal of inner amusement.
"Well, you were the winner today in the card game, weren't you, baby?" the honey-haired matron pursued.
"Yes, I guess so."
"You were talking about staring a bridge club or something like that. Well, let's pretend that we just did. I have an idea for that anyhow, and this is what it is. I've been reading a lot of books and magazines about swapping clubs and things like that, see, baby? Well anyway, when they play cards, the losers have to pay a forfeit. Generally, the winners get to spank them. And that's what I want you to do to me. Give me a good sound spanking on my bare butt."
"Lorraine! You're joking!"
"Uh uh." The honey-haired matron shook her head. "I'll let you in on a little secret I haven't ever told Ed, even. Back in college days, and that wasn't as long ago as you might think, sweetie, I had to join a sorority. Well, you know what happens in sororities. They initiate you. And as I've always had a sort of big kinetta, they took a lot of pleasure in laying wood to my ass. But the funny thing was, honey, I sort of got a yen for it. It would make me all moist and tickling inside my pussy when they spanked my heinie. That's how I had sex the first time, with my Big Sister.
Boy, was she a passionate little piece of ass! At that point, I was still cherry, and I didn't know the difference between a boy and a girl, not in bed. But I'm here to tell you, don't knock it till you've tried it."
During this direct and somewhat crude discourse, Madge Warren had stared at her hostess with incredulity. Now her face was practically the color of the rainbow, as she gasped, "Oh my goodness, I never heard of anything like that in all my life!"
"But it's the truth, baby doll. Now I tell you what. Take off your dress and slip and whatever else you've got under it, and just get down comfy to bra and panties. Then I'll let you give me a good hard spanking. You'll see if that doesn't turn me on. And then I'll try to turn you on too. You sure look as if you need it. You're so jumpy, Madge honey. And the reason is you haven't been jumped. That's a pun, baby. I couldn't resist it. Fact is, I don't see how Bob resists you, but of course that's none of my business."
"I-I don't know what to say," Madge Warren helplessly gasped, as her blushes deepened. "I wouldn't dare talk about things like that to Bob. He's so well bred and refined-"
"Horseshit, if you'll excuse the French, baby," Lorraine Demby rudely interposed. "I think it was Rudyard Kipling who once said that Judy O'Grady and the Colonel's Lady were sisters under the skin. That old boy was right as rain. What he meant was that you can have all the education in the world and be an utter pill, even as stuffy as my old man, and yet deep down inside if you're a man, you want pussy, and if you're a girl, you want prick. It's just as simple as that. The only trouble is, with life nowadays as complicated as it is, you have to get with it and come right out in the open with what you want and need. Sometimes we put up a kind of veneer and self-defense. I'll bet that's what Bob's doing. I'm sure he thinks you're such a sweet virtuous and pure young wife that it would just shock you into a fainting spell if he ever came right out and talked sex to you. Hey, one more question I have to ask-when Bob does fuck you, does he keep the lights on?"
"Oh nooo!" Madge Warren breathed faintly, her blushes now spreading almost to her throat and earlobes.
"There, you see? Well, as I said, I'm a fine one to talk. Anyway, I want to see you in bra and panties, baby. Oblige Auntie Lorraine."
Madge Warren giggled nervously, and then stopped and drew up her blue cotton dress and the half-slip under it, and laid them carefully over the back of an upholstered armchair near the window.
Lorraine Demby emitted a loud whistle, just like a man, and Madge gasped and almost instinctively put one hand over her pussy and crooked the other arm over her bubbies, even though she was wearing bra and panties and garter belt, her tan-colored nylons and open-toe summery pumps.
"Oh boy, if that isn't a dead giveaway!" Lorraine laughed softly. "You poor kid!"
"What-what do you mean by that?"
"Why, look at you! You're decent, even if old Ed should come walking in right now, you still have your tits and your pussy covered."
"Lorraine-oh please-words like that."
"Words like that, baby dolly," Lorraine Demby firmly interposed, "are exactly what ought to be spoken in your presence and in Bob's. That's part of your whole trouble. As for Ed, I'm beginning to see the light after all these years. But that's another story. To take up your case again, right then and there, you put one hand over your pussy and you tried to cover up those lovely titties of yours, even though they were both pretty well covered in the first place. Now that proves to me that even though you might have been plowed on your honeymoon, you're still virgin in your mind. That's what we've got to get rid of. You've got to get so sexy just thinking about sex that you'll make Bob randy as hell just giving you a glance, get me?"
"You make it sound-you make it sound as if all there was to marriage was-was that," Madge Warren finally managed, her voice faint and trembling.
"Well? You haven't got any kids, you haven't got much housework to do where you are, and your hubby travels a lot, doesn't he? Just like my old man. You know, I just happened to think of something else. They're both traveling, and who's to know whether they're getting pussy elsewhere? Come to think of it, I wouldn't put it past old Ed. He was pretty horny guy before I said yes to him and we walked down the aisle together. What about your guy, Bob? Maybe he's got a little girlfriend on the side when he goes traveling?"
"Oh no, Bob wouldn't ever do a thing like that, he's not that kind!" Madge loyally defended her young husband.
"Well, we'll discuss that later. Boy, have you got a shape! I know I'm hefty, and I could take some pounds off my tummy here, but I do like that gooey chocolate cake and other nice things. I guess a girl over-eats because she isn't getting over fucked, if you know what I mean. Yeah, Madge, that's a fact. Any doctor who knows anything about screwing will tell you that when a girl or a guy isn't getting it regular, they both eat more than they should and that's a sort of what they call sublimation or substitution. I'll bet that's why old Ed is getting a beer-belly on him. Maybe that's why I've got one too."
"You have not, you've got a wonderful figure for your age!"
"Well thanks," Lorraine Demby sarcastically jeered. "Now that's one I owe you. But first of all, I want you to turn me on the way I told you to. Sit down in that armchair, and HI show you what I mean."
Wonderingly, Madge Warren moved over to the chair and sat down. She was really enchanting. Her piquant face was blushing, and her lovely creamy skin was very generously displayed, her arms being bared, a good part of her chest and all of her throat, her slim waist, and the tops of her lovely thighs just above the stockings. She wore modest white bra and matching panties, and a white garter belt whose narrow tabs hooked to the tops of the tan-colored nylons. Lorraine could see that Madge's titties didn't need a bra at all. They stuck out, widely spaced, shaped like big ripe pears, and the aureole were narrow and concentrated, a delicious dark-coral hue. The nipples were soft and pouting, and she could also see that Madge's muff was very thick and crisp and triangular, even through the rather opaque panties.
"Now what?" Madge nervously queried.
"I'm about to show you, baby." The honey-haired matron walked over and then suddenly draped herself across Madge's lap. Putting her palms on the rug, she looked up and whispered, "Pull down my pants and spank my bare ass until I cry, honey."
"Lorraine! Oh, I couldn't!"
"Yes you can. You won the game, didn't you? Well, so I have to pay a forfeit. And I need a good spanking. Believe me, I mean it. I used to get my kicks being paddled in the sorority back in college days, and then my Big Sister would love me up and make me feel just wonderful. I think it might still work, and it's what I need. Go ahead, baby."
"But I don't want to hurt you, Lorraine!" Madge Warren protested.
"Don't be such a dummy, take somebody else's advice for a change, baby. Now pull my panties down and give it to me!"
With a sigh, her cheeks scarlet, Madge Warren gingerly inserted her fingers in the waistband of the black net panties, and gently tugged them down, while Lorraine obediently arched herself up a little to permit the descent of this transparent sheath.
She still retained the wonderful baby-pink smooth skin of her college days, and her bottom-globes would have enticed the most jaded flagellant. They were plump, upstandingly rounded, and the ambery-shadowy furrow between them was very narrow, broadening only at the extreme base of the globes. They had very little sag to them, and there was no flaccidity, and the way they joined the thighs was prick hardening-or at least should have been to Lorraine's still capable husband. In her pose, thrusting her pump toes down on the other side as forcibly as she could, Lorraine Demby made her bottom arch up lasciviously in the most tempting of all spanking poses. "Go ahead," she urged in a husky voice, "give me a good sound one, make me cry, baby!"
"Oh please, Lorraine, it's so silly-"
"No it's not, you stupid little bitch! I'm sorry, Madge, I didn't mean that. But if you knew how wrought-up my nerves are, you'd do your good deed for the day and really give it to me. I really mean it, honey, please!" Lorraine pleaded.
Madge Warren sighed, blushed, bit her lips, and then tentatively raised her right hand and applied a very feeble spank.
"Oh for heavens sake," Lorraine snapped disgustedly. "Harder than that! That isn't even a love tap. Go ahead. Pretend that maybe I've had an affair with Bob and you've just found out and you're mad as hell. You've got me in your power and you're going to teach me once and for all what a bad girl I've been. Go ahead, punish me, whip ass, baby!"
Madge Warren gasped. She saw the very faint pink spot her palm had left on that luscious hemisphere. Somehow, perhaps subconsciously, her own ardent and frustrated nature reacted to all these blandishments. At any rate, putting her left palm on the small of Lorraine's back, she lifted her right hand and brought it down emphatically with a crisp and sonorous Smackkk!
"Mmmmmm," Lorraine sighed happily, "now that's more like it, baby! Keep it up. Make me cry. I'm the naughty bitch next door who's stolen your handsome husband away, and that's why he isn't coming to bed and screwing you the way you need. You're mad as hell at me, and now you've got me where you want me, and I've got my bare ass sticking up and you want to thrash me raw. Do it, honey doll, do it!"
Squirming lasciviously, as her own words heightened her rousing passions, the attractive honey-haired matron looked back teasingly at the blushing black-haired young woman. Madge gasped, and then again and with all her might, applied another spank to the other buttock, flattening the resilient flesh and making Lorraine stiffen and squirm with pleasure: "Oohhh, that's more like it, honey! Now keep it up! Spank me good and hard, I've been a naughty girl, I'm screwing Bob whenever your back is turned!"
"Don't-don't say that-don't think it even, I know Bob wouldn't-oh dear-oh Lorraine, you've got me all upset," Madge sniffled.
"Shit! It's all in fun, baby, of course I'm not sleeping with your husband. I'm just trying to work you up so you'll give me what I need. Come on, be a doll!" Lorraine groaned, rubbing herself lasciviously over Madge's lap. The feel of the younger woman's thighs against her own began to excite the honey-haired matron. She could feel the tickling in her pussylips, and she tightened and relaxed the muscles of her voluptuous round ass in the most suggestive manner conceivable. "Please, darling!" she begged.
Madge Warren succumbed to the fatal lure of corporal punishment. There was no doubt that, although she had never gone the Lesbian route, the voluptuous and generous display of Lorraine's nudity was exciting to her. Suddenly she began to apply a barrage of stinging and noisy slaps all over the ample posterior.
Lorraine moaned and sighed, lowering her head, pressing down hard with her palms against the rug on the other side of the chair, while her legs crossed and uncrossed repeatedly. The muscles in her voluptuous calves and thighs flexed and rippled, and now she began to suck in her breath as Madge, apparently warming to her task very enthusiastically, was spanking really hard and quickly.
"Aahhh, oh baby, that's nice-harder, harder, make me cry," she panted.
"Oh isn't that enough yet?" Madge gasped.
"It's not even a warm-up, baby, now do it! Take that hairbrush over there on the little stool right near the chair-that's the one-give it to me, doll, give it to me!" Lorraine desperately pleaded.
Over to the left, there was a little tabouret on which a silver-backed hairbrush lay. Madge glanced at it, then tentatively picked it up and looked it over. Lorraine was feverishly squirming about over Madges's lap, and her eyes were big and starry: "Yes, that's it, now use it good! Spank me hard, make me yell for mercy, please, baby!"
"All right, if you want me to," Madge said dubiously, "but it's going to hurt."
"Of course it is, silly, but that's half the fun. Go ahead, I'm begging you to, aren't I?" Lorraine groaned.
Madge Warren slowly put her left arm around Lorraine's waist, raised the hairbrush and brought it down with a crisp Thwackkk! right over the top of the older woman's right hip. Lorraine gasped and squirmed, then gasped out, "More, harder!"
Crack-smack-thwack-three times the hairbrush rose and fell, all over the big reddening bottom. Lorraine tilted up her face, her eyes shining and misty, her mouth parted in a O of ecstasy. "Oh my, that's the way, darling, now it's warming me nicely, now it's good, oh it's so good, you don't know how good it is! Spank me, punish me, I've been a bad girl, I've fucked Bob!"
"Don't you say that, please don't, you-you shouldn't!" Madge was almost sobbing now. And the illusion was perfect, because suddenly, in almost vindictive fury, she began to bring the hairbrush up and down furiously all over that bounding bottom. Even Lorraine Demby got more than she bargained for. Groaning and gasping, her body shivering, sucking in her breath every time the hairbrush landed with an emphatic crack against the angrily reddened globes of her upturned naked ass, the honey-haired matron wriggled and twisted, kicking up one leg and then the other, crossing them, uncrossing them, squirming and jerking, as she rapidly approached her climax.
It was true. It was just as it had been back in college days. Her pussy was tickling till it was driving her crazy, and each new burning spank of the hairbrush brought her closer towards the glorious precipice from which she would hurtle into the shadows of ecstasy. "Harder, please, I've been bad!" she groaned.
She began to arch up and twist her bottom in mid-air, off Madge's lap, inviting newer, harder blows. And now Madge seemed to be infected with a kind of contagious fever. Her eyes shining, her magnificent young pear-titties rising and falling erotically, her left palm pressing down hard against Lorraine's right side, she lifted and descended the hairbrush with a furious rapidity. It seemed to bounce off the angrily inflamed naked ass-cheeks, and each time it did, Lorraine's half-nude body shuddered and quivered violently.
Now tears began to course down Lorraine Demby's cheeks, and she stared towards the opposite wall, groaning and sobbing, "Oohhh, that's good, oh you're killing me but it's wonderful--aahhh, oh darling, oh God, I'm coming, I'm coming, harder, harder, quick, give it to me quick and hard, aahhh-oh my God-now-aaahhhhhh!! "
As the hairbrush fell a last time, Lorraine Demby's voluptuous half-naked body stiffened, and then she sagged, abandoned, over the younger woman's lap, sobbing and gasping, released from the furious tidal surge of all her long-suppressed pussy-passions.
CHAPTER III
Lovely Madge Warren was blushing hotly as her mature honey-haired neighbor slowly and gaspingly rose from her lap, reaching down-not without a grimace of discomfort-to pull up her black net panties. "Whew!" Lorraine Demby sighed. "That was just what I needed, Madge honey!" She put her hands to her bubbies, lifting them up, and with her thumb pads pressed the nipples which stuck out through the little holes cunt into this novelty bra. "Just for that, you deserve a real hot loving-up, Madgie."
"I didn't mean to spank so hard, Lorraine," the voluptuous young black-haired housewife stammered, still blushing violently.
"Silly, I wanted you to, didn't I? You mean to say you couldn't see how I was getting my kicks every time that hairbrush was landing on my bare butt? Didn't you watch how I was squirming over your lap and pretending I was being fucked-or rather, forced to agree to be fucked because of the spanking? I have lots of day-dreams like that, baby. And it's all because that business-minded hubby of mine doesn't take care of his homework. Yes, just like you are with Bob. Mean to say you've never been spanked like that?"
"Oh my goodness, never! I don't think I could take one that hard-just look-I mean-it's so red!"
"You really are a silly baby, but I love you, Madgie. Now listen hear, I want you to take off your bra and panties, and get into bed, and I'll work you over with this vibrator. I'll bet I'll have you creaming in no time at all. Just look at you, you're all tense and nervous. I'll bet you wished you could be over my lap getting your lovely ass fan-tailed and getting your kicks, too."
"Oh no! I-don't see how anybody could get well, excited over being spanked-it would hurt too much-and I woul'd be so ashamed-I don't think-Oh no, I couldn't let you do that to me!" the lovely brunette protested.
Suit yourself, baby. But you mark my words, one of these days I really am going to spank your lovely butt. You've got a figure that's just made for spanking, Madge, and once you've had a good one and know what it's like, my prediction is you're going to want it all the time. Maybe you'll even get that hubby of yours to give it to you as a warm-up before the two of you fuck-that is, if you two love-birds ever get back together again."
Madge Warren's face was flaming now with embarrassment at this outlandishly direct and vulgar discourse. But her eyes nonetheless furtively glanced at the vibrator and at the artificial cock which Lorraine Demby had laid down on the sight table beside the wide low bed.
"Ah ha!" the honey-haired matron giggled. "You can't take your eyes off my little pleasure toys, can you, baby? Well, I'll let you try them out. Now take off your bra and pants like a good girl-or I really will spank you!"
"You-you're sure they won't-I mean-" Madge nervously faltered.
"Oh for heaven's sake! I'm not going to rape you and tie you down and hold you, if that's what you mean, baby! Now I'm getting mad at you for stalling like this. Peel down. I peeled for you, didn't I?"
"Why-yes, I-suppose so-but I'm a little scared, just the same," the lovely young brunette housewife stammered in a faint and unsteady voice.
Just the same, she still couldn't take her eyes off the vibrator and the artificial male prong as she blushingly unfastened her bra and then slipped down her panties and stepped out of them. Now, in garter belt, the sheer tan-colored nylon hose and her leather pumps, she felt more naked than if she were absolutely bare. And instinctively she clapped one hand over her extremely bushy black-curly mount.
'I wish I had my camera ready to take a picture of that," Lorraine Demby giggled. "You're acting like a scared virgin. Relax, honey. Now you just stretch out on the bed on your tummy and I'll use the vibrator on you nice and gentle. Why, it'll be like taking a nap and you'll be ever so relaxed. Go on, be a good baby, or Mama spank!"
Her hands still pressed over her pussy, the blushing young brunette housewife hastily clambered onto the bed and rolled over onto her stomach, stretching her arms out ahead of her and pressing her cheek down on the covers closing her eyes. Lorraine's eyes feasted on the marvelous creamy skin of that voluptuous young body. She shook her head as she thought to herself how stupid men were some times. Now there was the loveliest piece of quim she'd seen in a long time, the sort of girl she knew even her old man would go for if he had the chance. And yet this lovely bitch was having the same empty-bed problems she was having after sixteen years. Men were funny animals. They'd travel and they'd ask every cabdriver in town to find them some action, when they had action at home in their own beds and didn't even take advantage of it.
Slyly she slipped off her bra and then panties, and was naked except for her black leather high-heeled pumps. She glanced over at the mirror at the opposite wall, and she could see how fiery-red her bottom was. It smarted and throbbed, but to compensate there was the loveliest languorous feeling in her cunt which the spanking had brought about. She felt specially grateful to Madge for that, and she was going to pay Madge back.
The vibrator was cordless, battery-equipped. She pressed the little switch and it began to purr softly. Just like a cat, she thought, a cat that could rub pussy the loveliest way. "Now you just lie there and dream of something and don't tighten your muscles, you hear?" she informed her lovely young neighbor. Then her left hand commenced gently stroking the nape of Madge's neck, as her right hand applied the vibrator to Madge's shoulder blades.
"Mmmmm, that's nice," Madge Warren sighed. "It does relax, it really does."
"I told you it would. But you've got a long way to go before I really show you what relaxation really means, honey. Just don't move, just be dead-weight and think sweet thoughts," Lorraine Demby instructed.
Now the vibrator began to descend, reaching the middle of the back, moving up and down, and then from side to side. Madge giggled and squirmed from time to time as a special nerve was tickled by the purring, throbbing pressure of the vibrator against her naked creamy flesh. Slowly the vibrator descended till it reached the wonderfully spacious, firm, smooth, satiny-white oval shaped ass-cheeks. Then Lorraine put the vibrator down for a moment and began to squeeze Madge's lovely bottom-globes, kneading them with both hands, squeezing and palpating while the blushing brunette sighed and gasped, squirming a little and glancing nervously back.
"I told you to relax now, or I'll spank you good!"
Lorraine warned. Suiting action to word, she raised her right palm and brought it down smartly on the ripest curve on Madge Warren's right bottom cheek.
"Ouch, that stings!" the lovely young brunette housewife complained.
"I'll take a paddle or that hairbrush to you if you don't lie there and relax, honey," the blonde matron warned.
Once again Madge hid her blushing face on one side as she pressed it down against the covers, closing her eyes very tightly. Now her hands were doubled into fists, equally pressed down hard against the covers. Her body vibrated and trembled, and it seemed as if she was in a state of flux with all her nerves, jangled from her long frustration with her young husband, surging against her delicately fine-grained skin.
Leaving off the massaging, the naked blonde matron now picked up the vibrator again and began to rub over first one ass-cheek then the other. Slyly she drew the whirring applicator toward the inner edges of those shapely firm bottom-ovals, till the vibrator very nearly was lodged in the sinuous narrow crease which separated them. Now Madge began to sigh and gasp audibly, kicking first one leg and then the other. "Ohh-ahh-oh it feels so nice-oh Lorraine, it's wonderful ! "
"Didn't I tell you it would be?" the honey-haired matron smiled. "You're doing fine, just take it easy. And don't cover up and don't tighten up your muscles, hear?"
Now she put the vibrator to the backs of
Madge's creamy thighs, but only as far down as the stocking tops. It was sensitive terrain there, and the young brunette housewife sighed and groaned, as the vibrator insistently went back and forth from the base of her bottom to the top of the stockings.
"Oohh, oh it's so good," Madge repeated, her voice now dreamy and distant. And Lorraine giggled to herself as she saw her lovely naked young neighbor start almost unconsciously to rub her pussy back and forth against the covers of the luxuriously wide bed. There wasn't any doubt about it, this sexy little black-haired piece was just dying for a creaming, and it was a darned shame her own husband wasn't around to take care of her. But Lorraine herself would be quite happy to substitute. She had had a lust for Madge's sweet quim almost from the very day the Warrens had moved in.
"Now you can roll over, honey. Spread your arms out in cross, close your eyes and just relax," she instructed, her voice a bit husky from her growing emotions.
Madge obeyed, her blushes again growing very hot. And once again instinctively she put her hand immediately over the thick black curls of her cunthole.
"Now you take that naughty hand away or Mama will really spank hard," Lorraine warned. Her eyes devoured those luscious, widely spaced, high-perched, pear-shaped bubbies, with their dusky coral aureole and the pert buds, so crinkly and defenseless. On an impulse, she bent down and took one of the tempting nipples into her mouth and began to suck it gently, nipping at it with her gums, and prodding it with the tip of her tongue.
"Oohhh, oh Lorraine-oh my God, what are you doing to me?" Madge Warren panted. She reached over with both hands and twisted her fingers in Lorraine's hair. "Oh stop, you're driving me crazy f
"What do you think it will be like when I really go to work on you, baby?" her mature blonde neighbor artfully countered.
It was all Madge could do to keep her arms stretched out in cross, but even at that her fists were clenched again and her muscles were rippling. She kept her eyes closed very tight, so that she didn't see the greedy look on Lorraine's lovely flushed face. But now the older woman was beginning to put the vibrator to those rapidly and erratically swelling pear-shaped bubbies, and the moment the whirring applicator touched the firm exuberant rounds of those sumptuous love-turrets, Madge Warren began to whimper and thrash about on the bed.
After working on both titties with the vibrator for at least five minutes, Lorraine Demby descended the vibrator to the young woman's belly, and then suddenly and without warning to her quivering cunt. Gradually and gently she began to rim the soft lips framed by soft pussy-curls while the distracted young woman arched and twisted, finally digging one pump-heel into the covers and rasping it this way and that as she began to feel the throbbing stimulation reach all the way down through her erogenous system.
Madge was now trembling violently, as Lorraine seated herself on the edge of the bed and, putting her left palm on the young woman's belly, began very slyly again to touch the vibrator to Madge's thick-furred cunt-hole.
"Ahhhh-oh Lorraine darling-you're driving me crazy-oh I can't stand it, do something, quick!" the young woman moaned.
"I will, honey, I won't make you wait any longer," Lorraine compassionately promised.
Seizing the dildo now and placing the vibrator back on the table, she strapped the unit around her waist and buckled it tightly. When Madge opened her eyes, she uttered a gasp of incredulity. It looked for all the world as if Lorraine Demby had suddenly grown a massive cock. The feeling of reality was made even stronger by the fact that the simulacrum was the exact size of a vigorous male prick in full erection, complete with balls to which some artificial human hair had been fixed to intensify the illusion of reality.
And now Lorraine Demby knelt between her neighbor's trembling, parted thighs and whispered, "now I'm going to fuck you good and hard, you sweet little bitch! Hold me tightly with your arms and legs, I just love to feel that when someone's screwing me or vice versa."
"Oh my! It's too big-you'll tear me to pieces!" Madge Warren lifted her head and stared at the artificial prick with disbelieving eyes.
"No I won't, dummy," Lorraine said almost impatiently. "Now spread your legs a little more-that's it. Now let me slip a pillow under your lovely butt-there, that does it. And now, you tantalizing little piece of nookie, get yourself ready for a real fucking."
With this, artfully moving about until the tip of the dildo was pressed against Madge's furry cunthole, Lorraine now leaned forward and with her quivering fingers cupped the young brunette housewife's titties. Her thumbpads began to rub the nipples back and forth until she could feel them stiffen and tingle with the erogenous stimulation. Madge moaned now, her face turning restlessly from side to side, and now her fingernails dug into the covers as she somewhat arched her knees.
"Oh no, don't fight it, baby, relax! It'll go in, it's got a special grease on it, don't you worry. I wouldn't hurt that sweet little quim of yours for all the world." Lorraine Demby tenderly crooned.
Now the tip of the dildo had pried apart Madge's pussylips, and the young woman started convulsively. Her mouth gaped, as she felt the relentless distending force of the instrument which was beginning to slip down into her vaginal sheath.
"Oh be careful, not too fast, oh my God. it's tearing me wide open," she whimpered.
"You're a little liar, and you know it isn't. But I'm not going to stop now, whether it does or not," Lorraine pantingly warned.
Her own bubbies were rising and falling violently, and the nipples were tingling and hard and dark, just like Madge's. Now suddenly Lorraine engaged herself and pressed home about two inches, and the artificial implement burrowed down into Madge Warren cunt-sheath exactly like a male prick.
Her eyes glassy now, her fingernails clawing the rumpled covers, the young brunette tried to disengage herself, but it was too late.
Slowly and inexorably, the dildo penetrated deep into her cunt, until it was almost to the balls. Mounted exactly like a man over her, Lorraine Demby gasped and moaned in her rising passions.
"Put your finger to my pussy, find my clit and rub it good, honey," she whispered.
Madge whimpered, and, her eyes still closed, groped her hand towards the loins of her partner. The prick by now was deeply imbedded all the way down her cunt, and now her forefinger found the lips of Lorraine's quim, entered inside the lob-byway, and found the turgifying nodule of Lorraine Demby's clitoris.
"A little more to the left and higher," Lorraine panted. "That's it-oh you darling baby-now you just rub it slow and easy-and I'll fuck you to a frazzle, I'll open that sweet tight pussy of yours, I'll make all your sweet cream come down, you watch!"
As saying, stretching herself at full length over Madge Warren's palpatating body, the blonde matron began to shove the artificial prick back and forth exactly as a man might do fucking a beautiful young girl and taking the "missionary posture."
The movements of her hips and bottom-cheeks while she fucked aggravated the burning heat which the hairbrush spanking had evoked and showed no signs of lessening.
But Madge's finger had found the clitoris, and was rubbing it back and forth and then back into the cowl of protective pussy flesh. Now it was Lorraine's turn to groan and whimper, to roll her eyes, to quicken the tempo of her jerky fucking. Wild with sexual upheaval, the younger woman sobbed and groaned as she arched her loins docilely up to the penetrating weapon.
Her cry of pain now and also of embarrassment was stifled when Lorraine kissed her mouth and clamped her lips over Madge's. For the dominatrix had just slipped her right hand against those quivering ass-cheeks, found the dainty puckering fissure and then inserted itself and began to finger-bugger the delicious young brunette housewife.
Now the flushed, contorted face of Madge Warren rose, and her bubbies were rising and falling more swiftly than ever, the nipples hard and dark and glistening with Lorraine's saliva. Lorraine's hips were dashing and jerking, as she sent the artificial prick thrusting back and forth inside her young neighbor's warm tight cunt.
And suddenly Madge Warren uttered a wild cry of total ecstasy, and sagged helplessly on the bed as Lorraine Demby kept on fucking, driving the artificial cock back and forth into the tender and neglected love-nest.
CHAPTER IV
A block to the north of Lorraine Demby, Janice Coleman was undergoing a domestic altercation with her bespectacled brown-haired, thirty-two-year-old husband Peter.
Just about the same time that Lorraine was teaching Madge Warren the pleasures of Lesbos, Janice was wrangling with Peter over his stinginess in her weekly allowance.
She was twenty-four, spirited, slim and about five feet six inches in height, with flowing auburn hair coined in a long pageboy with curls turned under. Her breast were high-set, closely spaced and like round oranges, with saucy nipples, while her slim waist veered into lush haunches and upstandingly rounded bottom-cheeks with a very narrow crevice between them.
Her tawny skin was freckled as well as suntanned, for Janice enjoyed tennis and golfing. It was her contention that Peter as her husband of three years' standing owed her not only the grocery money and enough to maintain the ranch-type bungalow they owned, but also enough for gewgaws and her clothes and a few amusements. He was contending that she was extravagant and that he had given her several hundred dollars only two weeks ago and he was demanding an accounting.
"Now see here, Peter, that's not fair!" she protested. Tm not just your chattel, I'm your wife."
"Sometimes I wonder if the former relationship wouldn't be better," he said sarcastically.
"Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?" she put her hands on her hips and glared at him.
"I'll tell you, baby, since you brought it up. You're a dish, and every time I take you out in public, I can see that other guys are getting stiff pecks just looking at the way your lovely bottom waggles."
"How dare you use such language to me!"
"It's about time I used something strong, to wake you up, if you want to know something" was his sarcastic answer.
"I like that!"
"Well I don't. Look, baby, things were roses and moonlight and sweet perfume and all that sort of crap the first couple of months. And the honeymoon was wonderful, I'll grant you that. But since then, you've got yourself into a lazy frame of mind. You don't even make effort when we're humping in bed. You don't even try any other positions. Either you're too tired, or else you think it's 'dirty,' to quote you verbatim. like last week, Friday night when I wanted you to try it dog fashion."
Janice's face flamed. "You filthy sex maniac you!" she hissed. "A position like that degrades a woman. I don't know why you can't do it the regular way, the way we started, because I always get pleasure from it."
"Do you?" he pursued. "Now that I recall, you haven't had a good creaming in months. I'm the one who goes off, because naturally you're a delicious piece of ass and I'm in love with you-"
"I won't stand anymore filthy talk like that, Peter Coleman!" Defiantly, Janice slapped his face.
He was about to swear, then thought better of it. He looked at her, his blue eyes narrowing angrily. Then slowly, after regaining control of himself, he said, "I'm going to teach you a little lesson, baby. And I'm going to give you some advice. Just because you're married to a guy, don't take him for granted. It mightn't work out to your advantage. I could go chasing for what I want. I love you, and I figure with a shape like yours and a pretty good mind, because after all you did have two years of junior college, and you did some secretarial work after that, you ought to be able to adjust yourself to what a man wants. Especially if you love the guy which I still hope you do."
"Not after the way you just talked to me right now! Why, you-you'd use that language to a whore!" Janice gasped, her cheeks scarlet with rage and humiliation.
"I see. Well, then I'm going to resort to my lesson of violence, I'm afraid. Maybe you'll learn." And with this, he seized her by the wrists and dragged her over to the couch and flung her across his lap.
"Stop it-what are you doing-you let go of me, Peter Coleman-you'll be the sorriest man alive if you don't-now you stop it!" she wailed.
She started to kick, but he clamped his right leg over her calves, and then, as her hands rushed back to defend her bottom, he pinned both her wrists with his left hand. Now with his right he lofted her pretty blue cotton skirt and the slip beneath it, exposing her magnificently opulent ass encased in a pair of white nylon panty briefs, so short that it revealed a goodly amount of the swelling tawny-sheened base of those ripely rounded ass-cheeks of hers.
"Nooooooooo!! ! You stop that, don't you dare, if you do, I'll go home to Mother!" she wailed.
Janice had made this threat before, since her mother lived on Chicago's North Side. Her parents had divorced about five years ago, and her father had moved to Massachusetts where he ran a small country weekly. In Peter Coleman's estimation, neither of her parents had ever really taken a strap to her big bottom and taught her how to be an unselfish and cooperative daughter. That was her main trouble. She was lazy and spoiled, and she was also too argumentative for her own good.
He hesitated a moment, and then suddenly tugged down her panties. Janice uttered a wild scream of frantic shame and indignation: "Ohhhhhhh you dirty bastard-you pull them right up now, I'm going to leave you, I swear I will!"
"All right," he said grimly. "Go ahead and leave. But you can take a nice sore red ass back to Mother."
With this, mastering her attempt to break her wrists loose of his grip he raised his right hand and brought it down with a sonorous "Smackk!" on the right lower summit of his wife's upturned and struggling bare behind. Janice uttered a wild cry, in which indignation and pain were equally mixed and continued her struggles to no avail.
Now, warming to the task and excited by the bright red splotch which had sprung up on the tawny sheened hillock of her bare behind, Peter Coleman began to spank her with gusto.
No fewer than fifty times his right hand rose and fell, alternating on the cheeks, while Janice at first threatened and swore at him, and then began to cry, and finally to scream that he was killing her. At the last ten, her bottom bounded every time his hand came down on the reddened flesh, and she finally wailed, "Oh my God, I can't stand anymore, you're killing me! Oh Peter, stop it, whatever do you want, oh my God, can't you talk instead of hurting me like this?"
He paused, out of breath, his hand stinging from the energetic slaps he administered to her voluptuous posterior.
Then he righted her, and sat there holding her by the hips while she swayed and sobbed, tears running down her face. As her eyes blinked to clear away the tears, she saw his sardonic face grinning at her, she slapped him again.
"Oh would you now?" he growled. "Back you go, you deceitful little bitch!"
"Ohh-noooooooo!! " she shrieked as he flung her back into position again. This time he yanked her panties completely off, and angled her so that her legs were veering out at angles from the couch and her left shoulder pinned against the back, which took care of her left arm. His left hand gripped her right wrist, and now he really began to spank with all his might, flattening her swollen bottom globes with each new sonorous blow.
She wailed frantically, but he laid on twenty more before he finally stopped. "Now do you think you can act like a good girl?" he wanted to know.
"Ohh-ahh-ahhrrr-oh yes-oh my God-you've killed me-oh please, I'm sorry-I didn't mean to slap you, but you hurt so bad-oh you've killed me-let me up now, please, Peter!"
He righted her again. But this time, to her dismay and a wild cry of alarm, he shoved her down onto her back on the couch. Then swiftly, zipping down his fly, emerging his swollen cock, he mounted her.
"No-you shan't-not after doing what you did-I hate you-you animal-you sex pervert-you beast-you-you-you-ahhhh-oh my God-oh Peter darling-oh yes-oh my God how hot you've made me-oh give it to me, fuck me, oh my lover, oh dearest-oh darlingT
Her cries of anguish turned to cries of ecstasy now. Her stockinged legs wrapped over his, her arms clutched him, and her mouth sealed to his, Janice Coleman began to join him in a furious fuck.
Ironically, Peter Coleman thought to himself that it was highly paradoxical that his beautiful wife should slap his face and accuse him of being a sex pervert for using the four-letter words when out of her mouth just now there had slipped that all-encompassing Anglo-Saxon term which refers to the union of male and female, with the male penis burrowed deeply into the female genitalia.
CHAPTER V
In the ranch-type split-level house on North Dempster Road, about four blocks from Janice and Peter Coleman's domicile, Brenda Fairborn and her affable husband Jim were having a row.
It wasn't a new subject either, not in the half-decade they'd been united as man and wife. Brenda, svelte, 27, with dark brown hair styled in a modish upsweep, knew herself to be attractive, to have a figure still capable of drawing wolf-whistles from the opposite sex. But Jim, five years her senior, nearly six feet tall, with wavy brown hair, pleasant blue eyes and an engaging smile, together with a modest and unassuming demeanor and soft-spoken voice, had more than once irked her in his involvements with other pussy. That was what was causing the wrangle now.
"I see you're trying to get back into bed with that man-killing red-haired ex-secretary of yours, Sheila Davrey," she said in a contemptuous voice as she glared at him. Sitting before her boudoir table oval-shaped mirror, Brenda was enticing in a peach-colored satin negligee, and she was taking a comb and softly touching the curls here and there, a maneuver which made her round firm bubbies thrust out prick-hardeningly against the bodice of the negligee.
"That's a lie!" he said in a contained but furious tone, lighting a cigarette and glaring at her.
'Well, I won't say you've already been to bed with her, but I'll bet you were when she worked for you. Besides, that doesn't explain all the other times in the past you've been seen with other women. What is there about you, Jim Fairborn, that you can't keep remembering you're a married man? Am I so hard to take? Am I getting too old and boring for you? I want an answer, and I mean it!" she flashed.
"I know I've sort of stepped out once in a while, honey." he apologized. "But that doesn't mean I love those broads-it's you I really want."
"You've got a fine way of showing it, I must say!" she snapped.
"Sheila used to work for me, and she just moved out here to Northbrook, and I ran into her at the superman, that's how that happened."
"I see, but that doesn't explain why Mrs. Ellomore saw you get into her car and put your arm around her waist and give her a nice big smooch just as she drove off, does it?"
He lowered his eyes before his wife's accusing gaze. They were beautiful eyes, gray-green, surmounted with very narrow brows and with extremely thick though short lashes. The negligee molded out a pair of high-set boldly jutting round (but not excessively so) titties. Her slim waist was girlish, her hips lithe and slinky. Her bottom-cheeks were spacious ovals, with a wide crease between them. Her skin was pale milky and very smooth in texture. They had been married five years, had no children, and Jim Fairborn was an insurance claims adjustor who was allowed to work in this region from his own home, reporting twice a week to a Loop office in Chicago.
In a way, Brenda's accusations were true. Jim Fairborn, in spite of his mild appearance and usually soft voice and pleasant manner, was an inveterate pussy hound. The two of them had gone to college together at Northwestern, and then Brenda had gone East with her parents and very nearly got herself engaged to a Harvard law student. It had been a sorrowful affair for Brenda, because she discovered that her boyfriend drank to excess and expected her to screw before marriage. She came back, got herself a job in a rival insurance company about a block away from where Jim worked when he had been in Chicago before his assignment out here, and that was how they had met again.
Brenda had been a virgin on their wedding night, but Jim had already started his familiarity with pussy at the age of fifteen. It was exactly his soft-spoken manner and unassuming appearance that had helped him score so many conquests. It had helped him win Brenda, too.
She hadn't minded him breaking her in, but even on their honeymoon in Nassau, there had been a quarrel about his paying attention-visually anyway-to quite a number of bikini-clad luscious young sun-worshippers.
Then, six months ago, he had been stationed in Northbrook and had purchased a house where they now lived, and he had had a girl working for him as a secretary. She divided her forty hours a week between him and an elderly doctor who was now completely retired and out of the profession. About a month later, Brenda discovered that her husband and Penny Willard were spending a lot of unnecessary overtime in the Loop, and when she had confronted Jim with this knowledge, he had had to break down and confess that he and Penny had gone to a hotel and fucked.
So Brenda had made him fire the girl and tell him that she herself would do his typing for him and that he would simply pay her regular hourly prices, as he would to any professional stenographer he might hire.
Only last week, Jim Fairborn had been sent out to the elegant house of Mrs. Gloria Tollering, a magnificently sensual widow of 42, whose weekly visits to the beauty and health salons had managed to keep her looking as if she were a good ten years younger. She had chestnut hair wound in a coronet net braid around the top of her head, a sweet and wistful face and a body which was sufficient inspiration to give most red-blooded men wet dreams at night. Brenda Fairborn hadn't liked Gloria Tollering from the very outset. And so when her neighbor had called her and mentioned that Jim had come out of Gloria Tollering's house close to midnight, and Brenda remembered that Jim that morning had explained to her that he was probably going to have to go to a big office conference in the Loop and stay downtown in a hotel overnight, she had hit the proverbial ceiling.
Bob's weakness was for pussy. And because he was unassuming and didn't push it, because he wasn't a sharpie who really went looking for cunt, he was offered a great deal more than the average man who dreams about it and goes out of his way looking for it. Of course, Brenda understood this, but it didn't make her any happier. She felt that her own charms ought to be enough to hold him here at home so that he could devote all of his attention to taking care of her.
"Are you going to give me some kind of answer, or do you want to call our marriage off?" Brenda Fairborn angrily demanded. There were times when she wanted to slap Jim's silly sheepish face, especially at a time like this when he was just not answering her because he knew he was hooked.
"Honey, you know the way I am. I don't want any scandal, and I certainly don't want to hurt you. But put yourself in my place. The work I do brings me into a lot of homes in the evening and these broads are always wearing practically nothing, and they don't have husbands or anything, so they make a pass at me."
"So you mean to tell me that you don't have character enough to turn them down? That's a fine one!" she said sarcastically.
"I'll do anything you want, Brenda. I want to start over again with you, and maybe what we need is a good vacation."
"Maybe what you need is a new wife," she shot back.
He didn't want to hurt her, and he did love her. She was a passionate young woman, but she was also a good deal of a puritan. That came from a strict upbringing her parents had given her in childhood, he knew. For example, she wouldn't dream of touching his cock even when they were lying in bed together in the darkness. And much less would she use her mouth to wake him up when he really wanted to fuck but was either too tired or just couldn't get the inspiration. Also, she didn't seem to like him to play with her titties, or pinch and goose her, and of course he didn't dare talk dirty. It was difficult to explain all this, and to talk about it in broad daylight to a girl who was jealous to start with and inhibited to end with, made it all the more complex.
"You know, maybe we ought to have more friends around, dear," he began.
"Oh, sure," she sneered. "That's so you can chase after all the wives and tell them you know how to satisfy them when their husband's don't, I suppose. I'm not joining any social club for your benefit, Bob Fairborn, so get that out of your mind and do it quick."
"Just a suggestion."
"Yeah? Well, it's certainly a lousy one."
There was an old adage that still waters run deep. It applied to Bob Fairborn. Brenda was in one of her irrational, stubborn moods, and when she got into one like that, he just couldn't explain anything to her satisfaction. She wanted to win the argument, to have the upper hand. And then he had an inspiration.
He walked over and seated himself on the couch. "Come over here, I want to talk to you seriously," he said in a husky, petitioning voice.
"What about?" Brenda suspiciously asked.
"About our future," he said guilefully.
"Well, make it fast."
"All right, here I-stop it-what are you doing-no-you shant-oh you horrible, sneaky man-no-I don't want you to-oh, stop-you pull my clothes back down this minute!"
For as she had turned to sit down, he had grabbed her about the hips with both hands, shifted her over to his right and then yanked her down across his lap. Her negligee had gone up, and then he had tugged down her skimpy little white cotton panties, exposing a juicy, well-fleshed bottom.
This was not accomplished without frantic yells from the young sufferer. His eyes feasted on the spectacular ovals of her ass, snugged in by a peach-colored panty-girdle whose tabs clung to the tops of smoke-colored nylon stockings. She was lying straight across his lap with her legs extended onto the couch and to his right. He didn't need any help. This time, he was going to try to teach her a lesson which might just humiliate her into straightening out.
Chomping his right leg over her calves, he used both hands deftly and swiftly to remove the panty-girdle. First he unhooked the stocking tabs, then took hold of the sheath and yanked it humiliatingly down.
A frantic wail of shame and rage was torn from Brenda Fairborn. "You stop that, do you hear me, Jim Fairborn? If you dare to lay a hand on me, I'll drag you through the messiest divorce court you'll ever find out about. I'll tell them all about the box of dirty pictures you keep in the closet, and you think I don't know about them. After you've fucked me, yes, fucked, since that filthy word seems to please you so much, you degenerate lowlife, you go look at them!" she stormed.
She reached back to cover up her naked bottom with her hands and he caught them with his left hand and dragged them out of the way. Then, unbuckling his black leather belt, he jerked it out of the loops, doubled it, and began to apply swinging, loud spanks of leather against tender pink-and-white ass-flesh.
Brenda bucked like a colt, uttering agonizing wails. As he spanked, Jim Fairborn lectured his wife: "Maybe next time you won't be so insulting-" Smack! "Maybe if you'd tend to your bedtime chores, I might not be looking for other pussy-" Crack! "And maybe if you'd let down your hair just once in your life, and maybe talk over sex and stuff and what's wrong with us, I wouldn't have to go chasing other broads. I'm fed up with your constant nagging, Brenda. You're the one who isn't cooperating." As he spoke, he continued to spank her, and Brenda twisted like a lost soul in the deepest fire pit of the inferno itself.
His hand rose and fell for about five minutes, and Brenda's indignant cries soon turned to shrieks. She kicked her legs back and forth in the air, and the wrigglings of her bottom let him see the crinkly pink flesh of her pussy from time to time.
Finally when he had stopped, he pulled her up to her feet, and then, stooping and lifting her into his arms, strolled toward the bedroom.
"What-what are you doing-what are you going to do to me-oh you big brute, you bully!" she cried.
Her panty girdle was twisted around her ankles, now fell to the floor. He carried her into his bedroom, flung her down on the bed. "Fuck you," was his calm but direct answer as he started to undress after first having locked the door.
CHAPTER VI
Two blocks north of the Fairborn house, fifteen-year old coppery-red-haired Cissie MacDonald was getting her first spanking since the day before her twelfth birthday.
Her father was administering it, and he was in a towering rage, not without some justifiable reason. Cissie's mother had told her that she was far too young to expect to have dates with boys, but just the same Cissie had gone ahead and defied both her parents on that score. It was Saturday morning, the July sun was already oppressive, but it was doubtful whether Cissie was too greedy concerned with the heat of the sun. What was bothering her right now was the heat which her father was infusing into her creamy skinned naked, saucily contoured young ass with the sole of a worn out leather bedroom slipper.
Yesterday afternoon, Cissie had innocently asked her mother if she might go over to Betsy Donnegan's house and play out in the Donnegan yard, and of course her mother had said yes. But what Agatha MacDonald hadn't known was that Betsy, a sixteen-year-old black-haired hoyden, had taken advantage of her parents' quick weekend trip (to Freeport, Illinois to visit a sick relative) to invite two boys of her own age over to play Softball with her. One of the boys she intended for Cissie, a towheaded, freckle-faced youth by the name of Jimmy Pollock. Her own boyfriend was Mack Servy, stocky, with unruly light-brown hair, and he and Betsy had already done a lot of petting out on the gazebo, a white wooden-frame summer house in the middle of the beautifully tended Donnegan garden.
Cissie and Jimmy got along just fine, and Cissie had even let Jimmy kiss her and slyly put his hand on one of her budding young titties which thrust invitingly against the pullover blue sweater which she wore over her sleeveless blouse, together with a pair of play shorts of white linen. Her legs were bare to the bobby socks which garbed her slim ankles, and she wore loafers, though she would have infinitely preferred to have worn high heels.
Unfortunately for the red-haired culprit, a motherly old widow who lived across the street had observed Cissie kissing Jimmy Pollock, and had chatted with Agatha MacDonald that evening after dinner. In the course of that conversation, since she and Mrs. MacDonald were old friends, she mentioned that she had seen Cissie and Jimmy kissing.
So this Saturday morning, almost as soon as Mark MacDonald had come from a business trip in Rochester, New York, Agatha acquainted him with the facts and urged him to take stern measures.
Cissie had been counting on going over to Betsy's garden-yard again this very afternoon and maybe meeting Jimmy again. Her face had fallen when at the breakfast table her mother had tartly remarked, "You're not going anywhere today, young lady, till your father comes home. I have something to take up with him which concerns you. And I think you know what is it."
The redhead had put on her most innocent look, her eyes very wide, and had asked, "What's the matter, Mom?"
"Since when do you go around kissing boys in Betsy Donnegan's yard?" had been the shattering answer. And Cissie's face had gone as red as her hair, she had gulped, and then looked down at her plate and had had hardly a word to say for the rest of her breakfast.
It was about an hour and a half after breakfast, and Mark had put away his suitcases, kissed his wife and told of her of his success on the trip, and now he was in Cissie's bedroom, seated on a straight-backed chair near the window, with Cissie across his lap, her play shorts and her little cotton panties yanked down to her knees, her legs crossed for about the twentieth time since the spanking had started, and her milky-sheened, saucily rounded naked seat already just as red as her hair and a good deal hotter. The slipper sole was a very embarrassing weapon to be used by a young lady who thought herself grownup enough to kiss boys. But the noise wasn't bothering Cissie so much any longer, it was the ferocious heat which was permeating her squirming bare ass each time the slipper came down to make crisp impact with her tender virgin flesh.
Her hands were gripping the rung of the chair, and her face was upturned, her eyes tightly closed, her teeth ground together, as she tried desperately not to yell for mercy. But he had already given her about fifteen spanks, and she couldn't control the squirmings and wrigglings of her bare behind, and besides it was getting so painful that she just couldn't stand it anymore. Her cheeks were already wet with tears, and once again as she waited for another spank, she uncrossed and then recrossed her lovely legs.
Whackk! The slipper described an arc in the air, then landed right down the widening shadowy crease between Cissie's virgin ass cheeks.
"Oww ohhh, oh, Daddy, oh do please stop, you're killing me, I wont' ever do it again, oh please let me off anymore, please, Daddy!" the culprit squealed. Now one leg kicked up in the air, and the loafer fell off with a thud onto the floor. She turned her contorted and tearstained face back to her father, who was a tall, stern-faced man of forty-one, with thinning dark-brown hair, and who was assistant regional sales manager for a variety of house wares which their Rochester plant manufactured.
Mark and Agatha had been married sixteen years, and when the marriage had started, Mark was working back in Rochester on the assembly line of the plant itself. But he had shown such a keen administrative mind and an ability to get along with people that his company had soon promoted him, and now for the last four years he had been out in Northbrook in his present executive capacity.
They had tried to have more children, but the doctor had told Agatha that it wouldn't be possible. They both loved Cissie very dearly, and she was probably spoiled because she was an only child. One might say that when one realizes that the spanking she was now undergoing was her first in three years, though certainly over that span, she had committed enough mistakes and impertinences to have earned her at least a dozen thrashings from less indulgent parents.
"I don't like doing this any more than you like getting it, young lady," Mark MacDonald growled at her as he adjusted his left arm around her slim waist, pulled her back to him and tapped her flaming naked ass with the slipper sole.
"But what I really don't like is the deceitfulness you showed yesterday by telling your mother that you were going over to play with Betsy when all the time there was a boy there who was going to take a imagine to you," he went on sternly.
"But, Daddy," the red-haired teenager wailed, daring to rush one hand back towards her reddened bottom in a naive attempt to cover up her further spanks, "I didn't know Jimmy was there, honest I didn't! Betsy had her guy over, and he had brought along his best friend, and Betsy said he was for me."
"And you ought to have gone right straight home, young lady. Actually, maybe I won't hold you responsible for arranging to meet the boy over there-or you would certainly get a worse licking then I'm going to give you now. But you didn't show very good judgment in staying over there, and still less in kissing that boy. So our neighbor has to call your mother and tell her what you've been doing-how do you think I feel about that, young lady?"
The sole rose in the air and then fell angrily, once on the base of Cissie's left buttock, and then on the outer edge of the left hip. She squealed and jerked forward, trying pathetically to get her hand back over her bottom. Her father caught it in midair with his left hand and pressed it down hard against the small of her back, and then he clamped his right leg over her calves to make sure that she would stay in place throughout the rest of her spanking.
Now the sole came down rapidly, spanking all over the tossing, jerking, weaving naked globes, and Cissie began to cry and to plead for mercy. "Oww-oh stop, let up a minute, Daddy, oh please! Eeeowwwouuu!! You're killing me, Daddy! Oh please, Daddy, FU be good!"
When he paused, Cissie's naked bottom and even the tops of her delightfully rounded thighs were a bright crimson, and the lovely red-haired teenager was crying frantically, the fingers of her free hand twisting nervously against the rung of the chair.
"You had better not try that again, young lady, or you'll be back here for a good deal more. Now get off my lap and go put on your pajamas!"
"My pajamas, Daddy?" Cissie wailed uncomprehendingly as she slowly and grimacingly clambered off her father's lap and stood, both hands frantically rubbing her blazing seat.
"You heard me! You're going to say in your room all the rest of the day and evening, is that understood? If you're a good girl, after supper you can watch TV with us. Now do what I told you to, unless you want to go back over my lap for more?"
"Oh no, Daddy!" Cissie hastily gasped, as she pulled up her play shorts and tangled little panties, and then sobbingly hurried to her bathroom and slammed the door shut.
Mark MacDonald rose, glanced at the slipper sole still clutched in his right hand, and then solidly went out of his daughter's bedroom. His wife's bedroom was just down at the end of the hall, and he knocked on the door and entered.
He closed and bolted the door behind him, so silently that Agatha didn't see. She was sitting in front of her boudoir table, examining herself very critically in the mirror. At thirty-five, Agatha MacDonald was really a desirable piece of pussy. Her hair was straw-colored and arranged in a prim bun at the back of her neck. Her face was heart-shaped, with big blue eyes (Cissie had inherited them), a straight nose, a full generous and sweet mouth, and dimpled chin. Of medium height, Agatha's body was tantalizingly delicious, with big, firm, widely spaced titties, a plump upstandingly rounded bottom, and magnificently ripe thighs. Her skin was a delicate carnation tinting. And because she was sitting in her slip and sandals, applying makeup , all those lush treasures of her body were revealed to her husband's admiring eyes.
She glanced to the right and saw him at the door. "Mark-I didn't hear you come in, darling. Did you take care of Cissie?"
"I did indeed. Do you see this?" He lifted up the leather sole.
"The poor darling," Agatha MacDonald giggled, shook her head. "But she had it coming, you know. In fact, she ought to been spanked a lot earlier than this. This was just about the last straw. Tell me, Mark, are you going to have to keep traveling back to the home office all through the summer? I was just hoping that all of us could get away for maybe a little vacation in Colorado or maybe New Mexico."
Tm afraid it's out this year, honey. But I tell you what, the big boss said that maybe in January I could have a whole three weeks. And if things keep going well, maybe we could spend them in Hawaii."
"Oh that would be wonderful, Mark lover!" Agatha beamed. si
He walked slowly toward her, his face thoughtful. His prick was standing out against the fly of his trousers, and it wasn't long before Agatha noticed this phenomenon with a gasp: "Mark-if that isn't indecent-I hope to heaven that poor little Cissie didn't see that!"
"It was she who got it that way, if you want to know something, Agatha."
"What in the world are you talking about, Mark MacDonald?"
"I took her panties down, and it's amazing what a well developed young lady Cissie has become even at fifteen. I'm afraid-well, it sort of excited me. Now then, what have you got under that slip?"
"Just me, lover. Why?"
"That's great, that's all I wanted to know," he chuckled. He moved forward, and then he grabbed her elbow with his left hand. "Come to bed right now!" he commanded.
"Mark MacDonald, you must be out of your mind! Do you realize I've all this work to do for dinner tonight and I have to instruct the new maid who's coming over about two o'clock this afternoon? Be your age, darling!"
"Be yours," he corrected. "You mean you can't take half an hour out for some loving from your husband?"
"Oh silly, you know I love you, but this isn't the time!"
"It's the best time. Don't you see what I've got saved up for you?"
"Oh Mark, for heaven's sake!" she expostulated.
He set his lips, then tucked the slipper under his arm. Now with both hands he caught her under the armpits, jerked her up to her feet, and then pushed her towards the bed.
"Mark MacDonald, have you gone crazy? You stop that, you let me alone-stop it. I tell you!" she wailed.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her across his lap. Her feet were on the floor, her body was angled towards him and lying over his lap from his right. This way her left arm was pinned up against his left side, and all he had to do was put his left arm around her waist to hold her securely in position. He could clamp his right at will, since he was seated with he feet on the floor, over her legs to keep her from kicking. And then he whisked up the slip and unveiled the pink-and-white plump hillocks of her enticing ass. The slipper now came to his right hand, rose and fell abruptly.
"Oww, that hurts!" she reproachfully cried out. "Let go of me, how dare you do a thing like this to me, I'm not your daughter, I'm your wife, and I'm a grown woman-oww-oh stop it, Mark, you're hurting me-oh please-owwwohhh-oh don't, not anymore-eeeowwouuu!! Oh Mark, I can't stand it, you're killing me!"
The slipper sole had risen and fallen half a dozen hard times, and each time Agatha's bottom had bounded and squirmed and twisted in the most lascivious way.
He was deaf to her pleas, but went on spanking her. In about ten minutes more, she lay limp and whimpering over his lap, now his savagely erect prong kept prodding her against the belly and loins in a way that she couldn't have possibly mistaken it for what it was.
"Now we'll just see if you can't take a little time out for me," he muttered thickly. He lifted her up, turned her, carried her in his arms to the broad double bed, then rolled her slip up to her titties. With a shriek of pain and embarrassment, Agatha MacDonald uttered a cry of embarrassment and shame, and tried to tug her slip down, for he had rolled it almost to her armpits.
He had pulled down the zipper of his fly, brought out his prick, and now he crouched beside her, his hands on her hips.
"Oh you beast, I don't want you, I just don't, just for that, you hurt me," she whimpered.
But Mark MacDonald didn't talk. Instead, he shoved open her knees, surged over her, and fitted his prick into her cunt. As soon as it was once inside, he began to fuck her slowly and vigorously. It wasn't long before Agatha MacDonald was groaning with joy and returning her husband's kissing with a fiery zeal that intoxicated him.
Their climax was simultaneous, and when it was over, Agatha adoringly gasped, "Whew! That's the first time in my life I've ever been raped, and I loved it if you want to know something, you wicked man."
And then, artfully as she nuzzled her wet red mouth against his chin, she whispered, "But for heaven's sake, what ever got into you to make you want to make love this time of day?"
"I just told you. Cissie's big naked red bottom, that's what. And now, kindly shut up so that your husband can get in a little fucking time."
CHAPTER VII
It was the afternoon after the spanking of red-haired young Cissie MacDonald, a placid Sunday in Northbrook. Cissie had been allowed to a movie with her friend Betsy Donnegan, but only after Agatha MacDonald had made Cissie promise on her very honor that she and Betsy wouldn't sneak out and meet any boys. "You already know what it feels like to be spanked by your father, young lady," she had laid down the law in no uncertain terms. "And if you want just about triple what you got yesterday, try and pull a fast one now."
Cissie, only too happy to be relieved of the disgrace of having to remain in her room all day long in her pajamas after that awful spanking yesterday, was abject as she promised she absolutely wouldn't lie about a thing like this. Her mother softened, and gave her an extra dollar just in case she wanted to buy a soda for herself and Betsy after the show.
When her red-haired offspring had happily scampered off to the Donnegan house to pick up her girlfriend, Agatha turned to Mark and giggled, "I just wonder what that little minx of mine would think, lover, if she knew that we were really chasing her out of the house and getting rid of for a couple of hours so we could be ourselves."
"I think that little minx, as you call her, would want to be around and watch the fun," Mark chuckled, his sternness having vanished now that he was alone with his beautiful wife.
"You know, lover," Agatha MacDonald said thoughtfully as she moved closer to him and put her hand against the small of his back and began gently to rub it, "I was the most surprised wife in the world yesterday morning when you barged right into my bedroom after you had spanked that naughty girl and made me perform my connubial dudes, as the books call it."
"You mean, made you submit to a good hot reaming, don't you, Aggie?" Her husband murmured huskily. He was in Bermuda shorts and sandals and a polo shirt. While his lush blonde wife wore white linen play shorts and short sleeved blue cotton blouse, sandals and under the play-shorts the wispiest pair of white nylon panties with matching bra. Her pink-and-white skin was generously exposed at arms and luscious legs, and Mark MacDonald was already feeling an itch where he had had it yesterday after reddening his daughter's saucy bare seat.
"You are the most dreadful man I ever knew, sir," Agatha MacDonald drew herself up haughtily, playing a little teasing game which she and her husband had had for many a year, quite unbeknownst to Cissie, who at fifteen believed that she knew everything there was to be known about the facts of life. She would have been amazed to know that her mother and father were hardly the "squares" she had believed them to be, but were as swinging a group as could be found anywhere in the suburb of Northbrook.
Only a week ago, just before he had had to fly to Rochester, New York for a meeting at company headquarters, Mark MacDonald and Agatha had discussed the possibility of wife-swapping. Each of them liked variety, but thus far they had been faithful to each other through their sixteen years of marriage. Candor with each other, always a happy factor in eliminating guilt and hang-ups, had led them some years ago to confess what extramarital flirtations each had had. Each of them had almost succumbed, and perhaps only fear of discovery or involvement on an emotional basis that would detract from their marriage had halted them short of going all the way.
Yet Mark, though he looked very forbidding and stern and mature and was an excellent company executive, had a harem fantasy . . . Agatha, for that matter, often dreamed about being fucked by a handsome young beach boy on the white sands of Waikiki or maybe on a Tahitian atoll far out in the blue Pacific.
But although they had over the years joked about switching partners for a night and speculating on this or that friend of theirs as regards the latter's bed potential, neither of them had actually taken the formal step of seeking another bed-partner.
'In my room or yours, lover?" Agatha MacDonald murmured, nibbling at her husband's earlobe with her white teeth which showed very few fillings at her age of thirty-five.
"Yours. It'll make it seem more sinful, you sexy blonde siren," he whispered back as he bit the back of her neck gently.
Agatha MacDonald shuddered, and put her left hand forward towards his crotch, finding a bulge there already. "Oh my goodness," she whispered, "you're terrific! Yesterday you almost killed me, now you've got that great big weapon of yours all revved up again. I guess I can't complain about what happens to a man after he turns forty, can I?"
"Not on the evidence you've got in your hand, honey," he chuckled thickly. Then, stooping, he caught her up by the bare legs and her back in his arms, and strode masterfully off to her bedroom, setting her down at the edge of the bed and then swiftly beginning to pull off his polo shirt, revealing a sturdy, hairy chest, and finally his Bermuda shorts, to expose the massive structure of his turgid prick.
Agatha's eyes gleamed humidly at the sight of her husband's tribute to her charms. She yanked off her blouse almost impatiently, tearing off a button as she did so. He came forward now, his prick bobbing between his thighs, to reach behind her and unfasten the clasp of the bandeau which held the bra in place over her lush round titties. Then his palms rubbed the nipples till they grew stiff and palpitating with ardor, while Agatha MacDonald put her hands to the back of her neck and tilted back her head and moaned softly in her erotic attunement.
"Tell me more about yesterday, darling," she whispered as he keep rubbing her bubbies. I know that it got you all worked up to spank Cissie's sweet little bottom, but is that something new with you? My goodness, I never knew you to be so impetuous so early in the morning-except, of course, on our honeymoon."
"Well, to be honest with you, I read a couple of books and pamphlets about this business of spanking," he huskily responded as he sat down on the edge of the bed beside her and to her right, his left hand stroking the back of her neck while his right hand continued to caress and cup and squeeze her swelling titties. "And I guess maybe there's something to it. This article I read a couple of weeks ago in a magazine Whip and Rod went on to the effect that in the old days spanking was regarded as a humiliating punishment, and nobody thought about pleasure. Nowadays, married people, sweethearts, even kids try it for the kicks. And I'll say one thing, it revved up my motors in great style. But I felt guilty, too. I mean, here I was with my own flesh and blood lying over my lap with her panties down and her bare butt wriggling in the air and I was making it good and red and hot and she was yelling to beat the band, and all of a sudden I felt my cock starting to get hard. That sort of threw me for a minute, till I realized that I wanted you."
"Are you sure?" she whispered searchingly, her thumb and finger taking hold of the tip of his prick and drawing it up against the tightly stretched material of his Bermuda shorts till he groaned with agonized delight. I've been doing some reading too, lover boy. That's what they call incest, and of course you and I are too civilized to do a thing like that. But don't think lots of families don't do it, especially in the poorer slum sections where maybe eight people live together in a room."
"I know that, baby. What are you getting at?"
"Just this. Maybe you ought to transfer your spanking attentions to a mature person beyond the age of consent."
"Meaning you? He looked at her, cupping her chin and turning her face to his, then kissing her hard.
"Mmmmmmhmmm!" she murmured as she held the kiss, then darted her pert pink tongue between his lips. Now her fingers pinched his cock head even more vigorously, tell he groaned in anguish and moved so tight against her that their thighs seemed to merge.
"Let's try and see," he panted.
"I'm ready, willing and brave, lover. Just don't leave any permanent marks, in your enthusiasm, hm?" Agatha MacDonald whispered.
She scrambled away from him, got onto the bed on all fours, revealing her magnificent bottom in the play shorts. He stared at it, as if hypnotized. He saw her pull a pillow to the middle of the bed, and lay herself on it, till her bottom arched up invitingly, the white play shorts tautly drawn over the generous round curves of her opulent firm behind, so that the material shaped out even the sinuous crease between the hemispheres.
"Start this way," she mumbled in a muffled voice as she put her hands under her as a sort of chinrest, "and later you can take my pants down and give it to me on the bare the way you did to that naughty girl of ours."
His prick was gigantic now, as he hurried to tug down his Bermuda shorts and then his jockey shorts beneath. Getting onto the bed and kneeling at her left, he put his left palm to the small of his wife's back, and ran his right palm caressingly over her quivering satiny hindquarters.
"Mmmmm, that makes me feel awfully good and sexy," she breathed, glancing round and up at him with humid eyes.
"I'm gonna get you hot as a firecracker on the Fourth," he promised. He drew back his right hand and applied a stinging slap to her right buttock at its ripest curve. Her flesh was wonderfully resilient, as it flattened, then sprang up and Agatha uttered a stifled gasp and swerved her bottom enticingly. The second spank made impact on the other buttock, again at the fullest sector.
He glanced down at his prick and found himself harder than he had ever been in longer than he could remember. There was no doubt about it, this little spanking game was taking on important proportions in their future love life. In a way, he was grateful to that impertinent little vixen of a daughter of theirs for having led him so unwittingly down a pathway he had never dreamed existed.
It was a pathway that was going to take him into helping form, "The Wifespankers Club of Northbrook."
But at the moment, he was concerned only with the magnificent vista of his wife's upreared squirming ass, and the white play shorts which stretched so protestingly in her genuflecting pose seemed to make her bottom a more inviting target than if it had been all bare. His right palm descended smartly, again and again, and now capriciously leaped from globe to globe, sometimes applying three or more spanks to the very same place, then pausing and applying a particularly vigorous slap to the other cheek.
Agatha MacDonald groaned and sobbed, after about the twentieth slap had been laid on. She squirmed restlessly on her knees, trying to find a more comfortable position for herself and at the same time to offer up a magnificent behind in the most tempting manner for her husband's fustigatory attentions.
She could feel his palm bear down on her back till it seemed to her her spine would almost snap, which made her thrust up her bottom at still a more lewd angle. That posture seemed also to intensify the heat of the spanks he was really laying on with a will. By time he had reached thirty-five, which was the exact number of the years she had lived, Agatha was groaning and sobbing, "Ahhhoh darling, it's really starting to sting now, something fierce, oooh, oh lover, do something else, I'm getting hot, I'm getting hot all over!"
Not being a psychotic sadist, Mark MacDonald heeded the imploring supplication of his beautiful mature wife. Now, getting behind her, his prick prodding against the squirming cheeks of her behind, he reached around in front of her to unbutton the play shorts and then to tug them down with something of an effort because they were extremely tight. When he discovered her wispy panties, he left them there for a moment so that his eyes could feast on the flaming contours of that shapely behind which the wispy sheath almost transparently displayed. Agatha's fair skin had really marked vividly, and he felt his prick almost ready to burst.
Hooking his forefingers under the waistband of these little panties, he dragged them down to her knees, and then suddenly, lunging forward, his prick aiming at the flaming pink cleft of her cunt, clutched her titties with both hands as with a single cramming thrust, he delved into her to the very hilt.
Agatha MacDonald's face rose, twisted with mingled pain and ecstasy. Her eyes were huge and glassy with tears, but they were not tears of distress, rather of sensual joy and expected rapture. Her fingernails began to claw at the rumpled cover of the bed, which creaked with her violent squirmings and his energetic advanced forward, not wishing to lose an inch to the advantage gained. Now he began to fuck her furiously, and Agatha begged between gasps and moans, "Oh-I-lover-oh don't let it fall out-please don't-oh it's so good-oh it's rubbing me just right-I can feel it against my little button-oh my God, Mark, it's the best we ever had-oh don't rush it too much-I want to die of this-oh my darling-ahhh-oh it's heaven T
And then suddenly neither of them could hold back, and with a cry of ecstasy, Mark MacDonald, the sober business executive, felt himself explode inside his wife's clamping cunt sheath, while Agatha MacDonald collapsed forward on the bed, he sinking over her, both sprawled, his sword housed in the hot moist and gripping cavern of her love-core.
CHAPTER VIII
Very often neighbors can live side by side for years without either knowing what makes the other tick. And this was particularly true of the MacDonalds. If their own precociously "hep" daughter Cissie had not yet guessed that Agatha and Mark MacDonald had gone so far as to experiment with domestic chastisement and they long before that shared the sweet bliss of Frenching and gamahuching, then it was certainly less-likely that the MacDonalds' next-door neighbors Pat and Karen Wilbur could have guessed that this mature couple merited the accolade of "swingers."
Pat Wilbur was thirty-four, vice-president in charge of new business at Kennishaw, Boren & Sanderman, a rapidly thriving and new advertising firm which occupied two full floors of the Lyric Opera Building in Chicago's Loop. Pat was slim, wiry, athletic, black-haired with sideburns, with intense blue eyes and an irrepressible smile, one of the secrets of his business success. It was also one of the secrets of his success with pussy, and that did not mean just his gorgeous wife Karen.
For at the moment, Pat was undergoing the delicious and risky thrills of a kind of double life, paying ardent attention to luscious Karen at night and sometimes by day to his "office wife," his pert auburn-haired secretary Doris Munson. Pat had been a track star back in high school and a second-string halfback on the Northwestern Varsity. His sports background undoubtedly had much to do with preserving his slim, vigorous figure and superb health, as well as giving him plenty of vitality for the even more strenuous indoor sport of fucking. Karen had not yet learned of his torrid liaison with Doris Munson, and if she had known about it, she probably would have shrugged and said, "So what? He's only human, and so am I." Then she probably would have added, "Anyhow, he's got good taste. If I were a man, I'd fuck that sexy little Doris Munson myself," forgetting for the nonce that she could do it theoretically with an artificial cock.
Karen Wilbur was a good friend of Madge Warren and also of Lorraine Demby, but as yet she had not suspected that Lorraine had just initiated the young, black-haired Madge into the perverse pleasures of unisex in which the vibrator and the artificial cock had played so exciting a role and compensated poor Madge for her husband's shameful neglect of her burning young cunt.
Pat and Karen had been married four years, and they too were childless. This was done mainly by design, since both enjoyed the fruits of good living, rounds of parties with their friends, occasional trips across the country when Karen would accompany Pat on his visits to potential clients in New York, Miami, New Orleans, Denver and St. Louis. In fact, Karen Wilbur had a kind of "lust scrapbook" in which she pasted newspaper clippings, matchbook covers, receipted hotel bills and the like, each time the Wilburs returned from a business trip, adding in her own inimitable verbiage and her characteristically flowing handwriting the salient facts of how many times she and Pat had fucked at the Biscayne Hotel, Room 1206, in Miami, or at the Netherland-Plaza, Room 904, in New York. She would add other spicy details, and whenever Pat had to go on the road without her, she would sometimes amuse herself at night by reading these torrid pages, while with one hand she daintily tickled her clitty and pretended she was reliving those rapturous nights when alien beds would creak under their entwined weight, with his prick buried deep inside her burning young cunt.
Karen was twenty-six, about five feet six and a half inches in height, buxom without being in the least fat. Her bubbies were high-perched on her olive-sheened chest, closely spaced and impudently rounded, with large thrusting nipples. Her waist was reasonably slender, flaring into lushly rounded hips with upstandingly rounded bottom-globes whose crease was salaciously wide. Pat had often told her facetiously that when she bent over she immediately put a man in a quandary as to whether he should first fuck or bugger her, or try to do both at once with finger and cock, a practice of which he was particularly fond, as was his compliant wife.
She was fond of changing hairdos and hair tints as well, though she had originally been a very vivid black-haired type. Currently she had been experimenting with a silver streak down the middle of her neatly bobbed curls, leaving the rest glossy black, and suggesting a kind of perverse quality of sophistication which went very well with her oval face, high-set cheekbones, sultry, ripe mouth and a kind of pug nose with very widely flaring wings. Her voice was husky and sensual. It was the sort of voice that, asking for a match for her cigarette, could give a man who heard it a considerable hard-on. In fact, that was exactly how she had met her husband four years ago, when as a secretary in a rival advertising agency, she had walked down the corridor of the fifth floor of the Lyric Opera Building in which she too had been employed, in route to the woman's washroom, taken out a cigarette and discovered she had no matches. At that moment a door to the left of her and ahead had opened and Pat Wilbur had come out. She had quickened her steps and asked him if he had a match. And from that chance meeting had sprung their first date about a week later, their engagement two weeks later, and their marriage a month after that.
Neither had been a virgin at the time. Karen had eagerly given her cherry during a vacation at Aspen to a handsome young forester in Khaki when she had walked off by herself one sultry afternoon, found herself lost, then discovered the sturdy, towheaded young man doing surveying with binoculars to check the activities of campers in the area, so that no forest fires would be started. An hour later, Karen and her forester were screwing, and she had taken off her panties and garter belt, fucked up skirt and petticoat to expose her bare bottom, and thrilled to feel that same bottom grinding against the rough grass while his rough breeches rubbed against her straining thighs, since he had let just his organ out of his breeches to make contact with her pulsating quim.
In college, in her senior year, she had joined a secret sorority, and had been initiated the usual way, by paddling, "worms," and "branding" with ice, winding up with being forced under penalty of going through the mill five times, or to have all her hair cut off, to pick some male at random on the campus and ask him to take her to bed and fuck her good and hard-and then bring back a written note from him to attest that she had done as bidden and that he had complied with her request.
During that paddling, Karen had discovered that it somewhat turned her on, and the rather spicy thrill of going up to a total stranger and blushingly asking him to fuck her had made her almost ready to swoon when the young man, a bespectacled but sturdy junior had gasped at his good fortune and taken her quickly to a motel before she could change her mind. For a moment, Karen pretended she was a slave girl who had just been whipped because she had not obeyed her master. And then the junior went at her like a bull, rubbing her sore bottom against the sheets of the rather uncomfortable bed, the pangs of that paddling had helped make her pussy even more furiously eager for the fucking she so energetically was given and in which she eagerly cooperated.
She had suspected that Pat wouldn't be entirely faithful, but she had told him at the very outset of the marriage that she wouldn't mind so long as he told her what he was doing. She couldn't quite bring herself to go with another man, because she was really crazy about Pat. How that man could fuck her, and how his finger could find her clit when his big long prick was buried deep inside of her! How he could, in the middle of fucking, suddenly and capriciously stop, get down on his knees and start to muff dive her until she was ready to scream out of sheer frustration and delight, and then all of a sudden come back to her with a tremendous thrust that banged their pubic bones together and made her soar off into space! She knew enough about the natural urges which every man has to condone and even be mildly tolerant of Pat's numerous infidelities during the four years of their marriage, but she still couldn't do what she had done on that college campus-go up to a man who seemed to suit her and ask him to go to bed, then in some strange bed peel off her panties and let him put his cock deep into her twat, and let him give her what she wanted.
But this Sunday afternoon while Agatha and Mark MacDonald were profiting from the absence of their daughter Cissie at the movies to play the charming game of spanking and fucking, Karen wearing just a green satin housecoat and her slippers, was fooling around in bed with her wiry husband, who wore only his jockey shorts and who was smoking a cigarette, sitting up with a pillow behind his head, thinking about his next trip for the agency.
"Pat honey," she huskily murmured as she put her forefinger to his bellybutton and playfully rubbed it, "can I go along next time?"
"I don't think so, honey. Not this one. It'll be a quickie, about three days in New York and then I'll have to go to Baltimore, then fly back. I'll leave from work tomorrow night, and I ought to be back by Friday night. It's too hectic for you. You stay home and keep the home fires burning. Especially that little fire." He stuck out his hand and caressed his wife's thigh, then moved onward till he could feel the furry apex and the thickly furred cleft of her cunt beneath the glossy material of the housecoat.
"Pat?"
"Uh-huh?"
"Pat, are you fucking Doris Munson."
"What a question! Not quite yet, baby. But I've got designs of her. She's not cherry either.
"I hadn't thought she was. After all she'swhat? Twenty-five."
"About that.'
"How far have you got with her?" Karen demanded.
"You won't be mad if I tell you?"
"Of course not, honey. Only I do wish once in a while a girl could have a chance for her own fun and games. You wouldn't like it if I went off with some guy, like maybe that silent stern type, Mark MacDonald."
"Hey now, that's an interesting line of thought. Mark looks like a bookkeeper, doesn't he? And I've got a hunch there's the more to that old boy than that, especially with that wife of his, Aggie. She's got a skin like a baby, because I saw her out in the yard the other day in her play shorts. Man, what an ass she's got on her! Yummy!"
"Nicer than mine?" his wife slyly asked.
With this, Karen rolled over on her tummy and looked up at him with wide, inquiring eyes. He raised his hand and gave her a playful swat. Karen squirmed, and in her husky voice murmured, "Do it again. That felt nice."
Pat felt his prick surging inside his jockey shorts. He carefully crushed the cigarette out on the ashtray on the night table beside the bed, then he raised his hand again and gave her a few more. Karen closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and tightened all her muscles, wanting to feel the pain. She felt her pussy throb with desire. Besides, she knew he would be away until Friday and she wasn't going to have her period for another week, and she wanted to get a few licks in on loving before he went away. "More," she said.
"Let's do it right and have you all bare, baby," he murmured hoarsely.
"Oh yes, darling," she eagerly agreed. Rolling over, she sat up and tugged down the zipper of the housecoat, slipped it off her shoulders, and then lay down on her back while he tugged the garment off her and flung them on the floor. In almost the same movement, he had tugged off his jockey shorts and flung them to join the housecoat. His prick was massive and his eyes were glittering. Karen lay sprawled, her knees up , widely apart, the soft pink, slightly moistened lips of her cunt lasciviously offered, her deeply dimpled belly quivering, her bubbies rising and falling quickly with excitement.
He had brought a slide rule to bed during this siesta time, because he wanted to figure a few percentages on the billing of two of the clients whose business he was going after next week.
"Roll over!" he commanded, and when Karen had obeyed, pillowing her head in her arms, he grasped the slide rule, put his left hand on the small of her back and applied a stinging swat. The instrument was like a ruler and plastic sufficiently solid to sting very nicely. It also raised a bright pink outline of its form on the top of Karen Wilbur's right ass-cheek.
"Oooooh, that's nice!" she sighed. Restlessly, her loins began to rub back and forth against the sheets in the act of frigging herself, which she had learned as a girl of thirteen. The flexions of her ass muscles were fascinating, and he excitedly began to spank her quickly now, bearing down with his palm to pin her to the bed. Karen began to gasp, lifting her flushed, excited face, kicking up first one lovely leg and then the other, her body jerking and twisting convulsively, as the red marks grew, supplanting the warm olive skin of that bewitching figure of hers.
When there were tears running down her cheeks and the warm, husky voice was trembling with concupiscence, he flung the slide rule aside, put his hands to the edge of her hips and panted, "Kneel up, baby, I've got to have you!"
"Oh yes, but hurry!" she panted.
But a surprise awaited her. Pat had been summoning up images of Doris Munson who, Friday afternoon just before quitting time, had gone over to the file cabinet and bent over to get at a low drawer. Her tight blue rayon skirt had clung to the impudently oval, high set cheeks of her ass, and he had had a mad desire to run over to her and cram his prick into her dainty bum hole. That image persisted now as he suddenly sank his fingers into the flaming cheeks of Karen Wilbur's ass, yawned them apart and prodded her shrinking pink anal crevice with the tip of his pulsating cock.
"Ooooh, oh my goodness, you haven't ever done that to me before!" she gasped, looking around with flushed, contorted, tearstained face, her eyes very wide with a kind of anguished expectancy.
"Shall I?"
I'll kill you if you don't," Karen moaned. "For God's sake, do something! I'm burning up!"
He spat on his forefinger, anointing his prick. Then again, this time rubbing the wetness against the crinkly lips of her asshole. Then, considerately, gently, he edged against her and Karen tried to push her bottom back and at the same time relax her sphincter muscles to accommodate his long, massive ramrod. When the first inch up to the circumsional groove entered her, she uttered a low, sobbing groan.
"Ohhhh Gawd, it's wonderful-I never thought it would be like this-oh darling!"
"You'll see, it'll be even better. Tilt your sweet ass up a little bit-boy, how I marked it! You've got wonderful skin, you know, and that's not all."
Flattered by his lustful tribute, Karen Wilbur crouched as a slave might under the lash, arching up her behind, while flattening her face down in the sheets. His left forefinger now began to tickle the gaping lips of her cunt, then slid inwards to find the nodule of her clit.
"Aaaaaaahhh-oh that's wonder-oh that's so wonderful-oh do it like that all the time, darling-it's so wonderful!" Karen sobbed.
As he did so, he forced himself slowly onward, Karen, uttering ecstatic squeals and groans, continued to shove herself backward, impatient to impale herself. Soon he had himself hilted inside her tight rectal canal and his finger began to speed the frigging procedure against the hardening lodestone of her life.
Almost hysterical with ecstasy, her fingernails clawing the sheets, her head turning this way and that, her body shaking with convulsive tremors, Karen implored him with shaken, sobbing groans to do her. The torment was agonizing for him, and he ground his teeth to hold himself back, but it was impossible to maintain such self-control for long. Suddenly, with a cry, he felt himself burst into her, and Karen uttered a high-pitched shriek and began to pummel the bed with her fists, her teeth grabbing for the sheets and gnawing them in the explosive climax which flooded her.
When it was over and they lay on their sides, sharing a cigarette, she languidly murmured, "Wouldn't it excite you, lover, to do that to Doris while some other man was doing it to me, after you'd given Doris a good spanking and the man had spanked my naughty bottom too?"
I'll say it would! Say now, that's really an idea, baby!"
"Well, why not? That way, we could each know what the other was doing. Up to now, you've had all the fun, you devil you. You go off with all these girls, and sure you tell me about them, but I have to stay home and play with myself, yes, I do. There hasn't been any other man and you know it. But suppose we joined a kind of club or something-aren't there things like that in the suburbs, lover?"
"Baby, that's a real idea. If there isn't, maybe you and I can found one. And you know who I'm going to invite as charter members if I do work it up?"
"I know. Pat and Aggie MacDonald."
"Go to the head of the class! And I wouldn't mind seeing old school teacherish Mark take you over his lap, have you wear a little girl outfit and your hair braided, with a ribbon bow on it, and bobby socks and those kids shoes, while he paddled your sweet bare ass with a ruler."
"Oooo, that sounds awfully exciting!" Karen murmured. Her eyes were misty, her lips red and moist and she moved closer to him, her left hand seeking his prick again. The strengthening of erotic images had stirred them both for seconds, with a sobbing gasp of delight, she now guided her husband's rejuvenated ramrod towards her torrid cunt, and they grasped each other ferociously, their mouths glued together, as they began to fuck.
CHAPTER IX
Karen Wilbur as well as her virile husband Pat would have been surprised to know that the MacDonalds had already discovered the titillating aspect of domestic chastisement, and they would have been still more startled to know that the parents of Cissie's best girlfriend, Betsy, had long ago stumbled upon this passionate prelude to fucking.
Carl Donegan, forty-five, prematurely gray-haired but with a youthfully alert face and a trim body of a man who had taken care of himself all his life, and his full-tittied, ripe-bottomed, forty-year-old wife Georgia had both been introduced to the hot sting of a spanking during her childhood. To be sure, at that time, there had been no pleasure in it for them, but they had at least learned its usage and purpose. Carl had met his wife Georgia in Louisville where he had been born and where he was working as an hydraulic engineer. Georgia, then almost twenty-four, already had the magnificently buxom figure which she was to retain without excess through their sixteen years of marriage, and she was excessively vain of her beauty, which was considerable then as it was now.
Golden-haired, with heart-shaped face, enormous limpid brown eyes, and with a baby-pink complexion, she had led the boys a merry chase and was even something of a prick teaser. Carl Donegan had won her by the simple expedient of getting extremely exasperated with her one night after they had been dating for about three months and finding that she was willing to clamber into the back seat of the car with him and neck, but she would go just so far and no farther, Also, she had the maddening habit of eyeing his swollen cock which bulged against the fly of his trousers, pointing to it and giggling, making certain disparaging remarks about why it was that a fellow had to get so excited after just a little fooling around.
Finally Carl Donegan had had quite enough of those tactics. On a balmy May evening in the forest preserves near Louisville, when Georgia pulled her "so-far-and-no-farther" stunt for the umpteenth time, he seized her by the shoulders, dragged her across his lap, and proceeded to lambaste her tempting bottom with the flat of his right hand, while pinning her down by the scruff of her neck. Since her legs were on the floor and almost doubled up, and her face and shoulder were pinned against the back of the seat, she had little room in which to try to extricate herself, and so she had to endure the castigation until his hand was stinging and almost as red as her wriggling bottom. Even then, she was wearing a girdle and panties beneath, but neither garment eased the burning pangs which his palm so energetically meted out.
When she was crying hysterically and begging him for mercy, he paused and then, to her utter horror and mortification, proceeded to yank up the skirt and work her girdle down, then tug down the panties, and expose her burning ass-cheeks. She shrieked at him to pull her clothes back up, but he didn't answer: he simply resumed the spanking even at the cost of his own stinging palm. And when Georgia abandoned herself, limp and shivering, her voice hoarse with shouting, he finally paused and demanded, "Now do you think you can behave yourself and quit working a guy up and leading him on? Or do I have to give some more that big sweet ass of yours, Georgia?"
She had shaken her head and whimpered a faint "No" and so he had dragged her up to sit in his lap, his fingertips digging into her armpits. Then suddenly she had flung her arms around his neck, kissed him wildly, and panted, "Oh you hurt me so, but I love you, you big ape! Love me up now and make me forget that awful spanking, or I never will go out with you again."
Then and there he had obliged Georgia Crandall, and a few weeks later they were married. Betsy came nine months after that, a lovechild, greatly desired by both parents. Two years after she was born, the Donegans moved out to North-brook, after Carl had been offered an extremely lucrative position as a vice president in charge of operations for a top-notch engineering firm that was setting up regional branches throughout the country. They didn't have any more kids, though it wasn't for want of trying. There was something about Georgia's chemistry which prevented it. So, about five years along in their marriage, Carl and Georgia began to experiment with more novel ways of fucking and wooing prior to fucking. Remembering how he had turned her on with that paddy whacking, he would frequently scold her on this or that flimsy pretext, then turn her over his lap, bare her voluptuously opulent ass and give her a smart spanking with a ruler, a flyswatter, that flat of his hand, or a folded newspaper, then lift her up and fling her down on the bed and proceed to fuck her with gusto, an act of which she thoroughly approved and in which she furiously abetted his lusts.
Betsy, accordingly, hadn't escaped spanking through her puberty years and after. Indeed, when the Donegans discovered that Betsy had invited her boyfriend and his friend over, then had Cissie MacDonald over to play in the garden, black-haired Betsy, just a week later, was summoned into the parental bedroom, ordered to hoist up her miniskirt and lower her pantyhose and get over her mother's lap while her father held her hands.
Forty spanks with the back of the hairbrush convinced the precocious teenager of the danger in sneaking around with puppy love behind her parents' back.
And so again, Fate begin the capricious goddess she is in the affairs of mortals, on this very Sunday afternoon when Pat and Karen Wilbur were experimenting with spanking as an erotic prelude towards their ultimate cohesion of pussy and prick, Carl and Georgia, their bedroom door locked and Betsy safely out of the house visiting another girlfriend, Marie Daugherty, her handsome parents were experimenting with the age-old passion-stimulant which had first brought them together in the back of that car in Louisville all these many years ago.
Georgia was wearing only her peach-colored bra and charcoal brown stockings kept snug and unwrinkled on her ripely curvaceous thighs and calves by the tabs of a very narrow black satin-elastic garter belt. Her husband was clad exactly like Adam in the days of Eden, and he was kneeling at her left, his eyes devouring her pinksheened body. She lay with her loins over a pillow, arching up her ripely rounded, deeply creased cheeks of her voluptuous ass, her wrists tied behind her back with a handkerchief, and another handkerchief stuffed into her mouth to act as gag. Also, he had wound a towel around her head covering her eyes, to serve as a blindfold. For the first two or three minutes, he had amused himself stroking her thighs and bottom while she moaned and squirmed restlessly on the pillow, her masochistic passions mounting by degrees. Finally she turned her face to him and murmured through the gag, "Oh, do it to me, lover, do it! You're just driving me crazy!"
"Sure, baby, the way you drove me crazy on all those dates until I learned you some sense out in the forest preserves, right?" he chuckled reminiscently.
Then he suddenly raised his hand and brought it down with a pistol-shot-like report decorating the center of her right ass-cheek with a bright pink splotch. Georgia lifted up her ass and squealed, then she suggestively ground her pussy against the pillow, tensing and relaxing all her ass muscles to induce him to continue what he had so admirably begun.
Twenty minutes later, her bottom bounding and tossing frantically, moaning and gasping with a melange of pain and delight, Georgia Donegan shudderingly writhed under the stinging and noisy smacks of his black leather belt, and her baby-pink skin from chin bone to ankles was flaming uniformly. Then suddenly she rolled over, spreading her legs as much as she could, her tear-drowned eyes hugely fixed on him and imploring mercy and solace. Even through her tears she could see that he was more than ready for her. Flinging aside the belt, he bladed her to the hilt with a single thrust. Without removing anything more than the blindfold-which he had removed half-way through the spanking-Carl Donegan tasted the harem-like joys of subjugation, fucking the panting and wriggling body of his gagged and bound wife.
And when they had come to explosive climax and he had taken out the gag and kissed her tenderly, she whispered, "Oh brother, that was heaven! What we ought to do, darling, is start a little club with our best friends and show them how two people can still go at it as if they were teenagers, just by warming a girl's eager ass."
"You've got something there, Georgia baby. We're going to have a little party next Thursday night, and I'm going to invite some of the neighbors we like best. Then we'll sound them out and see."
And thus the new wife-spanking club of North-brook was born.
CHAPTER X
On the following rainy Friday evening, Carl and Georgia Donegan held a buffet-style supper for their favorite Northbrook neighbors, which included Brenda and Jim Fairborn, Janice and Peter Cole, Agatha and Mark MacDonald, Pat and Karen Wilbur, the Dembys, and Madge and Bob Warren. It was a well balanced crowd, and indeed Ed Demby at a forty-six, just a year older than Carl Donegan, his host, was the oldest male. Georgia Donegan was the oldest woman there, but it was hardly visible even though she was forty. She wore a pants-suit of very modish maroon hue, and sandals, with clip-on sapphire earrings sophisticatedly gripping her dainty earlobes. Her golden hair, which amazingly needed no dye or beauty treatment all these years, was done up in a kind of off-the-forehead sweep, making her look extremely alluring.
The women huddled together, and the men did-likewise, each group talking their own particular hobbies. The men were talking about the chances of the Chicago Cubs baseball team, what the Bears would do at Soldiers Field in the fall, and how the Bulls would fare on the basketball courts of the league. But the women were interested in a very different kind of sport: the most popular of all indoors sports, fucking.
Madge Warren blushed as buxom honey-haired Lorraine Demby moved over to her and gently took hold of her hand, whispering, "Hi, honey. How've you been the last week or so?"
"Fine-fine, thank you, Lorraine," the delightfully saucy young brunette stammered. She glanced nervously around, wondering if anyone in the big living room would notice how flustered she was by Lorraine's proximity to her and infer from that that her older neighbor had taught her the forbidden joys of the vibrator and the artificial cock.
Janice Coleman was holding forth on the topic that in our modern day in age, the double standard was not only a lie but hypocritical to boot. "Now look, girls," she said somewhat heatedly, "just because a man is made the way he is, he thinks he's got license to go around sticking it into every female he can get to agree to it. But just let his own wife make eyes at the grocery boy, and God help her!"
"You said it, sister," Brenda Fairborn agreed. "It's been that way all down through the ages, Janice. It's all right for a man to have all the affairs he wants, but if he just once catches his own wife maybe necking with her ex-boyfriend, he's ready to sue for a divorce."
"There ought to be a better way," Karen Wilbur put in, glancing over at the couch where her handsome black-haired husband Pat was engaged in serious conversation with Ed Demby about the stock market. "For instance, now look at us all here together. I'll bet all us girls at one time or another have wanted to have a little flirtation on the side. Come on, girls, be honest with one another. Isn't that so?"
There was a kind of shushed whisper from several of them now, afraid that their mates would overhear and get the wrong opinion. "That's all very well for you to say," Madge Warren blushingly complained, "but the whole trouble is that a lot of us who haven't been married too long are just getting to find out about our husbands and they about us."
"Hear, hear!" honey-haired Lorraine applauded. And then, since no one was looking, she slyly slipped her hand down Madge's bottom and stroked the saucy cheeks.
"Ohhh, d-don't!" Madge whispered back, almost dying of mortification at this bold caress. But it also made her pussy begin to itch, and reminded her of the feverish moments she had spent in bed with her older friend and how she had been compensated for Bob's neglect of her in bed.
"That's the whole point, baby," Gorgia Donegan spoken up again, determined to take the lead. "Now what if we were all to work out a sort of swap-club, where all the guys and gals could screw around all they wanted to, but only within the group? That way, every wife would know exactly where her hubby was if he wasn't home, and vice versa. And with good friends, something like that would be a lot more practical than chasing around and picking up strangers, the way so many men do, especially when they go traveling."
"I'll certainly agree," Brenda Fairborn sighed.
"Or else try to work up something with their secretaries," Karen Wilbur cattily contributed, thinking of slinky Doris Munson in her husband's office.
"Well, this is the age of Women's Lib," Georgia Donegan smiled. "What's wrong with starting a nice friendly little swappers group right here and now? Talk it over with your men, girls, because I for one don't mind telling you that you've got a few husbands that appeal to me. And from their viewpoint, it probably goes double so far as we're concerned."
"Oh my goodness," Madge Warren blushed, "I don't think I'd have the nerve to go with any other man except Bob."
"Even if he leaves you with those hung-up bedtime blues?" was Lorraine's malicious jibe, as again her hand squeezed one of Madge's saucy ass-cheeks, almost making the pretty brunette housewife jump out of her skin.
"Well, nobody has to force anybody into anything," said Georgia Donegan, stoutly defending her viewpoint. "But let's make it an open meeting now and just catch these smug husbands of ours and put them on the defensive. I'll bet they've thought of playing around with all of us, but so far it's just been a thought-unless somebody wants to tell me otherwise?"
There was a kind of shocked gasp from all the other women, and then a general giggle as they looked at one another and smiled at the joke. At the moment, it was true; there were no affairs being conducted between any of the members of this very pleasant evening gathering at the Donegan house.
"All right then, girls, I'll take the bull by the horns if you're all afraid of it," Georgia avowed. So saying, she moved to the center of the room, cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted out, "Let me have a little quiet, boys, I've got something to say to all of you ! "
A hush fell over the assembly and all eyes turned toward the buxom golden-haired hostess who, in her pants-suit and sandals, looked simply devastating. She could have passed for a very mature and desirable call girl.
"What's it all about, Georgia honey?" Jim Fairborn called out.
"It's about something all you guys have been dreaming about ever since you moved into the neighborhood and watched your next-door neighbor's wife bending over the fence or watering the lawn or going out to the garbage can," Georgia impudently announced. "I know that every one of you, and there aren't any exceptions in my book, would love to play around with all of us that you aren't married to. Well, we girls feel that way too. So why don't we come out in the open with it, because that's the healthiest way of all to get rid of your hang-ups, and start a wife swapping club?"
Now it was the men's turn to gasp, to look at one another with wondering eyes. Finally stodgy Ed Demby blurted, "Why, Georgia, that's sort of outlandish, isn't it?"
"Why should it be?" she countered. "Isn't it more honest to come right out with something like that, Ed, than to dream about it and maybe get into trouble because you want to sneak into the house next door and play around when that girl's husband is out earning a living? I think it would clear the air if we talked it over."
"You mean-actually exchange keys or have a lottery or something?" Pat Wilbur asked, glancing quickly at Karen and imaging what it would be like to see her naked in another man's arms, another man's hands squeezing her luscious ass, his mouth coming down hard on hers, and maybe one of her soft hands fondling that other man's cock.
"As I told one of the girls here," Georgia replied, "nobody has to join if he or she doesn't want to. But this way, since we all know one another and we're pretty good friends and we can trust one another and there won't be any blackmail, what's wrong with just revealing your feelings? If you want to sleep with somebody else's wife, ask her, if the husband says okay. And that goes double for everybody."
That's crazy," Bob Warren spoke up, glancing possessively at Madge in a way that made her blush and wonder why he hadn't shown more interest in her lately. "If I caught my wife cheating, I'd whale hell out of her bottom."
And it was this pertinent remark which really caused the foundation of the "Wifespankers Club of Northbrook." Because Karen Wilbur, glancing at Agatha MacDonald who nodded and giggled, offered this suggestion: "All right, we girls are willing to be spanked if we can have a little loving on the side. Don't forget, some of us have been married quite a few years, and maybe our husbands are getting to be old hat to us."
"I'm not so sure I like that crack," Jim Fairborn scowled. "I think both Georgia and Karen ought to get a paddling right now for proposing such an idea."
"I'm willing," the honey-haired matron laughed airily. "But if I get one, I'm serving notice on Carl here that I might just go into another bedroom with the man who dishes it out to me. What would you say to that, Carl honey?"
The prematurely gray-haired engineering executive chuckled. "I'd say I'd probably take that guy's wife to still another bedroom, Georgia baby."
"There, you see?" his wife triumphantly avowed. "So Tm just calling your bluff, all you men. Now let's see if you can be just as honest as we girls have been."
There was no need to record the pros and cons of the discussion that followed for the next half hour. But when it was over, all the couples who were there, with only a few registering hesitant objections, one of them being Bob Warren and the other being Ed Demby, they had all agreed to meet the next Friday night and to work out a lottery system of swapping wives . . . with the stipulation that since they were talking about being naughty in advance, the girl who was going to be naughty might just as well get her punishment in advance also by having to submit to a spanking from her own husband before she went off to a bedroom with another woman's husband. And on that titillating and exciting note, the party ended.
CHAPTER XI
Before the Donegan party broke up that memorable night, some tentative outlines and conditions had been drawn up for the "Wifespankers Club of Northbrook."
Carl and Georgia Donegan had candidly related how through most of their connubial years, spanking had turned them both on. Mark and Agatha MacDonald contributed their own opinions, as did the somewhat blushing Karen Wilbur, corroborated by none other than her handsome black-haired husband Pat. And when Peter Coleman, much to Janice's mortification, related how he had spanked sense into his auburn-haired wife's behind in a way that got her hot in front as well as in back, it was just about unanimously agreed that the formation of this club would be designed using spanking as a kind of aphrodisiacal stimulant to release conventional inhibitions as regards marital morality.
On the other hand, there was some opposition to this philosophical theorizing, and all of it came from the distaff side. The women argued that it wasn't fair that they be spanked before they were fucked while the men got off scot-free. To this, Carl Donegan whimsically remarked, "There's no rule that says a girl can't turn a man over her lap and paddle his bare ass and use her other hand to see whether his cock is responding. I don't think any of us would object to that if we wanted to fuck the girl."
This dissolved the objections in a gale of laughter, and finally it was agreed that the very first formal meeting of the new secret spanking-swapping society should meet at the home of Mark and Agatha MacDonald the following Friday night. Cissie, to be sure, would have to be sent off to a movie or maybe, better yet, be confined to the Donegan house with her girlfriend Betsy, who also would be confined to the Donegan house hors de concours, so that her parents might attend and take part in this gala festival of festigation and fucking.
But if the Donegans and the MacDonalds thought that by leaving Betsy and Cissie together so as to keep them in the dark about what was really taking place, they were vastly in error. Betsy, as hostess in her own house, had told her parents that she would prepare supper for herself and her girlfriend, and both Carl and Georgia warned her that if they caught wind that there were any boys in the house while they were out for the evening-attending a community affairs meeting, as they euphemistically called it-Betsy's bottom would be so sore that she would be unable to sit comfortably for at least a month.
Not that Betsy did not think of the idea of getting her boyfriend over and having him bring that same nice fellow for Cissie. But she knew very well that her parents would keep their word, and she had no desire for another spanking such as she had incurred already. But after supper, while she and Cissie did the dishes, she intimated "Gee, I wonder what that big meeting is all about?'
"I don't know, Betsy. My folks are going there too." Cissie hadn't been told that the meeting of the "Wifespankers Club of Northbrook" was to take place in her very own house. "Do you know who else is going?"
"I think the Warrens are, and also the Fairborns," Betsy confided. "I heard Mom telling Dad just the other night that they'd be there too."
"I suppose it's something about the PTA or taxes or something," Cissie concluded.
"I'll bet it's not," Betsy giggled with a mysterious wink.
"Why? Whatever do you mean, Betsy?"
"Oh, come on. Use your imagination. Don't you ever listen in on your folks' conversation?"
"I try not to," Cissie confessed. "I did it when I was real little, ten or eleven, and boy did I ever get my heinie blistered! I'm a grownup girl now, and I don't want another hairbrush spanking, thank you."
"Well, natch!" Betsy derided her friend with the authority of greater age and experience. "Only last night I heard something that got me all excited. I'm sure they didn't know I was around, or they wouldn't have talked the way they did. Anyhow, Dad was saying something about what fun it was going to be to see how much guts some of the girls had when it came to taking a good sound fantailing on the bare."
"You don't mean it!" Cissie gasped, her eyes enormous now with interest.
"I sure do. That's exactly what he said, so there now too. And anyhow, Mom said then that she felt there would be a lot of embarrassment right at the start when the gals had to peel down in front of their own hubbies."
"Well, wouldn't that throw you?" Cissie demanded, shaking her head in disbelief. "Now why would grownup folks go to a meeting and talk about spanking?"
"Because, dummy, they're going to do that," Betsy patiently explained as if to an idiot child. "And you can take it from me, it's not going to stop with spanking. They're all going there for a sort of a wife-swapping binge."
"Betsy Donegan! How can you say such a thing, and about your own parents, too?" Cissie MacDonald was scandalized.
But Betsy only giggled and winked. "Only way you're going to find out is to sneak over there and watch."
"But we don't even know where the meeting is," Cissie complained.
"I wouldn't be surprised if it was at your own house, Cissie. It's sort of the biggest in the neighborhood, isn't it?"
"Well, yes, but what's that got to do with it?"
"Oh, are you ever dimwitted! And you're supposed to be so smart in school," Betsy said exasperatedly. "If they're going to swap, they'll want bedrooms, won't they, stupid?"
A great light dawned, and Cissie turned scarlet. "You mean-oh no-I don't believe it!"
"Sneak over there and see, I dare you."
"I will if you will," Cissie murmured. Their eyes met, then Betsy giggled very self-consciously.
Tm not chicken," she retorted, "so let's go. We'd better go by the alley on Parker Place, so we can sneak through the garden and see from the side of the house without being seen. Boy, if they catch us, will our names be mud."
"And our bottoms will need about a dozen cushions," Cissie mournfully reminded her.. . . .
The two-teenagers put on their light spring coats, for the evening air had suddenly turned quite cool, and left the Donegan house and went down the alley till they came to the garden and yard of the MacDonalds. The fence was only about four feet high, and each girl climbed it nimbly and dropped down. Then, holding hands, they crept towards the house from the west side. A light was on in one of the guest bedroom, and Betsy tiptoed toward it, her finger pressed to her mouth to warn Cissie to keep silence.
"Just grab hold of the windowsill and lift yourself just so you can see what's going on." Cissie nodded, her heart beating very fast. She grabbed hold of the windowsill and hoisted herself up till her eyes were on a level with it. Then they widened enormously, and she dropped down gasping. Betsy promptly put her hand over her friend's mouth, demanding in a husky whisper, "What didja see, huh?"
"Tt was that Mrs. Demby-you know, that big blonde-and she was over Mr. Coleman's lap and all she had on was a bra and a garter belt, and boy, was her tail red, and he was still spanking her! She was looking back and sort of smiling at him as if she wanted it!" Cissie confided in an awed whisper.
"Didn't I tell you? And you know what they're going to do next, don't you? Fuck!" Betsy hissed. "Come on, let's get back home to my place. Boy, did we find out something tonight!"
* * *
After refreshments, Carl Donegan had extinguished all the lights in the big room, set up a daylight screen and then turned on his movie projector to show them all a "blue" film. A friend of his in San Francisco had bought it for him, and it showed two lovely housewives, both neglected by their husbands, consoling each other in Lesbian style. One was a big tittied, golden-haired young woman who slightly resembled Georgia, and this circumstance drew admiring and obscene comments which made even mature Georgia Donegan blush like a schoolgirl. The other was a tall, stately young woman, and when the latter knelt down between the blonde's sprawled thighs and began to gamahuch her knees, there were gasps from all the women in the audience, and moans of torment from the aroused men.
The movie had got them all into the proper erotic mood, so Carl Donegan, taking over at the first meeting as emcee and president by acclamation of the "Wifespankers Club of Northbrook," declared the rulers laid down for membership. They had begun this evening by having Carl and Georgia hand out numbered slips to every comer, and now it was time to examine the slips. Carl Donegan had a big roulette wheel and he spun it. He kept on spinning it until he'd turned up some of the numbers of the guests, and the first one drawn was Lorraine Demby, who was wearing a strapless black satin evening gown that made her look especially sexy, most of all to her own rather "square" husband Ed. The next number turned out to be that of Peter Coleman.
Both rose amid rather lascivious bantering, and Carl Donegan now declared, "Well now, you're sort of going to be guinea pigs for our little club, Lorraine and Peter. Now remember, we're not going to do anything. The idea is that Lorraine is going to take a spanking from Peter-unless he'd rather do it the other way around."
"Oh no, Mr. President," Lorraine Demby giggled, looking at Ed with a kind of scornful expression on her face, "I think it's the right way to start. I don't mind being a martyr to progress, anyway, and maybe my hubby will get some ideas."
As all eyes turned on Ed Demby, while that worthy growled, puffed at his cigar, and stirred uneasily. He was also getting rather red in the face. Just before they had come, Lorraine had told Ed that she wasn't at all happy about the way things were working out in their marriage, and he had better start thinking very seriously about spending more time with her and less at his business if he wanted the marriage to last.
Peter Coleman himself was a little self-conscious, because although he regarded himself as a Casanova, he had never performed before an audience. But the sight of luscious Lorraine blushing and looking rather sheepishly downcast, just as a little girl might when summoned to the parental bedroom for a spanking, made his prick begin to ache and determined him to put on a show that would be worthy of the initiatory ceremonies of this new underground group.
Lorraine Demby had purposely put on white linen play shorts, and under them a very filmy pair of white nylon panty briefs, sandals, a pullover red silk blouse with puffed short sleeves, and a strapless bra. This left her magnificent legs bare, and although Ed Demby had remonstrated with her about going to a party in such summary attire, she had told him pointedly, "Look, Buster, we're going for the purpose of playing around and having fun and games, see? Now What's the sense of going in an elaborate evening gown and lots of undies when we know we're going to undress. And don't forget, Ed, since you're going to let me play around, the same goes for you and I won't ever criticize you for it."
"You really mean that, honey?" he had gasped. Already his mind was forming images of such delectable pieces of pussy as Janice Coleman and Brenda Fairborn, whose charms, even in a neighborly way had already excited him. Now the actual prospect, soon to be realized, of having them undress, lie on the bed and let him fuck them, overcame his scruples about Lorraine's attire as much as it did about her giving herself to another man.
"How are we going to do it?" Georgia Donegan wanted to know for future reference.
"Any way both partners agree to," her husband decreed. And then, giving her a mocking little glance, he added, "Which means, baby, if you misbehave, I can even string you up by the heels and do it to you upside down."
"Do what to me, lover? Spank or screw?" was Georgia's answer, which brought about a wave of hilarity in which even Lorraine Demby joined. The sumptuous blonde matron glanced over now at Madge Warren, and Madge blushed furiously, remembering how she and Lorraine had had a stolen hour of pussy rubbing and gamming together, and how she had been induced to spank Lorraine's opulent bottom in a way that served to stimulate the older woman and served to release her own pent-up feelings.
Then Madge glanced at her husband, hoping he would catch the idea through ESP. But he was much too intent watching Lorraine now ascend a deep leather-padded armchair and, kneeling solidly, lean herself over the back of the chair and hold the sides to offer up her bottom in total submission.
Peter Coleman now advanced, and it was evident that he had a hard-on, judging from the bulge in his trousers-fly.
'What's the matter, Pete? Can't you wait?" Pat Wilbur quipped.
"Of course I can, you idiot!" Peter Coleman testily retorted. "But I'm certainly happy the roulette wheel picked my partner for me. Lorraine has a superb figure, and Tm going to pay plenty of attention to it."
"Oh my, that sounds ominous!" Lorraine Demby giggled as she gave Peter Coleman a quick glance over her shoulder.
He had now put his hands to the fasteners of her play shorts and was opening them and drawing them down, as she accommodatingly arched herself out to show her total submission. The little panties were next, and a concerted gasp of "Oooohhh!" and "Ahhhhh!" came from the intently watching audience at the sight of so magnificent an ass. Lorraine bent an ass. Lorraine bent even further over the chair back to thrust it out for Peter, who decided to begin with a simple hand spanking. His left palm bearing down on her chin bone, his right first lingeringly caressing the satiny contours of her bare behind, to test and appraise the resilience, he at last began to spank. These were smarting, noisy slaps that he began with, and Lorraine sucked in her breath, closed her eyes and waited. She knew perfectly well what she was showing, not only to Peter Coleman but to all the other witnesses: her gaping pink cunt. She was hoping this would work Ed up so much that when they got home, he might even have some spunk left for her own burning and yearning cunt.
But at the moment, she wasn't even thinking about Ed. She was thinking only about getting her kicks and getting worked up so that when Peter Coleman took her into a guest bedroom, she could really cast away all her inhibitions and indulge in the hot bout she had been dreaming about for so long. She had heard something of Peter's reputation, and suspected he was quite a lover. She couldn't have been happier if she had picked him herself.
His hand stung, and he continued to slap her bottom noisily, but in a capricious pattern. Sometimes he would do it in a rapid flurry of spanks all over her big firm ass, then again he would pause for at least a minute, causing her untold suspense, then suddenly give her two or three hard spanks all on a certain spot.
She couldn't anticipate, and so her nerves began to be keyed up. By the time he had given her forty slaps, her bottom was flaming and she was squirming, while tears coursed down her flushed cheeks.
"I think that will do for a starter. All right, come along, Lorraine. And you needn't put your panties and shorts back on again, you won't need them," Peter Coleman decided, a remark which again caused general merriment.
He and Lorraine went down the hall, amid cheers of encouragement from their friends and neighbors, Lorraine feeling extremely sheepish and almost very embarrassed by having to hobble with her shorts and panties still twisted around her knees, and her red ass receding from the amused and excited view of all in the living room. When they reached the bedroom, which was the last one on the right, Peter Colemen closed the door and drew the bolt. Then he kissed her hard on the mouth and muttered, "I don't know how it happened, baby, but of all the broads at the party, I had you marked out from the first."
"You did?"
"Mmmmmm-hmmmm." His right hand began to stroke her flaming naked ass, then his left hand slyly slipped between their bodies, his forefinger creeping down to find the soft pink pussy-lips, while Lorraine groaned and threw her arms around him, pressing tightly to him. Peter Coleman's left forefinger grew bolder. Advancing inside the fleshy portals, he found the dainty and hardening bud of her clit, and began very delicately to rub and stroke it.
Her breath now came in passionate snorts, and she tottered against him as she pressed with all her might up against his weapon.
"You're a very immodest young woman," he chuckled. "If Ed could only see you now, I'll bet he'd want to give you a spanking. Which reminds me, I haven't finished what I started out there. And I think I'm going to do just that, young woman."
"Oh no-not more-oh my goodness, my bottom's already hot, Pete darling," Lorraine gasped, backing up against the wall. But he had already seized her, hauled her over his lap before she could resist, pulled her shorts and panties completely off, then, mastering her ineffectual and not really very strenuous attempts at revolt, removed her blouse. To his amusement, she wore a garter-belt.
"No stockings, and a garter belt? I've got an even better idea," he chuckled. "But first, a little more fantailing to even up some of the red places on that big sweet ass of yours, Lorraine honey."
"No-don't you dare-I've been spanked enough! Oh Pete, please fuck me!"
"Everything in good time, baby. No sense rushing things," masterfully he tucked his left arm around her waist, raised his hand and resumed and spanking even more energetically. Lorraine Demby squealed and her legs kicked the air frantically as, for about five minutes, his hand rose and fell. It was about that time the Cissie had hoisted herself up to the level of the windowsill and peered in for a moment, long enough to discover what was going on.
It was as well for her girlish virtue and tender years that she didn't wait any longer. When he paused, Lorraine was sobbing wildly and her bottom was twisting and squirming uncontrollably.
Peter Coleman now deftly-from the experience of long practice, to be sure-unhooked her garter-belt and began to use it as a kind of whip, flicking her swollen ass and applying a few stinging cuts to the tops of her plump thighs. Lorraine frantically bucked and jerked every which-way, desperately trying to cover with her hands the vulnerable expanse of her posterior, and begging off.
Savagely excited, Peter Coleman flung the garter belt away, yanked down his zipper to liberate his prick, and turned her over, then with a single deep thrust, hiked himself inside her.
A long mewling cry tore from the buxom blonde matron, and she clamped her legs frenziedly around his, her fingernails scrabbling at his neck, and she kissed him so hard that their gums bumped together bruisingly, her tongue foraging between his lips and meeting his in route.
The bed creaked its protest as they struggled in a kind of gloriously hostile coupling in which each tried to be the victor by venting his or her most embattled lust-fantasies.
And thus it was that the "Wifespankers Club of Northbrook" got really and torridly under way!
CHAPTER XII
Once again Carl Donegan spun the roulette wheel, and since all of them had been aroused now by the sight of Lorraine Demby's reddened ass squirming and jerking under Peter Coleman's slaps as they all could see, what inhibitions and hang-ups the others had as regards public aspects and amoral finale of swapping conjugal partners, had begun to vanish. Lovely Madge Warren clasped her husband's hand, squeezing it, breathless, her eyes shining, and even he was aroused.
"You're sure you won't mind, honey, if I screw another girl?" he whispered.
"I want you to. Maybe you'll learn some new tricks and try them out on me, you bad boy," she whispered back. "Gosh, I wonder who's going to pick me-or you, too, lover?"
The little ball had settled now in its niche and the roulette wheel had slowed, but Carl Donegan called out, "Whoa. Twenty-eight on the black."
"That's me!" Karen Wilbur squealed, and then gulped as she found all eyes on her. "Oh gosh, and I had to go wear a full slip and panty girdle, too!"
Laughter greeted this, but now it was tense and erotic laughter, in which the neighborliness was vanishing and giving way to carnal desire and admiration and anticipation. For Karen was certainly one of the most attractive young wives in the group, and every man there wanted to fuck her.
"Now to find out who Karen's partner is going to be," Carl Donegan declared as he spun the wheel again. This time the number was "forty-eight on the red" but no one had it. It took four more spins until he called out, "Sixteen on the black," and this too drew laughter, because Brenda Fairborn got up and called somewhat disappointedly, "Hey, that's my number!"
Karen appealed to the president. "What do we do now?"
"Hmmm. That's one of the rules I haven't thought up," Carl Donegan confessed rather sheepishly. "But what's so wrong about being spanked by another girl, and then maybe trying the switch-hitting game for a change?"
"Maybe that's good idea," Pat Wilbur spoke up enthusiastically. Although he had professed to be completely tolerant in this new deal of their connubial union, the fact was that Pat still had a few jealous worries. But by having Karen go off with
Brenda, he felt that his marital rights and honor were still preserved intact.
"All right, if that's the way you feel," Carl Donegan declared. "We'll try it just this once. Then the two girls can tell us their reactions, and we'll see whether to incorporate it as a definite rule in our next meeting. Fair enough?"
"Sure, Carl, that sounds fair," Brenda giggled. "But who gets to spank whom?"
"We'll have to cut cards and the highest one does the spanking, the lowest gets spanked," Carl ingeniously improvised. Georgia went to get a deck of cards and came back, and both Karen and Brenda, eyeing each other rather nervously, stepped forward.
Brenda drew a seven of diamonds, and Karen, to her delight, a ten of clubs.
"Oh gosh!" the dark-brown-haired, svelte older woman sighed, "I guess I'm for it."
"Come along, you naughty girl, I'm going to teach you a good lesson," Karen giggled. She looked over at Pat. "Just you behave yourself, young man, because you see I'm not cheating on you. All right, Brenda, march!"
They took the bedroom directly opposite the one Brenda and Peter were occupying, and they both had to giggle as they heard the groans and sobs and gasps of ecstasy emanating from behind that locked door.
Svelte Brenda Fairborn slowly began to take off her red cotton dress and the slip under it, revealing the titties thrusting out boldly against the cups of a beige-colored nylon bra and her sleek loins snugged in a matching pair of panties. There was a garter belt which gripped her off-black nylons, and her open-toe sandals were high-heeled.
Karen Wilbur didn't bother undressing at all. She looked around and saw a dresser and on top was a hairbrush. She grabbed it, turned around and said, "Come here and lie down across my lap, Brenda. And pull your panties down just before you do it, you hear me?"
"Hey," Brenda protested, "No fair! Nobody said anything about hairbrushes."
"Well, I'm saying it now. As the spanker, I get to pick my own weapon. Do you want me to take you back out there in front of everybody and get a vote?"
"Oh no," Brenda hastily amended. "For heaven's sake, not that. Just-just please be gentle-" as her fingers tremblingly began to tug down her panties.
The thick dark brown curls of Brenda's bush at the apex of her thighs made Karen's eyes glisten. Switch-hitting was something new to her, but when she saw Brenda's beautiful thighs and delightfully jouncy bottom, she began to experience a very pleasant tingling between her own thighs as she seated herself in a straight-backed chair and tapped her knees with the brush commandingly. Brenda sighed again, got her panties down to mid-thigh, and hobbled over to place herself over from the right, grabbing the rungs of the chair and closing her eyes.
As if she were a veteran spanker, Karen promptly tucked in her victim's waist with her left arm, patted and naked, flinching hindquarters with the back of the brush, then lifted the brush and brought it down over the naked derriere with a smark Crackkk! It struck the upper curve of Brenda Fairborn's right ass-cheek.
A frantic squeal was torn from the victim, who at once looked back. "Oww! That hurt! Not so hard, for gosh sakes, Karen!"
"You just keep still and stay in position, or I'll really paddle your lovely bottom, you naughty girl!" Karen warned her, and then she proceeded to apply a really sound spanking which soon had Brenda kicking, struggling, trying to put her hands back and crying like a baby after about thirty good hard swats.
"You chicken!" Karen joshed. "All right, you can get up now. Take off everything, and then get up on the bed."
"You really hurt me," Brenda sniffled. "That's dirty." She kept rubbing her dark red, swollen ass.
"If you don't hurry, I'll give you another dose," Karen warned, and Brenda was swift to take off bra and garter belt and to step out of her panties entirely, then to scramble onto the bed.
Karen undressed at her leisure. She wore a blue dress in a large floral print, a petticoat, a bra, charcoal-brown nylons to which a garter belt's tabs hooked tightly, and high-heeled pumps. Now she began to remove the dress and petticoat, then finally the panty girdle, exposing her own thick triangular jet-black pussy bush. Then, keeping the brush in her right hand, she moved to the bed and got onto it.
"What-what are you going to do to me?" Brenda Fairborn nervously inquired.
"Love you up, what else, honey? I've still got hold of this brush, so you'd better behave or I'll give you another good hard spanking," Karen warned.
Then she added, "I want the bra off, too," and Brenda, blushing, had to obey.
Karen sighed happily and sank down over her friend. Her mouth silenced Brenda's trembling plaints, then she began lasciviously to grind her cunt against Brenda's. It wasn't long before the brush fell forgotten from her hand, and then both her hands crept under Brenda's flaming bottom and began to squeeze the hot cheeks, while she ground more furiously than ever, till both women achieved a furious spend.
CHAPTER XIII
The next pairing of the roulette wheel brought about union between Georgia Donegan and, after two spins which turned up numbers which no one held, Jim Fairborn. Carl Donegan had decided that in the case of two women being paired off, they might at their mutual request, have the spanking take place in the privacy of a bedroom, and the vote was about a tie pro and con. Everybody wanted to see the action, so Carl amended the rule so that the spanking had to be given before the couple adjourned to the bedroom. However, since Georgia and Jim were a properly mixed couple, there would be no question but that Georgia would unveil her voluptuous bottom, which she now proceeded to do.
Again she had worn a combination of suit coat and pants, and she looked very sophisticated yet youthful, with her golden hair done in a girlish pageboy with the ends turned under. Before she mounted the leather-padded chair, she calmly unhooked her pants and stepped out of them, then calmly climbed up on the chair and bent over it. She wore an extremely tight peach-colored panty-girdle. It shaped out the resplendently opulent cheeks of her ass, and the sight of her baby-pink sheened skin in that inch of revelation between the stocking tops and the girdle made the men in the audience cross their legs to hide their savage erections.
Jim Fairborn now gallantly offered to help her unfasten the panty girdle, but Georgia blushingly declined his offer and managed to tug it down herself, then shifted on her knees and bent well over the back of .the chair, gripping the sides tightly. Jim resorted to his hand, though even then a discussion was going on between Carl Donegan and Pat Wilbur and Ed Demby and Bob Warren as to whether the lottery shouldn't be used to designate the punishment instrument, whether it should be hand, belt, hairbrush, strap or flyswatter. Carl promised that by the next meeting he would have a set of rules all worked out and take a vote on them, the majority ruling.
But Jim wanted to have the pleasure of feeling his hand collide with Georgia's plump yet wonderfully firm pink-skinned ass, and he landed the first blow squarely on the ripe summit of her out-thrust bottom and drew a stifled gasp from the courageous matron. Fifty such slaps drew sobs and groans, and when Georgia finally wanly descended from the chair, her panty girdle twisted around her knees, her bottom flaming, it was seen there were tears running down her cheeks in profusion.
Jim then drew a cheer as well as obscene exhortations from all the other men as he stooped, lifted Georgia Donegan in his arms and bore her off to a bedroom. There, untangling the girdle and flinging it off, he helped Georgia removed her suit-coat and blouse, then the bra, leaving her in just her stockings and open-toe sandals. Then he himself undressed down to his socks, because he wanted to feel his naked flesh against hers. Panting and gasping, she stared up at him, turned over on her side, pitifully rubbing her flaming behind.
"You really went at me, lover," she breathed, "but you made me awfully hot doing it! Let's see if you're as good a lover as you are a spanker."
"I haven't had any complaints," he chuckled, as he faced her on his left side, one hand cuddling one of her titties, the other caressing her extremely warm bare bottom.
Their lips met, and Georgia, with a happy whimper, adjusted herself to him, reaching for his prick with one hand and opening the lips of her cunt with the other as she steered him home to her bower.
He began to thrust deeply, and her breath was quickened as she clutched him. His right leg flung over her left, and he clamped her to him as he began to fuck her with long, digging thrusts that drew long, sobbing groans of ecstasy from the hostess of the party.
* * *
Now it was time for another draw, and Madge Warren uttered a squeal of embarrassed surprise when her number was first drawn. The very next one was Bob's, and Carl shook his head.
"That's one thing we definitely won't do, and I think you'll all agree with me. The same couple wouldn't find any novelty in a situation like this, because the whole purpose is to swap partners and get excited by spanking, right?"
They unanimously agreed with him, and so Madge had to await the luck of the wheel. It took two more spins before she drew the number of the president of the "Wifespankers Club of North-brook," who was designated when the rolling ball settled into his number of seven on the red.
Madge rose, glancing at her husband, who chuckled and patted her bottom. "Give her a good one, Carl, for me," he called.
"I hate you!" she gasped, her face furiously crimson. She had worn a dark-brown minidress and charcoal-brown pantyhose, while her sophisticated guiche Bob gave her a look of sophistication. At Carl's genial suggestion, she removed the mini-dress completely, showing that she was wearing only bra and panties under the pantyhose. She knelt down in the chair, nervously looking over her shoulder, while Carl leaned over to hook his fingers under the waistband of the pantyhose and lower them to mid-thigh, then take the little panties and pull them down and twist them inside the pantyhose, to act as an effective fetter of restraint.
Her creamy bottom appeared, and there were admiring calls from the men as well as from some of the women. Madge turned scarlet and closed her eyes, but she was soon alerted by a stinging slap of Carl's hand on the base of her left buttock, followed by one even harder on the right.
"Oooooh!" she squealed, as she wriggled forward. She was extremely sensitive, keyed up as she was by the thought of this club which perhaps might straighten out the lives of Bob and herself, and if Lorraine had been present at the moment, she could have told all their audience that Madge was extremely hypersensitive when it came to paddling.
At any rate, after thirty spanks, when Carl was just warming up, Madge suddenly groaned and plunged her hands back to cover her naked ass, sobbing. "I can't take any more, please let me off, please, Carl dear!"
"No, you don't, young lady," her own husband called as he strode forward to grab her hands and squat down before the chair. "Lay into her, Carl."
"No, don't, please! It hurts too much!" Madge wailed. She tried to cross her legs, lower her bottom to her heels, but her husband dragged on her arms so she couldn't. Carl unstrapped his belt from his slacks and told her, "For trying to beg off and disgracing us, honey, I'm afraid I'll have to spank you with my belt about twenty times. Get ready."
The belt smacked down with a wicked sound and Madge yelled and lunged forward, looking back over her shoulder at her attacker. By the time he had finished the twenty, her bottom was violently striped, superimposed over the flaming red, and she was weeping like a child, wriggling her naked ass incessantly.
"You can let her go. I'll take care of your wife now," Carl Donegan said hoarsely. Then, lifting Madge in his arms, he bore her off to his won bedroom, where he worked the pantyhose completely off, and the little panties as well, leaving her naked except for her bra. This, in turn, came off, but not until he had thrust his prick deep inside her and begun to fuck her. Midway through he paused, grinding his teeth to hold back his juices, and his fingers were extended to unhook the bra and then to revel as his fingers cupped and kneaded her panting titties.
Madge was groaning with delight now, but there were still tears on her face from the spanking. Carl Donegan found this intoxicatingly stimulating. As Madge began to wriggle and buck under him, he uttered a yell of annoyance and spontaneously exploded inside of her.
"It's all your fault," he accused her. "Now either you take another spanking, or you'll have to work me up again."
"Oh, not another spanking! I'll do whatever you want, Carl dear," she cried.
After he had got off the bed and each had had their ablutions, he sat down in a chair near the bed, straddled his legs and ordered, "Get down on your knees now and French me, baby."
"Ohhhh, no! I couldn't do that!" Madge wailed.
"Maybe you need fifty with the belt to teach you how to say yes," he sarcastically remarked as he stretched his hand toward the belt.
Madge flung herself down on her knees, stark naked, and at once clasped his knees with her trembling hands, bowed her head and began to suck cock.
When he was hard enough, he made her sit in his lap facing him, and he shifted himself to the edge of the deep chair. She was obliged to impale herself, and then, her arms wrapped around his neck as they exchanged hot French-kisses, she worked herself up and down.
* * *
Bob Warren found himself paired off with Agatha MacDonald. It was exciting for him because reticent Agatha looked extremely mature and imposingly sure of herself, while he, much younger, by at least seven years, was about to subject her to the juvenile humiliation of a spanking before fucking her. Agatha knelt down in a chair after insisting that she was going to prepare herself. The pulled up her modestly cut dress, hoisted up the slip under it, and then, tucking the garments up to her armpits, reached down and began to fuck down her panties. She wore only a narrow garter belt to hold up her gunmetal-gray nylons.
When at last she revealed her magnificent ass, the soft pink carnation-tinting of her bare skin made Bob Warren tremble with lust. Her sumptuous bottom deserved more than his hand, he felt, and so he chose a round ivory hand mirror which Janice Coleman was obliging enough to get from Agatha's own bedroom.
Armed with this, he put his hand on the back of Agatha's neck, told her to stick her bottom further out, and patted her all over with the back of the mirror while she squirmed and gasped. Forty good hard smacks left her bottom violently reddened, and she was agitatedly rocking back and forth on her knees, trying to lower her bottom, and at last plunging her hands back to cover up.
"That calls for extra punishment, doesn't it, members?" he called.
"It sure does," Janice eagerly agreed, and so did . Pat Wilbur.
"Oh no, I could stand any more, honestly not, oh please don't! I'll do anything, anything at all, Bob!" Agatha MacDonald moaned. He bent down and whispered something in her ear, and she turned flaming red, a color in her face to match her bottom as she nodded.
Then she got slowly down from the chair, continuing to rub her naked bottom, her clothes still trussed up under her armpits, and trundled off With him down the hall to find some room where they could become better acquainted and usurp the connubial rights of their own nominal partners.
As soon as they reached the room, Bob Warren began to strip down to his shorts and socks, letting his prick stick out in violent erection. Agatha gasped and blushed again, and slowly sank down on her knees. But she was shivering with desire, and putting her hands on Bob's bottom, she began to French him. When he reached zenith, he ordered her to stop, reached down and seized by her by the armpits and flung her on the bed. Then he mounted her and soon they fucking violently. Before the session was over, Agatha MacDonald had wrapped her arms around him and was bucking and violently wriggling as she sought to drain him of all his juices, which didn't take very much longer.
CHAPTER XIV
There was no need for the roulette wheel now, for only Janice Coleman and Pat Wilbur were left. Janice tried to beg off the spanking on the grounds that there weren't enough members still in the room to form an audience, except for Ed Demby and Mark MacDonald. The problem was, of course, that the Lesbian pairing between Brenda and Karen had been allowed, so two of the husbands in this first meeting were going to suffer the denial of their prick-passion. As a sort of consolation prize they talked to Pat about altering the rules so this couldn't ever happen again, and then Ed Demby and Mark MacDonald were permitted to help with the spanking of lovely auburn-haired, tawny-skinned Janice.
Each of them seized her by an arm and pulled her down over a chair, while Pat Wilbur worked her tight panty girdle down to the knees, rolled up and pinned her dress with a safety pin he had found in Agatha MacDonald's bedroom, and then proceeded to give her twenty-five good hard spanks with the flat of his hand. Then he moved away from the chair and allowed Ed Demby amuse himself with an equal number of spanks on Janice's flaming bottom. By now she was sobbing and begging for mercy, but there was still Mark MacDonald to be accounted for. He too gave her twenty-five with his hand, and she was wailing as if she had been beaten by a horsewhip. Her bottom was violently swollen and Ed and Mark watched ruefully as Pat Wilbur led her triumphantly off to a bedroom.
Now that she found herself alone in a bedroom with another man, Janice found herself a little hesitant, but Pat showed himself capable of overcoming her timidities, by making her lie on her back with her bottom just at the edge of the bed. Her legs draped over his shoulders, as he knelt, he began to gamahuch her, and the prodding of his tongue against her clit drove Janice Coleman wild. When he rose, having held himself back all this time, he grabbed her by the back of the knees, doubled her knees back against her titties and crouched forward over her, cramming his prick into her cunt.
Her wildly rapturous cries were deafening as she began to buck and writhe and meet him.
* * *
It was well after midnight when the first meeting of the "Wifespankers Club of Northbrook" broke up, with plans for next Friday's session and this time at the Donegan house. But Betsy Donegan and Cissie MacDonald hadn't been idle over in the MacDonald home. They had decided to play a little spanking game of their own, and they had played cards to determine who would spank and who would be spanked. Betsy had lost, and so, draped over Cissie's lap, her panties twisted around her ankles, her wrists fettered with a towel, she yipped and pleaded in vain while Cissie spanked her bounding and furiously reddening bottom with a hairbrush.
When it was over, Cissie felt contrite and wanted to console her friend. She made Betsy hobble over to the bed and lie on it on her back, then she took off all her clothes and joined her. Soon the two teenagers were pussy rubbing and French-kissing, their fingers exploring each other's bottoms and titties and pussies, rocking backward and forward as their passions mounted, till at last they tasted the full joy of Lesbos.
By the time the MacDonalds returned home, they could observe two very demure teenagers sitting watching the late, late movie on TV. As Agatha murmured to Mark, "Aren't they little angels?" Don't forget, we have to be awfully careful that they never find out anything that happens on a night like this, because little pitchers have big ears."
Mark MacDonald offered to drive Betsy back home, and she accepted. As she got into the car, her skirt hiked up and he could not help noticing her lovely thighs. Even though he had had plenty of pussy tonight, his prick felt itchy and over ten-sioned, and he had an erection just thinking about the young girl beside him.
"How was the meeting, Mr. MacDonald?" Betsy Donegan wanted to know, putting on her most innocent look.
"Great. We had a lot of hot issues to settle, and by and large everybody was happy."
"That's nice," Betsy murmured. "I wonder if all the grownups were talking about us teenagers and whether we shouldn't be allowed to date. I know I want to. What do you think about it, Mr. MacDonald?"
He didn't answer, because if the truth were told, he would like nothing better than to take Betsy Donegan over his lap and spank her naked bottom until she yelled for mercy, then fuck her and teach her how delicious consummation could be, once one earned the right to it by erotic enlightenment.
But, he told himself sadly, Betsy was still a long way from the age of consent, just like this own naughty daughter Cissie. That was why he almost turned the car into a ditch when Betsy innocently came out with her next question: "Whom did you get to spank at the meeting, Mr. MacDonald? Don't you wish it was me instead?"
"Betsy MacDonald!" he gasped, his face pale, his eyes bulging. "What in the world are you talking about?"
"You know," she answered. "Cissie doesn't understand, but I do. You started a special club, didn't you, Mr. MacDonald? I know, because I heard my parents talking all about it. You're nice, I like you. Before you get me home, wouldn't you like to give me a little spanking and love me up some?"
"Why, you little dickens!" he gasped, his face turning red. The size of his prick made him realize that Betsy was a very tempting piece of cunt, no matter what her age was. And as he tried to think of a reasonable answer, he was making plans to try to see to it that Cissie and Betsy could somehow be included. Maybe if they were naughty, they could be publicly spanked in front of everyone. As sort of a prelude to the night's activities.
"You'd snitch," he accused her.
"No, I wouldn't. Go on, don't be a big sissy, Mr. MacDonald. Give me a good hot kiss."
Mark MacDonald turned the car off into a dead end lane. The darkness of the night and the lack of traffic made it quite possible. Then he pulled her to him and kissed her hard on the mouth. Betsy moaned and opened her lips and put her tongue between his lips, urging him to proceed. His hand crept under her skirt, and she arched herself so she could feel the tickling of her pussy by the pad of his fingertips.
At last, by masterful self-control, he was able to break away and continue the trip homeward. But he knew one thing. He was going to talk to Georgia and Carl Donegan very soon about maybe letting their daughter take part in the meetings of the "Wifespankers Club of Northbrook." No matter how enticing and exciting all these married women were, as he should well know from tonight's experience, very few men would be proof against Betsy's blandishments. He wondered if the swinging Donegans would let their precocious daughter go beyond the spanking stage. He would give a lot to take her cherry after making her undulating ass cherry-red.. . . .
CHAPTER XV
Mark MacDonald's suggestion to the Donegans that perhaps their daughter and even his own hot-pussied Cissie ought to be included as "debutantes" in the club was voted down, as he really expected it would be. After all, both girls were under the age of consent, and though parents may be swingers, they usually have a mental block as a general rule when it comes to the purity of their own offspring. Even though Mark argued that it would be sound psychology to let a girl be initiated by a trustworthy friend or neighbor so that she wouldn't be tempted to be promiscuous with some immature teenaged boy who could easily get her pregnant, he still lost his motion.
But that wasn't to say that he lost Betsy Donegan. That wise young virgin had already secretly decided she was going to go for broke and get her first all-the-way experience from a handsome, mature man like him, who could surely know how to ease the problems for a first-time fucking confrontation. And she knew just the way to get what she wanted: a little discreet blackmail.
Meanwhile, the "Wifespankers Club of Northbrook" called its second "activity meeting" and it was the very next Friday and at Betsy's own house. This time, she and Cissie were enjoined to go over to Cissie's house and told they could watch TV and raid the refrigerator all they liked-but no boys. Cissie grumbled, but Betsy didn't mind that injunction at all. She had already selected her initiator, and it was the strong silent type in Mark MacDonald-though she didn't tell Cissie what she was thinking. There are some things even close girlfriends don't tell one another, after all.
Once again, the members got into the proper sexy mood by watching a new stag film which Carl Donegan had bought at an adult bookstore in Chicago's Loop. This one, however, was more appropriate to the theme of the club, since it dealt with spanking. A handsome Amazonian brunette in boots and gloves of gleaming black leather, black nylon bra and panties, was seen at the outset of the movie, lecturing her meek-looking husband about staying home and doing the chores while she went out stepping. He seemed abjectly ready to kowtow to her least whim, so she put on a fur coat and went out. Soon the phone rang, the husband answered, his face beamed and he spoke animatedly. The camera then panned to the front door's opening and the husband greeting a curvaceous strawberry blonde of about 25, with big round jutting titties and a succulently ripe bottom, wearing a sheer white chiffon dress under which her black net bra and panties, smoke-colored nylon hose and a black satin-elastic garter belt could be plainly seen.
The blonde and the husband began to neck on the couch and soon the chiffon dress had fluttered off to the floor and the blonde was on the husband's lap, his left hand slid round her to thrust down into the cup of her bra to squeeze her big pink-sheened bubbie, while his right hand was fondling her inner thighs near the crotch of her sheer panties. Finally the strawberry blonde beauty rose, slipped down her panties, showing a thick dark bush, and lay on her back on the couch, drawing up her knees and holding them while the husband began to muff dive.
The camera then panned back to the front door, and in walked the Amazonian wife. Shedding her fur coat, she strode into the living room, to catch her husband tonguing the strawberry blonde's clit. Pushing him away, she seized the man-stealing culprit by the earlobe, hauled her over her lap, and proceeded to spank the girl's plump bare ass-cheeks a furiously rosy red with her gloved right hand while the victim kicked and wailed. The husband was wringing his hands, begging the brunette to show mercy, she shoved him away and went on spanking till the blonde nodded and wailed, tears running down her cheeks. Then, pushing the weeping victim off her lap, the brunette slid down her panties and spread her thighs. The almost naked well-spanked strawberry-blonde knelt before her rival and gamahuched her, while the brunette twisted the fingers of her gloved left hand in the pageboy curls of her defeated rival and kept her gamming till she came.
But then the tables turned, and the husband and the blonde seized the brunette, stretched her out on the couch on her tummy, and while the husband sat on his wife's shoulders and faced her bottom to apply his belt, the strawberry blonde had her revenge by taking a coat hanger to the frantically kicking long legs. At the fadeout, the brunette, naked but for gloves and boots, was Frenching the husband, who sat sprawled, his left forefinger frigging his sweetheart's clit as she sat beside him.
When the lights went up, one look at all the faces showed that the members were in the proper mood for a resumption of where they had left off last week.
Once again Carl Donegan used the lottery of the roulette wheel to determine the night's pairing. The first number called out by the fall of the little white ball into a numbered hole belonged to Madge Warren, who was quite flustered. And to her ecstatic delight, it was none other than Lorraine Demby whose number was next called . . . for it was this original pairing at the very beginning which had helped bring about the formation of the club.
"Point of order, Mr. President!" Ed Demby called.
"I'm hearing it, Ed. What's your beef?"
"Last week, when Karen and Brenda were paired off, two guys were left without any partners. Now we've got the same situation coming up again. How do we get around it?"
"That's a good point, Ed," Carl Donegan frowned, trying to think of something in a hurry. "What would you suggest as a remedy?"
"Well, something like maybe having the girl who gets spanked having a pair off with one of the two men left, but the spanker to be chose by a draw between the two men."
"Not a bad idea. All right, We'll try it this once. But first let's see who gets to spank whom," Carl chuckled. And when the deck of cards was produced, it was Lorraine Demby who got to deal out the punishment, to Madge's blushing consternation.
Also, at Carl's further stipulation, the husband of the spanked girl could have some fun preparing his wife and holding her down to take her medicine. So it was Bob Warren who helped blushing and somewhat fearful Madge peel off her blue rayon print dress and slip and then himself snugged down her piquant white nylon panty-briefs and then moved behind the armchair to hold her shoulders down so her bare creamy bottom would be thrust out to meet the punitive sting of Lorraine's hairbrush.
Madge wailed from the very first spank, for Lorraine was bound and determined to make her earlier Lesbian love partner get so hot she'd just beg for a creaming, and she did. The spanking over and Madge crying like a baby, she was marched into a bedroom by Lorraine who triumphantly made her strip all naked and then cuddled her in her arms and soon began to gamahuch her. Madge's sobs and plaints soon turned to gurgling sighs of rapture, and she forgave her executioner.
Georgia Donegan was pair off with Peter Coleman, while Karen Wilbur found Carl Donegan her spanker and then lover. To his great delight, Ed Demby's number was turned up to match with Brenda Fairborn's. And this time Ed didn't act like a square. He preferred, he said, to take Brenda over his lap as he sat down in the armchair, and soon his big hand was making her reddened ass weave and wriggle while her lovely long legs flailed the air and she began to beg for mercy-which he granted in a guest bedroom by first making her French him, then get on all fours and take it dog-fashion. Later, when Brenda ecstatically complimented him on his ardor and asked him how it was that Lorraine could say such disparaging things about his being an "old square" and a "lousy lover," Ed confessed that he was sort of scared of his buxom blonde wife's authoritative ways and had hesitated to try any bedroom tricks on her. Brenda giggled, rubbed her swollen bottom, and as she fondled his cock to bring it back to life, whispered, "You better give her a taste of what you gave me, then I'll bet you'll have a new wife, Ed lover!"
Agatha MacDonald found herself spanked and then fucked by Pat Wilbur, while Mark accommodated Janice Coleman. This left Bob Warren and Jim Fairborn without pussy, so they cut for deal and it was decided that Bob should be paired off with Lorraine Demby, while Jim took Bob's luscious creamy-skinned brunette wife Madge. And on this night there were no complaints whatsoever.. . . . . .
But late Saturday afternoon, while Mark MacDonald was driving out of the super mart to pick up some groceries, humming happily to himself about what a sexpot his mature wife Agatha had become since joining the "Wifespankers Club of Northbrook" and how at the same time he could have all the neighborhood pussy he wanted without her being jealous, Betsy Donegan was also at the super mart running an errand for her parents. As she was leaving, Mark came in, and this time she just tilted her pretty nose up in the air and said, "Chicken."
"Now just a minute young lady!" he growled.
"If you weren't, you'd drive me home the long way round," she teased.
He glared at her. Betsy was wearing a mini-dress which showed her thighs at least halfway, and only bobby socks, so her lovely creamy calves and thighs were deliciously exposed. "All right," he snapped. "Wait five minutes till I get what I came for. Then I'll attend to you."
"I'll wait in your car, Mr. MacDonald," she said primly and hurried away. When he got into the car, he drove out towards the forest preserves. "I just phoned your mother, your lady," he said.
"Ohh darn it, anyhow, what'd you have to go and do that for?" she wailed.
His lips curled in a mocking little smile. "I asked her permission to attend to you, young lady."
"Good-what did she say?"
"She gave me carte blanche. She says you've needed a good licking for ages."
"Hey, you lemme out!" Betsy protested.
"That's what you wanted, wasn't it?" he chuckled.
When they reached the forest preserves, Mark MacDonald turned the car into a dirt road where no one could see them. Then he got out, took Betsy by the wrist, led her over to a grassy knoll framed by tall oak and poplar trees, sat down on an old lightening-blasted stump of a tree, and promptly pulled her over his lap. Up went her miniskirt, and his eyes bulged-Betsy was wearing no panties.
"Thanks for making it so easy," he said grimly as he tucked her waist in with her left arm, and proceeded to administer a spanking that soon had her kicking and pleading with him to stop.
"I'll do anything-anything?' she squealed.
He righted her. "All right. You've been dying to learn about boys, so here's your chance. Get down on your knees and see what you can do about the trouble you've caused me."
Betsy, one hand rubbing her fiery bottom, snifflingly sank down on her knees. Then she opened the zipper of his slacks, drew out his bulging ramrod, and bower her head and began to suck and kiss. Mark MacDonald writhed in ecstasy till at last he felt himself drained.
"I can do lots more than that if you'd give a girl a chance," she mumbled.
"Tell you what, you cunning little devil. I'll see that you get fantailed whenever you've got it coming. And each time after punishment, I'll try to teach you something else-without spoiling you for your husband," he proposed.
"It's a bargain," Betsy giggled through her tears. Then, as she gingerly got back into the car, she murmured, "Bet you I can teach you more than you can teach me, though. And anyway, it's not fair for the man to have all the fun. Next time, Before I let you spank my heinie so hard you've got to promise you'll gam me. Girls have feelings too."
Mark MacDonald burst into amused laughter and kissed the girl's tears away. As he drove her back home, he could foresee many a pleasant educational session, with Betsy's voluptuous and naughty bottom as the major subject under discussion. And somehow, he was sure, this precocious teenager was going to find a way to lose her cherry no matter how, so it was going to be up to him to find a way of ridding her of it without incurring her parents' wrath or spoiling her for marriage with some young square. Yes, it was going to be a highly diverting summer indeed, all thanks to the "Wifespankers Club of Northbrook."
