The Spanking Party

Now Lawrence says the whole thing was my doing, but he's wrong. I know the limits of my powers.

Yes, I arranged the chairs in the living room of the cottage in a congenial circle that might be construed as a sort of theatre-in-the-round. I was definitely guilty of filling the room with candle-lit lanterns, the perfect lighting to bring a golden burnish to bare flesh. And I won't deny I provided several bottles of an easy-drinking Malbec that was guaranteed to loosen the inhibitions, if not the zippers, of my guests. That was all just part of being a good hostess, right?

So perhaps it was a bit provocative to show off the naughty book I'd discovered at the antique store a few miles north of our vacation retreat. But what was wrong with giving our guests something to laugh over as the evening wore on?

"Blushing Bottoms. You don't pass around a book with a title like that unless you're angling for something to happen," Lawrence argues.

"We met these people less than a week ago," I reply. "I didn't have the faintest idea they'd be so willing to drop their pants and whack each other's behinds."

Of course he's right that by the time Joel had Wendy bent over the footstool with her butt in the air, I didn't do anything to stop him. Because the truth is, by then I did want it to happen. I wanted to hear the smack of his palm against her runner's tight buttocks, wanted to see the blush creep over the pale, exposed skin. I wanted to watch the expression on her face, the faint grimace when she took the blow followed by a slackening of the mouth that looked like something very close to ecstasy.

Our other guests seemed equally enthralled. Charlotte's eyes twinkled like fairy lights as she watched, and strong, silent Curt stepped behind the armchair, probably so we couldn't see that lump in his pants. And my own husband? I didn't even have to turn in his direction to know his gaze was riveted on Wendy's naked ass and Joel's hand above it, poised to strike.

If I had planned it, I would have been happy with the outcome, but I was as surprised as anyone at the wild things that happened that night.

When I invited Wendy and Joel over for a glass of wine that first afternoon at the lake, I was merely trying to be friendly to our temporary neighbors. I didn't know that Joel would be so clever in the offbeat way Lawrence and I both liked or that Wendy was a wedding photographer with such amusing stories to tell about her clients. It was only natural for them to return the invitation the next day and ask the couple renting the next cottage over to join us, and before I knew it, the six of us were meeting for happy hour every evening.

Charlotte and Curt might not have been the world's most fascinating conversationalists, but they did add a certain sexual magnetism to our parties. Curt was a hunk, with pecs and delts to die for, and Charlotte was a curvy blonde straight from a men's magazine. I'm not bi, except in my fantasies, but as our gatherings continued through the week, I couldn't seem to keep my gaze from Charlotte's incredible butt. It was full and round and it jiggled ever so slightly when she walked. It didn't help matters that she favored skimpy cut-offs which showed off as much of that miraculous flesh as was legal.

My fingers itched to touch it to see if it was real.

I will confess, too, that by the time Saturday night rolled around, I'd imagined them all naked. In my lazy, summer vacation daydreams, I crept into Wendy and Joel's bedroom to spy as they fucked doggie-style: Wendy on all fours, her face contorted in a grimace of pleasure as her sinewy husband plowed into her from behind. Then I'd slip into Curt and Charlotte's bedroom to watch as she mounted him and began to ride. I pictured his big hands reaching around to cup her voluptuous ass—squeezing, squeezing—while the lather of their coupling frothed down over his balls.

But these were fantasies, not plans.

"Yes, but your fantasies have a strange way of coming true," Lawrence says. "Not that I'm complaining."

"But there's a problem with your argument, darling," I reply. "I bought the spanking book on Saturday afternoon, right before the wine party. I wouldn't have had time to plan anything."

Lawrence cocks his head, remembering, no doubt, the apple-cheeked grandma at the antique store. I was lingering over a book of racy "French" postcards when she sidled up and suggested I might find some items of interest in her collection for special clients. His jaw dropped as much as mine when she guided us into a back room, done up like a proper Victorian parlor, except for the etchings of copulating couples on the walls and the collection of vintage vibrators on the sideboard. Flustered, I reached for the bookshelf. A book seemed like the safest thing at the time.

Little did I know how wrong I was.

I pulled out a small, slim volume, the first one my fingers touched. Only then did I glance down at the faded red cover. Blushing Bottoms.

I felt my cheeks go hot.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the shopkeeper watching me carefully. I could feel the wordless challenge in her eyes brush my flesh like a caress: Look inside.

I opened the cover.

The contents shouldn't have been a surprise. There were old-tyme engravings of mustachioed gentlemen chastising girls' plump derrieres with feather dusters and riding crops. Madams in bustles and pompadours punishing what looked like the same gentlemen, except this time their trousers were down around their knees and their buttocks bore a telltale cross-hatched flush. Soon my eyes were dancing with obscene images: cocks jutting stiffly from dark swirls of pubic hair, bosoms spilling from corsets, domineering leers and pouts of submission. I suddenly felt naughty and vaguely ashamed, as if I'd been caught peeping through a keyhole back through a hundred years of depravity and lust. My cheeks burned hotter and my buttocks began to tingle. Blushing Bottoms indeed.

This is a gem, my dear, the shopkeeper said softly. A rare find.

I murmured a polite yes. Part of me wanted to put the book back on the shelf, but my hands gripped it possessively, as if they had a will of their own.

I want my special things to have a good home. You strike me as a young lady who would make proper use of it. I'd be willing to give it to you at a special price.

"Buying the damned thing seemed the easiest way to get out of there," I tell Lawrence. "It's the truth."

With a nod, he grants me that point at least. "But then, why were you so quick to read out the rules for that kinky game in the back?"

"I turned to that page by accident."

Lawrence gives me his Freud-says-there's-no-such-thing-as-an-accident smirk.

I've just about decided it's hopeless to argue with him anymore when he begins to recite from memory: "'Heads and Tails: a Parlor Game of Chance for Naughty Ladies and Gentlemen.' Flip heads and you spank, tails you get spanked. Heads you keep your clothes on; tails you take it bare. Heads, you may use an implement like a crop or a hairbrush; tails is a naked palm. Heads and the strokes come down as lightly as a feather; tails, they come down hard. Heads you take your punishment silently; tails means begging and pleading allowed, indeed encouraged."

I smile. "I see my purchase has made an impression on you. But remember, it was Joel who suggested we actually play the game."

Lawrence's smile dips into a righteous frown. "He had a good reason to spank his wife."

"Wendy was just indulging in a little nostalgia with an old flame. Joel shouldn't have been nosing around on her laptop."

"Nostalgia? Didn't Joel say the boyfriend wrote that he jerked off as he read her emails? Wendy didn't deny it either."

"Come on, it was probably Joel's fault for not appreciating her as he should have. That's why women do those things. And he's not without his sneaky side. Remember how he insisted the coin rolled under the coffee table by accident? Rather convenient that he could call heads and give the spanking no matter how it landed."

"It was simple justice. Ten strokes. One for each email."

"But he should have stopped there."

"He did. That's when Charlotte took over. Remember?"

"Yeah, and she was so drunk that she couldn't even aim."

"You definitely had me fooled when you offered to help."

"And Joel certainly wasn't expecting a swat on the ass instead. But fair's fair. He deserved it for snooping." Besides, the look on his face was priceless. For a moment I thought he was about to hit me back, but his outstretched hand curled safely into a fist at his side.

Wendy was obviously grateful for my intervention. With surprising dignity, she pulled up her pants, returned to the sofa and took a sip of her wine. Leveling her gaze at her husband, she said, "I hope you'll shut up about this now that I've been properly punished."

Joel only gave her a cool smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

I didn't doubt she'd have to suffer more punishment before Joel was fully satisfied, but I assumed the rest of us were done with spankings for the evening.

I hadn't counted on Charlotte. Lawrence might blame me for scheming, but I'd bet she wasn't as drunk as she pretended to be when she asked, giggling, why Wendy got to have all the fun because she wanted a turn, too.

The room went silent except for the summery trill of crickets.

Curt stepped from behind the armchair and placed a territorial hand on her shoulder. Even in the flickering lantern light, I could tell his face was flushed. A quick glance downward proved my earlier hypothesis correct: the bulge in his jeans would put a baseball bat to shame.

Charlotte looked up at him with a coy smile. "Can't I have a blushing bottom, too, sweetie? Pretty please?"

"Say yes, you idiot!"

I nearly said the words out loud, but managed to bite them back at the last minute. Would all my filthy daydreams come true right in front of my eyes? Would I get to see her ass in its naked glory, maybe even stroke the soft flesh with my fingertips, priming it for a flurry of slaps that would make it jiggle like sweet cream panna cotta?

At last Curt spoke. "All right, baby, you can have your blushing bottom. But only the girls can spank you, understood?"

"'Women,' not girls, you Neanderthal." This time I did actually say it, but softly, under my breath.

"When I heard you call him names, I knew Curt was in for it," Lawrence says with an amused smile.

"Yes. That's when I came up with the plan."

So I've finally admitted some malice aforethought, but Lawrence isn't as smug as I expected. His eyes have a faraway look and I wonder if he's thinking of what happened next: Charlotte's woozy grin as she began to unzip her shorts, her husband grabbing her wrist to stop her.

"Keep those on," Curt snarled, with a quick glance of warning at Lawrence, then Joel. "We're done with the nudity tonight."

Curt had spent most of our earlier parties doing a creditable imitation of lawn furniture, but this spanking soiree had clearly brought out his alpha-male streak. Lawrence and Joel shifted guiltily and looked down at their shoes.

That is until Charlotte draped herself over the footstool with a soft moan and every eye in the room was suddenly glued to her butt cheeks, displayed before us like a birthday present.

At least mine were. How could you not stare at the ripe flesh straining against the edges of her cut-offs, the curve of her full thighs? Instinctively my gaze shifted to her face to see if she was as turned on as I was. It was then I noticed something else. Charlotte's breasts hung over the edge of the stool and her low-cut shirt was askew so that—intentionally or not--one stiff, rose-colored nipple had popped out for anyone to see. Beside me Lawrence swallowed, a wet, clicking sound.

Curt was apparently oblivious of his wife's secret peepshow. He gave a mock bow and gestured toward Charlotte's rump. "Ladies, whenever you're ready."

I glanced over at Wendy. I could tell she didn't like the new Neanderthal Curt any more than I did. With a slight nod to me, she knelt down beside Charlotte and touched her shoulder gently. "Hey, Char, do you really want this?"

Charlotte replied with another giggle.

"It's true that it's better when 'girls' do it to you. We know all the tricks." Wendy's tone was soothing, but I sensed an undertone of mutiny. "So, first things first. Let me help you get comfortable."

She grabbed Charlotte's waistband and yanked it up so the crotch bit deep into her cleft like a thong. Charlotte wiggled like a puppy. No doubt she was getting some nice pressure on her vulva. My own pussy clenched at the thought.

Wendy began to rub Charlotte's buttocks in slow circles with her palm. It was a massage, not a spanking, but Charlotte didn't complain. She rocked her hips back and forth and let out a cooing sound.

As if on cue, Wendy gave Charlotte a swift slap on the ass.

Charlotte jerked and sighed.

"Was that too hard?"

"No, it was good," Charlotte murmured.

Wendy nodded and cupped Charlotte's right ass cheek. At first I thought she was just resting, but as I looked closer, I saw that her fingers were kneading the flesh gently. Charlotte's mouth gaped and her breath came in quick gasps.

Wendy seemed to revel in the slow teasing—not just of Charlotte, but the rest of us, gazing spellbound at the scene. It struck me that not so long before, Wendy had been the one with the blushing bottom, but now she held all the power in the palm of her hand.

"Wendy, honey," Curt interrupted. " It looks to me like you're enjoying this a little too much. Maybe it's time to go back to your husband for more hands-on training?"

Lawrence and Joel snickered like frat boys.

Curt turned to me. "Do you think you can do a better job?"

"I did read a book on the topic," I said sweetly.

Curt grinned back--the sucker--and stepped gallantly aside so I could take Wendy's place. Yet, once I was finally exactly where I wanted to be, I wasn't sure I could pull it off. For starters, Charlotte's musky perfume was making me dizzy and her crotch was so wet, the dark fabric glistened. Suddenly all I wanted was to lick her there, like a lollipop.

Curt cleared his throat.

Which reminded me of my true objective.

I raised my outstretched palm high over Charlotte's ass. Four pairs of eyes followed me, then paused, as I stopped in midair. I could feel the room grow hotter, fueled by the scorching glow between their legs—their cocks twitching, cunts clenching, buttocks tingling. My own body throbbed from the thrill of it. This was better than fucking someone. It was much better, because I could fuck everyone in the room with a simple flourish of my hand.

I lowered my arm to my side.

Soft groans of disappointment filled the room.

"I can't do this," I announced primly. "Charlotte doesn't deserve to be punished. She's a good girl."

\"How many good girls beg for a spanking?" Curt shot back.

"She's not begging," I replied. "She hasn't said a word."

Charlotte took her cue. "Please...please spank me."

I paused, as if I were struggling with my conscience. "Why? Why do you deserve a spanking?"

"I've...been...bad," Charlotte gasped.

"What have you done that's bad?"

Charlotte wiggled her buttocks in frustration. She didn't yet realize the answers didn't matter.

I clicked my tongue. "You don't have to say it. I know what you did. You let Wendy pull your shorts up so they're rubbing against your clit. It's turning you on, isn't it, Charlotte?"

She whimpered assent.

I pulled back my hand and gave her a satisfying smack right on her tender crack. An electric jolt shot through my palm straight to my pussy. Charlotte cried out and arched her back. She was ready for more. So was I.

"There's something else that's turning you on, isn't there? You like bending over this stool and showing off your ass to men you barely know. Are you a naughty show-off, Charlotte?"

Beside me, Curt's breath was coming harsh and fast. It was working: I was hitting him right where it hurt.

"You don't need to answer," I purred. "Actions speak louder than words. But before I spank you again, you have to do something really bad. You have to play with the pretty pink nipple that's hanging out of your shirt. Show Joel and Lawrence how you like to be touched. Hey, even your husband might learn something. Will you do that for me?"

"Y...yes," Charlotte stuttered. Her elbow lifted as she brought her hand to her breast. My own chest tightened in anticipation. Would she really do anything I asked?

"Goddamit, that's enough."

In a swift move, Curt knocked me over so I toppled back against Joel's legs. He grabbed Charlotte's arm, pulled her to her feet and stuffed her naked breast back into her shirt. His chest was heaving and his face was brick red. I'd even bet his bottom was blushing, too. And it was all my doing. That much I wouldn't deny.

Curt couldn't resist a parting shot, however. He jerked his chin toward Lawrence and snarled, "Hey, mister, you'd better learn how to keep your wife in line." Then he hooked his arm around Charlotte's waist and shoved her out the door.

Lawrence helped me to my feet.

Joel waited until their footsteps had faded to quip, "What do you bet he fucks her in the woods before they get fifty feet from the porch?"

We all laughed, but a question still hovered in the air. All the ordinary boundaries between us had been slapped away—what came next?

Wendy reached for her husband's arm. "It was a great show folks, but I'm afraid we have to be going now. Joel has to fuck me in the woods on the way back."

Smirking, they left Lawrence and me alone to face each other in the flickering lantern light.

Lawrence smiled. "I have to say you know how to throw an interesting party."

"Lucky for you, you don't know how to keep your wife in line," I replied saucily.

His eyebrows lifted. "On the contrary, I think you might need a firmer hand. Especially tonight."

Given the events of the evening, I should have been prepared for this, but the remark was so unlike Lawrence, I tilted my head in confusion.

"Come on, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Now take down your shorts and bend over the stool."

His voice was calm, even playful, but my stomach tightened—with fear or arousal, I wasn't sure. Still, you could say I had it coming to me. Hands trembling, I unzipped my shorts.

"Keep the panties on," Lawrence added. "But take off your shirt and bra. And make sure your tits are hanging down over the stool, just like Charlotte's."

Now the tingling sensation had settled between my legs—and it was definitely arousal. As I leaned over the footstool, I realized my pussy juice was oozing down my thighs.

Lawrence knelt beside me. "The problem is you fell a little short in your duties as hostess tonight. You did a good job of whetting our appetites, but you didn't give us the main course. Now I want some meat."

He hooked his fingers on each side of my panties and tugged them up tight into my crack. My tender flesh throbbed, just shy of pain, but now I understood why Charlotte had wiggled so deliciously. Soon I made another discovery: when I pushed my pelvis against the edge of the stool, it put pressure on my clit that felt like I was masturbating. No wonder Wendy had worn such a look of saintly ecstasy.

"You were so clever, so much in control," Lawrence continued in his avuncular tone, "but I'll bet you secretly wanted to bend over get your ass spanked, too."

"Yes, I did," I confessed, my voice faint with lust.

"So tell me what you have to do to deserve it."

"Play with my nipples?"

Lawrence chuckled. "That's exactly right. You must have read a book about these things. Shall we get started?"