THE PARTY at Bob and Sally’s was something we had been looking forward to for a couple weeks. It was expected to be quite the affair; several families had been invited, and Bob was doing burgers on the grill. We brought a bottle of wine, and Alice had found a small gift for Sally and a card to take from us. The card read:
This is a secret you and I can definitely share.
"The secret to staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly and lie about your age."
—Lucille Ball
This year, we’re 39, right?
Happy 39th birthday!
Other couples’ cards were of the same vein, and there was cake and ice cream and the kids were all sent into the back yard to play once the song had been sung and the candles had gotten blown out.
The adults were left inside, and we all sat around a big circle in the living room, with a big production being made about the presents and the sentiments among friends of growing up and growing old together. It was a good party. When all had been accomplished, a small hush fell through the room, as Sally beamed and relished at what appeared to be her gratitude of everyone being there. She stood and cleared her throat to make an announcement.
"I have a request to make of everyone here, and I want everyone’s assurance that I will have your support through this."
There was a mixture of assent and concern throughout the murmurings from everyone in the room, with a general agreement that whatever she needed, we would all be there for her.
"Everyone has to participate. I’m not asking much; if I can do this, you can, too. As my friends." She held her pinky in her mouth as she stood before her husband and wiggled her torso back and forth. He started to stand and she held him down and pushed him to lean back in his chair. She stepped around to the side. She reached up under her skirt and proceeded to take her panties down to her ankles, and she bent over his legs and lifted her dress. He asked her if she was really sure she wanted to do this, and she nodded, and put her hands down on the floor on the other side of his lap. Bob took a deep breath, pulled his hand back, and proceeded to spank her.
There were collective gasps throughout the room. Most of the women turned their heads. Most of the men did not.
There is some kind of an internal clock in me that starts up counting things before I am even aware that I am doing it until the seventh or eighth iteration of whatever it is I’m being made aware of—instances of a speaker saying "uh" during a speech, the number of maniacal toon vehicles that roar around me on the highway, the ever-increasing count of commercials during the breaks in TV shows, whatever—gets pushed into my deliberate consciousness, and this was no exception. The swats and the slaps rang throughout the room. No one was daring to make any noise, hell, no one was daring to breathe throughout it all. Sally stayed put, and Bob delivered through the requisite number of thirty-nine, and he helped her up when he was done. She bent over and kissed him on the cheek, thanking him. She reached down and wrestled her panties the rest of the way off over her shoes, and handed them to him with a smile.
Three couples stood to leave.
"No, no, no. You cannot go. My darling husband has merely started the proceedings. I am requiring this from everyone here."
"Absolutely not," said one of the husbands who had his marching orders from his wife.
Sally stepped over to bar the way out of the front door. "I must insist. This is very important to me."
"Well, no. We are not interested," the wife said. The other two standing couples all nodded in unison; it was like they had rehearsed.
"Look, I’m not trying to get anything bad to happen, but it is quite simple. Everyone in this room is going to spank me today, and I am quite serious about it. What’s more, it isn’t going to be just today. I am going to get spanked or paddled or whipped or whatever thirty-nine times every day this year by one of you. There is going to be a rotation, and you will all participate. Every last one of you."
Two of the standing husbands started chuckling, again with the appearance of long hours of practice to get the timing just right, and it spread like a sequence to the other men, standing and sitting; myself included. "What makes you think we will agree to that?" One of the other men asked.
"Because if you don’t, I will get your children to do it. They won’t balk one bit."
"Don’t be ridiculous. That’s child abuse."
"Oh, so you’re prepared to have me labeled as a pedophile and a sex offender because you are uncomfortable with a stupid childhood game? Can you imagine who I’d have to get to do what I want in prison? Are you so ready to so completely hate and write off someone you were so happy to be with not five minutes ago? What kind of people are you?"
"Come on, Sally," I said. "What kind of person are you to put us, your friends into such an awful and tasteless position as this?"
"This is something I need to happen, and I have come to you, my friends, to help me with it."
"Why?"
"It’s not simple or just about one thing. It’s a part of who I am and always have been that I have kept hidden from you all that I can no longer—in good conscience—continue to do so." Bob nodded, with his eyebrows all the way up. "And I don’t care how you justify it to yourself, whether you’re taking pity on some poor sick person that you’re determined you’re going to somehow find some obscure way laced with platitudes to save me from myself, or if you have always secretly wanted to wreak some horrible vengeance on women in general or on me specifically and you run off to masturbate with the furies afterwards, or whatever twisted or benign rationale you can convince yourself of, you are the people I want to do this."
"I don’t want to do this!" One of the standing wives was overwhelmed by her own outburst: bent over, purple-faced, trembling. It took a solid three seconds—one, two, three—of silence after that for her to bury her face in her hands, crying, completely ashamed to have had such an emotional moment, embarrassed to be looked at by all her friends, humiliated to the core to have even been here and to even have the suggestion of such a horror being placed right there in front of her with the unspeakable expectation that she have anything whatsoever to do with it at all. It was how we all felt. Her husband put his arm around her and helped her sit back down. There were whispers going around the room.
My wife said something I don’t think anyone heard, and I snapped to face her, my own eyes wide. "What?"
She cleared her throat, and everyone looked at her. "I said we’re in." Alice couldn’t lift her eyes from the floor, nor could she blink them. "Are none of you listening to her? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to have anything more to do with this than any of the rest of you. But look: she just said she was prepared to go to prison here, to be completely ostracized from not just us but the entire community, and all for what, the idea that she thinks she needs a spanking? Who are we to say that she doesn’t?"
"She needs help." The other sitting husband, the one trying to comfort his out-of-her-element wife, chimed in. A definite knack for the obvious, that one always had.
"No question. And she just asked us for it. Now, I am the first to disagree with the course of this treatment, but I can’t throw her to the wolves, nor to whatever monsters are out there that would be more than willing to assault a woman who puts herself into the position she is talking about. I mean, my god. Could any of you bear it if she got herself really hurt because of this? Or worse?" My wife, of all the people here, had the most issue with anything even remotely kinky or weird. She was such a stick in the mud I didn’t even bother making a pass at her any more. If she wasn’t in the mood, no power on earth could get her into it, and I ended up waiting for her to come to me, which was nowhere near enough to suit me, but I wasn’t about to take on any of the alternatives, of adultery or divorce or force. I had, by necessity, become a man of waiting. This was so unlike what I had come to expect of her.
She looked up to Sally and held her hand up, opening and closing her fingers.
I could not believe my wife was beckoning our friend to come to her to get spanked.
Sally looked relieved, and bent over and hugged her for the longest time before pulling back, stroking Alice’s hair. If Hollywood clichés meant anything, they were about to kiss, but Alice did something none of the rest of us could see, and Sally bent slowly over her lap. My own wife lifted the skirt of her best friend, and revealed her ass to us all much as Bob did.
"Thank you, Alice."
My wife patted her friend on the butt.
"My darling, I don’t want to be one to complain, but that one didn’t count. You have to do much better than that."
Swat two, or one, depending on how one counts these things, happened, and induced a slight ripple in the bottom laid bare before us all.
"Please, do not be patronizing. I never thought I would ever hear myself say this, but you have to fucking hit me. I love you that you are willing to help, but I’m begging you: don’t play. Do it right. Please."
Alice had to stop herself and collect whatever it was she had to put together to do it. She sat and her breathing accelerated a little, and her face twisted into what she needed to make it do to actually strike her friend with all the force that was expected. She almost looked enraged, and her hand flew so fast I had trouble catching up with the counters until she was well past fifteen.
My wife delivered.
Sally was lurching about, gasping, getting caught up in it, and feeling what it was she had brought us all here together to feel. When the count hit thirty, Alice stopped and caught her breath.
As if they had planned it, they both said "oh god" in unison. Alice slowed down for the last nine strokes, pulling her hand back up behind her head; she applied every ounce of force she could find within her self to vent down her arm, through her hand, onto her friend’s bottom. Sally squealed, and when it was over, she fell off of my wife’s lap onto the floor, only to scramble back up and throw her arms around her spanker. She started kissing her spanker all over her face, deliberately making her way towards her lips, and thanking her, and Alice brought her hand up between them.
"I wish you wouldn’t do that."
"Oh, oh, yes ma’am, I’m sorry ma’am." Sally plopped her head down into Alice’s lap, kneeling on the floor before her, and shook. Her skirt had fallen over the offensive, er, offended portion of her anatomy.
Alice pet her and tried to muster a smile that her friend couldn’t see. She addressed the room: "It’s not so bad, folks. We can do this for her." She wrenched her head up toward me, with her face falling into a dread seriousness, and she tipped her head down toward the woman kneeling before her, keeping her eyes locked on to mine, her lips compressing into a pencil-thin line.
I couldn’t look around the room to see what the other couples were doing, and the last person I wanted to even be aware of was Bob.
I was about to spank his wife. In front of all of our friends. At the behest of my—and his—wife. I felt whatever resistance I may have had about all this fall away from me as it always did when my wife wanted something.
I stood and reached down onto Sally’s hair, barely touching it. She startled up and bored into me, her mouth askew, not breathing. She nodded as small as she could, and struggled to stand up. I held my hand out, and she put her own hand into it, as though I were helping her up stairs or into a car. We turned around and stood by the chair I was sitting in. We were almost clumsy in our attempts to get ourselves positioned right, facing the right directions and the like, and if the doom that was not impending before us as it was, we would have laughed. She defocused her gaze and waited for me to sit back down.
My back was ramrod straight, with my calves formed forty five degree angles to my knees, one foot before, one foot behind. I spread them slightly, and she descended slowly, full of dignity and grace. I thought about physics and leverage and trajectories and lines of force, anything to keep from acknowledging what I was about to do. What I was about to do wasn’t a childish game, it wasn’t a silly party maneuver, it wasn’t some peculiar therapy that we were asked to participate in. It was a religious act, one that called to a god I didn’t believe in through a ritual I didn’t understand for a purpose I had railed against my entire life. A man does not hit a woman, and that’s that. And here I was, in front of all of our friends, about to defy everything I had ever been taught and do exactly that. I pulled my hand back; she almost fell off my lap with my strike. She inhaled sharply, and repositioned herself, to try to stabilize herself against what the first blow promised was to come.
Sally thrashed and cried out and tried to keep her composure and she couldn’t. She shouted and gasped and whimpered and moaned and her noise became more and more continuous and her volume raised and the only other thing I could hear was the sound of my hand hitting her flesh.
Alice touched my shoulder. "That’s enough, dear."
I had no sense of count.
Sally fell off my lap and rolled around on the floor and wept.
I became aware of other couples murmuring disparaging things. "Monster," "barbaric," "how could he," "maybe that’s what she needed to get this out of her fool head," and my head swam. I pulled my eyes up and found the last person I wanted to see. Bob was looking at his wife as she wallowed on the floor, and he was looking forlorn. He lifted his eyes to me, and I shrank back as far as the chair would allow.
He nodded, and looked otherwise completely blank. I collapsed back in my chair, dropped my head, and blushed.
I was in a fog for the rest of the night. Occasionally, the sound of slapping or some grunting would wake me from my dream-state. There was a little pleading from some wife or other, something about "please don’t make me do this," that occasionally caught my attention—whoever was behind this well-practiced script hadn’t thought to include any other lines—but by the time I succeeded in looking up at one time or another, one of the other husbands was hard at it, and never one of the other wives. I had no sense for the passage of time, but the counting mechanisms I had got well into the hundreds at the sounds of slaps before I deliberately shut them down. My wife put her hand on mine when it was time to go, and she asked me if I was okay to drive. My pride insisted I was, and she only had to remind me that the light had changed once. When we got home and in bed, I put my arm around her and cuddled up to her and she flipped her head back and said "really?" and that was that. I think I slept; it did not feel like I did.
The next morning I tried to ask her about it. She looked like she was trying to think about what to say. "There’s a schedule. Sally is going to be coming over every five of six days or so." We set a second or three. "Do you want to be there when she comes for me?"
"I…uh…do you want me to be?"
"It’s up to you."
"I don’t…I don’t think so; no."
"I will offer you the same courtesy."
And that was all we said about it. Sally came by three days later, and she and Alice retreated into our bedroom and closed the door. I went into the living room and tried to read, but couldn’t concentrate on anything on the page in front of me. I ended up turning on the TV. It only took five minutes; it was a ridiculously long five minutes. All commercials: ten of the damn things. When our bedroom door opened, I was sure it was improper to look. I caught a glimpse of Sally as she opened the front door. I glanced up and she was looking at me, smiling. "I’ll see you on Saturday, yes?"
"Uh, yeah. You’ll be coming here, or do you want me to come over?"
"I’ll come by. Is before noon okay?"
"Yeah. Yes. That’d be great."
"Bye."
She darted out the door, and the house went quiet. I sat and couldn’t remember what I was watching; I turned the TV off and went back to our bedroom. I knocked. "Honey?"
"Can I have a few minutes? Please?"
"Sure. Sure." I went back to the living room leaving the door’s closure intact to sit in the quiet. When she came out, she bustled all business and chores and she had to nag me twice to go mow the lawn. It was late in the evening for that sort of thing, but I did it. She wouldn’t talk about what happened that night as well as the next day, and she was utterly unresponsive to my efforts to be intimate for the rest of the week, and every time I so much as suggested I wanted to talk, she would change the subject to some unsavory bodily function and the troubles she’s been having with it lately.
Saturday morning rolled around, and Alice went to the store, taking our daughter with her. I offered to go along, and she tipped her head and smirked.
Oh, yeah.
I prowled around the house, and set in on cleaning. I vacuumed, did the bathroom, the dishes, cleaned out the fridge, and was thinking about scrubbing the kitchen floor when the doorbell rang. I felt rather lost, and wasn’t sure I could even find the door when she started pounding. That snapped me out of my indecision, and despite not remembering where it really was, I found my way to front door and opened it.
She beamed. "Hi."
"Hi." I had nothing scripted.
"Can I come in?"
"Oh. Uh, yeah. Sure." I stepped aside, and she glided in past me, and waited for me to close the door.
"Can I get you anything? Coffee? Pastry?"
She dipped her head with a shy smile. "No. Thanks."
We waited until I could speak. "You know, I’m not reall—"
She glued herself to me, from knees to just below her breasts; she threw one arm around my lower back, pulling me in tight, adjusting herself to be in more intimate contact with me, through our clothes, than Alice ever was when we were engaged in intercourse. Her other hand’s fingers pressed ever so gently on my lips. I tried to open my mouth to say something, something about how improper this was, and her digits found their way inside. She hooked her nails down under my tongue, over my lower teeth. She stepped back, and pulled me toward my bedroom by my mouth. The one I shared with my wife.
Alice released me when we got there, and I stood in the doorway as she ran her fingers up my bed without a word. When she reached the pillows, she paused, and set in on taking off her jeans.
"Do you…need to do that?"
She didn’t answer me. She simply proceeded to take off all her clothes. She didn’t turn to face me; she stood there, naked, facing the headboard. She exhaled, and laid down, face down; she curled her arms underneath her, and finally looked at me with something I had to have termed to be adoration.
"Sally, are you sure?"
"Of course. You know, I’ve been doing this for a week already. Don’t worry. I’m fine." She nodded, and I stepped up to the edge, and held my hand over her ass.
She kept her eyes completely locked on me. "Don’t stint."
I watched myself pull my hand straight up and I could not stop blinking. I shoved my arm straight down and splatted on her flesh. My hand bounced off her.
"Harder."
I did it again, with what I thought was an appropriate level of force.
"Oh, come on."
I ignored her, and did it the way I thought it should go, pulling back ever so slightly at the last instant before impact, more in the process of pulling my hand back up before I even made contact that I was in the process of making contact, in order to minimize the micro-seconds I was touching her. Touching her with force. I did not lose count, and laid it down on her as mechanically and as fast as I could move. I spanked her the required thirty-nine strokes, and when I finished, I left her there to go sit down in my chair in the living room and mope. She came out to where I was sitting a couple minutes later. She crossed to me and bent over to kiss me on the cheek. At least she was dressed.
"You did better the first time."
I glanced up at her, and looked away.
She stayed near me, and I didn’t move. "Th-thank you. I’ll see you in a little over a week."
"Ten days."
"Yes. Ten days."
She found her own way out of the house. I stared at the wall for an hour, until Alice came home with the groceries. I helped her bring them in with our daughter, and we went to a movie in the afternoon. That night, Alice came to me as it was time, the time I tried not to nag her about, the one that only worked on her schedule that she didn’t let me in on which dictated that the time for sex had come, and I did my duty, but no more. I don’t think she came.
And so it went for the next couple months. Every ten or eleven days or so, Sally came to me when Alice—and our daughter—was conveniently not at home, and took off her clothes, and I spanked her. I was not enthused, but Alice always made those nights sex nights, and I was nothing less than uncomfortable through it all. When Sally came by for Alice’s turn, they spent progressively longer and longer time together until they were in there almost an hour, and they would come out giggling or flushed or sympathetic or any of the myriad ways they always spent together when they went shopping or to the park with the kids or were simply sitting around gossiping about this or that or the other. It was almost normal. Almost, but not quite. I never heard anything that went on those evenings, and Alice simply wouldn’t talk about any of it and it never occurred to me to not be there on those nights.
After two-and-a-half months, we were invited over to Bob and Sally's for dinner. The kids were all sent downstairs with pizza and a movie. Two of the other couples from the birthday party was there. Dinner was broiled shrimp put into a salad, and Bob made a big production of the crème brûlée he made for dessert, flashing the torch around with all the appropriate jokes being made about fire departments and fire extinguishers and conflagrations. When what he had done was in everyone’s hands, he said he had to tell us something.
"Two of the couples have dropped out. I am so sorry; they’ll never speak to any of us again. They were very adamant. This is not what we wanted."
After some nervous glances around the room, Alice said, "We’re still here for you." She looked at me. "Screw them."
It was the husband of one of the other couple’s turn, and he really stood and delivered, right there in front of us all. Sally had to be gagged for it, to keep from disturbing the children downstairs. It all went about as though it were normal, expected. Bob and Sally thanked everyone profusely, and went over the schedule. We were all committed to once a week with Sally.
Otherwise, it was a typical dinner party. When Alice and I got home, sex was not to be had.
When Sally came by three days later for me, I followed her into the bedroom. She turned toward me, and said "we have to do it like this now." She produced a long paddle that had holes drilled into it from under her coat, and stood to face me as she stripped.
She was covered with bruises.
"My god."
"Aren’t they lovely?" She turned and displayed herself.
"That’s not the right word."
"Can I get you to do the backs of my thighs? I want to distribute the marks." She bent over and put her hands on the bed, spreading her legs.
"I…Christ." I took the paddle, exhaled, positioned myself to her side, and swung. There was no point in arguing.
"Fuck the count. You’re going to do this until I have the marks I need. You can try to do it with pansy-ass little swats like that one, which means were going to be here a while, or you can man up and do it right."
I let her have it. She fell over onto the bed. "Oh, god, yes, just like that!" She repositioned herself, and I swung and I struck her thighs until the welts began showing and she began moaning. I stopped, and she looked back at herself. "Not yet, hero. You’re getting there."
I threw down on her, until she said that was enough, that we could quit.
"Not yet." I put down another dozen strikes. When I decided I was done—the bruises were deep and red and black and blue already, and she was covered with little pock-marks from the holes in the paddle—I threw the weapon on the bed, and strode out of the room and poured myself a drink. A stiff one that was almost gone by the time she came out.
When she appeared, she was actually limping, and when she reached up to kiss me, she wrapped her fingers into my hair, and poured herself into my mouth. When she finally stopped, coming up for air at last, Alice was there, standing across the room, stunned, frozen.
Sally was out of breath, and pulled back with the slight smile a woman gets when she has gotten away with doing something sinful she had always wanted to do. When she staggered passed Alice, she put her hand to the side of my wife’s face and looked at her. Alice closed her eyes and nodded her head; they may have been whispering. I wasn’t sure.
After Sally left, I looked over to my wife who stared at me, then turned and disappeared into our bedroom. She called to me, and I nearly sprinted after her.
She was naked on the bed, with her legs spread obscenely, her breasts heaving.
I attacked her, and she welcomed me into her, and she fucked me like she had to.
Two weeks later, after two more major assaults I performed onto Sally, with her egging and prompting and begging and kneeling afterwards before me, looking directly into my crotch, pulling herself in as close there as she could get without being in actual contact, so close I could feel her hot breath right through my pants—with Alice and I nearly raping each other afterwards—we were called back to Bob and Sally’s. The kids were watching TV in the basement.
"It’s down to just us."
It was Alice’s night, and she paddled her friend’s bottom as though she were splitting wood, with every ounce of force she could muster. The marks were impressive, to say the least. When she stood there, finished, panting, she dropped the woodpiece, and stunned me. "That’s it. I’m out."
Bob laughed. "So am I." The last person I expected to opt out was Bob.
"Then I guess it’s over." I was actually relieved.
"No; you’re not getting out of it, honey. You have to keep it up."
"You’re kidding."
"Don’t worry. We’re still here for you, Sally. We will not abandon you." She turned her gaze to me and bored into me as she did when something was important for me to understand in no uncertain terms, and she was going to get her way no matter what. Just like she always did, especially when it came time for us in the bedroom, which, remarkably, she had been keeping completely tied to the nights Sally came over, like clockwork. She was more passionate on those nights of late than she had been our entire marriage. "You will not abandon her, will you."
I tried to protest my way out of all this the rest of the evening, and Alice would have none of it. Sally spent the rest of the evening curled up in Bob’s lap.
The next day, Sally came by the house all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and marched back to the bedroom. Alice took the kids down to our daughter’s room.
By the time I got to my bedroom to refuse, Alice was naked, sitting up on the bed, on her wide-spread knees, with her hands behind her head, looking up.
"I…no. I can’t. Look, I’m sorry, Sally, but this has to sto—"
"—What are you talking about?" My wife startled me from behind. I turned to face her, and my jaw dropped. She was naked, and in the process of locking our bedroom door. "Hang on a second." She went around me over to the bed, and pet Sally’s hair twice. Sally turned her eyes to Alice, and opened her mouth wide.
Alice reached up and began stuffing cloth into her friend’s mouth. Cloth that I recognized as being the panties I watched her put on as she was getting dressed that morning. When she finished, she nudged Sally’s mouth closed, and turned to face me. She glued herself to me, from knees to just below her breasts, sliding her thighs around me, wrapping herself around me, pulling my lower back into her, pressing her breasts up against me.
I protested. "Honey, this ca—"
"—Shh, shh." Her other hand came up to my lips, and she played with them, watching what her fingers were doing to my mouth. "You marvelous fool. Surely you don’t think that I got us involved with all this," and she nodded her head back toward the bed, "for the sake of that silly slut there, do you?" She grinned big, and poured herself into my mouth for long minutes.
I was gasping and out of breath when she released me. She slid down between me and the bed, opening my pants on the way, releasing the incessant rampaging erection I inevitably got when Sally came over. My wife applied her lips and her tongue and her mouth against me, and I had trouble standing.
I startled to feel myself getting poked in the ribs by something hard. Sally was prodding me with a cane, to get me to take it, nodding, poking, nodding, and when I did, she ran her fingers across her breasts twice, smiling around the gag in her mouth, and went back to her pose. Alice forced my cock further into her mouth than she ever had before. She gagged and I pulled out. She scooted back and leaned back up to the edge of the bed, and reached around behind me on the back of my legs, and pulled me forward, shuffling me along with my pants around my ankles, directing my cock back into her mouth, pulling harder as I proceeded to push myself into her face, her mouth, her throat, with the bed serving as a stop gap to keep her from pulling away. She had trapped herself from being able to get away from the advancement of my penis into her mouth, and I couldn’t help it, I began thrusting. She made little noises, and with one hand, pointed up and back behind her toward the woman on the bed.
I stood, and undulated until my hand drew back. Sally flinched after I swung and I had swung hard, and continuously had to re-upright herself back into position. I fucked my wife’s mouth while I waited for her to do that, time and time again. They both whimpered and cried their way through my efforts—both of them. Sally looked like a train wreck. I train wreck I had drug her through, screaming under her gag the entire time.
After I finished my burden, with all three of us gasping and groaning and moaning, I had to turn and yank my way out of my wife and sit on the bed. Alice followed me around, and went back to gagging herself on me, determined. When Sally—with tears still in her eyes—bent around to help my wife with what she was doing to me, holding her nose shut to get her to open her mouth wider, pushing her head down even harder onto me, forcing my wife’s mouth onto me, driving her to get me all the way back on up in there, with my beloved contracting her lips around the very root of my hardon, getting the back of her throat to pulse around me in ways I had never imagined, I had to lie down.
When I could lift my head again, after a mercifully endless moment in the sky, doing something I had always reserved for the privacy of me wife’s pussy or the quiet floor of the bathroom when I couldn’t sleep, the girls were sitting on either side of me, leaning over me, engaged with trading what they had gotten out of me, back and forth, back and forth between their mouths, giggling, petting each other, putting on a show. When I could get myself up on my elbows, they noticed and broke apart from each other, laughing, wiping their mouths, licking their fingers, trailing them through various wet spots on their own faces, feeding each other with what they got swiped up until they had nothing left to play with. Alice disappeared from my sight, and Sally helped me up to standing.
I was out of breath, and she was unbuttoning my shirt faster than I ever could, and, kneeling down, she fiddled around at my feet, pulling my pants the rest of the way off. "Sally, plea—"
"—Oh, no, hero. You’re not done, yet." She stood and danced her fingers up my entire body, stopping at various interesting places here and there, until she put her full hands on my shoulders, palms and all, and turned me back around to face the bed, where my wife was kneeling with her knees spread, her hands up behind her head, and the cane was in her mouth. "Her turn." Sally wrapped her arms around me from behind, and with one hand, she prompted my arm up towards my wife, and with the other, she reached down between my legs, and began doing what little she needed to do to get me ready.
I took the cane from my wife’s mouth, and Sally assumed her position between me and the bed, and, opening her mouth as wide as she could get it, set in on doing what she was there to do. Alice glanced down at her friend, and looked up to beam at me for a second or two before she turned to look up at the ceiling. I had nothing to say any kind of "no" towards this left in me. I held the rod with both hands and pulled back like I had a baseball bat in my hands, and I had good follow-through. We had forgotten to gag her, and she screamed. It took a matter of eight seconds for our daughter to start knocking on the door, asking if mommy was alright, and Sally scrambled up to don one of my wife’s robes, and, after mouthing a quick apology and blowing us a kiss, she left us to go take care of our daughters, traipsing them back down stairs, to talk about princesses.
Alice’s breasts were heaving, the ones with the welt I had just laid down on with one fell swoop, and she rasped out, "You can’t stop now. How old am I again?"
"Remarkably, thirty-nine. Just like Sally."
"I intend to be thirty-nine forever. My dearest husband: the scourging of our lord and savior is yours to deliver unto me. Every day, darling, from now on. Just like that one. Anything less doesn’t count."
I stood, and delivered. After the fourth stroke, it occurred to me that maybe I should gag her, for the sake of the kids. She was all too happy to have my underwear forced into her mouth as far as I could get it to go, and when I finished the obligation toward whatever god it was that demanded I perform this trust upon her, with her writhing and thrashing and crying and doing everything she could to keep her hands off her wounds the entire time, not to mention the liability I had towards the husbandly duty I owed her afterwards, somewhere in the middle of her glorious weepings and sounds that were happening for an altogether different reason than the one cane induced, one that was also not spoken of at polite dinner parties, I looked up to see Sally standing over us, dressed and smiling, and wishing us the best of luck from here, and reminding us to not be strangers and come by as often as we wished. We, of course, would have much more to talk about now. She offered to take our daughter for a sleepover, and I accepted. Alice nodded; her mouth was still quite full.
We had some catching up to do. It had been months since my wife’s birthday.
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