“I — I thought you’d like them. Sir.” Sharon’s head drooped. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure I would’ve loved them… had I told you to wear any.” He stepped back, glaring at her bowed head. “Take them off.”
Sharon’s fingers tugged at the dress, pulling it up, revealing the long muscles of her tanned thighs. She stood profile to the couch, her pale, naked hip exposed as she hooked thumbs into the white lace, drawing the panties down quickly, the scrap of fabric laying atop the gleaming black of her open-toed heels. Tom gallantly held out a hand for her to hold onto as she extricated first one leg then the other from the tangle of lace. Then she rose, depositing the thong in her husband’s outstretched palm.
Kirsten knew there was no way she’d have been nearly as graceful. Her hands were trembling in the grip of Keihl’s big fist. Just watching it had her mortified to the point where she wanted to hide in the crook of her husband’s arm, even as that mischievous part of her couldn’t keep her eyes off the spectacle before them.
Tom sighed dramatically, tucking the panties into the pocket of his jeans. “This is just not your night, girl. Okay, over the couch.”
Sharon turned, glancing at Keihl and Kirsten. Her brow furrowed, and she looked back at Tom. “I don’t — where?”
“Other end. Bend over the arm.” Tom grasped Sharon’s bare upper arm, and guided her over to the couch. “Come on, you know what to do.”
Kirsten closed her eyes, knowing what was coming, but not sure she’d be able to watch — and suspecting that was precisely Tom’s intent.
Tom stood behind her as Sharon faced them both from the other end of the couch, pressed her thighs to the arm, and avoiding Kirsten’s gaze, bent over. The position revealed the curves of her breasts, the globes swaying and jiggling in the bodice of the dress as she adjusted her position. Then she laid down, her hands clasped once more at the small of her back.
“Pull up the dress,” Tom said.
Kirsten couldn’t help but notice the erection bulging against the front of Tom’s dark jeans, the way his arms flexed and tightened as they crossed over his chest. The strict disciplinarian was just as affected at the sight as everyone else was.
Jesus Christ, Kirsten. Turned on by watching Sharon be punished? How did you become this person?
Then Kirsten remembered Keihl’s words: “you don’t need to pretend here.”
He was right, of course. But it didn’t make what she was seeing — and feeling — any easier to understand. She leaned back against her husband, inhaling deeply, trying to ignore the heat of her pussy between her thighs.
“Pull up your dress.” Tom slapped Sharon’s hip. “And hold it up. If you let it drop, you’ll get extra.”
“Yes, Sir,” Sharon said, her voice muffled by the cushions. They watched her fingers gather the dress, inch by inch, until the pale rounds of her bottom were bared to her husband’s avid gaze. From her perch, Kirsten could only see the woman’s lower back and the curves of each cheek, the deep divide between them. Sharon met Kirsten’s gaze a moment, then buried her face against the cushions once more.
Tom glanced up at both of them. “Just a spanking for her tonight. She knows she’s due the paddle for this, but I’d rather spank her instead.” His hand caressed the curve of the proffered bottom. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Are you kidding?” Keihl almost whispered it.
A shudder passed through Sharon’s prostrate form.
Kirsten wanted to look away, to not humiliate Sharon further… but she couldn’t. She wanted to see how another man punished, and whether or not she should be grateful or not for how hard — and it was very hard — Keihl punished her. Would she think Tom punished harder — or not hard enough?
She didn’t consider herself a masochist … quite. But deep down she knew she couldn’t respect a man who didn’t spank hard, who wasn’t afraid to give her exactly what she needed. Even if she didn’t know she needed it.
The first spank cracked against Sharon’s bottom, her husband bending slightly at the waist to get a good angle. Another, harder smack landed and Sharon betrayed just the slightest movement of her hips. Then Tom, his jaw tight, took up a steady rhythm, laying down slaps from the top of the woman’s bottom, all the way down her thighs — which made Sharon jerk — before started up at the top again. He paused, taking hold of his wife’s bare waist, his other hand stroking the inflamed buttocks. Sharon stayed virtually motionless.
Kirsten’s throat had a lump in it she tried in vain to swallow down. Keihl’s arms squeezed her reassuringly, one hand inching its way up her rounded belly. As Tom laid down a round of even harder slaps across Sharon’s bottom, Keihl took hold of Kirsten’s breast, lifting it on his palm, the thumb easing over the instantly hard aching point of her nipple, prominent even through the fabric of her shirt. His breath tickled the hair at her temple. “Don’t you dare look away. I want you to see this.”
Oh God.
Soon Tom had Sharon groaning into the pillows, the slaps raining down harder and harder. He clasped one of her hands to gain purchase, bending closer to smack each of her thighs twice, hard. She keened into the cushions, one of her legs coming up, daring to interfere.
Tom’s warning growl made her drop it quickly.
He straightened, his eyes narrowed, lips pursed, regarding the swollen, reddened buttocks, dropping a solid smack on one side, then following it up with several quick blows in a row to the other cheek that left Sharon writhing. He paused, reaching over to fist his hand in her blonde locks, cranking her head up. Her lashes were wet with tears, her lips a deep cheery red, her face suffused with a deep flush.
“What do you say to our guests, girl?”
She winced, the bright blue eyes imploring from under wet lashes. “I a-apologize for my behavior.”
“What else?” There was steel in Tom’s quiet voice.
“And for disobeying my husband. I”—her slender throat worked—“deserve to be punished.”
It took all the strength in Kirsten’s body not to reach out to comfort the woman. But she knew, somehow, that it would only make Sharon feel worse.
Instead, Kirsten mouthed “It’s okay.” She felt stupid as soon as she did it, but Sharon’s liquid eyes closed a moment, and she gave her a quick smile, her lower lip quivering, fresh tears coursing down her beautiful face.
“Good girl,” Tom murmured, his hand smoothing over the curve of Sharon’s hip. “Now get that head back down.”
Sharon buried her shame into the cushions once more. Tom gave her a few more hard blows, gazing upon his wife’s bottom intently, sometimes changing position to deliver a smack, as if touching her up. Sharon groaned and wriggled with each one, the tips of her fingers white as she squeezed the dress bunched in her hands.
Finally, the loud slaps stopped, Kirsten letting out a long breath. Keihl shifted her closer, halfway onto his lap, the bulge of his erection hard against her bottom. Once she’d have been angry that he’d become aroused at the sight of another woman being punished, but she knew that just didn’t
fit
here.
Not now.
This was something else, a new door opened into a world they’d just begun to explore, the reassuring grip of her husband’s muscled arms telling her that no matter what happened, he’d never let her go.
Then she heard it, her gaze snapping up back up to Tom.
He was delving deep within Sharon, Kirsten’s breath catching at the wet sounds of Tom’s fingers working his wife.
Soon Sharon’s hips were rolling, and she moaned steadily into the cushions, Tom’s blazing gaze focused upon his wife’s sex. Kirsten moved against Keihl’s arms, the intimacy of what she was watching almost too much. Keihl cooed in her ear, holding her in place. “This is part of it. You stay right there, girl.”
There it was again.
Girl.
The same word she’d heard Tom use with Sharon. The same heated possessive rumble of his voice as he said it. Did that simple word have the same visceral effect on her as it did on Kirsten?
Keihl squeezed Kirsten’s nipple, sensation rocketing down to her clit with such force, she put her hand over his, drawing a ragged breath. His hand caressed her belly again, and his teeth nipped her earlobe, the hot flash of pain making her gasp.
“That’s what I’m going to do to you tonight when I get you home,” he whispered, the hot tip of his tongue tasting the edge of her ear before worrying it again between his teeth. “I’m going to spank that big bottom of yours until it’s nice and warm. Then I’m going to work your needy cunt until you squirt all over the bed. Would you like that, bad girl?”
“Oh my God,” Kirsten said, breathing hard, leaning her head back against him. “
Yes
…”
She didn’t care anymore that Tom and Sharon were mere feet away; the eroticism of what they were watching was too much for her. At that moment, she wasn’t sure she’d have resisted Keihl if he’d decided to bend her over and fuck her right there on that couch, taking her alongside the woman rapidly spiraling toward her orgasm.
Sharon keened steadily into those cushions now, Tom growling approving sounds as he worked her faster and faster, the air heavy with the tang of Sharon’s arousal. He gave her bottom a harsh slap now and then, making her buttocks wobble, her moans increasing an octave.
Keihl squeezed both of Kirsten’s breasts now, thumbs and fingers gently pulling and twisting her throbbing nipples, his mouth easing under her jaw to her vulnerable throat, knowing just where to tease her with those soft lips, that heated breath.
Finally, Sharon could hold back no longer, her head rearing up off the bed, staccato cries wrenched from behind clenched teeth, her face and chest flushing a deep scarlet.
“That’s my good girl,” Tom rumbled, his hand still working her. “Come for us! That’s it. Christ, you’re gushing!”
Sharon’s head dropped back to the cushions. She gave little whimpers as she slowly came down, her hands releasing the grip on her dress, arms coming up to wrap around her head, as if to hide from their gazes. Her body shuddered hard as Tom withdrew his glistening fingers.
He sat on the arm of the couch, next to his wife, leaning an elbow on her bottom, grinning at Keihl and Kirsten.
“Dinner might be a little late.”
* * *
T
he chains of the loveseat swing creaked as Kirsten eased it back and forth. The evening was cool, the last bit of pale orange daylight slowly fading from the western sky. Tom and Sharon’s enclosed porch, looking out over a rock hewn coy pond, was a pleasant surprise, a feature of a home she usually associated with the Midwest or the South. She remembered her childhood visits to her grandmother’s house in Illinois, curled up on the cushions of her porch swing, fascinated at the brilliant bolts of lightning crackling across the angry sky, the chest rattling bass of the rolling thunder. Alas, such weather was rare in western Washington State, but the porch swing was a nice touch nonetheless.
Keihl and Sharon were still inside, doing the dishes, talking and laughing over the sound of running water, the clatter of silverware. Dinner had been very late indeed, and it had seemed to give the baby even more energy than usual. Rather than endure everyone’s amused glances each time she jerked in surprise at a particularly stout kick, Kirsten had decided to sneak out to the porch to be alone, if only for a few minutes. Kirsten already thought of the baby as a girl, despite not knowing the true sex yet, and she always seemed to enjoy tumbling and kicking extra hard after meals, especially dinner. Tonight was no different.
The sensation of that little body moving inside her evoked a feeling so powerful, so emotional, that it made her want to weep with happiness, with pure wonder. Instead, she simply sat there on that porch swing, the night breezes chasing away the heat of the evening. She whispered to the baby, commenting on the sky, on how much Mommy couldn’t wait to meet her, the love she felt for her child already so strong she didn’t have words to express it.
The darkness of the evening deepened, the only illumination coming from the sliding glass door that opened onto the porch from the kitchen. She leaned back, content, breathing deeply of the night air.
The light from the kitchen dimmed, and she glanced over. Tom and Keihl stood just inside the glass door, talking, both of them occasionally glancing Kirsten’s way. Keihl caught her eye and winked at her, kicking up butterflies in her belly to go along with the in-utero gymnastics.
Keihl clapped Tom on the shoulder, then mouthed “I love you” to Kirsten, before walking back into the kitchen and out of her sight. The glass door slid open, the sounds from inside suddenly louder. “You want any company?”
Tom stepped down onto the porch, shutting out the din from the kitchen behind him. He’d changed into a black t-shirt and faded jeans, a look she’d never seen on the normally professionally dressed doctor. It suited him.
Don’t start, horndog.
“Sure.” She patted the seat next to her, curling an arm around her belly. “Have a seat — unless she kicks you off of it.”
“Beating up on you, is she?” He sat down, the chains making a skirring sound as he set the chair swinging lazily again.
“God, it’s bad tonight. I think she’s a future David Beckham or — who’s the female soccer player?”
“Mia Hamm?”