The Spanked Wives Club (4 page)

No woman in her right mind would take you as a husband, Ford. You’re better off single anyway. For good.

“Let’s see,” Leigh said, thumbing through the docket for the weekend’s event. “Looks like… Melissa Stuart — David’s wife. Second time in six months for her.”

“Wonder why?” Von said, reading through his own copy of the document.

Ford had seen a few women go up for multiple weeks in a single year, but it was unusual. Typically, it was something the couples agreed on, a step one or both felt was necessary… though he wasn’t sure why a wife would agree to go through the ordeal more often than her prescribed once per year.

“Masochist, that one,” Von murmured, his eyes glittering. “And God bless her for it too.”

Von’s own wife might fit the same description, and in Ford’s mind, Celina was more than his friend Von ever deserved. It didn’t mean a man of Von Ellison’s appetites didn’t take great delight in the sights and experiences of The Walk though. All of the men did, if they were honest with themselves — and more than a few of the women did too. How many of them secretly wished they might take the place of one of the poor Applicants, the prospect fascinating and terrifying in equal measure.

“Oh, Brooke Shafer is up for it this time too,” Von said, grinning. “The boys will be lining every inch of the route watching those big tits wobble.”

“Martin shelters her too much,” Leigh said with a sigh.

“I’d shelter her too, if she were mine. Some things a man wants to keep for himself.”

“I reckon Celina might wish you thought that more often,” Ford said, dropping his chin. “How’s she doing, by the way?”

“Gorgeous — and mine — as usual,” Von said, fixing Ford with a mischievous stare. “Though I’m not averse to loaning her out, depending upon the suitor…”

“Forget it, Von.” Ford shook his head, trying not to think about the sight of Celina’s smooth buttocks draped over his lap, the way her flesh rippled and shook as he’d spanked her, her husband looking on approvingly, growling at her to obey Ford as she would him.

Ford crossed his legs, his cock suddenly an iron bar in his pants.

Not really the time, horn dog.

Von had offered Ford much more than an opportunity to discipline his little Spanish spitfire of a wife that evening. Ford would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted, listening to the beautiful woman sniffle as he stroked a palm over buttocks rendered a fiery red by a prolonged punishment spanking. He couldn’t even remember what Von had decided she needed to be punished for — though to be accurate, The Session had rendered its own judgment, rendering Von’s wishes moot. But Ford would never forget watching her disrobe, the inky black of the pubic curls between her smooth, lush thighs as she walked to him, the spicy scent of her sex as he held her by the hand, drawing her over his lap for her impending spanking.

Enough, asshole. You’ve got other things to worry about.

He looked up to find both Leigh and Von watching him in silence.

“Sheriff, are you… all right?” Leigh tapped a finger on her lower lip. “Care to review the rest of the docket, or was there something more you wanted to add regarding”—she flicked a glance toward Von— “Celina?”

Ford tried to speak, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, nodding toward the two. “No. Please proceed.”

He caught Von’s devilish smile as he opened up his own folder, going through the rest of the Applicants. It would be the largest Walk in many months. Nine in all, a Walk with that many women would last several hours. The concluding auctions would add yet more time.

Unlike many past events, where the entrants were virtually the same age, this one would feature a wide range of women. Twenty-year-old Candice Darrow would be the youngest, determined to complete her Walk before her wedding, rather than afterward — as many new wives often chose.

Josalyn Williams would be the oldest, a few days shy of her forty-seventh birthday. A great beauty in her youth, she was no less one now, if only slightly more muted. Her long dark hair, dramatic curves and lush flesh would draw many an eye on Saturday, of that he had no doubt. Ford would have to make sure he was present for her turn on The Walk. He took an elicit delight in watching the older women. He’d been drawn to more mature females his entire life, and he was still to this day, despite being well into his late thirties himself. There was a certain indescribable
vulnerability
to older women, even as their wisdom and life experience only enhanced their appeal. He particularly liked how the younger men seemed fascinated by the older women, each of them trying to feign disinterest, or a detached aloofness, at the eroticism of the naked flesh displayed before them. Ford knew better though; they were drawn to them with a power that was difficult to put into words.

Some of the young men, he knew, would be far more forward though when it came time for the displays, and the auctions afterward.

But first would come The Walk.

Chapter Five

T
hey’d found her kneeling at the foot of the four-poster bed.

For Hunter, following Keenan through the cool shadows of the house had bordered on the surreal, knowing something lay at the end of their journey, but having no real clue as to what.

His cock, throbbing insistently the entire time, seemed to have an idea though.

Rather than walk upstairs, where Hunter presumed the bedrooms were, Keenan instead led them down a narrow, rather steep flight of carpeted stairs into the basement, the air even cooler in the quiet gloom. The space they found Amy in was lit by a single incandescent fixture above the bed, warm yellow illumination spraying down upon the waiting woman, the black silk of the bed sheets catching the light, reflecting it back in a way that made the bed almost shimmer.

For a moment, they just stood there, looking down upon her. Amy had discarded her strappy heels, leaving them neatly at the foot of bed before kneeling, her bottom spread upon her bare feet. The skin-tight jeans displayed the heart-shaped lusciousness of the woman’s ass to perfection, Hunter suppressing a momentary urge to reach down and squeeze those gorgeous cheeks in his hands. Hard.

“You know what to do, girl,” Keenan finally said.

She looked back at him, nodding, her lower lip trembling ever so slightly. “Yes, Sir.”

“We’ll be waiting then.” Keenan tapped his knuckles against Hunter’s arm. “Come on. Let’s take a seat.”

Flicking on another set of lights, this time an entire bank of down-lit incandescents, Keenan led Hunter over to a set of high-backed chairs that looked transplanted straight out of a Victorian mansion. Finely embroidered with a silvery thread, the dark upholstery looked too fine to even contemplate sitting on, but Keenan dropped right down into one, sighing as he did.

He looked up at Hunter, waving him to his own chair. “Go on. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Keenan, what… is this?”

The man’s eyes still fixed on his wife, he spoke in low, soft tones. “This… is what it means to live here. This is just a part. Von wanted you to see how things can go.” Keenan met Hunter’s gaze. “The question is — are you ready to see?”

“Hell yes,” Hunter said, hoping his bravado would mask the pounding of his heart, his mouth so dry he was surprised he’d been able to form the words. “I
came
here to see. Troy warned me before I did. I’ve already…seen a few things.”

And they were far beyond anything Troy let me in on beforehand.

“Shall I tell her to proceed then?”

Hunter found the cryptic way seemingly
everyone
in the town talked to be frustrating at best, maddening at worst. He had no choice but to agree, though he still had no real idea what he was agreeing to.

Oh, but you know.

Hunter could only nod, the lump in his throat momentarily precluding speech.

“Come over here, girl,” Keenan intoned.

Amy rose to her feet with a grace that bespoke long practice. She walked closer, coming to a halt mere feet away. Her body straightened, breasts thrust out, shoulders back. She faced directly forward, her bright eyes seemingly focused on a point somewhere behind their chairs. The overhead fixtures bathed her in light, the thick locks of her red hair partially shrouding her features in shadow.

“Strip,” Keenan said, his voice terse.

Immediately, her slender fingers worked at the buttons of her snug shirt, the fabric falling to the floor in short order. She unfastened her jeans then, working them slowly off, her hips wagging as she pushed the denim down her legs. Stepping out of them, she folded the jeans neatly, setting them on the floor next to the crumpled pile of her shirt.

“The top too,” Keenan growled. “You know better than that.”

“Sorry, Sir,” she whispered, folding the red shirt quickly as well, laying it atop her jeans. She straightened, her hands at her sides, fingers visibly trembling.

They took in the sight of her solid blue bra, her low-cut panties a blue and white striped pattern. Here and there, the brutally tight jeans had left faint red impressions on her pale flesh, making Hunter want to trace them with his fingertips — or something else.

You’re here to watch — not fuck.

But was that really true? As he’d looked on, mesmerized, as Von had disciplined Celina right there in front of he and Troy, Hunter had the distinct feeling that if he were even a little bit less of a stranger, the evening wouldn’t have ended with a mere spanking and tearful promises to do better from the bewitching Celina.

He can’t have been the only one to notice how wet the woman’s pussy was as she was being punished, how hard those coral nipples stood up when she’d been ordered to give her post-discipline thank yous to both Von, and the two watching men.

Keenan gave his wife a quick nod then, and she unsnapped the bra, letting it fall, her generous breasts rising and falling with her breaths, the bright pink nipples tightening before their eyes. Pausing, she met her husband’s gaze for a moment, something passing between them. He made a sound, somewhere between anticipation and admonishment, and she slipped her thumbs into the skimpy waistband of her panties, her face blushing scarlet as she drew them down and off as well. The sway of her heavy breasts as she stepped out of the panties made Hunter’s cock ache, even as he knew there would be no relief for it anytime soon.

The thought of Lacey’s lush buttocks reddening under his hand flitted through Hunter’s mind again. Months later, he still thought of that night far more often than he should have. That had been one helluva Christmas present from his best friend — and from his best friend’s wife.

Christ, we gotta find you a girl.

Amy stood up once more, her face burning the color of her hair.

“Hands behind your head,” Keenan said.

Reluctance pouring from the gorgeous woman, she complied, her breasts rising higher as she took the required position.

“This is the hardest part for her,” Keenan murmured, stroking his chin. “This is when she thinks of disobeying most. It’s not when she’s trying not to cry out as she’s spanked, or begging me for forgiveness as I turn her ass the same shade as that hair of hers, or swallowing down another mouthful of my come. It’s now — when forced to display it all. No protection, no shields, no hiding. Now — when she’s most beautiful.” He sat forward, arms on his legs, his eyes glittering as he stared up at the motionless Amy. “And most mine.”

Hunter let himself take in the beauty of the nude woman before him, whether or not it was right. Here in White Valley, right and wrong seemed to have a unique… malleability.

Her thighs were lush, but strong, the bright red of her pubic hair a stark counterpoint to the pallor of her clear skin. He knew women spent many thousands of dollars for skin as flawless as hers. Her belly had a pleasing roundness to it, the gentle curve beckoning a possessive stroke, the buoyant breasts, the prominent nipples seemingly made for a man’s palms — or his tongue. A single tear slipped down her cheek, the light catching it as it coursed across her skin. She wiped it away with her inner arm, drawing in a long shaky breath then looking straight ahead once more.

Then Hunter noticed it. A tattoo.

Low enough to be hidden by even the most daringly brief bikini, just above the russet curls of her pubis, was an arc of flowing script in purple, scarlet and green. It was too small to read even this close, and Hunter had to practice Herculean self-control not to lean forward and stare. On her otherwise perfect alabaster skin it could have been garish, out of place. Instead, it was an enhancement, something that made her in some strange way, even more alluring.

But he would have to wait a little longer to learn what it read.

“You think this is wrong, don’t you?” Keenan looked over at Hunter. “It’s okay — be honest.”

“I don’t know what to think. But wrong isn’t what comes to mind.” Hunter looked away, unable to bear Keenan’s suddenly intent gaze. “She’s beautiful… I’d be proud of her too.”

He just wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to be so willing to
share
as the men here apparently were. He wondered if that was as much a part of living in White Valley as the morning mist and the afternoon breeze.