A Story of Us at a Spanking Party, Part 1

We meet at the hotel hosting the spanking party. We have a day and a night, eternity together. You have more eternity than I do. I get there around 11am if the planes go and have an early flight out the next morning.

You’ve been there early, finding the people you met last time, making plans, solidifying plans, happy to see them again. I’m only a little late but you’re sitting in the lobby tapping your foot. You ask briskly what I want to do. I say I’d like to see the view from the room.

When the elevator doors close you put your hand between my legs and kiss me. All is well.

Room 357 is a sweet oasis of sex. You’ll only give me slow sexy spankings which lead to sex and we call for some wine which leads to sex and we even get a bit of food which leads to sex. It’s just easy times, we’re not getting worn out. We have a mission. We will go out and mingle and explore. But we have sex first. We’re practical that way.

Freshened and relatively alert we get dressed and descend. We find a demonstration of something to do with people being spanked. I never quite figure it out and you seem more concerned with finding somewhere to stand that you can have your hand up the back of my shirt. Some of the players you know nod to you from the "stage" and you blush. That’s sweet.

There’s a room that’s been set up with tables and chairs and a bar so people can mix. It’s nice, they’ve gone to some trouble to make it feel like a club and we get drinks and sit at a table, people watching. Rubbing legs. Smiling at each other through the candlelight. Smiling at other people walking by.

A man and woman approach. He says "may we join you?" You stand and offer your hand and say sure, introducing yourself and then me. I shake his hand which is warm and firm and shake hers, which is cool and limp. She doesn’t shake hands with :people. You pick right up on it and take her hand as if to kiss it, then pat it with your other hand. She dimples, she likes that.

They’re middle aged, well kept and well turned out, thickening though the middle, aren’t we all. His hair is gray and thinning over a pleasant, confident face. She has expertly dyed helmet hair, which is adding twenty years, and beautiful hands. Long, slender fingers covered with rings. Signals to other women of her enduring marriage of appropriate spousal giftage. Her face is nice but more closed than his. She steals glances at you which is cute.

He says "nice to meet you. We’re Mr. B and Mrs. B and we’d like to spank you."

They fill us in briefly on their experience, which is extensive. Mr. B is a top, Mrs. B in the last several years has become an excellent switch. But he’s never mastered it he smiles. They have a commitment in about an hour but if we’re interested they’re in their room, 212, until then. And maybe they’ll see us in a few minutes?
　
They go. Nicely done. Giving us time to decide. Giving us time for the frantic whispering that ensues.
　
You: Do you want to?
　
Me: I know you do. I saw your face when he said it.
　
You: Do you want to?
　
Me: Yes? I don’t – I thought you were more interested in meeting people new to this --
　
You: I’m interested in anything. And they’re perfect. We said we’d look for someone with experience too. Do you want to try this?
　
Me: They’re spanking us? He’s spanking me and she’s spanking you? Is that what they meant?
　
You: Let’s go talk to them and find out.
　
Me: What do we do after? How do we get out of the room?
　
You: By the door?
　
Me: We have sex after spanking! Always! We have sex during spanking. You’re going to have a hard on and I’m going to be soaked. How do we get out of there? I don’t want to have sex in front of them.
　
You: If they’ve done this so many times before they’ve seen people get aroused. We’ll excuse ourselves and hold on till we get back to the room.

Me: Hold on to what?
　
You: We’ll check on the way if the stairwells are locked. Then we won’t have to wait for an elevator, we can just run for the room.
　
Me: That’s the worst plan I’ve ever heard.
　
Mr. and Mrs. B’s suite looks like they’ve unloaded their RV into it. It’s not unsophisticated, there are some beautiful Oriental silks draped over the end of the bed and one chair. World travelers? Large scented candles flicker in exotic stands and on the coffee table on a gold embroidered runner their implements, burnished, shining, aged and revered. It’s enchanting. These people are serious, talented players at setting a scene.
　
Mr. B offers bottled water and explains their interests. He will spank me, Mrs. B will spank you, with a variety of implements and as they direct us. Anyone uncomfortable with anything at any time and it stops, no questions.
　
Mr. B sniffs the air, scenting virgin. "Is this your first time, my dear?" he asks me.
　
"First party, thing, like this, yes." Gee, how could you tell?
　
"Then you say the word and it stops."
　
Thanks, good, all on me. I nod. Mr. and Mrs. B sit on the end of the bed with their hands folded. Mr. B nods at you and says "Would you like to take off her pants and shoes?"
　
Shit. You’re the tallest, why can’t you go first? You kneel in front of me and mangle my sandals off with a lot of muttered cursing. Mrs. B’s linen slacks are beautifully cut trousers, matching her silky blouse. My linen pants are low cut, tight through the hip and thigh, and end in huge bells, much like the pants I wore a hundred years ago the first time they were in style. You finally get one leg down and I get caught in the pooled fabric and trip, falling onto you and knocking you off balance. Our audience laughs lightly.
　
My face is purple. You yank the other pant leg off and stand me up with my back to them, gripping my arms, probably afraid I’m about to bolt pantless. My white lace panties are sheer, my cheeks are clearly visible. My top is too short to cover anything so I roll down the sleeves because that’ll really help.
　
You rub my back and kiss my forehead. "Come on now," you say. You turn me to face them, now my sex is clearly visible, frosted with white. You wrap your arms around mine and hold my hands.
　
"Lovely," Mr. B says. "Come here, lovely."

I have a death grip on your wrists but you disengage and push me forward. "Go on now," you whisper.