A Story of Us at a Spanking Party, Part 2

Iwanttodothis. Iwanttodothis. How far away is that freaking bed? Mr. B pulls me in front of him. Mrs. B glances briefly at my thigh and returns her gaze to you. I close my eyes.

"Open your eyes," you say from across the room. How do you know I closed my eyes? Fuck you. I open my eyes and stare at the wall.

Mr. B takes a butt cheek in each hand and mashes it. He squeezes and kneads and and pumps. Mrs. B packs a bit more in the trunk than I do, perhaps he likes the chance to get a whole cheek in his hand. Are you watching? How long do we let this go on? He moves down and squeezes my thighs for a bit, then pats his lap. Mrs. B gets up and goes to you, I guess. She doesn’t say anything.

Mr. B pulls me across him and makes several thousand minute adjustments to my position and my panties. His thighs are bony but his pouch is couchy to lie on. What’s happening? What’s Mrs. B doing? He’s got me tipped awkwardly and I can’t let go to get my hair out of my face. Why wouldn’t they put us some way we could see each other? Watch each other?

Mr. B starts a soft rant about unacceptable behavior. I think well, I walked into your hotel room and let you watch me be undressed and got over your lap. What about that did you find unacceptable? Clearly I have to fill in those blanks for myself. He just talks. He talks forever with a random swat here and there. I’m bored. I hate videos where these guys go on and on just to hear themselves talk. I’m uncomfortable the way he’s holding me but I don’t know if I say that if he’ll make me more uncomfortable. I really don’t know enough about this stuff. Are you watching? How long do we do this? I hear your belt come off and the sound of your zipper. What’s she been doing?

I hear you grunt softly and Mrs. B starts talking. Murmuring, on and on. Mr. B pulls my panties down and finally picks up the pace some. Can you see me? Is she looking at me? The rant is now "bad bad bad bad bad bad bad" with "girl" thrown in here and there but he’s got some rhythm going. I can hear Mrs. B’s voice and a metronomic light thudding but no sound from you.

Mr. B suddenly roars into "BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD" accompanied by slamming spanks upwards into my cheeks. I suck air and start chanting "OW OW OW OW OW" along with him. His arm is clamped on me, his knobby elbow driven between my ribs, but he’s almost knocking me off his lap. I gasp and twist away, it’s making me dizzy and it hurts way deep. I jerk hard away from him and he stops, rubbing me too rigorously but he’s stopped spanking. My ears ring.

He stands me up and turns me around. You’re standing in front of Mrs. B with no pants or shoes on. Your face isn’t red and you’re not breathing hard. You’re not hard anywhere. What happened?

They lead us toward each other until we’re toe to toe. "You can hold onto each other," Mr. B says absentmindedly, looking through implements. He holds up something on a handle that looks like a piece of metal between leather flaps, for Mrs. B’s approval. I look in your eyes. You shrug and put your arms around me.

"You can take the rest of those clothes off," Mr. B says. I shake my head but you push my arms up and lift off my shirt and take off my bra. I can’t reach high enough to do you, I push your shirt up and you shrug out of it.

I put my palms on your butt cheeks to see if they’re hot. You grab my hands away but too late.

"She’s covering him!" Mrs. B shrills. You say later that she said it in a normal tone of voice but she didn’t. She shrill gloated it. Mr. B comes around behind me and Mrs. B stands behind you.

"Now my dear," Mr. B says, "you know that’s not allowed. Put your palms up for Mrs. B to punish."

I put my face in your chest. You tighten your arms around me. "You don’t have to," you breathe into my hair, "say the word." My breath is ragged mewling muffled against you. I turn my left hand up and open it behind your back. She hits it with something that sounds like a cap pistol going off and buckles my knees. You hold me up. I clutch my left fist to my chest between us.

"Other hand," Mr. B singsongs. "Stretch your arm out, get it away from his back."

I stretch my arm, mashing my breasts against you. I open my hand and she cuts half of it off. I scream, waiting for the half with my fingers to hit the floor. Waiting for the blood spout. What did she hit me with? That was nothing that was lying on that table. You pull that arm back between us, kissing my still attached fingers, trying to calm my sobbing. You hold me tighter, rubbing my back and kissing my eyelids.

"Put your arms around," Mr. B says. "You need to be braced."

I wrap my arms around you. My hands are numb.

We stand belly to belly. Mr. and Mrs. B begin rocking from foot to foot behind us, slapping their hands with their implements that we can’t see. Then Mrs. B moves to her left and takes aim at you. There’s a tremendous thwack followed immediately by a whistling shot to me that slams us against each other. They alternate like this, quickly, weaving an encircling of pain around us, the blows ricocheting through us one to the other.

They change implements, at one time tossing the exchange over our heads. Straps, leather paddles, tawse, crop, metal thing with leather flaps. No wood I think, but maybe. Wasn't there gleaming wood somewhere? I can’t keep up. I’m sorry, I’m making it almost impossible for you to hold us up, I keep getting on my right tip toe with my left knee digging into your thigh. I keep trying to put my leg down but it goes back up with each blow. You’re stuck with your legs braced apart and holding most of my weight. When you jerk towards me with the hits it looks like you’re fucking me I’m sure. What was I worried about? They’re watching us fuck anyway.

They pick up speed. They’ve practiced this. They’re in perfect harmony alternating strokes. No matter what he uses he catches me between the cheeks like clockwork, every fourth stroke. I graciously accommodate him by continuing to lift my left leg, separating my cheeks.

I don’t know if she’s as fierce as he is, but your guttural "unh unh unh" makes me think so. We’re slick with sweat and trembling. The delicate ambergris air that greeted us is now thick with this miasma of us. All of us. Sweat, arousal, perfume, Mr. B’s cologne, her lavender talc. I find your lips with mine but I’m afraid to stay that way, afraid I’ll bite down or worse. We can’t be going home from this explaining missing teeth.

I haven’t had much experience but I know this is not the distanced politesse of professionals. There’s a gleeful, lusty savagery at play that only comes from true love of the sport.

Your cock is burning rock between us. You’re going to jizz all over both of us. I don’t want them to see that. I should have known you wouldn’t care but I don’t like it and my mind searches wildly for a solution between the raging hail of strikes.

I feel your rhythm change, no longer dictated by their beat. There’s no time left. My legs feel like wet noodles but I jump. I jump and wrap my legs around your waist, praying your cock stays between us and doesn't shoot out under me and spray Mr. B's good lawn shirt. I feel your shock as you catch me but that's nothing compared to the shock when I yell "BATHROOM!"

That wasn't the safeword but it sure halts things. The whole room waits, the candles cock their flames in "huh?"

"Bathroom," I whimper, "I need the bathroom."

Mr. B says, "It's there," and you sprint to the door which I kick closed behind us.

"Fuckme fuckme fuck –"

You slam my tortured bottom onto the vanity and jackhammer into me exploding on contact.

"YEAH!!!!!" you yell.

It echoes off the tile.

"Baby that was so good wasn't it? I never felt you come like that. I don't know if I ever came like that. Let me suck your neck. I never suck your neck."

"Yes, yes," I gasp. "Please be quiet. They're right out there. They can hear."

"I thought that was your fantasy."

"My fantasy is someone hearing me get spanked, not fucked."

"Yeah, sit there and tell me there's a big difference there for you. Let me suck your elbow a minute. Wasn't that good?"

"Yes," I say. "Yes it was so good. Please don't suck anything else now. Please go get my clothes. I don't know what we're supposed to do now. Are we supposed to thank them?"

"Don't worry. I got it covered. I'll get your clothes." You grab a towel and wipe yourself off and shove another one between my legs. You go out and I hear more murmured voices and you come back, carefully closing the door.

"I couldn't get your panties, baby. I think Mr. B put them in his pocket."

"Oh god," I moan. "We have to take these towels with us. They’re covered with cum and mascara."

"Hell no, Mr. B likes souvenirs, leave him the panties and the towels."

As you turn to pee I see that Mrs. B claims her territory. You’re deep and pulsing red from tops of cheeks well down your thighs. I clench. I never imagined seeing you this way. I want to kiss and lick your cheeks. I want my tongue inside you, feel that heat so deep. I slide off the vanity and twist to see myself in the mirror. Mr. B has hit one spot so many times I’ll probably need a skin graft. But it’s all there. A sanguine canvas of darkening bruises, stripes and berries.

I bend over, my fevered forehead searching for a spot of cool on the vanity surface that doesn’t exist anymore because my flaming butt has sucked it all up.

I say, "look what he did to me. On the right."

You touch your tongue to the spot. "It’s not broken, we’ll get some ice. God, look at you. Look at you. I’m hard again, are you wet? Yeah –"

"No," I say. "I can’t. I need the room, I need the bed."

"Okay, Come on. Let's get you dressed. Get back up here, put your legs through. Get your shoes – do we have to do up all these buckles? Stand up and pull these up. Do you think of wearing clothes you can get on and off?"

"Do you think about how my ass looks in these pants?" I yank the wrinkled linen, which has turned to burlap laced with shards of razor blade, up around my swollen cheeks and pussy.

"That’s true," you say, "they look good. Just wait one second before you put your bra on. I can't not suck you baby, it's unnatural. No, I know, let’s go. We’ll get you bed and ice."

"I want enough ice to sit in."

"We’ll get that, and bed and rest and food and fuck. We gotta keep your strength up. I have a surprise for you later."