Rick and Linda: Natural Conclusions

She pushed those two indefatigable fingers into her vagina to rub her G-spot while the thumb took their place on the clitoris-rubbing work crew. She raised up, straightening her left elbow to push herself off the floor with her left hand. Her head went back and her eyes closed. Her sounds changed from 'un's to higher pitched cries like a sea bird.

As she neared orgasm, she slipped into her native language, "Iku, iku, iku, wa!!" she squealed. It means roughly "I'm coming!"

When her climax came, her legs came back up to the frog leg position and her body shook in place for several seconds. Finally, she fell exhausted over my lap and I stopped.

After twenty seconds of rest, she got up with a beatific grin on her face.

"Thank you, Lick-sama," she whispered, smiling. It was almost a purr.

"Make it a complete sentence," I commanded.

She smiled even bigger and said "Thank you, Lick-sama, foah spanking me rong and hald with my lurah. It was wondelfah!"

I made her thank Linda, too; and then she stepped into her panties and pulled them up. She winced when the silk wrapped her bum, but with gritted teeth, she pulled on the jeans and fastened them.

"Send Arundati in," I told her.

Moving gingerly and with little gasps of pain, she slowly walked from the room and down the hallway. As Arundati was entering the room we overheard Ellen talking to KeeKee in the living room.

"Aren't you going to sit down?" Ellen asked.

"No, I'm not!" KeeKee choked.

"Just a moment," Linda said to Arundati and I. She left the bedroom and soon we heard snatches of conversation from the living room and the kitchen:

"What? ... the refrigerator ... my bottom inside ... seriously? ... suppose it wouldn't hurt to try ... oh! That does feel good ... stop laughing Ellen ... you're going to get yours ..." All of this was said with a Japanese accent.

When Linda returned and took her place in the chair, I noticed that Arundati was already looking at me with that scared/fascinated stare.

"Is anything the matter?" I asked.

"No, it's just that we ... uh ... heard KeeKee's cries."

As she said this, her stare moved from my face to my hand.

She was dressed in a bulky wraparound skirt and baggy top blouse so conservative, she might as well have been living in the 1950s.

She needed no special coaxing to obey my order that she tell us why she was here and ask politely for her spanking. She spoke in her sing-song Indian accent; and she left out most 'a's and 'the's, while using the present tense all the time.

"I leave work early and I am coming across town to ask you for longer spanking than spanking you give me last week, Rick-sahib." Looking down with a blush, she added "This time on my bare skin. So please give me long spanking."

Interestingly, she asked Linda's permission for the spanking without my telling her to. Apparently, to her, this seemed the natural thing to do under the circumstances.

She unwrapped her skirt and tossed it on a chair. Miss Modest India of 1955 was wearing the same kind conservative white cotton underwear she'd had on the previous week. I'm sure it was the only kind she owned.

She put her hands on the waistband of the underwear, but then stopped and looked anxiously back over her shoulder at Linda. Neither of them said anything, but the international female-to-female telepathic messaging system was working, just as it has since Neanderthal times, and Arundati's message got through. (Scientists should look into this.) Linda got up, turned her chair to face the wall, and sat back down. Arundati accepted that Linda had to be in the room, but she wasn't ready to put on a show for an audience.

Miss Modest turned back to face me, put her right hand into the underwear to cover her pubis, and then she used the left hand to laboriously pull the panties down to her ankles. She stepped out of them and, with a small squeal of embarrassment; she rushed over to me and lay across my lap, being careful not to remove the hand from her forest until after she was face down. She lay, as KeeKee had, with her upper body and arms on the bed.

"Arundati, remember how I taught you to arch your back last week?" I reminded her.

"Ohoh!" she cried.

Clearly she had forgotten this when she decided to have today's spanking on the bare. Knowing the conservative culture from which she came, I knew that I was the first man other than her husband to see her bare ass. (I'd actually seen it last week, but she didn't know that.) I could imagine how embarrassing this was going to be for Arundati; more importantly, so could Linda.

Nevertheless, after a brief pause, I saw Arundati arch her back and rise up on her toes, offering her behind to me for her first ever bare bottomed spanking. Since Linda was not literally watching, I indulged myself a longer inspection than I gave KeeKee. My eyes swept slowly over that beautiful brown flesh so intensely it I felt as if I were actually stroking it with my hand. I noted the full, but not fat, hips, the long, smooth brown thighs, and the firm bottom that seemed to stand up tighter and harder than any I'd seen before. Her pubis, peeking now from between her tightly clenched thighs was a riot of short curly black hairs. Curiously, they were not kinky, but gently curly, indistinguishable from the luxurious, silky locks that cascaded down her back.

This was a hand spanking and I started slow and built up speed and force.

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

Except for a reflexive jerk on the first blow, she did not react except to close her eyes and smile broadly. I continued my slow build up for several minutes.

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

Soon her buttocks were clenching and unclenching fetchingly as she tried to squeeze away the pain. The tiny muscular movements that her panties had hidden from me last week were now visible as her bottom churned and squirmed.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

A couple of minutes more and she began rocking from side to side and emitting the little gurgling "unh" sounds I remembered from the previous week. I picked up the pace and the strength of my spanks.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

Her cries became longer and louder and were soon audible down the hall.

"unhhhhhhhuh, unhhhhhhhuh, unhhhhhhhuh"

I continued for another full minute at near top strength.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

She rose up on her elbows, her face twisted in pain. I gave her a very hard one on the base of both buns.

Smack!!!

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh" was her response through clenched teeth as her hips bucked rapidly on my lap. I gave her another just like it and then two more.

Smack!!! ... Smack!!! Smack!!!

"Owwww!!! Oh!!!! Oh!!!! Unnnh!!!!!" she cried out as she bucked wildly and twisted on my lap thrashing her legs up and down.

Smack!!! Smack!!!

Her brown bottom didn't show pink as much as KeeKee's, Ellen's, and Linda's, but it was now a pinkish brown and it gyrated wildly beneath my hand. I slowed and lightened the blows just a bit.

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

Her sounds and jerks no longer correlated with my spanks. He body was incapable of reacting to individual pains anymore because they had all merged into a single stinging throb that encased her entire bottom. To a rhythm of her own, she began to slide herself forward and back across my lap; rubbing her pubis on my thighs as I she did so. With her palms pressing against the bedspread, she would push herself back the full width of my lap. Then she would push herself forward with her toes and feet. At first the slides were luxuriously slow and she held her eyes closed. But they became faster and her eyes opened halfway revealing a glazed look.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

I thought she might just rub herself to orgasm this way, but she had other plans. She stopped suddenly and, like KeeKee, snaked her right hand between us until it reached her love lips. Unlike KeeKee, however, she did not rub.

No. Miss Modest India surprised me by spreading her legs as she pushed a finger into her vagina and began to move it in a twirling motion it as if it were a swizzle stick stirring a drink. With each circle, she was stretching the vaginal walls. After a few seconds of this, a second finger joined the first. Then a third joined its brothers. Finally, the baby of the family joined in and all four fingers pushed into her vagina up to the last knuckle.

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

Soon she began sawing those fingers in and out. She increased her speed and strength as she began emitting little 'eh' sounds in time to the rhythm of her pumps. As I continued to spank, she continued to plunge her fingers in and out of her vagina with ever increasing strength. Soon her bottom was shaking like jello with each pump. I'd seen the jello bottom phenomenon many times, of course; but only when another person was pounding into a woman. This was different: Arundati was making her bottom shimmy with just her own arm muscles alone. I wouldn't have guessed that it was possible for someone to masturbate themselves with such force.

The other night when Linda and I had seen Karam taking Arundati from behind, I had noted that there was no variety in his strokes, he was like a monotonous robot. I now realized, watching how Arundati masturbated that he was probably giving her exactly what she wanted. At that moment, Linda sneaked a peek and her eyes bugged out at what she was seeing. (Later that night, Linda commented on how strong Arundati's forearms were. "You can say that again," I replied, "I wish she was pitching for the Mets.")

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

Her sounds became louder and deeper "EH, EH, EH, EH ... ". Her head thrashed from side to side, and she saw that Linda was watching, but she no longer seemed to care. She got the glazed, heavy-lidded look again and I realized she was near orgasm.

But Miss Modest India of 1955 had one last surprise before she was stripped of her title. She slipped her left hand between us and the Right Brothers were replaced in her vagina by their cousins from the Left side of the family, who immediately picked up the pumping where the Right's had left off. She pulled the right hand out from between us and reached back over her butt with it. Then, as Linda's mouth gaped in amazement, Arundati spread her legs as wide as she could and plunged the four soaking wet Right Brothers one after the other into her own anus.

When the fourth went in to join its siblings, Arundati gasped. Then she resumed the pumping, this time with both hands. They alternated direction, so one was pulling out of its cave when the other was pushing in.

Finally, her body stiffened and she cried out her husband's name, "Ohhh! Karam!"

She bucked hard in orgasm and then collapsed exhausted over my lap. (Later that night, Linda remarked on how romantic it was that Arundati was so in love with her husband, she pretended she was with him when she climaxed over another man's lap. That was a strong marriage, we agreed. It was going to last.)

She rested for nearly half a minute, then got up to her feet. Her hair was a black, storm-tossed sea.

"Thank you for giving me long spanking on bare bottom, Rick-sahib," she gasped, still a little out of breath.

She said this on her own without being asked by me. She was a quick study, I thought, who had grasped shrewdly what I wanted to hear.

The ability to read the minds of university males would serve her well. She'll go far, I thought, and I paused to picture the two of us ten years in the future: she is now the Provost and we are alone in her wood-paneled office. But I'm the one sitting in the plush leather desk chair and she is lying half naked over my lap, tearfully thanking her Rick-sahib for another stinging reminder that just because she's a Provost, she's still no better than any humble professor.

"Earth to Rick, Earth to Rick, Come in please." It was Linda's voice interrupting my thoughts.

"Please try not to space out when we have guests," she scolded playfully.

Arundati bent to put on her undershorts, but as soon as they touched her sore butt, she yanked them right off again. She put her skirt back on and stuffed the underwear in a purse. Linda led her to our bathroom to wash her hands and then she left the room saying "I am sending Ellen."

As Ellen was headed our way, we overheard KeeKee instructing Arundati in the finer points of post-spanking therapy.

"Just open the refrigerator door, lift your skirt and push your bottom in. It works wonders." In KeeKee's pronunciation, this came out as "Just open the refligelatah do'ah, rift yoll skilt, and poosh yoll bottom in. It wolks wondahs."

Ellen's cowlick entered the bedroom, with Ellen attached beneath it.

She glanced around the room and smiled big with approval to see that Linda was seated in a chair facing the bed as though she was an audience. That's exactly what Linda was, of course; but that fact was somehow emphasized more by her sitting in a chair instead of standing while she watched, or sitting cross legged on the floor, or perched on the edge of her makeup table. And an audience is just what Ellen wanted.

She wore a simple form-hugging red tank top, white Capri pants, and sandals. There was no bra strap. She approached me smiling, but clearly nervous. While I had been spanking Arundati, KeeKee had briefed Ellen about my requirements, so I didn't have to tell her what to say. She spoke in her clipped British accent, but she stammered on the words that were especially embarrassing.

"I've come across town today because I- I- en- enjoyed the sm- smacking you gave my n- naked behind and I'd like to ask you, Rick, p- p- please to give me another, longer this time."

For American spankers, there is often an extra benefit to spanking someone with a British accent, because we tend associate such accents with the arrogant aristocracy. And the only thing better than seeing a woman sniffling humbly over one's lap, while she furiously tries to rub the pain out of a pink bottom, is seeing anarrogantwoman brought to a sniffling, bum-rubbing humiliation.

I've been around enough British accents that I no longer automatically associate them with intelligence, good taste, or even good manners. But even I could not entirely disassociate Ellen's accent from my notion of snobbery, so hearing her stammered plea for a spanking had an extra thrill for me, and for Linda, who flushed at Ellen's performance.

"You're nervous," I pointed out needlessly.

"Well," she said, "the sound effects coming from this room were quite, uh, impressive, but also a little scary. You aren't going to spank me that hard, are you?"

Her voice rose half an octave at the end and quavered.

I stared hard into her eyes, trying to read her, trying to figure out what she wanted me to say; not what her conscious mind wanted me to say, but what she wanted deep inside. I made a decision.

"Yes, Ellen, I am, just as hard as I spanked the others. It will hurt and you will cry."

Her eyes grew big with fear and she instinctively stepped back from me. I continued to hold her stare. As the seconds ticked, her stare changed. It became less a stare of fear and more one of fascination. Her face muscles relaxed and her mouth opened slightly and I could sense her surrender. From somewhere deep inside, her instinct to be controlled and commanded by a man took over.

With a little sigh, she kicked off her sandals and stepped back to me. Remembering her briefing from KeeKee, she turned to Linda and asked "Would it be alright if your husband spanked me?"

"Yes," Linda answered.

I wondered if Ellen detected Linda's flushed face and the breathiness of her voice.

Ellen dropped a small black handbag on the floor by the end of the bed. Then she unzipped the Capri pants and snaked out of them. She lowered the wispy, nearly transparent panties to her ankles and stepped out of them. Unlike Arundati, she covered nothing with her hand and she was in no hurry to get over my lap. She moved slowly, giving me a long look at her triangular treasure and her long lean thighs before she draped herself over my lap, her upper body resting on the bed.

It came as no surprise to me that this exhibitionist remembered what I'd taught her the previous week about arching. She pushed into the carpet with her toes and arched her back, offering her bottom up to me.

Taken in isolation from the rest of her, it was not a great butt, but it was pretty damn good. It was too small to be called perfectly proportioned relative to her height (5 feet, 8 inches), but it wasn't so small that you'd say she had "boyish hips." Yet, taken in combination with the rest of her slim athletic body, it contributed to the spectacular vision that made her the most beautiful woman in town (except my Linda, of course). I noticed, too, for the first time that near the top of her ass, just below the waist was a spray of light freckles that seemed to match the spray across her nose and below her eyes.

I looked hard at her bottom and the urge to cup one of those smooth, pert, English hills was nearly irresistible. But Linda was watching, so I had to settle for the next best thing. I cupped my hand, pulled my arm to the side, and smacked it hard into the left hillside holding it there for as many fractions of a second as I could get away with before arousing Linda's jealousy.

Ellen jerked, gave out a little "oo," and gripped the bed spread in both fists as if she were getting ready for a roller coaster ride. I gave the right side the same treatment. It felt like catching a softball except my arm was moving and the ball stayed in one place. There was another jerk from Ellen.

My cupped hand trapped more air as it made contact than a flat hand, so the sound was lower than the flat-handed spanks I'd given Arundati, more like a 'clop' sound than a 'smack'. I decided I liked the feel and sound of spanking her with a cupped hand, so I continued catching softballs for the next few minutes.

Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop.

These were just soft pop flies and grounders, but Ellen's bottom began to pinken. (Is there such a word as 'pinken'? If not, then I'm inventing it now as a service to spankers everywhere. Please don't thank me. I do this for my fellow man with no thought of reward for myself.)

Clop. Clop. Clop.

She began to twist a bit and clench her buttocks. I speeded up for the next couple of minutes.

Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop.

Her rapid breaths turned into little cries "Ah, ah, ah, ah, ... " and she twisted vigorously, shifting her weight every half second from one hip bone to the other. I decided to catch some line drives.

Clop! Clop! Clop! Clop!

After a full minute of these, her upper body reared up and her face twisted into a grimace as she called out "Ooww! Oh! Uh'ahn! Uuuuh!" Both buttocks clenched furiously and she held the clench for ten full seconds as she jerked herself rapidly on my thigh trying to escape the pain. I increased the force.

Clop!! Clop!! Clop!!

"Arrrrreeerrrrggghhhh!!" she exclaimed loud enough to be heard throughout the house. Her left leg alternately bent and kicked back repeatedly. Her elbows were straight now as she held herself off of the bed, her head back, her teeth gritted ferociously.

Clop!! Clop!!!

"Ohhhhhhhhh!!!! Oh, God!! Rick!! Please!!!" she wailed.

But she did not rise, nor did she put her hands back to cover her agonized red bum. She couldn't. I commanded and she obeyed.

I straightened my hand and slapped the base of the left hill where it meets the thigh. Then again, just a quarter inch higher.

Smack! Smack!

I continued my rapid climb up Mount Left until I reached the summit where I pounded my palm in triumph.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!!!!!