Rick and Linda: Round Robin

Her face and voice were different from that of the typical spanking recipient, too. The faces of the latter, when in that frantic rub-away-the-pain stage, are usually twisted and tear-streaked as they cry, choke, sniffle, or howl. But KeeKee was smiling rapturously as her hand stroked her hindquarters, her face turned up and her eyes closed. As she did this, she emitted a continuous series quiet little sounds "ow, oh, ah, oo, uh, ... " It almost sounded like cooing.

And that is exactly what her husband, James, saw when he entered the room, passing me as I was going out. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him stop dead in his tracks as his eyes widened in astonishment at the sight of his little KeeKee, draped over his desk chair, lost in her own rapturous world, obliviously rubbing her pink stripped bum while cooing her pain and pleasure. In the last 1/100 of a second before he was too far to my right to be seen even in the corner of my eye, I thought I saw his face transition from surprise to anger.

Back in the living room with Linda, I found her in the same annoyed state that I'd found KeeKee.

"Linda, did one of them abuse you?"

"I wish!" she said sourly, "They didn't do anything to me."

"What did you want them to do?"

"Spank me!"

"I don't understand. Didn't they-"

"Well, I suppose technically they did, but they were so damned ... gentle!" She said the last word as if gentleness ranked on the scale human vices somewhere between torturing puppies and stealing your grandma's walker.

"They all began," she elaborated, "by assuring me that they wouldn't do anything to hurt me. No kidding! I mean, really, guys, it's a spanking. Aren't you clear on the concept?"

"I see what you mean," I sympathized.

"They patted me, Rick," she continued. "I mean it. I didn't get spanks, smacks, or slaps. I got pats! About 3 minutes into it, James told me to speak up if he was hitting to hard. It was all I could do to keep from laughing."

"This clears up a lot," I mused out loud, "such as why I never heard any cries of pain from any room except the one I was in and why I saw virtually no color in any bottoms tonight until after I'd dealt them a hand ... or ruler."

"Yes, I could hear the results of your handiwork," she said, fingering my chest. "I was so envious of the other girls."

"So the night was a total loss for you?"

"Well," she whispered as she blushed and looked away. "I did have to bare my bottom for James and Danny. They are the first men, other than you, to see me there since our first date in college. It was very embarrassing. But apparently," her voice rose and soured again, "they didn't find it as thrilling as I did."

I knew that for Linda the phrase "very embarrassing" is nearly a synonym for "very arousing," although she only halfway understood that. But she'd raised another puzzle for me.

"You left your panties on for Karam? That was against the rules."

"No, no, you see, with all three of them, when it came to taking my panties down, I hesitated. I needed to work up my courage for a few seconds. When Karam saw me hesitate, he turned off the lights to spare me the embarrassment. I was bare-assed over his lap, but he couldn't see it."

"Was Danny no better than the others?"

"Danny was the worst. As he was giving me these pitty pats, he talked. He ... he ... he compared me!"

"Compared you!" I exclaimed. "Oh, my God. I'll have him arrested immediately!"

"Stop laughing at me!" she said.

"I'm not laughing," I laughed.

"He compared my ass to his wife's and to the asses of various ex girlfriends. This one was thinner than mine, that other one was wider, but mine is higher than so-and-so's, and smoother than what's-her-name's. And Ellen's is the best of all. Jackass!"

"Say," I said, looking at my watch "the others should have gathered here by now. Where is everybody?" Holding hands, we stepped out to the hall and heard what sounded like six jazz drummers playing quietly with those flexible instruments they call "drum brushes." But it wasn't drums, it was six humans breathing loudly. All the doors were open, so one by one, we peeked into each room.

We saw nearly identical scenes in each room. Each woman was positioned almost exactly as I had last seen her, except that now all female legs were spread, not just Ellen's, and even Arundati's bottom was stripped bare and she, too, was bent at the waist, her hands resting on the bed.

The husband of each woman was behind her, his pants and shorts at his ankles, his back toward the door. Bra-encased breasts swung rhythmically and girly bottoms shimmied and shook as the husband in each room vigorously fucked his wife from behind.

None of the men was holding his wife by her flanks as men usually do during a charge from rear. Instead, each was moving his palms and fingertips lightly over the pink bottoms that I had sensitized earlier. As a result, those bottoms twitched and the hips twisted around their male pistons. (Linda was to tell me the next day that seeing this renewed her irritation with the men. They were getting the rewards of a good spanking, but had not provided one.)

The men lost leverage and, thus, power by not holding their women's flanks, so all three women were compensating by pushing back in time to their husband's thrusts.

Since none of the six of them had remembered to shut the door, I could only conclude that this was some kind of mad animalistic rutting, so feverish that they had all forgotten where they were.

In the bedroom, Karam pumped powerfully, but he seemed robotically monotonous, varying neither his speed nor angle. Then again, from the sounds she was making, I gathered that Arundati had no complaints. Her white cotton underwear was no where to be seen, which meant it must have been thrown frantically into some far corner.

In the study, James was jamming with a fury, in every sense of the word. This was clearly "angry sex" for him. What was it, I wondered, about what he had seen when he entered the study that made him so mad? The stripes on his wife's behind? The way she was rubbing those stripes? The dreamy smile on her face? Or was it that no one had put away the ruler?

That dreamy smile was still there as he plowed her and she pushed up and back with her hips by arching her hips in time to his thrusts. Since her legs still dangled off the ground, she had no leverage from them. Her blouse and bra were gone now and nowhere in sight. Since it would be impossible to miss them in that small impeccably neat room, they must have been flung away recklessly and fallen behind some furniture. She was as flawless above the waist as she was below and, while I would still bet on Ellen to win a fully-clothed town beauty contest, if there had been a naked face-off between them, with the town's men voting on the winner, KeeKee would have stood a near even chance to win.

In addition to the inch-wide horizontal stripes I'd painted on KeeKee's bottom, there were now quite a few very thin vertical pink stripes. James was not just using his fingertips, he was digging in his nails. If this was his way of punishing his masochistic wife, then he was, once again, not clear on the concept.

In the kitchen we found the best show of this three ring circus.

Ellen was resting her arms on the stool and holding her head up. She faced directly ahead of her, but her eyes were closed and mouth open as she emitted a steady series of "suh, suh, suh, ..." sounds in time with the thrusts. Danny's eyes never left the pink ass he was fingering, which wasn't surprising given his "comparison" conversation with Linda. The view from the kitchen doorway allowed us to see the copulating couple somewhat more from the side than from behind, so on Danny's out strokes, we could see his tool and Ellen's furry mound. It was very matted and the hair had bunched damply into little upside down mountains pointing toward the floor.

Danny wasn't endowed any more than average, but he had a lot better sense of variety than Karam did. He slowed. He speeded up. He'd bend at the knee and thrust up from the lower left for awhile and then rise on tiptoe and jab down and from the right. Sometimes, he'd hold himself all the way in and rub his pelvis side-to-side on her sore rear, causing her to squirm and call out little 'ow's.

At one point, he stopped completely after an out stroke and just stood there motionless. She seemed not to notice for a few seconds and continued her half pumps backward. But then she stopped and looked over her shoulder at him, the shoulder farthest from the doorway, so the back of her head was turned to us. She gave her little half-thrust three times fast and then paused to see his reaction. He did nothing. She repeated it a second time and then a third; like a driver trying to start a car that won't turn over: "rur rur rur ... rur rur rur ... rur rur rur."

Finally, with a deep sigh, she planted her feet and gripped the side edges of the stool's seat with her hands. She pushed herself all the way back onto his penis and she arched back and raised up on tip toes, as I'd taught her, at the end of the stroke. Then she slowly slid forward. After a couple of more practice runs, she picked up the pace, but because she was traveling twice the distance, she was thrusting only half as fast. Her "suh, suh, suh, ..." sounds changed to half-speed and became deeper: "Huunhum .... huunhum ...huunhum." It was powerfully erotic especially that back arch and toe rise at the finish of each thrust. After half a minute more of this, Danny's engine sputtered to life and they resumed their original meet-in-the-middle mode.

Ellen's head moves when she makes love. Not fast or jerkily, but it languidly makes circles, and tips from side to side, and nods up and down in slow motion. At one point, it turned toward us and when she saw us, her eyes widened in surprise. I thought she was going to scream, but she just stared at us for a long moment and then she smiled and her eye lids grew heavy. Then her eyes closed and she shook and gave out a soft little "ahhhh." I looked at her pubis and I thought I could see a tide of juice ooze out onto the fur. It merged as it flowed downward and gathered as a visible bead at the end of one of those upside down mountains. It hung there a second reflecting the light and then it fell to the floor like a single orphaned raindrop.

That's when I began to understand that Ellen was more of an exhibitionist than a masochist. Like Linda, spanking for her was just a means to an end. But the end wasn't erotic embarrassment as it was for Linda. The end for Ellen was to be ogled and admired. From her point of view, a four-couple ladies home strip show would have been just as good as a round robin of spanking, maybe better.

I pulled Linda back to the living room where we got our coats and snuck out to go home. In the car, I told her about Ellen giving me "the Stare."

"So," I finished up, "why was I getting the Stare? There were no other men in the room, so I wasn't displaying power over other men."

"Oh, but you were, Rick, you were," she replied.