Captives of the Leather Lashers Pt 2


Well, after all that somebody gets the idea that a neighborhood spanking club might be a lot of fun. Why not? It sure beats stuffy old dinner parties or boring canasta nights.

 After refreshments, Carl Donegan had extinguished all the lights in the big room, set up a daylight screen and then turned on his movie projector to show them all a “blue” film. A friend of his in San Francisco had bought it for him, and it showed two lovely housewives, both neglected by their husbands, consoling each other in Lesbian style. One was a big-tittied, golden-haired young woman who slightly resembled Georgia, and this circumstance drew admiring and obscene comments which made even mature Georgia Donegan blush like a schoolgirl. The other was a tall, stately young woman, and when the latter knelt down between the blonde’s sprawled thighs and began to gamahuch her knees, there were gasps from all the women in the audience, and moans of torment from the aroused men. The movie had got them all into the proper erotic mood, so Carl Donegan, taking over at the first meeting as emcee and president by acclamation of the “Wifespankers Club of Northbrook,” declared the rules laid down for membership.

They had begun this evening by having Carl and Georgia hand out numbered slips to every comer, and now it was time to examine the slips. Carl Donegan had a big roulette wheel and he spun it. He kept on spinning it until he’d turned up some of the numbers of the guests, and the first one drawn was Lorraine Demby, who was wearing a strapless black satin evening gown that made her look especially sexy, most of ail to her own rather “square” husband Ed. The next number turned out to be that of Peter Coleman. Both rose amid rather lascivious bantering, and Carl Donegan now declared, “Well now, you’re sort of going to be guinea pigs for our little club, Lorraine and Peter. Now remember, we’re not going to do anything. The idea is that Lorraine is going to take a spanking from Peter—unless he’d rather do it the other way around.” “Oh no, Mr. President,” Lorraine Demby giggled, looking at Ed with a kind of scornful expression on her face, “I think it’s the right way to start. I don’t mind being a martyr to progress, anyway, and maybe my hubby will get some ideas.”

As all eyes turned on Ed Demby, while that worthy growled, puffed at his cigar, and stirred uneasily. He was also getting rather red in the face. Just before they had come, Lorraine had told Ed that she wasn’t at all happy about the way things were working out in their marriage, and he had better start thinking very seriously about spending more time with her and less at his business if he wanted the marriage to last.

 Peter Coleman himself was a little self-conscious, because although he regarded himself as a Casanova, he had never performed before an audience. But the sight of luscious Lorraine blushing and looking rather sheepishly downcast, just as a little girl might when summoned to the parental bedroom for a spanking, made his prick begin to ache and determined him to put on a show that would be worthy of the initiatory ceremonies of this new underground group. Lorraine Demby had purposely put on white linen playshorts, and under them a very filmy pair of white nylon pantybriefs, sandals, a pullover red silk blouse with puffed short sleeves, and a strapless bra. This left her magnificent legs bare, and although Ed Demby had remonstrated with her about going to a party in such summary attire, she had told him pointedly, “Look, Buster, we’re going for the purpose of playing around and having fun and games, see? Now what’s the sense of going in an elaborate evening gown and lots of undies when we know we’re going to undress. And don’t forget, Ed, since you’re going to let me play around, the same goes for you and I won’t ever criticize you for it.”

 “You really mean that, honey?” he had gasped. Already his mind was forming images of such delectable pieces of pussy as Janice Coleman and Brenda Fairborn, whose charms, even in a neighborly way had already excited him. Now the actual prospect, soon to be realized, of having them undress, lie on the bed and let him fuck them, overcame his scruples about Lorraine’s attire as much as it did about her giving herself to another man. “How are we going to do it?” Georgia Donegan wanted to know for future reference. “Any way both partners agree to,” her husband decreed. And then, giving her a mocking little glance, he added,

“Which means, baby, if you misbehave, I can even string you up by the heels and do it to you upside down.”

“Do what to me, lover? Spank or screw?” was Georgia’s answer, which brought about a wave of hilarity in which even Lorraine Demby joined.

The sumptuous blonde matron glanced over now at Madge Warren, and Madge blushed furiously, remembering how she and Lorraine had had a stolen hour of pussyrubbing and gamming together, and how she had been induced to spank Lorraine’s opulent bottom in a way that served to stimulate the older woman and served to release her own pent-up feelings. Then Madge glanced at her husband, hoping he would catch the idea through ESP. But he was much too intent watching Lorraine now ascend a deep leather-padded armchair and, kneeling solidly, lean herself over the back of the chair and hold the sides to offer up her bottom in total submission.

Peter Coleman now advanced, and it was evident that he had a hard-on, judging from the bulge in his trousers-fly. “What’s the matter, Pete? Can’t you wait?” Pat Wilbur quipped.

 “Of course I can, you idiot!” Peter Coleman testily retorted: “But I’m certainly happy the roulette wheel picked my partner for me. Lorraine has a superb figure, and I’m going to pay plenty of attention to it.”

 “Oh my, that sounds ominous!” Lorraine Demby giggled as she gave Peter Coleman a quick glance over her shoulder. He had now put his hands to the fasteners of her playshorts and was opening them and drawing them down, as she accommodatingly arched herself out to show her total submission. The little panties were next, and a concerted gasp of “Oooohhh!” and “Ahhhhh!” came from the intently watching audience at the sight of so magnificent an ass. Lorraine bent over the chair back to thrust it out for Peter, who decided to begin with a simple handspanking.

His left palm bearing down on her chinkbone, his right first lingeringly caressing the satiny contours of her bare behind, to test and appraise the resilience, he at last began to spank. These were smarting, noisy slaps that he began with, and Lorraine sucked in her breath, closed her eyes and waited. She knew perfectly well what she was showing, not only to Peter Coleman but to all the other witnesses: her gaping pink cunt. She was hoping this would work Ed up so much that when they got home, he might even have some spunk left for her own burning and yearning cunt. But at the moment, she wasn’t even thinking about Ed.

She was thinking only about getting her kicks and getting worked up so that when Peter Coleman took her into a guest bedroom, she could really cast away all her inhibitions and indulge in the hot bout she had been dreaming about for so long. She had heard something of Peter’s reputation, and suspected he was quite a lover. She couldn’t have been happier if she had picked him herself. His hand stung, and he continued to slap her bottom noisily, but in a capricious pattern. Sometimes he would do it in a rapid flurry of spanks all over her big firm ass, then again he would pause for at least a minute, causing her untold suspense, then suddenly give her two or three hard spanks all on a certain spot.

She couldn’t anticipate, and so her nerves began to be keyed up. By the time he had given her forty slaps, her bottom was flaming and she was squirming, while tears coursed down her flushed cheeks. “I think that will do for a starter. All right, come along, Lorraine. And you needn’t put your panties and shorts back on again, you won’t need them,” Peter Coleman decided, a remark which again caused general merriment. He and Lorraine went down the hall, amid cheers of encouragement from their friends and neighbors, Lorraine feeling extremely sheepish and almost very embarrassed by having to hobble with her shorts and panties still twisted around her knees, and her red ass receding from the amused and excited view of all in the living room. When they reached the bedroom, which was the last one on the right, Peter Colemen closed the door and drew the bolt. Then he kissed her hard on the mouth and muttered, “I don’t know how it happened, baby, but of all the broads at the party, I had you marked out from the first.”

 “You did?” “Mmmmmm—hmmmm.” His right hand began to stroke her flaming naked ass, then his left hand slyly slipped between their bodies, his forefinger creeping down to find the soft pink pussy-lips, while Lorraine groaned and threw her arms around him, pressing tightly to him. Peter Coleman’s left forefinger grew bolder. Advancing inside the fleshy portals, he found the dainty and hardening bud of her clit, and began very delicately to rub and stroke it. Her breath now came in passionate snorts, and she tottered against him as she pressed with all her might up against his weapon.

“You’re a very immodest young woman,” he chuckled. “If Ed could only see you now, I’ll bet he’d want to give you a spanking. Which reminds me, I haven’t finished what I started out there. And I think I’m going to do just that, young woman.”

 “Oh no—not more—oh my goodness, my bottom’s already hot, Pete darling,” Lorraine gasped, backing up against the wall. But he had already seized her, hauled her over his lap before she could resist, pulled her shorts and panties completely off, then, mastering her ineffectual and not really very strenuous attempts at revolt, removed her blouse. To his amusement, she wore a garter-belt.

 “No stockings, and a garterbelt? I’ve got an even better idea,” he chuckled. “But first, a little more fantailing to even up some of the red places on that big sweet ass of yours, Lorraine honey.”

“No—don’t you dare—I’ve been spanked enough! Oh Pete, please fuck me!”

 “Everything in good time, baby. No sense rushing things,” masterfully he tucked his left arm around her waist, raised his hand and resumed spanking even more energetically. Lorraine Demby squealed and her legs kicked the air frantically as, for about five minutes, his hand rose and fell. When he paused, Lorraine was sobbing wildly and her bottom was twisting and squirming uncontrollably. Peter Coleman now deftly—from the experience of long practice, to be sure—unhooked her garter-belt and began to use it as a kind of whip, flicking her swollen ass and applying a few stinging cuts to the tops of her plump thighs.

Lorraine frantically bucked and jerked every which-way, desperately trying to cover with her hands the vulnerable expanse of her posterior, and begging off. Savagely excited, Peter Coleman flung the garterbelt away, yanked down his zipper to liberate his prick, and turned her over, then with a single deep thrust, hilted himself inside her. A long mewling cry tore from the buxom blonde matron, and she clamped her legs frenziedly around his, her fingernails scrabbling at his neck, and she kissed him so hard that their gums bumped together bruisingly, her tongue foraging between his lips and meeting his en route. The bed creaked its protest as they struggled in a kind of gloriously hostile coupling in which each tried to be the victor by venting his or her most embattled lust-fantasies.

And thus it was that the “Wifespankers Club of Northbrook” got really and torridly under way!

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3 responses to “Captives of the Leather Lashers Pt 2

  1. Oh my god, how hot is this story?

    Like

  2. 'Ol Paul was pretty good at purple prose

    Like

  3. 'The other was a tall, stately young woman, and when the latter knelt down between the blonde's sprawled thighs and began to gamahuch her knees,'. I've read and own a number of Warren's spanking books from the '60s era and wonder why we don't read lovely, albeit always misspelled by Warren (French words like gamahuche anymore. BTW I thought it was German in my youth because of that mispelling. Also words like 'sup' and 'savor' instead of our modern passion for 'eat' in the practice of cunnilingus. I don't think she was gamahching her knees either. hehehe Thanks Rollin.

    Like

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