There is a show on TV called “Celebrity Wife Swap.” It’s one of those shows where the husbands trade wives for a week and the wife has to play by the rules of the house she swaps into. Of course, sexual practices are not part of the deal, but it got me to thinking — what if domestic disciplinary practices were very much a part of the deal? What then?
Beverly Hills Wife Swap
It was her own fault, really. She’d let her career tank. And all because of a gambling addiction. Juliet Renfrew couldn’t stay out of Las Vegas. She drove up on weekends when Bobby was away on a shoot. She’d played long after it was wise to quit, and the casinos had happily extended her credit. After all, she was Juliet Renfrew, the adorable cast member of the sitcom “All Our Days.” She played a mischievous, spoiled brat of a character on the show, and from Bobby’s expression as he sat next to her in Herb Steinman’s Beverly Hills office, that’s exactly what he was thinking—that she’d become her character. He scowled unhappily while she shrank into the couch. She’d racked up so much debt that she half expected to see Vito and Guido showing up at her house any day now.
Herb had been her agent for years and his loyalty and advice had been something she’d cherished. But it had been harder and harder of late for him to find her gigs. She wasn’t professional, they said. She missed lines, she missed dates, she missed everything. They were in debt up to their eyeballs and it was all because of her gambling.
But Herb had finally come through. It wasn’t great. In fact it promised to be a bit of soft core cheesecake, in her estimation. He’d landed her a gig on a pseudo-reality show called “Beverly Hills Wife Swap.”
Herb had explained it to her over the phone. “The cable networks are pushing the envelope,” he’d said. “This is a new network called Xcite. It’s adult programming—you know, a little nudity, a little slap and tickle. Anyway, they want to do a reality show like Wife Swap but with a little more pizzaz.”
“Don’t tell me I’m going to have sex on screen with another wife’s husband,” she’d said. “I won’t do it.” At the same time she had doubts about Bobby. He might just want to climb under the sheets with some hot MILF. With her husband’s permission, of course.
“No, no. It’s not like that. It’s all implied, like the fantasy suite on The Bachelor, well, maybe a little more, but nothing you haven’t done on screen.”
That didn’t reassure her. She’d done plenty of steamy scenes in B movies before moving to the sitcom. And more than once her body, not to mention certain body parts of her on screen lover, had betrayed her.
“Anyway, It’s like this. You got two couples. One is a celebrity–“
Yeah, from the D list, she thought bitterly. She knew how low they scrounged to find “celebrities” for these things. Again, she thought. I did it to myself.
“—and the other is a no-name. You move in, live for a week. There’s this big clash of cultures. The cameras get it all. You know, the disagreements over every little thing; he wants this, she wants that, you say potato, I say potahto…”
She’d seen the show. Frickin’ ridiculous.
“This one is the perfect set-up for you. You and Bobby are free-wheeling Hollywood types. But your swap partners are real buttoned down, conservative salt-of-the-earth, churchgoing types. Exact opposites. You’re a wild child, she’s Mrs. America, a real Stepford wife. It’s perfect. The network loves the casting.”
She didn’t want to do it, but really she had no choice. And Bobby was looking at her in that way that said ‘I really need you to do this.’ Damn Bobby anyway. She acted out and he forgave her. She threw a fit and he let it go. He was always so easygoing, so intent on pleasing her. Why didn’t he put his foot down? But she was here now because that’s precisely what he had done, she reminded herself. He’d insisted that she take this gig if they could get it.
“So how does this work?” said Bobby. “Who makes the rules?”
“The other couple does this time. On the show it rotates, but for your episode, Juliet moves in with Stan and it’s his house, his rules. Carol moves in with you, but it’s her show. The idea is—how do celebs like yourselves cope?” Herb pulled out a contract. “Now there’s only one thing. The contract is a little different from what you’re used to, Juliet. You probably should read it first. It has a few wrinkles.”
It sounded dopey to Juliet, but it was a gig and having some work was better than no work at all. She shook her head and asked Herb where she should sign.
On the appointed day she arrived at the modest middle class home of Stanley Witkowski and moved in—all dutifully recorded by the camera crew.
Stanley was not exactly what Juliet was expecting. For one thing he was older than she had thought. He had to be in his mid forties, whereas she was only twenty nine. She could almost be his daughter, not his wife. The other surprise was how good looking the man was. At over six feet tall with broad shoulders, not an ounce of fat anywhere and curly salt and pepper hair he was a dish, to put it mildly. Stan Witkowski looked more like a Fortune 500 CEO or a televangelist than a common carpenter. He spoke in a low baritone that sounded decidedly sexy, and that got Juliet to thinking this wasn’t going to be half bad.
Juliet followed Stan as he showed her around. The house was a colonial two story structure of around two thousand square feet with kitchen, great room and den on the ground floor and three bedrooms upstairs. Stylistically it was nothing special, but Juliet noted that it was spotless. Someone had put a lot of work into it, obviously.
There was a small yard with a garden in back and a detached garage. The garage was large and had a well appointed workspace. Like the house, it was well organized and spotless, quite a contrast as compared to the more expensive house in Bel-Air that she and Bobby owned—not to mention the rather disheveled and messy state it was always in. Well, who had time to clean up? Of course, she thought, stung by a pang of guilt, if I hadn’t gambled the money away we could have hired Merry Maids or someone.
“You have a very nice home,” said Juliet.
“Thank you,” said Stan. “Carol does keep it looking great, and as for me, I like things ship shape.” They were on camera so Stan continued, “Now, I have some house rules and list of chores. These are things Carol always does, so look at the list so you know what to do. During the day I’m off on a job, or making a cabinet out in the workroom, so the housekeeping falls to you.”
He’d handed her a list, and Juliet’s jaw dropped when she saw all the housekeeping chores. She was sure the camera had caught that, and knew there would be this big close up of her shocked expression when they edited it all down. Well, it was a reality show and that’s what they wanted.
The rest of the filming was Juliet trying to cope with chores she’d never done in her life, looking silly trying to figure out how to use a vacuum cleaner, scratching her head over instructions for preparing a pot roast, and making a mess of the laundry. This would later be juxtaposed with shots of Stan working away in the garage. Midway through the afternoon Juliet gave up, sat down and flipped on the TV. Dinner was a disaster, and Stan noted all the things not done properly, much to the glee of the producer. Juliet was relieved when the camera crew left for the night.
The swapped wife and her “husband” sat in the kitchen at a nook table.
Stan was silent for a moment. He seemed to be thinking about what to say next.
“Cat got your tongue? So how did I do as little suburban wifey today? By the way,” said Juliet, looking around, “don’t you have anything to drink? Like vodka?”
Stan frowned. “I’m afraid your performance today was very poor by my standards. You failed to do many of the things on the list I gave you.”
Juliet managed a weak smile. “Well, that’s show biz.”
Stan cleared his throat. “I’m afraid it’s more serious than that. If Carol had performed as poorly as you, she’d be across my knee right now having her fanny warmed.”
Juliet looked at Stan in utter shock. Fanny warmed? That is what the man had said. ”What? You mean you actually spank her?”
Stan nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean,” he said.
It took Juliet a minute to recover. “That’s outrageous. Nobody does that. That’s from the middle ages or something.” Husbands didn’t spank wives in this day and age.
Stan shook his head. “Not in our house. There are rules and expectations and Carol is expected to abide by them. When she doesn’t, she earns herself a spanking.”
“Whew!” Juliet huffed. “Well, I’m glad I’m not her.”
Stan cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. “This week you are her,” he said.
“Exactly what is that supposed to mean?” Juliet half rose in alarm.
Stan beat her to it. He stood and took her by the elbow. At the same time he headed for the couch. Juliet stumbled along, held in a steely grip.
“Just what do you think you are doing?” Juliet was frantic now.
“Didn’t you read the contract? The rules in each household are applied just the way they would be for the actual spouse. That means you’re getting what Carol would get and that’s a spanking. I was really upset that you quit after lunch and watched TV all afternoon.”
“Yikes! You can’t,” squeaked Juliet as Stan sat on the couch and tipped her over his knees.
“But I can,” said Stan. “It’s in the contract. You gave your permission for me enforce the rules of the house including moderate corporal correction.”
A panicked Juliet squirmed across Stan’s lap. Could that be true? The contract had been pages and pages of lawyerly gobbledygook. Of course she hadn’t read it.
“Wha…?” screeched Juliet. Stan Witkowski was lifting her skirt. She’d worn a short pleated skirt with frilly French cut panties and hose underneath held by a garter belt. Her panty clad bottom was now on full display. But her embarrassment at being upended over Stan’s lap gave way to shock as the first smack from Stan’s meaty palm impacted her left bottom cheek. Smack! Another one fell on the right side.
After that she was treated to a steady barrage of briskly applied spanks that covered her entire derriere from top to bottom while she kicked and wriggled. The spanks had been a mild tingle at first, but now her seat was heating up.
“You’ll have to do much better,” said Stan as he continued to rain spanks down on Juliet’s cute bottom cheeks. They were smaller than Carol’s but quivered just as delightfully.
Juliet couldn’t believe it was happening. And there was no way she was going to squirm out of Stan’s grip. The man had an arm like a steel band, clamping her down.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” She yelped. His hand stung her bottom like a hive of bees!
After he’d landed several dozen spanks, Stan Witkowski lowered Juliet’s skirt and stood her on her feet.
“Now,” he said, “I expect a better effort tomorrow.” Juliet stood in stunned silence, her bottom glowing with heat as he stood and announced he was going to bed.
That night Juliet lay in bed (on her tummy of course) and tried to wrap her brain around what had happened. Her first instinct had been to inform the producers that she was calling the whole thing off. But she realized that she would let Bobby down if she did that, not to mention the loss of income. Plus, after the burning in her backside from the spanking had subsided, she found that it actually felt pleasant, like a warm glow. And there was something else. She had felt it all during the spanking incident, from the way Stan had taken control and manhandled her, to the physical sensation of the spanking itself, to the warm afterglow. It had been sexy. It had turned her on. Right now she had a raging desire to have sex. She wished Bobby was here, or Stan…he was right down the hall. Whoa had she really thought that? But that sure as hell wasn’t in the contract.
The next day she got with it, having sobered up from last night’s sex high. In retrospect she now wasn’t sure she wanted a repeat. Still, the chores were drudgery. Damn! Stan’s wife was less a wife and more like slave labor. It seems Stan was a very exacting guy and wanted things just so. But after a couple of false starts, which involved Stan dropping what he was doing to come in and help, she managed to get through the day and even put together a passable spaghetti supper.
“Not bad,” said Stan, putting the finishing touches on his plate of pasta. “I’ll help you do the dishes.”
“Oh, let’s leave it. I’m exhausted. I’ll get to it tomorrow.”
Stan gave her that look and she shivered. “On second thought,” she said, shielding her fanny with her hands, “Let’s do the dishes.”
The routine continued day to day, but now there was a new enemy—boredom. What she wanted to do was go shopping. Or call her friends and go to lunch. Or go to Vegas. No such luck with all these cameras. But she had noticed something, and it had given her an idea. Stan had an office with a computer. She checked it out. Yes! He had a high speed connection. So relief from boredom was at hand with online gambling. She knew the URL’s of some off shore sites where she could play blackjack. Juliet was well aware that she was flirting with the problem that had brought her to this in the first place, but she told herself it would be just a brief session. When she took a break, for God’s sake. A quick in and out. The camera would know, but by rule they couldn’t squeal on her to Stan. They were not supposed to interfere. This was supposed to be reality.
Mid afternoon she peeked out the window. Stan’s car was not back yet. He was on a job installing cabinets. She’d have plenty of time to fix that casserole. The thought made her cringe. Casserole! Who the hell ate casseroles? She slipped into the den and fired up the desktop. Logging into her favorite illegal site she was soon playing multiple hands at once. But she was losing. It was ok she told herself. She’d get back to even. All she needed was a pair of nines or tens to split against a dealer’s six up. But playing hand after hand all she got were little cards against aces or tens. C’mon, she told herself. She looked at the clock. Still time to do the damn casserole. Just a few more hands. The deck couldn’t stay cold forever.
She had finally caught some cards, but in her excitement she didn’t hear the car pull up. She was about to double down when she heard Stan’s hearty greeting booming from the front foyer. “Hello, Juliet. I’m home. Sorry I’m late. The job went a little longer than usual.”
Juliet froze. Looked at the clock. It said six thirty. Ackk! Juliet scrambled to log off. This was a disaster. She could hear his footsteps approaching. She spun around just as he entered the den.
“Hi, Stan. I was just …ah, looking at your computer. Hope you don’t mind.”
Stan cocked his head, came over behind her to look at the screen. She stood, trying to block his view with her body.
“What were you looking at?” said Stan, frowning, craning his neck to try and see the screen.
“Um…recipes,” she said with a bright smile. “I thought I’d look up a better recipe for that chicken casserole.”
“Is that why I don’t smell anything cooking?”
“Uh…yes, but I’ll get right to it. Sorry.”
Juliet bolted for the kitchen, leaving Stan scratching his head at the odd exchange they’d just had. She threw together dinner as best she could. It turned out to be heated beans and hot dogs. “I’ll do the chicken casserole tomorrow,” she said.
Stan was uncharacteristically silent at supper. Finally he said, “So did you find that recipe?”
“Oh, yes,” said Juliet. “We’ll have it tomorrow.” Thank God it was only two more days.
Stan said slowly, “Do you know what a cache is on a computer?”
“No.” Juliet shook her head. She didn’t know anything about computers. They had several. Booby knew how to use them. If they broke, people came and fixed them.
Stan sat back and folded his arms. “A cache is record. The computer stores the addresses of all the places on the internet that the computer has seen.”
Juliet felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. She flushed. Her face got red.
“What was in the cache were not recipe sites.” Stan looked at her sharply. “You were gambling, weren’t you? On-line illegal gambling.”
“I, uh, may have just checked out some sites…well, they popped up. You know how things just pop up,” she said. She knew this was no good. She sounded shrill, desperate.
Stan shook his head. “You were on there for hours. Hours,” he repeated.
“I, uh…ok. Ok,” she said angrily. “So I took a little break.”
“Don’t you have a problem with gambling?” said Stan. “Word is that you do.”
“I…I may have lost some money in Las Vegas once, but I don’t go there anymore,” Juliet protested.
“I don’t even have a rule for this,” said Stan. Then he proceeded to scold her about the gambling, and worse, the lying. “If Carol lies to me…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He let that hang. The camera crew, having recorded all the juicy footage, packed it up for the night.
“So,” said Stan, when the crew had driven off. “My house, my rules. You agreed to that.”
Juliet didn’t say anything. She was shivering. Her mouth was dry. “I guess,” she finally managed to say.
“Then go over there and stand in the corner,” said Stan.
What? Stand in the corner? Like a little naughty kid? She groaned, but part of her felt a flutter of excitement, and she did it. She stood and faced the corner of the great room, nervous chills running up her spine.
“Now lift your skirt, Juliet.”
The last time she’d had on frilly panties at least, but today what she’d worn for underwear was little more than a thong. Slowly she raised her skirt and felt the air in the room caress her nearly bare bottom.
Stan left the room. “Don’t move,” he shouted over his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”
Where was he going? Juliet didn’t like this. She had a sense of foreboding. A new twist was coming and she wouldn’t like it.
A few minutes later he came back. She could sense him standing behind her.
“Very good. You may turn around, Juliet.”
When Juliet turned she saw that Stan was holding an object. In fact he tapping it in his palm.
“This is our family paddle,” he said. “When Carol is especially naughty or commits the ultimate sin of lying to me, this little paddle makes its appearance. I made it especially for Carol, so it’s very light, but I’m afraid it’s going to sting a bit more than my hand.”
Juliet’s mouth was open in a wide “O” as she stared at the paddle.
“It’s nothing you can’t handle, Juliet. And you know you deserve it,” said Stan. He dragged out a chair from the dining nook as he spoke. “And if I might add something here. Your gambling addiction is out of control. You’d be well advised to give one of these to your husband to use on you every time you fall off the wagon and gamble. It would be for your own good.”
He sat in the chair and placed the paddle on the floor to his right. “I’ll leave it there for now. Come over here Juliet.”
A part of Juliet knew he was exactly right. If only Bobby would show a little spine, maybe take her in hand, she wouldn’t be in this mess. When she came close enough, Stan guided her across his knee and flipped the skirt up over her back. She felt his hand rest on her bottom, patting.
“Now, Juliet, this is for the supper and the chores undone.”
Juliet steeled herself. Stan began to smack her derriere with light slaps, alternating from cheek to cheek. He wasn’t spanking her hard. His palm peppered her bottom all over, working from the tops of her buttocks down to the curve where her bottom met her thighs. Juliet found it almost pleasant, stimulating in a way. It tingled at first, then it became a light sting. Her fanny grew warm, but not unpleasantly so. She could feel herself getting wet between her legs, and had the thought that maybe she and Bobby should incorporate this into their sex life. It made her squirm, not to get away, but to bask in the glow of his palm repeatedly striking her bare bottom. It felt almost sensuous. Juliet found herself unconsciously raising her hips to meet his descending hand. Then abruptly he stopped. Juliet felt his body shift as he leaned to his right.
“And this,” Stan declared, “is for the gambling and the lying.”
Crack! Juliet felt a hot band of fire erupt across her bottom. It was the paddle and it stung like blazes, ten times worse than his spanking hand.
Crack! Another fell. Then another.
“Yow! Ow! Ow!” She yelped, taken by surprise at the intensity of it.
Soon her fanny was ablaze from searing cracks of the paddle. The stinging heat was like it came from another world. The sharp smacking sound of wood meeting bare flesh rang out in the room, echoing off the walls.
Juliet gasped. This was no lover’s caress, no sexy game. Juliet felt like her behind was being roasted. She wriggled and tried to kick, but Stan put his right leg across the backs of her knees and pinned her, immobile. Then he upped the pace, smacking her wriggling fanny with deftly aimed brisk spanks that landed square across both cheeks, no matter how much she tried to diminish or move around.
“Wah…hhhh!” Juliet let out one long wail. She pounded the carpet right under her nose. Nothing worked. The tanning she was receiving blazed onward, the pain in her seat searing her brain.
“Now,” said Stan after applying a few last hard smacks, “can you behave?”
“Oh, yes! Yes!” promised Juliet.
“No more gambling?”
Yow! Yow! That hurt! “Ow! Yes, no gambling. Ever! I promise.”
“And no lying. Always tell the truth?”
Smack! Crack! Whap!
“Ah! Arhh! No, I won’t lie any more! I swear!”
She slumped over, as Stan put down the paddle. He put her on her feet in front of him and looked her in the eye.
“Now, that was a lesson,” he said wagging his finger. “Things like neglecting your duties are minor matters, and the punishment doesn’t have to be any more than a little reminder. I think you understood that. It wasn’t bad, was it?”
Juliet shook her head up and down in agreement. It had actually been quite sexy.
“But lying was bad. And gambling is terrible for you, as you know. That calls for something a bit more serious and it was, wasn’t it? That little paddle is a real stinger isn’t it?”
Again she nodded.
“Ok,” said Stan. “One final thing. Go back to the corner. Hoist your skirt and think about it for fifteen minutes. Don’t rub. Feel the sting and let it sink in. It will help you to remember so you won’t do it again.” Stan took her elbow and guided her back to the corner.
“I’ll tell you when fifteen minutes is up.”
Bobby was amazed. In just a few short days Carol Witkowski had reorganized his entire house. The clutter and disheveled look were gone. Here he was sitting down to a delicious supper that Carol had prepared.
“How on earth do you do it?” asked Bobby.
“I’m very efficient,” said Carol. “It’s all just organization. None of these things are hard.”
Bobby had suggested they just go out to eat. Carol wouldn’t hear of it. “On our tight budget, meals out are for special occasions,” she said.
“Don’t ever get tired of it? Don’t you just say the hell with it, I’m going out?”
“Oh, my gosh, no,” said Carol. “Stan wouldn’t hear of it. I have my tasks and Stan has his. But he is head of our household and if I shirk my duties, well, I may find sitting down difficult the next day.” Then she smiled. “Keeps me on my toes, though.”
“Wait,” said Bobby. “What exactly do you mean ‘sitting down may be difficult?’”
“Well,” said Carol, “Stan believes in spanking for wives.”
“He does?” Bobby’s jaw had dropped.
Carol proceeded to tell him all about it. Bobby rubbed his jaw, listening in amazement. And it got him to thinking—that would be just the thing for Juliet and her gambling. He told Carol about the problem.
“Oh my, yes. A good spanking would work wonders. Imagine—gambling her money away like that. Why if Stan had any idea I’d done something like that I wouldn’t sit for a week.”
“But I couldn’t,” said Bobby. “She does what she wants.”
“And you let her. Bobby, she’s your wife. You love her don’t you?”
“Yes,’ said Bobby. “Very much.” And it was true. Juliet and he were very much in love. He positively adored her.
“And Stan loves me. But he won’t let me walk all over him and I respect that. Having a strong husband keeps me centered. I’ve needed discipline in my life. Otherwise I might just drift into places I shouldn’t. Stan loves me enough to keep me on the right path.”
“But doesn’t it hurt? I mean a spanking hurts doesn’t it?”
“Hmmm…for a little while,” she said. “Then it goes away and I love him even more. It’s an intimate thing. It can make you closer. And as for Juliet’s gambling problem—well I’d recommend sooner rather than later. You could lose her completely if you don’t take charge.”
Bobby knew the cameras were gleefully getting all this. Surely they wouldn’t air this conversation, would they?
When the shoot was over for the night, Carol approached Bobby.
“Now, I have a confession to make,” she said. “I’m afraid I was rather negligent today. I got distracted looking at the pretty things in your house and did not put away all the groceries and some of the frozen things thawed and are no good.”
“So what?” said Bobby. “We’ll go out.”
“No,” said Carol. “We are living by my household rules. You have a chore to perform.”
Bobby let Carol lead him to the media room where she had him sit in the center of the long leather sofa. She gathered up her skirts and plopped herself across his lap. “I think a brisk spanking is called for,” she said.
Bobby looked down at the two nicely rounded globes clad in plain white nylon panties that were perched over his knees. He felt a surge in his groin. She was a very attractive woman, Bobby had decided. Maybe not with Juliet’s movie star looks, but still very pretty.
“Go on,” said Carol. “Spank me. I deserve it. Imagine I’m Juliet and she just gambled away your last dollar.”
That did it. Bobby landed a few tentative spanks and Carol chided him, saying to go ahead, that she wouldn’t break. Bobby did and paddled Carol until he could see the color of her bottom turning red beneath the sheer panties. He counted out 122 smacks before he decided it was enough. By then Carol was drawing air through her teeth in a sharp intake of breath that told Bobby she was feeling it.
When he let her up, Carol kneeled upright on the sofa, rubbed her bottom and said, “Whew. I think you’ve got the hang of it. If you give Juliet that treatment, I’ll bet she won’t gamble any more.”
“Well maybe not,” said Bobby. Carol then explained the usual procedure, the preparation, corner time and even aftercare. Bobby took it all in.
“All right, that’s wrap,” said the producer on the last day. The show had all the footage it needed. Juliet could pack and go home. She had mixed feelings about the whole thing. Stan’s strict routine had been a drag, but at the same time she had to admire his insistence on accountability and responsibility. Even for simple things. It was a stripped down lifestyle and it made her think. Maybe she and Bobby lived too much in the Hollywood glitz and glamor.
And, this show would net her a big paycheck. Not enough to pay off everyone, but a good start. But she had to keep away from gambling. Could she do it? Bobby was away on shoots a lot, doing free lance. Could she retrain herself? Stay off the internet and for God’s sake stay away from Vegas?
And the whole spanking thing. She really had mixed feelings about that. While it was happening it had been embarrassing and painful and sexy all at once. She was still confused. Part of her had wanted to jump Stan’s bones, even after that paddling. Especially after that paddling, she told herself.
Just as she was about to leave, as if on cue, there was Stan, approaching with a package in his hands.
“This is for your husband,” he said. “Give him this if you even think about gambling again.”
Juliet knew what was in it. She thought, yes, it might work, and I need something. I need Bobby to take my gambling problem in hand. No, actually I need him to take ME in hand. The thought made her weak in the knees. But she squirreled the package away. She was afraid. Bobby might think her strange if she gave it to him.
The show aired three months later. They hadn’t seen previews so it was a huge shock when Juliet saw the whole discussion about Stan’s rules and the spanking and then saw herself tipped over Stan’s knee.
“Did you know about this?” exclaimed Juliet. The shot was murky but it was her, kicking and squirming while Stan paddled her backside.
“No,” Bobby shook his head in wonderment, then saw his own scene with Carol.
“The cameras had gone for the day. They had stopped shooting. How did this happen? Look!” Juliet pointed at the screen. “You’re spanking her.”
Bobby gaped at the scene with Carol flopped face down over his knees while he gave her a good shellacking. “They must have installed mini-cams,” said Bobby. “To catch everything. I mean it is on an adult network. They said there might be nudity.”
The show went viral. And to Juliet and Bobby’s delight, more money was on the way and would be coming for quite some time. Their attorney Bernie had insisted on a residuals clause and a cut of all syndication and licensing royalties. And far from trashing Juliet’s career, it revived it. Who could have known?
She felt so good she figured she’d earned herself a road trip—to Las Vegas, baby!
Bobby was out of town and she was left to her own devices. So she packed up and booked a room in the Mirage, just for a day or two she told herself. Three days and six thousand dollars later she was back home, thoroughly chagrinned and disgusted with herself. Where had all that resolve gone? She came to a self realization. She knew what she had to do.
Bobby was due any time now. Juliet would be ready. She took off her clothes and put on her sexiest nighty, a sheer pink baby doll creation with matching panties. When she heard his car pull in, she got ready. She wasn’t sure. It was a big risk. But it might be a bigger risk unless she threw off this compulsion to gamble. She heard him come in. The note with Stan’s package was on the kitchen counter. He couldn’t miss it. She heard his footsteps as he came in from the garage, imagined him reading the note, unwrapping Stan’s package.
Bobby read the note and swore to himself under his breath. He unwrapped the package. It looked professionally made, a thin flat piece of wood about twelve inches long and three inches wide, highly varnished with carefully rounded edges. Artistically painted on one side was the legend “Juliet’s Fanny Warmer.” He smiled then grimaced. Wow, six thousand dollars the note had said. Yes, it was time to put this baby to work.
Juliet looked adorable standing in the corner, hands on her head, perky little bottom outlined in the sheer pink panties. He almost wanted to toss the paddle away, grab her and ravish her. Almost.
“Six thousand is a lot of money, Juliet.”
“I know, Bobby, I know. I’m sorry.” She had not turned to face him yet. The apology came out as a plaintive wail. This was a different Juliet, that was for sure. Before she would have been all defensive with a zillion excuses.
“Do you know what I have in my hand?”
“Yes,” said Juliet in a small voice. “I think so.”
“Do you think this will help you to think next time—and stay away from Las Vegas?”
“All right then, Juliet. Turn around and come over here.”
Bobby sat on the bed, paddle in hand. Juliet came toward him, looking all contrite. It wasn’t an expression that Bobby saw often. He took her by the hand and guided her across his knees, shifting her until her cute bottom was propped up over his right knee at just the right angle. Juliet was one of those petite girls with a perfectly proportioned figure and her little derriere was no exception. Rounded and very fully fleshed for a girl her size, it seemingly begged for attention.
“These come down for this,” said Bobby. He slipped his fingers in the elastic of the panties and whisked them down to her knees. The twin plums of her bare bottom quivered, clenching and unclenching in anticipation. Bobby tapped the cheeks with the paddle. “Thirty thousand dollars—sixty good sound smacks. What do you think? Is that fair?”
“Whatever you say, Bobby. I’m sorry.” The sound was a bit muffled with Juliet’s nose down near the carpet.
Bobby hefted the paddle and brought it down with a hard crack! Juliet wailed and arched her torso, throwing her head back and her heels upward. A red band appeared on her bottom. This thing must be a real stinger, thought Bobby.
He paddled in an even rhythm, spreading the paddle spanks around the bobbling, squirming target, quickly making the summits of both mounds a bright red, not neglecting the softer flesh below, where the fullest, broadest part of each bottom-cheek met the thigh.
Sharp paddle cracks echoed in the bedroom as Juliet’s pink posterior grew
brighter and brighter and at last turned a fiery red that contrasted sharply
with the still untouched flesh of her hips and thighs, which retained their creamy
whiteness. The young actress howled lustily as the fire in her backside grew.
Whack! Smack! Crack! Bobby plied the little paddle, popping it down on Juliet’s wobbling bottom cheeks. Juliet yelped and fluttered her feet, but Bobby kept it up, spanking in an even tempo until sixty hard smacks had been visited on Juliet’s bare bottom.
“Ow! Ow! Wahhh!” Juliet dissolved in tears.
Bobby put the paddle down on the bed. Juliet was sobbing and hiccupping. Obviously the paddle had stung something fierce. Bobby just hoped it had done the trick. He ran his palm over the smarting cheeks and Juliet sighed, letting go of a big breath.
“It’s all right,” said Bobby. “It’s over.” As he continued to rub, trying to soothe the sting, Juliet squirmed. The panties had long since been kicked off and she opened her legs. Bobby saw the wetness that had seeped into the area covered by downy pubic hair. He gingerly put his finger down there, sliding it along her slit.
“Oh, yess…” she moaned and arched her buttocks as if to impale herself on Bobby’s fingers. He responded by slipping a finger inside her and stroking in and out. Her motions grew more animated and she bucked her hips upward.
Bobby had a hard on like blue steel. Paddling Juliet’s cute butt with all its clenching, flexing and bobbing around had ignited a powerful arousal, and his penis now threatened to split his pants. As if sensing his need, Juliet slid to her knees between his legs and unzipped his pants. She reached in and grasped his erect member, pulling it out. She kissed it all over, from the head to the base of the shaft then slowly she slid it into her mouth. Bobby moaned and stroked her hair. Juliet took Bobby’s cock all the way into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, before pulling back and repeating the motion.
Bobby decided he couldn’t stand much more of this. He pulled her head back and his penis came out of her mouth with a wet plop. Lifting her up to a standing position Bobby peeled off her top, picked her up and laid her down on the bed.
She spread her legs as he climbed onto the bed between them. Finding her vaginal opening he positioned the head of his shaft there and gave a little push. He slid into her up to the hilt with no resistance, her sheath slippery with lubricant. Still, she was tight, her vagina gripping him like a glove. The pleasure overwhelmed him. She moaned and threw her head back, grinding her hips against him, rubbing, reveling in that sliding contact with her tiny button. Once she found it, the pair wasted no time, but began to rock back and forth, pumping furiously with their hips, joining their bodies in the ancient pas de deux of love.
Later she took the paddle and hung it from a hook on the inside of the closet. “Turn it so the legend faces out,” said Bobby. “Every time you open that door you’ll see ‘Juliet’s Fanny Paddle’ in bold print.” She obeyed, and from then on, every time she had an urge to do something she shouldn’t, all she had to do was open the door to the closet and look inside.