THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SUSAN ADAMS 7
As the picture ended, all three were silent for a few moments, but the air was electric, as if in anticipation of a storm. Suddenly, Jean blurted out, "Please, Don, I can explain!"
Don's reply, while mild in volume, carried such menace that both women froze for a moment, and, as Jean cowered back against the pillow, Susan hurriedly got off the bed. Don moved over to the edge, and without further comment, swung Jean over his knees. Jean was a fairly heavy, strong woman, but he handled her as if she were a lightweight. "You'll explain, all right, but you're going to learn a lesson first!
Don's obvious anger and the sudden turn of events left Susan disconcerted and, somehow, muddled – the shift from sexual excitement to a domestic catastrophe left her weak and she collapsed into a chair, her eyes focused of the tableau before her. She had read somewhere that a woman never looked more attractive, and vulnerable, than when draped over someone's knees, ready to be spanked. The comment had made her furious at the time, but, looking at Jean, she had to admit that there was some truth to it. Jean's hips, larger and plumper than Susan's, made a lovely, velvety- looking mound over Don's lap, an impression of softness belied by the play of strong muscles as she clenched her cheeks in anticipation of what was coming. Her breasts, larger but not as firm as Susan's, hung down like cone-shaped, gelatin-filled balloons, the nipples actually reaching past the level of her chin. Even before anything happened, they were swaying back and forth as Jean tried to turn up toward Don to ask for mercy – which wasn't going to be granted.
It's amazing what can go through a person's mind in a few seconds, for Susan suddenly was astonished to realize that she actually was feeling envious of Jean. She certainly was not envying what was going to happen to that round, pink bottom in the next few minutes, for she knew all too well from personal experience the pain Don's large, hard hand was going to inflict. She realized, in a moment of self-revelation, that what she liked – no, loved – was the feeling she got from having a larger, stronger person easily bend her over their knees where she would lie, exposed and defenseless, as they prepared to punish her. It was the lying there, the complete subjugation, having been overpowered and her fate out of her hands that had that weird appeal. However, she was not a masochist. She hated to be hurt, but she also liked, or loved, the feeling at the end of the spanking, that feeling of having been mastered and no being subservient to a kindly master – or mistress.
That moment of introspection, or self-revelation (and envy), ended as she saw Don's hand go up to begin the spanking, and she shuddered, realizing the pain that soon would be wreaked on Jean's bottom. For the first time, she was going to see another woman spanked when she was not personally involved. Also for the first time, she got that ambivalent feeling that Jean had when Susan was being spanked – sympathy for her friend but, at the same time, a surge of sexual heat like that generated by a sexy movie.
Suddenly, without warning, Don brought his hand down with a violent smack, actually almost a clapping noise. The noise resounded throughout the room, blending with a cry of agony from Jean. The merciless blows began in a steady rhythm, interspersed with Don's furious comments: "You lied"....smack...."to me"....smack.... "I asked"....smack...."you if....smack.... "John said or"....smack...."did anything"....smack...."to you, and you"....smack... "deliberately" ....smack.... "let me . . .smack. . . ."think"...smack..."that nothing".... smack...."happened!" "That's". . . .smack . . . . "the same as"....smack...."a lie!"....smack....smack....smack...."I don't care".... smack...."if he fucks"....smack...."you every time"....smack...."you see him"....smack...."but don't"....smack...."lie about it!"
The wrathful spanking went on and on, Jean's ass cheeks went from a rosy pink to crimson to a deep, fiery red. Her cries of pain, mixed with pleas for mercy and promises never to do it again, fell on deaf ears as Don worked out his rage. This however, was not the jealous fury of a cuckolded husband punishing an unfaithful wife. Don had never felt that he owned Jean's cunt (or any other part of her body), nor did he feel personally diminished or betrayed by her adultery. As she well knew, any sin she committed would be ignored or forgiven as long as she didn't hide it or lie to him. Oddly enough, she felt that the punishment was justified and, as she had said to Susan long ago, the suffering she went through made her feel better afterwards.