"Resolved," I said, opening our weekly meeting since it was my turn to sit at the head of the table, "that there is nothing more beautiful than a woman's ass the morning after a proper spanking when the bruises are dark and fresh." They're not really, you know, "meetings." More like discussion groups or, well, just groups of friends getting together. We might have been a Mustang Club or Model Airplane Group. But we weren't.
The MOTH group, Man of the House, gets together every Thursday. We thought about calling it the Lepidopterists, but figured no one would get that. Too subtle.
Ours is a group of men with wives who understand a woman's proper role. But when one chooses The Life the number of people you can be, well, open with, is limited. So we have our clubhouse where we can be free, and these weekly get-togethers at the local restaurant where we can just talk, without being judged.
It's not a formal group and on any given Wednesday there might be fifteen or there might be two. Today there were six so we kept the little private room.
"Well," Danny said, "that's a good look but, honestly, a freshly slapped cheek when it's such a lovely red is better I think." Danny is one of the younger members of our group and his wife is twice his age and twice his size but regularly showed up at the club with a swollen cheek.
I chuckled and said, "well, LaVerne does look good that way, I'll give you that."
"A well-striped back is better," Chet chimed in. Chet's the oldest member of the group and Marie, his wife of 50 years, I know that because we had an anniversary party for them at The Club, always wore backless things to The Club. They are proud of their relationship.
"No," Frank interjected, "David," referring to me, "is right. It's the ass."
I laughed and high-fived him.
"Easy for you to say," Danny said, "an ass like Paula's absolutely begs to be spanked."
Everyone at the table said some version of "that's right". Paula, Frank's wife, is a delightfully pear-shaped woman. A perfect pear if we're being honest here. No boobs but one of the most magnificent asses the world has ever seen.
"What about you, Thomas?" I asked. He had been quiet so far.
"The most beautiful thing in the world is a woman, her feet in the stirrups, and her pussy so swollen she can't even pee without a catheter," he intoned in that college professor's voice, well practiced since he was, after all, a college professor. Valerie, his child bride, once a student, now his wife, is a big woman in her early 20s. She has the biggest hips and ass among the group. Those shelf hips, you know, a shelf you can set your beer on? would handle a 12-pack. I suppose we had all noticed her walking funny from time to time, you tend to notice when she walks by, but this was new.
"Tell us more," I said.
He grinned, took a drink of his coffee, and started his story.
THOMAS'S STORY
Valerie surprised me one day, she called it our six-month anniversary present, when she led me into the basement of our faculty housing and showed me the plus-size gynecological exam chair she had made up. At her size, she had to have it custom-made. She always complains when she comes back from her annual exam about how the armrests at the OB-GYN's office cut her hips. So this one fit her.
I admired it. It was quite a piece of workmanship. It looked like it had started as an old-style barber chair, all shiny chrome and white porcelain and dark leather. The stirrups were heavy-duty things, They looked to be stainless steel with heavy leather restraining straps attached. I walked around it slowly, enjoying the combination of surfaces, the soft leather contrasting with the hard, cold porcelain and chrome.
When I looked up she had a wooden case, the sort of thing you would expect a custom gun or maybe a pool cue crafted from exotic, and expensive, materials, to be in. It was Walnut, to my fairly practiced eye, with brass hinges and corner reinforcements. It was a beautiful piece in its own right.
She was holding it out to me, smiling, and when she opened it there was a paddle. And again, it was a beautiful thing in its own right. It looked like it had started as a piece of heavily spalted oak, the black lines running through it highlighting the figure of the wood, cut to the size and shape of a slightly oversized paint stir stick but then polished and dipped in varnish until several ounces of weight had been added to it.
"Beautiful," I said, "but what do you have in mind?"
She smiled that smile she has, the smile that meant I could never say "no" to her.
"Two more presents, baby," she said, that smile melting my heart.
