Jenna's husband, Marc, squeezed her hand under the table. This dinner with his boss, Bruce Bradford, went well so far. Marc was one the newest lawyers at his firm, but his record had him in consideration for a junior partner already. To get his name further up, Marc invited his mentor at the firm for dinner. Jenna played the role of perfect wife, cooking the entire meal and serving both men with a sweet smile. The wiggle of her hips as she moved around the room helped.
His boss leaned back in his chair. "That was amazing pie, Mrs. Pane."
"I'm glad you think so, Mr. Bradford, but you can call me Jenna. Marc wanted everything perfect, or he'd punish me."
"He'd punish you? How? A spanking over his lap?"
"If I'm lucky. Probably a whipping."
"Jenna," Marc said, a warning in his voice. "I don't think this is appropriate."
Her face flooded with warmth and she stared down at her plate. "Sorry, Sir."
"Go to the bathroom and compose yourself."
"Yes Sir." Jenna swallowed and didn't look at either man as she left her seat. In the bathroom, she splashed her face as she looked in the mirror. She took six deep breaths, then returned to the table.
She gasped when she noticed they had cleared away the dessert dishes. "Should I start the coffee?"
Her eyes bounced between the two men. They had rolled up their sleeves in her absence. Two sets of eyes stared at her. Marc's blue eyes were dark with anger. Bruce's brown eyes sparkled with excitement.
"Bruce asked if I really whip you. I offered a demonstration. You were getting one after he left."
"A whipping?" Jenna whined.
"A spanking."
"Oh, Yes Sir. I know." She bowed her head.
"Take off your skirt, then put your hands on the table."
She focused on Marc while her shaky hands pulled the zipper down.
"Do you just use your hands?" Bruce asked, as the skirt slid down her legs. His tone disclosing him frothing at the chance to touch her lithe young body. He was handsome, but nearing fifty she guessed. Twice her age.
She could do this for Marc, for their future. She grabbed her skirt off the floor and dropped it on the chair.
"Usually," Marc replied. "Sometimes a paddle or a cane. She hates the whip. Her screams while I flay her skin are beautiful, like a symphony of the pain and pleasure she gets."
Jenna leaned on the table. Marc walked behind her and caressed her ass, squeezing each cheek. Jenna turned her head. "I'm sorry, Sir."
"You will be," he replied. Bruce stood beside him, arms crossed over his chest.
Her thighs trembled. Marc's hand came down with a loud crack. She didn't move or moan. Her composure didn't last through subsequent blows. Marc pushed her to her limit and she didn't even have to put on a show. It fucking hurt.
Her body shook when he stopped. He rubbed his hand over her tender skin. "Would you like a turn?" he asked his boss.
Jenna sucked in a breath. No other man had touched her ass. She and Marc were high school sweethearts. They were each other's first and only. Now at twenty-five, her husband offered her to another man.
"How hard?" Bruce asked.
"However you want. I trained her for years to take any amount of pain."
Jenna's thighs grew slick from Marc's praise and the heat in his voice. He was proud of her, for what he taught her, for how she endured his desires.
Bruce didn't hit as hard. The slaps of skin didn't fill the room. She still shuddered from the pain.
"What else to you do?" Bruce asked, rubbing her bottom. "Does she do whatever you tell her?"
"We have negotiated limits. She can say no, but she rarely does." Marc put a hand on her chin and forced her to look at him. She was dazed from the pain and forbidden game they were playing in her dining room. His eyes brought her back to the present.
"If you told her I could touch her, would she obey?" Bruce asked.
"Spread your legs, pet." Jenna's body responded even if her body was unsure. "Go ahead."
