Jean's Awaening

The Historic Society meetings are always held in the library meeting room.

I walked in about ten minutes early as I always did, and took my accustomed seat at the long table, next to Samantha my best friend for decades.

She looked me up and down and whispered, "we're going to talk after this meeting."

Oliver, the Society president, gaveled the meeting to order before I could say anything.

The meeting droned, as it always did. The most important item was a house in the historic district that the owners were upgrading. The plans met District specifications and the vote to approve was unanimous.

Afterward, at the Starbucks at Barnes and Noble, my coffee (dark roast, black) in front of us, she leaned forward, stared openly at my cleavage on display, and said, "okay Sluterella, spill it."

I giggled and said, "am I that obvious?"

She smiled and said, "honey, you either got laid or you've decided to put it on the street."

I laughed, almost snorting my coffee.

"Can you promise not to spread this around?" I asked, touching her hand.

"In all the years we've been friends have I EVER told one of your secrets?" she asked and seemed legitimately offended.

"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath, "here's the story."

I talked nonstop, well, stopping to answer her occasional question, for almost an hour. The only breaks were to refill the coffee and then to pee.

I held nothing back. Hell, I was proud that they wanted me.

"So," I finished, "your good friend the chaste widow became the Merry Widow this weekend and, Sammee, it's not just getting laid. When they say 'I love you' I believe it. I know I mean it when I say it back."

She took a deep breath and said, "wow."

I giggled and replied, "yeah, wow."

"Okay," she said, "I do have one question."

"One?" I asked, doing the one-eyebrow-raised thing I am genetically enabled to do.

She giggled and actually blushed.

"Well?" I asked.

She met my eyes under her eyebrows and took her own deep breath.

"Do you think your," and she giggled, "your husbands would be interested in a fat other woman?"

"SAMMEE!" I said.

She blushed.

"Jean," she said, "it's been years since Fred touched me and, well, you obviously know a woman has needs."

"Are you serious?" I asked, my mind trying to grasp the notion of my best friend having trouble in her marriage and me not knowing it.

Her blush was bright red when she said, "never mind, it was a stupid idea. It's just, as you were describing it, well, didn't you notice me squirming?"

"You ARE serious, aren't you?" I said.

Her eyes were on her hands, flat on the table, when she said softly, a whisper really, "yes."

I covered her hands with mine.

"Sammee," I said, "look at me."

Her eyes came up and I could see tears welling.

I released her hand, dug into my purse, and handed her my little packet of kleenex.

She sniffed and wiped and blew and wiped.

I covered her hands again.

"You're serious?" I asked.

Her eyes were darting around the room, looking everywhere but at me.

"You want to join my," and it was my turn to stumble, thinking about how to put it into words.

"You want to join

our

strange, group marriage?" I asked.

She kept refusing to meet my eyes.

"Well?" I said, holding her eyes.

"Yes, no, maybe, oh fuck, you must think I'm crazy," she said in a rush.

I laughed.

Sammee considers "darn" to be strong language.

"Yes," she said finally, "God help me (and I giggled thinking of how many times I had used that phrase over the weekend), yes," she finished, "but," she went on quickly, "if you don't want me to I understand."

I laughed again.

"Sammee, trust me, there's plenty to go around," I said, "and if I was the jealous type I'd have walked away when you first said anything."

She looked up at me and said, "oh never mind. I'm just a crazy old woman anyway."

"Youngster," I said, after all, she was three years younger than me, "what does that say about me."

She giggled and said, "you know what I mean."

"Sammee," I said, leaning forward, holding her eyes, wanting her to understand how serious I was, "it's not JUST sex honey. God knows there's plenty of sex, but there's love here too."

She shivered a little and said, "I got that Jean, when you were talking about your, what did you call it, your 'strange group marriage,' and that's what got to me."

"Sammee," I said, "I'll talk to them. You're welcome into our group as far as I'm concerned, but I'm only one vote."

She smiled through eyes welling again.

"Do not," she said, and now it was her turn to emphasize the seriousness with her eyes and the grip on my hand, "jeopardize your good thing on my account."

I giggled and said, "oh trust me, I won't. But they're young and, well, you know how men are."

We talked for another hour over a third cup of coffee for me, mostly unimportant things like what was coming next for the Historical Society.

In the parking lot we embraced, or, well, she grabbed me in a big bear hug while I reached as far around her as I could.

Sammee is about five-foot nuthin' and tips the scales at about 300 pounds. She is beautiful, but she IS very round.

When I got home Roger was the only husband there.

He greeted me with a whistle, actually making me blush.

"You look absolutely stunning," he said.

"Prove it," I said, smiling.

We made love and then I napped, only to wake between two of my husbands as they nursed.

We made love, this time with me on top and another from behind anally.

I was still stretching, feeling languorous when the last two of my beloveds came in.

We made love.

I was on top when David took me from behind but not anally, vaginally, stretching me and giving me a new kind of orgasm.

I went down the stairs holding David's hand, just in a T-shirt again (this one proclaiming me someone who "plays guitar (an instrument of which I have no knowledge) because I like it, not because I'm good at it," feeling sexy and loved with semen leaking down my thighs.

We ate dinner, Chinese delivered in those little white cardboard boxes, washed down with Sam Adams beer.

As we sat, full, a little tipsy, I took a deep breath and said, "I don't know how to do it but I think we need to have a family meeting."

All eyes were on me and nobody said anything.

I blushed.

"What is it, honey?" David asked.

"Oh," I said, "it's nothing, never mind."

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh no," Roger said, sitting beside me, "spill it."

"Wellllllllllllllllll," I said, "I was talking to a dear friend of mine today after the Historic Society meeting and."

"STOP!" David snapped.

I stopped and I could feel my eyes big as I looked at him. It was the first time I had seen him angry.

"You talked to someone outside of The Family (the way he said it made the capitalization obvious)?" he said, his voice raised, "about US!" his voice rising at the end.

All eyes were on me when I said, in a very small voice, "yes, but."

I didn't get past the "but."

"Jean," he said, the coldness in his voice scaring me, "are you fucking nuts? Jesus Christ," and he wound down and then took a deep breath.

"Jean," he said, his voice warm again, "we love you, but you are going to get a spanking for that, now go on."

"A spanking?" I asked.

"Lessons must be taught love," he said, smiling now, "and God put all of those nerve endings in the human ass to ensure they would be remembered. Now go on."

I gulped, audibly, but started again.

"My friend Samantha noticed what I was wearing and we got to talking and....." I said but sort of wound down.

Roger covered my hand with his and said, "go on Jean."

"Oh God, I'm sorry, but I just got so in the moment talking about us. My loves," I said, "I'm proud of this."

"Got it," David said, "but why the meeting?"

"My friend, Samantha, wanted me to ask if you all would be interested in having the 'other woman' around," I finished in a rush.

David was grinning now and said, "so let's get this straight. You married us, had a honeymoon, and you're already ready to pimp us out?"

I giggled at that.

"No honey," I said, "but all of this," and I moved my arm, taking them all in, "can be a bit much. I love it, don't get me wrong, but a girl needs rest and," I rushed on when a couple of them started to say something, "I don't have anyone else I'd be willing to share you wonderful men with."

"So if we say yes," David said, "and agreed to be your gigolos (I giggled at that) then that will be it? You're not going to be putting us on an auction block or anything?"

"No baby," I said, "but I do love Samantha and, well, I'd be willing to at least try. But," I rushed on, "I know it has to be unanimous."

"Soooooooooooooooooo," Bobby said, grinning now, "tell us a bit about this other woman. First, could she handle me?"

I laughed and said, "you'd have to check that with her honey."

I looked around the table and then said, "Samantha is absolutely beautiful. But, and you need to know this going in because I will not set her up to be disappointed, she's about as wide as she is tall."

"Obese?" asked Stan.

"I suppose she is, technically," I said, "she's very big but she's light on her feet and not, you know, sloppy and flabby as many fat women get."

"And you know this how?" Stan asked.

I laughed and said, "we have been to the gym together."

"Whattya say, guys?" David asked, in charge again, "ready to do some chubby chasin'?"

"Hell yes," "yeah," "sure," and "why not?" were the responses.

"Okay," David said, "now bridepimp, (and I got the giggles at that) how will this work?"

"God, I hadn't thought about it," I said. "A party Friday night?"

"Done," he said and smacked the table with the flat of his hand.

"Now," he said, flashing The Grin at me, "to the matter of your spanking."

He looked at me speculatively and then around the table.

"What do you think guys?" he asked, "10 swats each sound about right?"

I wasn't sure what they were meaning but I was damn sure I was getting nervous.

"Yeah," "oh yeah," "HELL yeah," and "sounds right" were the responses.

"Table or knees?" he asked.

"Table," was the chorus.

"Jean," he said, his tone serious again, "lessons must be taught. You will receive ten swats from each of us while stretched across the table. You know you can stop it at any time by simply saying you withdraw your consent, but if you do then we will consider that a divorce."

I gulped and asked, "how much talking about things like this have you all been doing among yourselves?"

He smiled and said, "a lot. Now, do you understand?"

"Yes," I replied.

Within about 30 seconds the table had been cleared, the chairs pulled away, and Roger had returned from the kitchen with the cutting board my son had made for me in junior high school wood shop.

The board was about a foot square where I had cut up countless tomatoes, chickens, and who knows what else, with a handle on one end, cut out with a saw of some sort and a leather string to hang it from.

My eyes were big as I watched David take a couple of practice swings.

The whistle it made passing through the air almost made my knees weak.

"Al," David started, "you're first holder, and Roger, you get the honor."

Al moved to the table, opposite me, and crooked his finger, beckoning me closer.

I moved forward and when he held his hands out I took them.

He pulled me forward, the table at my hips making me bend forward.

He kept pulling until my belly and breasts were pressed hard against the table.

I was absolutely helpless and, to my surprise, I was aroused.

Roger kissed my cheek, said, "I love you, Jean," and then, with no warning or hesitation hit my ass right where I sit with the cutting board.

The pain was sudden and intense.

It took my breath away and I felt my foot lift off of the floor.

I tried to pull my hand back to soothe myself, but Al held me and I couldn't get free.

"One," Roger said, and he was caressing my back and ass now.

The pain eased and I slowly managed to relax.

SMACK! In exactly the same spot.

I tried to arch my back, to reach back to soothe and protect, but I was helpless.

I relaxed.

SMACK! In exactly the same spot.

I screamed. I couldn't help myself. My leg was kicking and I was writhing as much as I could the way I was being held.

I heard footsteps.

Hands caressed my back.

I was crying now, tears and snot puddling, wetting my face.

I was sort of moaning, "oh God oh God oh God."

Suddenly fingers were in my hair and lifting my head.

A pillow was under my face.

"Scream into the pillow," David's voice was soft in my ear, "or we'll have the police here."

"Y-y-y-y-yes," was all I could manage.

SMACK! And I screamed into the pillow. Loud and long. It was already snot slick and tear and drool wet.

I have no idea how long that spanking went on. Thinking back, I think there was probably almost a minute between each swat. By the time Roger and Stan and Al took their 10 swings my world was reduced to my ass and my back. The pain was alive, tearing my skin off, flaying me, leaving me helpless and hopeless and lost.

And then caresses and tickles would provide the slightest relief before the monstrous pain was brought back, even more intense.

I was nothing but a whimpering ball of agony, too weak to even struggle and too hoarse to scream.

And then, when Bobby hit me for the 34th time my world flipped upside down.

To call what happened to me an orgasm is to call a tornado a breeze or a hurricane a shower.

My body went rigid and then relaxed and then rigid again about a hundred times in two seconds. It was like shivering but with every cell involved.

A bolt of the purest pleasure, ecstasy, nirvana, I have no words to encompass what happened to me, the new thing that replaced the pain.

Every hair stood up and I imagined I must look like I was holding one end of one of those static electricity generators.

I didn't cum or even squirt. I sprayed.

I could hear the liquid spattering as my entire body clenched with pure delight.

I screamed into the pillow again, but this time with pleasure.

Every cell in my body was involved.

I felt muscles deep in my belly contract as my uterus reawakened after 15 years.

That happened three more times before David called out a triumphant, "fifty."

Roger had been holding my hands and released me.

David tried to help me stand, but I pushed his hands away, choosing instead to get on my knees right there by the kitchen table.

"Please," I said, unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his pants, and unzipping his pants.

I stopped and looked around.

"Please," I said again, "I want all of you, right here, right now, completing my contrition. Showing how sorry I am."

David was naked from the waist down by then and I took him in my mouth, greedily, my head bobbing, wanting his beautiful gift.

As soon as he was done, his semen in my hair and on my face, sealing my eyes so I couldn't see who stepped up next, I took the next cock in my mouth.

By the time I finished Bobby, big everywhere including the volume of his ejaculate, it was like I had a full facial and I could feel it starting to dry.

I looked up, eyes closed, and whispered, "Am I forgiven?"

I felt a hand on my arm and let him help me to my feet.

"Of course you are," David said, "but I don't think we're going to allow you to wash your face. You're pretty hot right now."

I giggled softly and yawned.

I was exhausted, my ass was still on fire, but I was glowing with pleasure too.

"Take me to bed honey, please," I said softly, "before I fall asleep and hurt myself."

He took my hand and started leading me.

I stopped him and turned.

I suppose I should have felt abused, humiliated, degraded, mortified, or at least embarrassed.

I felt none of those things.

I felt proud that they cared enough to correct my error but still forgive me.

I felt, well, I felt loved.

"Thank you my loves," I said and then let him lead me to bed.