It began as a bit of fun, I'll admit it.
Tom was over at our place to watch the game on television. Usually, both he and his wife, Fran, would be over, but Fran was down south taking care of a sick sister, so it was just my good friend by himself with Dee and me.
I asked my wife for a minor favour. "Would you get us a beer, darling?" I asked, and Dee gave one of her smart-arse, uppety kind of replies.
"What am I? A maid? Get your own beer."
I hadn't thought it was too much to ask, but my wife flounced out of the room.
Tom muttered, "It'd be a cold day in hell before I'd let Fran get away with talking to me like that."
I didn't say anything, and we turned back to the game on television. But I considered Tom's words and thought about the way Fran treated him. I had to admit that Fran did always seem to treat Tom with a certain . . . what? . . . respect? That and something more. Certainly there was plenty of love, and she always gazed at Tom with admiration, even a bit of deference.
I sighed as I rose out of my chair. "You want a beer, too?" I asked my friend.
"Sure, " he said, and I thought I detected just the slightest snort of disgust when he said it.
Dee was in the kitchen, but I didn't say anything as I brushed by her and got two beers, simply giving me a smug look and a wry grin. After Tom and I had settled in, we started to watch the game.
Dee flounced in a few minutes later and sat on the couch, with one leg bent under her backside, her usual pose when sitting and relaxing. Tom was on the couch with her, and I sat in a nearby chair.
I sighed. I had to admit she was sexy as hell. I suppose, like most perpetually horny young guys, it was her sexiness that attracted me at first. Even now, not made up especially, she was dynamite. She had her hair in a pony-tail. She had on jean cut-down shorts that displayed her shapely and tanned legs, and a shirt that was tied up in a knot below her breasts, showing a trim tummy and a lovely belly button.
Dee doesn't have particularly big tits, but they are pert and proud. The shirt stood out a little. I wasn't at all sure if she had on a bra or not, her tits are that perky.
As we sat there in silence, I thought of Tom's words. In a futile effort to be a modern husband, had I been too tolerant?
Treated her demands with too much regard? Too willing to give in to Dee's every whim in an effort at being politically correct? I couldn't say it had done much good. As the three years of our marriage had passed, she had become more and more demanding and snotty. Something of a bitch, really.
Anyway, I sat there, fuming and thinking. Finally, I abruptly said to Tom, pointedly ignoring Dee, "So what do you do when Fran gets mouthy with you, Tom?"
He said rather in a matter of fact way, as if it were the most self-evident thing in the world, "I treat her as I would any bratty c***d."
"Which means?" I pursued.
"I give her a sound spanking."
Dee burst out laughing. "Let me get this straight, " she chortled. "In this day and age of feminism, when women are fully the equal of men, you spank your wife." She stated the last words as opposed to asking.
Tom looked at her, raising an eyebrow of disdain, "That's correct. When she is being a brat. As for feminism, I can't say that I see that women are any happier today than they were when their husbands called the shots, when they showed proper respect."
Dee was laughing so hard that I thought she would choke.
"Respect...?"
And that gave me a thought. I decided to challenge my friend.
"It doesn't look to me like Dee is showing you much respect right now, Tom. Perhaps you would care to demonstrate your technique for me and her."
"With your permission?" Enquired Tom.
I nodded.
Before three seconds had gone by, Tom grabbed Dee, and none too gently I noticed. She squawked as he turned her over his lap, her bottom in the air.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Teaching a brat some respect."
I could see that Tom was plenty strong, and as much as my wife squirmed, he held her tightly.
Tom raised a meaty palm. It hovered in the air for a moment. I held my breath. Then he brought it down with a loud thwack!
Dee screeched, "Are you going to let him man-handle your wife?"
"It looks to me like you've needed it for a long time, " I observed.
Tom brought his hand down powerfully two more times; each time Dee howled.
Tom muttered, "These damn shorts are getting in the way."
I swear it wasn't there at first, but Tom's comment suddenly brought an element of eroticism into the event. I found that my cock was filling like a fricking balloon.
I said, "Then, pull them down."
Dee squawked in misbelief, "You're telling him to strip your wife?"
"Sounds like it, doesn't it?" I answered glibly.
Tom didn't hesitate. With one hand he held Dee's birdlike wrists above her head; with the other hand he quickly undid her shorts and pulled them down, along with her panties, to her knees. "That should do it, " he said. For a moment he let his hand drift over her buttocks. "She really does have a beautiful backside, mate."
