* * *
Valerie
I sat there nearly naked, my body trembling with shame and fear as Mark raised the paddle. I almost cried out just at the sight of the terrible wooden blade with the air holes that I knew were there to make it go faster, hit harder, hurt Megan’s poor little bottom more.
For a moment I thought time might stop, or Mark might just lower the horrid thing slowly to his side. Then I had to bite my lip to keep from sobbing as the paddle started downward, moving fast—too fast to see, almost, I thought. It came down. The first swat landed with a sharp crack that made me flinch violently. Megan cried out, her body jerking forward against the couch.
“One, sir,” she gasped.
The realization hit me with a flare of heat that seemed to come all the way from my toes: she was counting without being told. My stomach dropped as I understood what that meant—this wasn’t even close to the first time. Megan got paddled often enough that she knew the routine by heart.
More heat flooded between my legs at the thought. My practically sister, my modest, proper friend, bent over regularly for her husband’s discipline.
“A wife’s duty,” Mark said calmly, lifting the paddle, then tapping it against his free hand with what seemed deliberate slowness, “is to support her husband’s authority.”
“Yes, sir,” Megan sobbed.
Mark raised the horrid wooden blade again and brought it down hard. The gunshot crack echoed in the corners of the living room.
“Two, sir,” Megan gasped.
I couldn’t look away. Couldn’t close my eyes. My hands gripped my thighs as I watched the paddle connect again.
“Three, sir.”
“She must never undermine him,” Mark continued. Another swat. “Even when she thinks she’s helping.”
“Four, sir.” Megan’s voice was breaking now. Her little bottom already wore a bright pink hue.
My pussy throbbed against the leather couch. The shameful wetness was spreading, and I knew—God help me, I knew—thatif anyone looked, they would see the evidence darkening the lace of my obscene panties.
Five more swats fell, each one punctuated by Megan’s counting. Her bottom was turning deep red, the paddle leaving distinct marks across both cheeks.
“You should know,” Mark said conversationally to Chris, pausing with the paddle raised, “Megan gets very aroused when she’s punished. It’s the sign of a wife who knows her place, deep down inside.”
“No!” Megan wailed, her whole body shaking with mortification. “Please don’t?—”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Mark continued, ignoring her protests. “It’s how submissive girls are built. Their bodies respond to discipline.”
Chris’s voice came from beside me, quiet but firm. “Valerie gets aroused too. I’ve felt how wet she gets.”
I wanted to die. Wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole. My face burned so hot I thought I might actually faint. He was telling them—tellingMarkandMegan—about my body’s shameful responses.
“Interesting,” Mark said. “Have you taken her after a punishment?”
My breath stopped in my chest.
“I haven’t yet,” Chris replied. “But I plan to.”
“I recommend it,” Mark said. “Usually right after works well. Sometimes I don’t even take Megan to the bedroom—just keep her bent over the arm of this couch and have her right here.”
A small, desperate sound escaped Megan’s throat.
“If she’s behaved particularly badly,” Mark continued, and I heard something darker enter his voice, “I take this cute ass of hers that way. Helps her understand that her husband has access to every part of her body. I don’t know how you feel about anal, but there’s not much that conveys the truth of traditional marriage as well as a man’s cock in his wife’s backside.”
Megan sobbed openly now, her humiliation complete. And I—God forgive me—felt my pussy clench hard at his words. The image filled my mind unbidden: bent over this same couch arm, Chris behind me, his cock pushing into my?—
“Ten, sir,” Megan gasped as another swat landed.
