Karl was still holding his wife’s wrist with his right
hand. With his left hand he began rubbing her ass
through the yoga pant. His hand moved in a seductive
circular motion. Laura and I watched in silence.

“Cynthia will do anything I ask her to do. Will Laura
do anything you ask her?”

I thought about this for a second. Again I waited for
Laura to object, but her lack of response revealed the
true answer: “Yes, I think she will.”

Karl then slapped his wife’s butt, hard. To me, he
asked, “Do you enjoy seeing other women spanked?”

Hopeful to see what I thought I was about to see, I
nodded.

He looked up at this wife: “I want to show them.”
Cynthia glanced at us as if to see if we objected.
When we didn’t she took a step to his side, then
gracefully slipped onto his lap. She lowered herself
to rest her stomach on his lap. Her knees almost
touched the floor. At first her arms hung down,
touching the floor, but without being instructed she
crossed them behind her back.

“She’s well trained,” Karl told us. He grabbed her
wrists with his left hand, and held up his right hand,
open palm above her rear. “How many, Laura? How many
shall I give her?”

Both he and I then looked at Laura, awaiting her
reply. Even Cynthia – who had been looking down at the
floor – turned to look. Laura hesitated. Karl waited
patiently until I placed my hand on Laura’s shoulder
and said, “Answer him.”

And she did: “Ten.”

Karl smiled. Then he grabbed the waistband of
Cynthia’s yoga pants, and with a sharp tug he yanked
them over half her butt, exposing most of her ass and
a pink thong. When she raised her torso up from his
lap he pulled the pants lower, about halfway down her
thighs. He was right – she had a great ass: firm and
round.

Then his hand came down, not too hard. “One,” Cynthia
let out, counting without being instructed. Karl
lifted his hand again and looked at us. He slapped her
again, harder this time (we could tell by the volume),
and Cynthia counted ‘two’. Karl rested his hand on her
ass and rubbed her cheeks, then slid it between her
legs, forcing her to spread them as much as the pants
around her thighs allowed.

He pulled the thong’s elastic band away from her and
let go. His hand went up; his hand came down, harder
this time: We could see the redness it left behind, we
watched her hands clench, we heard a tremor in her
voice when she counted ‘three’. The fourth slap was
softer and her hands unclenched. The fifth was harder;
Cynthia flinched in pain. Then ‘six’. And ‘seven’.

“Is this turning him on?” Karl asked my wife.

“I’m sure it is.”

“There’s only one way to be sure. Feel his cock.”