Chapter 2
Jack Caspar was in a foul humor by the time he reached his ranch-type bungalow on Cedar Street. It was his custom to leave his Thunderbird parked in the garage behind the Glendview station to be reclaimed when he got off the train. On those occasions when Marge wanted the car for shopping or her bridge club, she asked him in advance and things were worked out with a reasonably amicable cooperation between both of them. But tonight the Thunderbird hadn't been there, meaning that Marge had come to the station, had picked it up, and was using it herself. So he had to wait about ten minutes for a cab. When he got home, it was to find Marge seated at the kitchen table polishing off the remnants of the cold pork roast they had had last Sunday and not a hint of any dinner for himself.
"What the hell does this mean, Marge?" he growled. "And how is it you took the car without telling me you were going to do it?"
Marge Caspar was thirty-five and looked ten years younger, what with her light-brown hair styled in a short bob. Her heart-shaped face revealed few of the telltale crow's nests or wrinkles common to women in their middle thirties, and her full, generous lips (on which, in his opinion, she used far too much flaming lipstick), her vivacious gray-green eyes and pert, slightly snub nose suggested rather more of a Junior League young matron than a woman who had been married for an even dozen years.
"I'm awfully sorry, Jackie," (invariably Marge used the diminutive when she wanted to calm him down or wheedle him) "but the bedroom air-conditioner broke down and so I had to take the car and go over to Torrence's. Anyway, I decided we needed another unit in the recreation room down in the basement. And they had a sale on. Besides, you didn't definitely say you'd be home tonight."
"I didn't definitely say I wouldn't be, either," he growled. "And where's my dinner?"
Tm sorry about that, too, honey. Just as I was coming out of Torrence's, I ran into Mabel Fawcett-You didn't know her, but I went to college with her. She lives in Skokie now, and she just got divorced, and she was shopping for a house right here in Glendview. So she invited me for coffee at McDowell's. By the time we finished our snack and talked over old times, it was so awfully late...."
"I get the picture," he angrily interrupted. "And I never heard you mention this Mabel Fawcett before either. I'll just bet that maybe they've got a skirt-chasing new salesman over at Torrence's, that's what I'll bet."
"Jack Caspar!" his wife gasped, crimsoning, "how can you say such an awful thing!"
"Because I know the symptoms, baby," Jack Caspar stared angrily at her. "Every time you give me a longwinded explanation where most gals would use a couple of words, I've got a notion that you're on the make again."
"I like that! You be careful what you say to me, or you'll be sorry! Have I ever given you cause...."
"You sure have," he interrupted with a scathing glare. "Last winter, there was that new assistant manager over at the super mart, the guy with the moustache. Seems to me he took you to lunch a couple of times."
"That was just because he was a stranger in town and...."
"I know, you were being friendly," he finished for her. "And then that time I went to Miami last February for that Agency workshop and walked in to find you and that vacuum cleaner salesman sitting so close together a flea couldn't have gotten between you."
"He was just giving me a demonstration, and...."
"I know. Of course you had all your clothes on, but your lipstick was sure smudged and he had one helluva time getting up and introducing himself to me, probably because he had a hard-on he was hoping to get rid of..."
"Jack Caspar! You're nothing but a filthy mouthed, suspicious person!" she flashed, stamping her foot until her big round closely spaced titties jiggled against the bodice of her multi-print rayon housedress. "Are you accusing me of sleeping with all those men?"
"No, because I can't prove it. But if I hadn't come in then, I'd bet a dollar to a donut you'd have done something about his hard-on!"
Marge Caspar rose from the table, her eyes sparkling with anger, her superb titties heaving, her face crimson and twisted with fury as she confronted him. "So you think that! Well, let me tell you something, Jack Caspar! I'll bet you're not lily-white either, if the truth be known! I'll bet you've had yourself some new pussy down in Miami, that's what I'll bet!"
"That's just like a woman, trying to shift the blame when she's caught with her panties down!" he truculently countered. "I'm just telling you one thing, Marge, you'd better forget trying to make yourself out to be the sexpot of Glendview and start taking better care of me in bed or maybe I will go looking for some fresh pussy."
"Oh, so now you don't like what you're getting at home, is that it?" she stormed.
"Since you asked me a question, I'll give you an answer. Not one goddamn little bit lately. You just spread and close your eyes and practically go to sleep when I'm humping you. Hell, I'd get more cooperation out of a pro!"
Rigid with anger, the blonde matron slapped him hard, then, her eyes widening with remorse, nervously backed away. "I...I'm sorry, Jackie, I didn't ... I really didn't mean to..." she stammered.
But Jack Caspar had had it for one day. The good news about a bonus and maybe even a vice presidency which old Maxwell Benton had given him late this afternoon was forgotten. He seized her by the wrist and compressing his lips, hauled her out of the kitchen to her bedroom. Each of them had a separate bedroom, and there was a guest bedroom, too. Hers was the closest, which was why he chose it.
"You let go of me...what are you going to do? You'll be sorry for this.. . let go of my wrist, you're hurting me!" she stormed, trying to strike at him with her free fist.
He seated himself on the edge of the bed, dragged her down across his lap, and then Marge Caspar let out a shriek of consternation. He had just tugged up her skirt and the beige nylon petticoat under it, rolled both garments well above her waist, and exposed her opulent, tightly spaced, round-cheeked bottom snugly encased in a pink satin, elastic panty girdle whose narrow tabs tenaciously hooked to the tops of her beige nylon
"You stop that...don't you dare...I'm warning you, Jack Caspar...owww! You ... you hit me!" she wailed. His left hand palming the small of her back, her husband raised his right hand and brought it down resoundingly on the right summit of her plump bottom. Frantically, she plunged both hands back to the all too vulnerable target, while at the same time she tried to wriggle off his lap and to kick her legs wildly in the air.
"No, you don't," he grimly told her. "You've had this coming for a helluva long time, baby, and now you're going to get it!" With this, adroitly gripping both wrists in his left hand, he ripped the panty girdle off with a single violent tug of his other hand, and the torn sheath dangled against her knees, retained by the clinging stocking tabs. Marge Caspar uttered a piercing shriek of angry and shamed stupefaction; her carnation-tinged naked posterior was upturned, and on the right cheek there was already a bright pink splotch to outline the very first spank.
"Ohh, you brute, you're going to pay for that! I'm going to leave you, that's what, Jack Caspar, that's what! Always accusing me of going out with other men and ... oww! Ohhhh! Stop it, that hurts! You've got no right ... eeeowwwouuul I'm going to leave you for this, you wait and see, you...ahrrr! Oww, don't, it hurts, aiiiil I hate you, I hate you ... ohh, ahrrr! Stop it, you're killing me!"
Heedless of her plaints and threats, keeping a firm grip on both her jerking wrists, Jack Caspar had methodically begun to spank that opulent bare ass which bucked and weaved and twisted in the most salacious manner imaginable. The angry, vivid splotches on the smooth satiny skin soon sprang up, while Marge's wails and cries replaced her storming threats in quite short order. Her feet kicked back and forth in a flurry of frantic energy as she tried to twist and throw herself off her husband's lap. But he merely paused for a minute, shifted her so that her legs slid down onto the floor, then promptly clamped his right leg over her calves, let go of her wrists for a minute to take a firm grip on her waist with his left hand and draw her back closer to him, and then went on spanking with greater gusto than ever.
She tried to twist her torso and strike at him with her fists, but he ignored the maneuver. Frantic, she beat at the sheets with her fists, her face red and twisted with anguish, her eyes huge and sparkling with tears. All the while, relentlessly, his big hand rose and fell, alternating on the lush nether globes, flattening them and feeling their resilience as her tender flesh sprang up under the shock and quivered and palpitated. Her squirmings and wrigglings only increased the enticing and almost obscene contractions and undulations of her bare seat.
"Ahrrr! Oww oooh! Stop it. . Jack, you're killing me, you're killing me! I can't stand it, please, it's not true ... maybe I did ... ourwweeeeee! Oh Jack, don't, don't! Maybe I fl ... flirted a little, but I never did ... aahhrr! Oh please, you're burning me up. I can't stand it, I tell you, I can't stand it!" she wailed.
"Right now," he paused to flex his inflamed, stinging hand and to catch his breath before he renewed her chastisement, "you're going to go out there and make me some dinner, that's what you're going to do! And you'd better not let me catch you making eyes at any guy with a moustache or one trying to sell you a new home appliance, or I'll use my belt on your big ass the next time, baby!" Smack-Crack-Smack! His hand descended thrice, making her bottom jump and wobble as his palm smacked sonorously against the base of her right bottom globe, then its mate, and then the top of her right hip.
"EEEahrrrl Oww, oh don't, no more, I'll do anything you want, only let up! You're killing me!" Marge hysterically pleaded. Angled as she was, with her feet on the floor and the edge of the bed hitting her at about the thighs, crouched over his lap and her upper body flat along the bed with his big left hand pressing down against her lower back, she was absolutely helpless. All she could do was pummel the bed with her fists, and turn her congested, tear-stained face back to him to beg for mercy. Twisting and wriggling her hips as she did, she couldn't evade a single fiery smack. And by now her bottom flamed like an Hawaiian sunset.
"There I There...and here's a couple of last ones to go on," he told her as he brought his hand down three more hard times all over her flaming, swollen, naked ass. "Maybe that'll teach you I mean business. Now, are you going to get in there and fix me something to eat, or do you want me to use my belt on you?"
His left hand lifted, and Marge, sobbing hysterically, pushed her palms down on the bed and tried to straighten, only to grimace and wail again as the movement sent new waves of searing heat through her martyred bare behind. But as she straightened, his eyes fell on the dark-brown muff of her cunt, and he suddenly felt a savage erection, such as he hadn't had in years. His eyes narrowed and glittered. Then, gripping her by the elbows, he flung her back down on the bed, this time on her back. Her petticoat and dress were still fucked up above her waist, and with her panty girdle tangled about her calves, she was helpless.
"What...what are you going-oh Jack, oh, my god, oh Jack ... no, oh please...I...I'll get your dinner...wait. Oh please, my bottom's killing me...oh no!" she moaned.
Kneeling between her straddled legs, he had just yanked down his zipper and drawn out his savagely rampant cock. Before she could twist herself away from him, he had fallen atop her, his prick head prodding against the fleshy lips of her soft cunt. His hands gripped her panting titties, and his mouth silenced her frightened outcry as he thrust himself with a single stroke into her to the very balls.
"Mmmmmfff ... mfggghhhh ... aahhhhhr she groaned, her eyes rolling, huge and anxious. And then suddenly her arms locked round him, and with a whimpering little sob, she arched up her knees and began to respond to his feverish digs.
A blind lust had taken hold of him. He could feel the pulsations of her cuntwalls, which seemed to be spasmodically clamping against his delving tool. She had never been so tight, so hot before; at least, he couldn't remember when. Her bottom twisted and wriggled feverishly now, and he could feel her fingernails clawing at his shoulder blades through his shirt and undershirt. His mouth was fused to hers, and suddenly he felt the lashing stab of her tongue, and a galvanizing fire, like a current of electricity, seething through him.
He accelerated his pace now, quickening his thrusts, and her pelvic basin seemed to thrust frantically up at him as if to absorb every rigid, throbbing inch of his sexual spear. At last he lifted his mouth from hers, and Marge Caspar panted, "Ohhh, god, oh Jack, lover, oh Jackie. It's so ... -good, oh, give it to me, lover, give it to Mama hard, real hard!"
"Yeah ... oh, you sweet bitch, Marge. I'm going to fuck you senseless, you tight-pussied bitch, you," he heard himself raucously gasp. And then his mouth came down on hers again, and this time their tongues were twined, and he felt her buck and jerk under him, and suddenly he could hold it back no more. With an agonized shout, he felt himself explode in her, buried to the very depths, her cuntwalls quaking and nipping and gripping him till it seemed that they would milk out every drop he had ever stored up or ever would again.
They lay sprawled, merged, for a long moment. And finally, when he raised his flushed face, he stared at her and gasped, "You were like a firecracker, baby, what in hell ever set you off?"
"You damn fool ... you sweet sap ... oh, you bastard," Marge Caspar half giggled, half sobbed. "Don't your know? It was that spanking. I thought I was going to die from it, and then when you started fucking me.. . I just about went through the ceiling. Oh lover, you won't ever have to go looking for strange pussy, not ever again, not when you can turn a girl on like that. Oh, Jackie!"
And that was how Jack and Marge Caspar unwittingly discovered the very credo of the Spanking Society, Ltd.