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Chapter
5
Welcome back to part
II of Camp-Over-The-Knee. Chapters 5, 6 and 7 take place a year
later -- this time with the women in charge. Enjoy!
-=o=-
I looked at the letter
and tried to decipher the return address. Who did I know in Oregon?
Hand addressed, with a 32-cent stamp on it, it was obviously not
a piece of junk mail. I ripped open the envelope and the first thing
that caught my eye was Hannah and George's signatures at the bottom.
Oh my God! How could
forget. It's all that Betty and I talked about all winter long.
We remembered everything about last year's summer camp. How my butt's
been paddled since!
Betty and Jim would
join Carl and me a couple of weekends a month. The four of us also
held special get-togethers with other members of the group. We had
a spanking good time at a ski lodge with Sally, Pete, Glenda and
Hal over the Christmas holidays. This was the first time we switched
off partners (for the spankings that is). It was funny to feel Jim's
or Pete's or Hal's hand on my ass.
But then came the new
year. This year was to be different. The tables turned, so to speak.
I read the letter eagerly.
Although it was signed by both of them, it seemed to be written
mostly by Hannah.
"Hello girls and boys,
I hope you have warm
memories (and butts) to carry you through the winter.
Summer will be here
before you know it and Camp Over-the-Knee is preparing something
special for you this year. In accordance with our by-laws, COTK
'96 will be a female-dominated encounter, so I hope you girls are
ready to have some fun. Guys, get ready to bend over and 'drop 'em.'"
The rest of the letter
went on about registration and other details. COTK '96 was scheduled
for the Labor Day weekend; a date I duly noted on the calendar.
It was still six months away, but I felt I had to get moving.
My first call was to
Carl. I got his voicemail. I explained to the mechanical secretary
my demands. "Carl, this is Joy. Put the Labor Day weekend on your
calendar. You'll be taking a little extra vacation. You'll need
it ... Oh, and you might think about ordering a new chair for your
office when you get back; one with a soft cushioned seat. You'll
need that too." I smiled as I hung up.
The second call was
to my mom to line up baby-sitting for Jenny.
"Mom, Joy here."
"Hi honey, how's everything?"
"Everything is fine
mom. I have a big favor to ask. Can you take Jenny for the Labor
Day weekend? Carl and I are going back to the Oregon coast."
"Is that the same place
you two went last year?" she asked.
"Yes."
"I don't know what went
on there last year, but it certainly worked for you and Carl. I
tell you; your dad and I were worried about your marriage. Whatever
happened there certainly turned things around. Carl's smiling all
the time, and I have my happy little girl back. What was it -- some
sort of marriage encounter?"
"Sort of. We met with
other couples and learned how to communicate with one another. We
sort of got in touch with each other." I smiled at my totally private
joke.
"Well whatever it was,
it sure seemed to put the spark back into you and Carl." Mom replied.
"Of course I'll take Jenny, she's such a sweet child. You two go
off and have your fun."
"Thanks, mom."
If mom only knew. Maybe
she did know! Neither she nor dad were obsessed with spanking me,
but you never know what they did in private. In which case, I didn't
want to know. It's hard for children to think of their parents as
sexual beings.
My third call was to
Betty. I waited impatiently as the phone rang a full three rings
before she picked it up.
"Did you get your mail
yet?" I asked, skipping all preliminaries.
"Well, hello to you
too, Joy." She responded laughing. "I was wondering how long it
would take you to call. Yes, I just opened it myself. We've got
a lot of planning to do."
"You bet," I responded.
"Can we get together for lunch?"
-=o=-
Betty and I got together
for spankfests with our husbands at least once a month. But that
wasn't enough for us girls. Betty and I met at least once a week
to have lunch, go shopping, and do a little "girl talk."
Over the past couple
of months, we've taken to frequenting bookstores that carried sexually
oriented magazines: not the seedy, shuttered-up stores where men
kept their hands deeply buried in their pockets, but reputable stores
that kept "adult reading material" on the top shelf, neatly shrink-
wrapped in plastic.
The only problem we
had was one of stature. Both Betty and I were too short to reach
the magazines. We normally embarrassed some poor teenaged clerk
as we asked him over to retrieve the magazines for us. Watching
a young man blush because of something I asked him to do made me
excited. It was a small thrill, but a curious one.
In these magazines,
we saw ads for other magazines, ones that were delivered in plain
brown wrappers. To insure our privacy, and to keep the magazines
out of the hands of our curious kids (as well as the "big kids --
our husbands -- who didn't need any more encouragement), Betty and
I invested in a post office box.
The magazines were overwhelmingly
"boy spanks girl" in nature, but there were those few stories which
featured men over the knees of women. These stories got Betty and
me hot and excited.
We met for lunch at
the coffee shop across from the post office.
"This month's issue
is a good one," Betty said as soon as we exchanged the routine pleasantries.
She fanned through the pages of the latest P.O. Box arrival, found
an article and pushed the magazine towards me.
The first thing I noticed
was the picture accompanying the article. It showed a picture of
a man, totally naked, over the knee of a thirty-ish woman. Sitting
in easy chairs, legs crossed and smiling, were two other women also
in their late 20s to early 30s. All the women were dressed in blouses,
skirts, and moderately-heeled pumps. They could have just walked
out of any office building in America.
Indeed, the article
was about how the secretarial pool took retribution on an overbearing
boss.
Betty and I discussed
why it was that pictures like these excited us. There were other
pictures with women in black leather or latex, wearing hip-high
boots with spiked heels. They looked haughty, severe and stern,
but ... they didn't turn us on. We didn't want to look like that.
I know that men get turned on by this kind of stuff. Maybe it's
a guy thing.
It seemed that the pictures
that excited us the most were those where the women were dressed
in normal business clothes. Perhaps these women reminded us of real
women: the powerful women in our lives, moms, school teachers, and
other professional women.
I felt myself getting
increasingly wet as I read the story. I could imagine the girls
getting together to watch me spank Carl. Conversely, I could easily
visualize myself sitting on the couch watching Betty tan Jim's behind.
That's the way it is with us women; we like to share our pleasant
experiences with one another. There's a sisterhood there that men
just can't understand.
"Oh, Betty," I exclaimed,
"I just can't wait to try that!"
Betty and I tried topping
our respective husbands, but only in private. I remembered the first
time I tried to spank Hal. I felt giddy, and both of us laughed
through the whole thing. It was fun, but the laughing spoiled the
mood.
Betty told me that she
tried the same thing with Jim, but she felt uncomfortable with having
him over her lap. She confided in me, "I need moral support. I need
other women around me to give me support and comfort."
She was right. There
was something about being surrounded by people who understand your
needs. Last year's camp proved that to me. I did things I wouldn't
dream of doing on my own. Ironically, the presence of other people
encouraged me rather than embarrassed me. I hoped that Carl felt
the same way.
-=o=-
The months marched by
slowly. My garden bloomed in spring, and my mind compared the pinks
displayed by my roses and carnations to that of what I imagined
Carl's well-paddled tush would look like.
Memorial Day arrived,
and we had our barbecue with the Jensen's. It was a family affair,
so we had to refrain from our spanking activities until late at
night with the kiddies tucked firmly in bed.
June ... July ... Independence
Day at the Lake ... Being overheard by the couple in the next cabin.
We knew they *had* to have heard us, but they never said a word.
They just smiled knowingly.
The dog days of August
arrived with their repressive heat and depressing humidity. I sweat
in my tank top, shorts, and sneakers. How I longed for the cool
breezes on my skin at the Oregon Coast.
September at last! We
drove Jenny the 60 miles out of the way to my parents' house. Mom
and her grand daughter were glad to see each other. It would be
a very pleasant time for the all of them. Jenny's eyes lit up at
the proposition of going fishing with grand-pop.
Carl and I headed down
I-5 in great anticipation. "Screw the traffic. Full speed ahead!"
I don't think that Admiral Farragut had the same objective in mind
as we had
I smiled evilly at Carl
as I thought of the new "toys" I had packed away in my suitcase.
I've been busy all spring long looking through catalogues with Betty,
dialing the phone, using the credit card, and answering the door
for the Fed-Ex man.
Carl would be surprised
at the amount of research Betty and I did! I kept on running all
kinds of scenarios over in my mind. Every now and then, Carl would
catch a glimpse of me giggling. He'd ask, "What?" and I'd simply
smile back at him and sigh, "Oh ... nothing."
Carl and I talked about
the last year's camp, Betty and Jim, and the other couples for the
whole 5 hours to the coast. We arrived at COTK just as the sun was
setting.
Carl got us registered,
we dumped off our linens in our respective cabins, and we found
Betty and Jim for an evening walk along the beach.
"Are you guys ready
for camp?" Betty asked the men. Our response was a broad smile from
each of our spouses
I remembered Carl's
and my first night here over a year ago: how the sound of the surf,
the feel of the sand between my toes, and the touch of Carl's hand
transformed me from a bland career woman, wife and mother into a
new person who craved her sexual fun. My head was full of these
thoughts as I kissed Carl goodnight in front of barracks number
6.
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