A Tale of 4 Wives

Female Domination
Young Femdom
About Mule
Essays on female domination
Thought du Jour
Posting on the Internet

"Brenda, are you sure this is OK?"

"Look, Joyce, we've been through this before. You agreed to come along with us. It's too late to turn back now. You'll have fun. You'll see."

"Yeah, don't be such a pansy," Melissa piped up from the back seat. I looked in the rear view mirror and watched Sandy roll her eyes.

The four of us were on a mission. I attended a bachlorette party for one of the girls at work a week ago. At first I was taken back when we pulled up to a "strip joint" until I found out that it was ladies' night. Well, the whole place wasn't just for ladies, but they did have the back room especially reserved for the activities. The main bar was still mostly for men.

Our side of the facility featured the "all male review." These guys were hot. Many of them were students at the local college. One of them told me that he made more money for a couple of hours' work here once a week than he did at his full-time weekend job. He lamented that the girls next store made even more money. Apparently drunk men tip better than drunk women.

The guys might have been hot, but they were "kids" to us matronly types. Well, as forty-something housewives college boys were kids to us. The adventurous side of me wanted to lead my sisters-in-boredom on a little expedition in excitement.

"Are you sure this is OK?" Joyce asked again. "I mean naked men … I mean you can actually see their …their …" she tailed off fumbling for the correct word.

Sandy supplied it for her, "Penis!" she yelled from the back seat, "Penis! It's called a penis, cock, dick, dong, schlong, Johnson, tool, wang. John has one, Bill has one, Henry has one, and so does Andy," she said naming off our husbands. There's a reason we call her "Randy Sandy."

"Yeah, but?" Joyce protested.

"But what?" Melissa said.

"But they belong to someone else. I mean; I'm not married to any of them."

"Who's asking you to marry them? They're boys. From what Brenda tells me, well-hung and in-shape boys, but boys nonetheless. They are eye candy, toys to look at. Maybe even cop a feel. "

Joyce shut up and bit her lip nervously.

I tried to put her at ease. "Look, once you get there, and you are immersed in a room full of screaming women, you'll get in the mood. I thought I'd have a problem with it but when everybody else is doing it, it's easier to go along. You'll see; it will be fun."

So I was taking the girls back to show them what I have found. Our cover with our spouses was that it was a "girls' night out;" the four of us were going to dinner and then to see a "chick flick." Our husbands joyfully declined, saying they were going out for a couple of beers and watch "the game."

"The game!" There's always "the game." So our husbands were going to watch their weekly "game of the year." Just as well, it will keep them out most of the night, and we'd probably be home before them.

Kids were comfortably shuttled to a friend's house. She ran a day care, had enough room and toys to handle dozens of kids, and was glad for the lucrative bonus the opportunity provided. For the kids too, it was a party and a night out away from their parents. Everybody was a winner.

I found the place and parked in the corner of the lot. As liberated as I thought I was, I was still concerned that somebody I know would see us here.

We got out of the car and walked across the parking lot. Melissa, Sandy and I fixed our sights on the appropriate door and walked towards it as confidently as we could. Joyce was mincing her way through the parking lot like Dorothy timidly stepping through the forest speaking "Lions, and tigers and bears. Oh my!" clutching her purse like Dorothy clutched Toto.

The entranceway was brightly lit, so as soon as we crossed the threshold into the darkened interior, we were blind to all that wasn't in the spotlight. And what was in the spotlight was most interesting. It was a young man in a fireman's outfit, the pieces of which were already scattered around the stage leaving him in his hat, boots and posing pouch.

I had learned on my last trip that the performers wore a number of outfits, and sometimes the same performer would wear different outfits at different times during the evening.

Our waitress showed us to our table and we got ourselves comfortably settled in. Joyce, of course, selected the seat facing away from the stage. Randy Sandy turned her chair around, spread her lips with her fingers and let out a whistle shrill enough to penetrate steel. I guess being the only girl raised in a house full of boys gives a girl the chance to pick up some talents not normally associated with members of the female gender. Nonetheless, her tribute to the performer was almost lost in the storm of feminine laughter and shouting.

The act was almost over by the time our first drink order came. Each of us had the house special. I don't know the exact recipe, but I do know is that it was made with several different kinds of liquor and served flambé. The establishment obviously wanted to get its patrons intoxicated quickly.

I really don't know how many of the house specials we had, and how many different naked men we saw that evening. I do remember the last act we watched.

It featured a young man in green medical "scrubs" complete with cap, green paper booties over his shoes, and the stethoscope hanging off his neck. He called himself, "Dr. Love."

The four of us girls were feeling no pain, and laughed and chatted away like a bunch of schoolgirls as on stage, Dr. Love was losing various pieces of his outfit.

By the time our glasses were almost empty, Dr. Love was down to his G-string and booties. The G-string was made of some sort of stretchy material, so it didn't hide anything. It might as well have been a condom. As he flung his last shred of clothing off to the side, he jumped off the stage into the crowd.

I've been to the aquarium. I've seen them feed the sharks. I know what a brave gesture this young man was doing when he dove into a pool of estrogen-crazed and alcohol-uninhibited women. Hands groped at him everywhere. Women waved bills at him and he came over to them and made the appropriate gestures with his hips. These women took their time to place their tips carefully in his G-string, lest he lose them.

Dr. Love worked his way over towards our table. Sandy held up a large denomination bill. Dr. Love re-adjusted his treasury to place it closer to the family jewels.

There's something about predatory animals; they can sense fear and uncertainty in their prey. Although Sandy was waving the bait, Dr. Love circled towards Joyce. Her face turned as red as her drink. She put her hands up in front of it, but certainly not over her eyes. They were firmly fixed on the bulging pouch inches from her face.

Sandy yelled, "Show her what you got. Give her a dose of your medicine."

Dr. Love started to move his hips in an interesting rocking motion. The bulge started to take shape and a pink tip peeked out from the top of the pouch. I licked my lips. I stole a peek at Sandy and Melissa. Both had eyes wide open tracking every subtle movement. Joyce was in kind of a trance.

Dr. Love put his hands on his hips hooked his fingers into the pouch and wiggled around some more. Like a moray eel slithering out of its hiding place, more of the prize slowly and smoothly emerged.

I don't know why this should excite me. I've been married for a dozen years. I've dated for a dozen years before that. I've known what a penis looks like since I was about 6 years old. I've babysat and diapered dozens of boys. Sandy and Melissa both have brothers, I'm sure they've seen them naked at some point in their lives.

So why did this take on a totally different aura? Alcohol for sure had something to do with it, but I think the room also had its effect. When everyone else is doing *it*, whatever it is, it becomes OK. I would never look at another man under any other circumstance, but this wasn't any other circumstance. It was like each woman in the room shared the collective enthusiasm as her own. I could feel Sandy and Melissa's excitement coursing through my veins. I felt the heat of Joyce's embarrassment in my face.

I know I wouldn't feel the same way watching this show on a TV screen. You had to be there.

Meanwhile the doctor's penis was bouncing up and down in front of Joyce's eyes. "Touch it!" Sandy yelled out. Joyce shook her head. "Touch it," Melissa added. Joyce buried her head in her hands, but then snapped it back up. She reached out and put a fingernail on it. She traced it down the shaft to where it disappeared into the pouch.

From out of the crowd came a roar of encouragement, and a hand with a bottle of hand cream. There were several of them placed strategically around the room, and it was expected that one of them get passed along to where the action was.

Melissa nudged Joyce, "Go ahead, go do it girl."

"Hold it like a hot dog and squeeze that mustard on it," Sandy advised.

The good doctor put his hands behind his back and pushed his crotch forward. Joyce squirt the pink liquid down the length of his shaft. She wrapped her hand around it. Doc humped in and out making love to her fingers and palm. His penis, which was hard to begin with, got even bigger and plumper.

The previous week was the first time I've seen a young penis in action in decades. The action happened a lot sooner than I remembered and with a lot more force that I've seen for quite a while. Bill was still virile for 40-something, but he's "lost a little off his fastball." Not that I'm complaining, what he lacks now in speed and force, he more than makes up for with endurance and skill.

Doc's performance was no less impressive than those I saw last week. Joyce squealed as he shot off.

As doc left with G-string bulging with more than just wadded bills, the waitress handed Joyce a moist hand towel to clean up. "That's our signal to get out of here, girls," I announced, "It's already 10:30. I don't know how long 'the game' is going to last, but I'd like to be home before the boys get there." I knew I needed to freshen up a little. I smelled like cigarette smoke, and none of us smoked.

We paid the bill, and made our way back out to the parking lot. Joyce put her hand on top of the car, and calmly announced, "Excuse me." The next thing I know, she's emptying the contents of her stomach all over the side of my car. Oh well, at least the door was closed, but it looked like a trip to the car wash tomorrow.

I got us all in the car, belted in, and turned to Melissa, "Make sure Joyce is OK." Melissa smiled back at me dumbly. Well, at least she isn't vomiting. Joyce already had her eyes closed.

I pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the highway. Almost immediately blue flashing lights filled my rear view mirror. I slowed down and the blue lights were still there. I pulled over and they didn't pull on past me.

I watched the side view mirror as the police car sat there for a couple of minutes. Then the officer got out and walked towards the car. I smiled trying to imagine the last time I saw a man in a police uniform … and out of it. It might have been a half hour ago.

All of a sudden there was the glare of a flashlight in my face. I rolled down the window. "I need to see your license, registration and proof of insurance please." I leaned over to the glove compartment to fumble for the necessary documents. I handed them to the officer. "Stay right here ma'am." He walked back to his car. He returned a couple of minutes later.

"Step out of the car ma'am." I got out feeling a little uneasy about the process at this point. "How much have you had to drink tonight ma'am," he said shining the flashlight directly into one eye and then the other.

"Oh, a couple." I am sure he's heard that response a lot. "Ma'am, I'm going to ask you to do some simple tests." So here I am standing on the side of the road doing arm extensions, nose touches and other exercises. At the conclusion of which he stated, "I am going to have to cite you for driving while intoxicated."

He made all of us get out of the car. The rest of the girls were in no better shape than me. Several minutes later, another cop car appeared. The second officer walked up and our officer asked me to give her the car keys. The second officer then pulled my car back to the side of the road and locked it up.

"Come on, ladies," he beckoned, "you're going for a ride." Sandy and I wound up in one car, Melissa and Joyce in the other. We met again at the police station. There I underwent a breathalyzer test.

I was finally allowed my one phone call, and that went to Bill who was annoyed at first because I interrupted "the game" by calling him on his cell phone. As soon as I filled him in on what happened, his mood changed. "I have the guys here with me right now. We'll be down to pick you up in a moment."

In the meantime, we sat in the corner of the jail (at least not behind bars) as another consignment of drunk drivers came in. This was followed by what had to be the ugliest woman I've ever seen until she pulled her wig off. With this girl was a balding, almost timid looking middle-age man who was booked for solicitation. The real prostitutes came later as they were both arrested for assault and disturbing the peace; apparently a cat-fight over something.

At last our knights in shining armor arrived. Well, if they had armor for them, they could use a pot-bellied stove for part of it. However at the moment, they were our saviors; anything to get out of this place!

I could hear Bill talking with the cops or at least the part he was excited about. "The car is where? What were they doing in that place?" Most of the rest of the conversation was conducted in murmurs. I could see the four men talking with each other and looking in our directions.

It's amazing what a sobering experience being arrested can be. I swear every one of us girls was right on alert by the time we were released into the "cognizance of our respective spouses." As soon as I was allowed to, I ran to Bill hugged him and kissed him. He kissed me back but said, "We're going to have to talk about this when we get home."

The ride home was very quiet, at least in the car I was in. We all wound up at my house. Bill and the boys told us to wait in the living room while they "went over some things" in the kitchen. Again, I could only catch snatches of the conversation.

Meanwhile us four girls waited in the living room. Melissa broke out crying and the rest of us went over to comfort her.

The men came into the living room and looked around. "OK girls, stand up!" Bill commanded in a firm voice. Each one of our husbands ordered his wife to her feet. Bill pointed to one of the walls and said, "Line up here and face us." I felt like I was going to have my mug shot taken again.

The men sat on the couch and chairs facing us. Bill was apparently in charge of this interrogation, as the other men seemed to be content to let him do the talking. Occasionally one of them would whisper something in his ear to refresh his memory or even less often one of the other men would address his wife. This arrangement meant that I had to do most of the answering.

"What were you girls doing tonight?" Bill demanded.

"We were just out to have a little harmless fun," I answered.

"Harmless fun?" he bellowed back. "You call that kind of lewd activity harmless fun?"

I looked at my toes.

"You are grown women. You should know better. You should know how to behave yourselves. What would the kids think if they saw you at a place like that? What kind of a slut would they think you are? You're supposed to be an example for them. Are you proud of what you did there?"

I mumbled an almost inaudible, "no."

Bill roared back like a drill sergeant, "What's that, Brenda? I can't hear you?"

"No," I said again, louder but with no more confidence.

Each of the men demanded the same kind of confession from his wife. Again I felt that embarrassed feeling, but this time it wasn't a good excitement that was turning my stomach.

"Brenda, look at me!" Bill continued, "How would you feel if Karlee (our daughter) went to a place like that when she gets older? How would you like it if Bill (yes, he's a junior) worked there?"

It wasn't a fair question. Bill was 11 and Karlee was 8, so I couldn't even comprehend what they would do when they got old enough to do it. It did get me thinking though. Every one of the women in that room was somebody's daughter. How would she react if she knew her offspring partook in such heathen pleasure? I wondered what my mom would think if she found out. Every one of the boy performers was somebody's son. What would his mother think of how he made a living?

People don't raise their children to behave this way. Yet it happened, and I was a part of it. If women didn't show up to watch the boys perform, then there would be no performance, and even if there was, a single woman or even a small group of women wouldn't have the courage to go on with the activities I saw tonight. My attendance actually encouraged it.

"Bill, it isn't like that …" I started.

"It isn't like what?"

"I mean our kids would never do something like this."

"Nobody's kids would ever do something like this. Yet YOU did. …and you, and you, and you." He said pointing to each one of us in turn.

Bill let that sink in for a while.

"Then there's the matter of DWI. We can hide the fact that you girls were at a strip joint. I know I'm not going to brag about what my wife does for fun around town, and neither are the other guys. The DWI is a matter of public record. Suppose one of our neighbors reads about it in the paper? You know we have very nosy neighbors. What are they going to think?"

I had to admit that getting in a car as drunk as I was wasn't one of my better decisions. I wouldn't have done it otherwise, but how would I explain going back to get the car at that place. Now I had to explain it AND face the DWI charge.

"I am not even going to try to figure out how much this is going to raise our insurance. We will have to tone down those vacation plans."

Bill got up and strode up and down in front of us.

"The guys and I decided that you girls need to learn a lesson. You have endangered yourselves and possibly others. You've embarrassed the shit out of us, and you've behaved like spoiled little girls. We're going to have to punish you like spoiled little girls. We're going to take you over our laps and spank some sensibility into you."

I couldn't believe my ears. I hadn't been spanked since I was a little girl about 9 years old.

"OK girls, pull 'em down."

"What!" I could swear we all said the word in unison.

"Your jeans, skirts and panties. They're coming down." Bill replied, "Either you girls do it yourselves, or we'll do it for you."

I was very reluctant to move, but somehow the inevitability of the situation overcame me. I undid the buckle on my skirt and slowly moved the waistband down. The other girls followed my lead. That made it a little easier for me. There was a different dynamic at work here. Instead of the frenzied, selfish, heat of the moment emotions generated at the club, this was a more bonding experience. We shared a common shame, and that made our sisterhood stronger.

I stepped out of my skirt and kicked it towards Bill defiantly. Removing the panties was more difficult psychologically since it was the last protection I had, as frail as it was, against my vulnerability. The men had the extra shielding of a mere couple of pieces of cloth, but they could have just been as well in a suit of armor. The difference in vulnerabilities was that strong. Nonetheless, I pulled down my panties as quickly as doing a toe touch.

Soon all four of us were standing there naked from the waist down, facing our husbands.

Bill took me by the hand and led me to a chair. With one continuous movement, he bent me over his lap. I tried to resist but it was more than muscle that overpowered me. I just seemed to bend with his movements, he led my body, and my mind followed it. Bill was firm and controlling but for that gentle all at once. I knew that in spite of his strength, he wasn't going to hurt me.

That comfortable feeling eroded when I found myself butt up in the air and very exposed. I had forgotten that it was only one of four such exposed butts until I heard a slapping sound and a yelp from one of my partners in crime.

My turn came soon enough. Without any warning, not even a shifting of weight, Bill's hand came down on my behind. It was shocking and took me by surprise. At first I felt the impact, but nothing else. There was no sting, no burn, no hurt … nothing! As he raised his hand feelings started to flood into the area. First a rushing sensation, then a sting and then warmth.

I heard other slapping sounds around me. I couldn't see what the other men and women were doing, and I didn't want to turn my head to find out. Bill delivered another spank to the opposite cheek and I let out a cry. Soon Bill was delivering spank after spank.

I dare say that the man knew his business. No individual spank was particularly hard, but the cumulative effect went deeper. The stinging remained on the surface, but the heat and tingling worked its way down to the very core. Things became hazy. Maybe I had some residual alcohol on board. Maybe it was my body position which had my head below my butt.

Whatever it was, my senses started shutting down. I could feel the spanking on my behind, but somehow the pain of it didn't register. I knew that I was draped over Bill's lap, but I didn't seem to sense gravity. The sounds of the spankings and the cries of the women reached my ears as though through a wall of water. Even my own cries seemed to die in my throat.

My entire existence was being drawn into my own mind, and the consciousness only of the attention that a very specific part of my body was experiencing. If Bill were talking to me, I couldn't comprehend him. I recognized neither his voice nor his words. My entire understanding of the world around me was the skin to skin contact of Bill's hand and my behind. What a unique way to communicate and experience the world!

I felt winded and weak. I suddenly realized that the spanking had stopped. Bit by bit pieces of reality started to drizzle down on my consciousness. It was like coming out of a dream slowly. I became aware of the sobbing of one of the girls. I could feel the tears on my cheeks as well. Had I been crying?

Bill gently guided me off his lap. Dizzily, I stood. The world started to come into focus again. Pain started to penetrate though the protective shield. The heat and tingling continued.

Our husbands made us stand and face the wall with our hands on our heads. I gave a sideways glace to Sandy. She smiled back at me. I looked the other way to see the grins on Melissa's and Joyce's faces. I knew that next Friday night, we'd have to get together and talk about this.

end of female domination, femdom story