This short-short is rather typical of Joe Whatever and was originally 
intended as a one-off.

  

 
                    A TANNING AT THE BEACH 

                             by

                        Joe Whatever



[Part 1]

My wife and I had been relaxing on the beach when the deputy put 
up the rope line in front of us.

I knew women were ignoring the anti-bikini ordinance, and I knew 
that Mrs. Crone of the Church Council had suggested "publicly 
paddling the bare fannies of the shameless, brazen strumpets!"

But nothing prepared me for the sight of the police paddling the 
bare bottoms of dozens of beautiful young women just a few feet 
in front of me.  In a further act of gratuitous humiliation, the 
women's bikini tops were used to tie their hands behind their 
backs.  When the women kicked and squirmed, the male spectators 
enjoyed quite a show....

"My goodness!" my wife exclaimed.  "Isn't that TOMMY wearing a 
'Temporary Deputy' badge?"

Tommy delivered our groceries, and my wife relished teasing the 
bashful 19-year-old.

But now my wife watched in horror as Tommy carefully peeled down 
the bikini bottom of a stunning blonde several years his senior.

"And that's Marsha Johnson!" my wife gasped.  "She works at my 
law firm.  I can't believe Tommy is actually SPANKING her.  How 
HUMILIATING!"

"It looks like Mrs. Crone is settling some scores today," I 
observed.  "It's a good thing you didn't wear a bikini."

It was a joke, but my lovely wife's jaw dropped as she glared at 
me in stunned disbelief.

"You know Mrs. Crone hates you," I explained.  "And I'm sure she'd 
enjoy turning you over to Tommy.  And I'm sure Tommy wouldn't mind 
either." 

I grinned as Tommy's hand "accidentally" slipped between Marsha's 
legs in a bogus attempt to "reposition" her.

My wife looked like a bunny trapped in the headlights, so I 
changed the subject.  "I bet they'll close that bikini shop 
by the entrance...."

"They do sell bikinis here, don't they...?" my wife said, softly.

She stared intently as Marsha squirmed and wiggled and pleaded 
her way through her painful and shameful paddling.  Mrs. Crone 
vengefully directed Tommy to spank her thighs and even "between 
her cheeks."  Marsha kicked her legs wildly, and Tommy's leering, 
laughing fraternity brothers heckled the blushing woman's exposure 
unmercifully.

I barely noticed as my wife discreetly slipped away....

I was watching an 18-year-old high school dropout vigorously paddle 
his school principal, when I suddenly heard my wife's voice.

"Please, Tommy, not my BOTTOMS, too!" my wife pleaded, desperately. 
"Not in front of your friends!"

I knew my wife hadn't been wearing a bikini.  But, as I moved 
closer, I noticed she was holding a crumpled sales receipt from 
the bikini shop in her fist.

I moved even closer.  The price tag was still dangling from the 
pink bikini top that bound her wrists....

As Mrs. Crone gave Tommy the order to "pull that disgusting little 
hussy's underpants DOWN!" I detected the faintest trace of a smile 
on my blushing wife's face....



Edited by C. Lakewood

                ******************************

Below is a sequel to the Joe Whatever story above.  The original 
was cute and rather whimsical, but this continuation goes off down 
a somewhat darker path.




                    A TANNING AT THE BEACH 

                              by

                  C. Lakewood and Jaydee None 



Part 2

The thought slithered through my head, "So she wants to be spanked 
-- bare-assed and in public?  And she refuses to be even a little 
kinky with me...in private...but she is more than willing for that 
damn teenager to strip her and spank her...right out here in front 
of everybody?"

I was not pleased.  Tommy had pulled my wife's bikini bottom down 
and off and then had begun spanking her -- vigorously.  Soon she 
was howling, all dignity forgotten, and her legs were kicking high, 
showing off everything she had.  Complete strangers were seeing 
more of her than she normally let me see, her own husband....

When we were dating and then when we were engaged (god! was that 
only eight years ago?) Jeannie had seemed so broad-minded and 
accommodating.  But, after the wedding, things changed.  At first 
I'd been surprised -- incredulous even -- and had tried talking 
things over with her.  That got me nowhere, and I eventually 
learned, like most husbands, that married life could be reasonably 
tolerable if I just kept my mouth shut about anything that really 
mattered to me.

Divorce, though an attractive idea, was impossible.  As a working 
paralegal, she had plenty of lawyer "mentors" who'd be happy to 
help fleece me.

So I carried on, fucking her once or twice a month (missionary 
position, of course), watching my words and actions ("what 
would the neighbors think?"), being reminded often of our 
"respectability," being prodded to rise above middle management 
(while being sapped of my energy and creativity and ambition by 
my very own "black widow"). 

A line from "Gilda" popped into my head.  At one point, Glenn Ford 
said, "Statistics show that there are more women in the world than 
anything else....  Except insects."

Food for thought there, on a couple of different levels.... 

"Please help me?"  A soft, plaintive voice interrupted my thoughts 
before they'd really got started.  I turned and saw a blonde girl, 
late teens or 20-something, trying to talk to a couple of 
onlookers.  The woman muttered something (apparently disparaging), 
and the girl hung her head.  I could tell she was crying.

Then I recognized her -- her name was Beth Ritter, and she'd lived 
next door to us until about three years ago.  As I moved closer, I 
noticed 1) that she had filled out nicely since I'd seen her last, 
2) that she had her hands tied behind her and a bikini bottom 
tangled around her ankles, and 3) that her well-shaped butt was 
a lovely shade of crimson.

Years ago, my wife had babysat her and her two younger brothers -- 
and had, apparently, been a strict disciplinarian, which the 
parents (who were gone a lot) much approved of.  I spent a great 
deal of time with them, too, and I guess I considered them the kids 
I probably would never have.  I taught them to swim in our backyard 
pool, took them camping, joked and philosophized, explained current 
events, encouraged them to exercise and to read, played both 
softball and Scrabble with them....  I guess I was sort of a 
combination substitute parent, big brother, Dutch uncle, guru, 
and, yes, mentor.  She was a sophomore in high school, I think, 
when the family moved away.

And now she was back, but rather different than I remembered.  

I touched her arm, and she looked around, startled.  She gasped, 
and her whole body blushed as she recognized me.  

Her eyes darted this way and that.  "Wh-where's your wife?" she 
murmured, clearly stricken with embarrassment.  

I shushed her, untied her wrists, and let her pull up her bikini 
bottom before leading her off at an angle some distance and 
gesturing toward the roped-off punishment area.  Beth blinked 
briefly in confusion, but she grinned when she picked out Jeanie, 
bent over, naked and bound, getting her bare bottom vigorously 
spanked by 19-year-old Tommy.

"Serves her right!" she blurted out, then glanced at me 
apologetically.  "Oh!  Sorry...."

"No problem.  Jeanie's a bitch...but it appears she actually 
arranged her own comeuppance."

Beth nodded and then looked blank.  "Huh?"

"She CAME to the beach in a one-piece; it's in that bag over 
there."  Beth took a moment to absorb the ramifications, and 
then her eyes grew big.  She looked back at the spot where my 
wife was learning the disciplinary dance that Tommy was so good 
at teaching.

"You know, we could...just leave her here, and she would...probably 
have to go through this all again," Beth said nervously, toying 
with her bikini bra.  (She looked as good topless from the front 
as she had bottomless from the back.)

I looked at her curiously.  "We?" 

She blushed, but stood straight and softly said, "Why not?" 

I knew she'd had a crush on me back in the day, but I didn't 
realize it was still alive and kicking.

"Well, for one thing, I'm maybe a dozen years older than you.  
Don't you have someone more your own age?"

"No, I...."

At that moment, my wife let out a strangled yell.  Beth and I both 
looked over and were surprised to see that Tommy had gripped one of 
Jeanie's upper thighs and spread it open while rubbing his index 
finger on her erect clit.

"Gosh, Jeanie seems to be enjoying her debut as a bare-assed 
bimbo!" Beth said, with a smirk.  Then, "Oh, I'm really sorry 
if that hurt you.  You were always so great to us...."

Her eyes were misty, and her expression was so tender that I could 
not resist leaning over and kissing her.  I guess it was a while 
before a gasp from Beth brought me back to myself.  I realized I 
was gently kneading her tender ass-cheeks.  She wasn't struggling 
to get away, but was actually rolling her hips in my hands to give 
me better access to her round, red bottom.

Our eyes were again drawn to my wife's struggles.  One would have 
thought that, after her climax, Tommy would have finished with her. 
But apparently he wanted to complete the tutorial instructing 
Jeanie in "proper" swimwear.

Beth said, "Let me talk to Mrs. Crone.  We could leave Jeanie here, 
and she'd be stuck, since she doesn't have her own car....  And, if 
we take her old bathing suit, she'll eventually be back up there 
getting her sore heinie another well-deserved spanking.  Meanwhile, 
we...um...."

I grinned, "Well, I'm game, if you are."  I suppose I'd always had 
feelings for Beth that I'd suppressed because of her age.  She was 
all grown up now, however...or near enough.  "But would this be 
just a one-night stand kind of thing?"

She reached up and put her hand on my cheek.  "No.  I really don't 
think either of us wants to settle for that."  And, as if she were 
reading my mind, "And we don't have to role-play any longer."  I 
nodded as she went on, "I'm going to put Jeanie through her paces 
and then put her out to pasture.  Maybe Tommy will want the bitch."  
Beth grinned spitefully, then glanced up to see how I was taking 
her animosity.

"I understand," I said.  She's been acting toward me in much the 
same way as she did toward you and your brothers.  I think it IS 
time she was...put out to pasture."  

With a gleam in her eye, Beth shrugged into the cover-up that 
Jeanie had left behind and scurried over to the roped-off area, 
where she found the bag with my wife's original swim suit.  Then, 
after getting Mrs. Crone's attention, she proceeded to explain 
things in some detail, gesturing animatedly toward Jeanie. 
 
And then she opened the bag and let the old woman peer inside.

With a grim face, Mrs. Crone hurried over to Tommy and drew him 
aside.  After they conferred for a moment, he suddenly looked up 
-- accidentally straight into my eyes.  I nodded curtly.  He had 
a surprised look on his face for a moment, and then he turned 
back to Jeanie's shapely bare bottom, red with HIS hand-prints, 
and smiled thoughtfully.

I took Beth's arm and led her away.

		******************************

Beth and I spent the next few hours lounging around the house and 
catching up on what had been going on in our respective lives.  It 
turns out that she was attending the local college and majoring in 
chemistry.  Doors were going to be opening for her.  In contrast, 
I had begun to feel that doors were closing for me.  Of course, 
people often said that "when one door closes, another opens," 
but I never believed that was universally true.  My life had come 
to seem to me like a shortening corridor lined with closed or 
closing doors...until just that day. 

It was well into dusk when we were drawn to the window by the sound 
of a badly-muffled car pulling up just outside.  It turned out to 
be the dilapidated '68 Mustang that Tommy had been restoring for 
about half his life.  Tommy was just then opening the passenger 
side door.  In the fading light, Beth and I could see a female 
draped over the seat with her red and swollen bare bottom high 
in the air.  

He eased her out of the car.  His right hand disappeared behind 
her, and, from her stiffened posture, I could guess that he was 
goosing her.  After a moment, she relaxed and slipped her arm 
around his waist, giving his left hand easy access to fondle her 
tits.  

Instead of complaining, Jeanie rested her head on the young man's 
shoulder as he steered her up to our house.

Beth and I went out onto the shadowy front porch, and we were 
joined there by Tommy and my wife.  As Jeanie's eyes adjusted 
to the gloom of the porch, she pulled up short, astonished to 
see Beth there -- and topless.

Jeanie tensed, no doubt intending to say something catty 
(regardless of her own utterly compromised position).  
But Beth simply stepped to one side, reached out, and 
slapped Jeanie sharply on the butt-cheek not covered at 
the moment by Tommy's adventuresome hand.  My wife's eyes 
filled with tears, and she looked at me in appeal.

But I maintained an icy expression.  Jeanie's shoulders slumped, 
and she appeared to snuggle up to Tommy as if for protection.

Beth's voice carried an unmistakable sneer.  "I see you brought 
your bitch, Tommy.  Well, we don't allow such creatures on the 
furniture here, but, if you can keep her in your lap or at your 
feet, you may bring her in."  

Jeanie began crying softly.  Tommy looked at her and nodded.  
"Yeah, she IS my bitch now...."

My wife looked at him in surprise, and then...she smiled shyly.  

Then she seemed to remember my presence....

She chewed her lip and looked down at her feet, glancing up at me 
through her hair.

"I'm not sure what happened.  I'm sorry.  Forgive me?" she murmured.

Beth and I exchanged glances.  "Maybe," I said to Jeanie.  But 
there'll be a price...." 

		******************************

That was several months ago.  

Beth has moved from her college dorm, and now she and I live here.  
My wife (well, my future ex-wife) functions as our servant.  The 
divorce papers are all in order and just need to be filed.  The 
grounds: adultery on Jeanie's part -- supported by lots of 
photographic evidence that Tommy was happy to supply us with.  
Jeanie will get a token settlement AND no publicity.  (Her 
employers insisted that she accept that.)  She still works for 
the law firm, but has been reassigned to a partner who specializes 
in protecting the assets of men whose wives are suing for divorce.  
(She also often acts as an "escort" for that partner's clients.) 

At home, Beth has imposed on Jeanie improved, adult versions of 
many of the rules that Jeanie herself had devised and employed 
as a baby-sitter/D.I.           

Marsha Johnson (who, you may remember, was also caught in that 
beach-sweep) took a similarly "voluntary" reassignment.  She now 
represents -- pro bono -- Mrs. Crone and the other paddlers being 
sued by various victims.  

Tommy, who is going to college as a business major, visits several 
times a week and puts Jeanie through her paces while Beth and I 
watch.  When he finishes school and lands a decent job, he'll be 
taking permanent, full-time possession of Jeanie -- who is, 
surprisingly, as happy as a clam with that prospect.

Sometimes I wonder....  I think back to the very first time 
Jeanie used her gag-reflex excuse....  If, instead of being 
so "understanding" (aka "pussified"), I had simply turned her 
over my knee and given her the walloping she richly deserved....  
Well, several lives would probably be profoundly different today.

And then I think of Beth and invariably decide that things turned 
out for the best, after all.  The right door had opened for me at 
last.
 
