Not Exactly What I Meant

[Author note:] I hate having to apply the category tag to this story. I am a fan of plot twists and irony (in the true sense: an unexpected outcome, not the 'rain on your wedding' day sense). I would rather readers check in for the particular kink and follow the story to its logical (or not so logical) conclusion and either enjoy the story arc or not. Unfortunately, on this forum if I do not select this category the flame attacks will be relentless.

Reality being what it is, be forewarned. There is sexual contact between two otherwise straight males in this story. If that offends you and you would rather not read it, My feelings will not be hurt if you leave before the story starts.

As with my other stories, all characters are over 18 years of age and more or less consenting every step of the way.

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The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the sprawling backyard of Dan and Carol's suburban home. My wife, Janice, and I had been invited over for a barbecue, a casual Saturday affair that promised good food and better company. The air was thick with the scent of blooming lilacs from their meticulously tended garden, mingling with the faint tang of charcoal smoke drifting from the grill. I cradled a cold six-pack of my latest home-brewed masterpiece--a hoppy IPA I'd spent weeks perfecting--in my arms as we stepped through the gate, the bottles clinking softly with each stride. Janice, her auburn hair catching the light, flashed a playful smile, her sundress swaying as she walked ahead toward the back deck where Dan and Carol waited.

We were here to celebrate; it was something of a mini housewarming party between just the two couples. Dan had recently finished a great deal of work perfecting his back yard oasis, and the fruits of his efforts showed. The deck itself was a rustic masterpiece, weathered cedar planks stretching out beneath a pergola draped with climbing vines. A quartet of Adirondack chairs sat in a loose semicircle around a glass-topped table, their cushions faded but inviting. Dan, a broad-shouldered man who always kept a clean-shaven face, stood by the grill, flipping burgers with a practiced hand, while Carol, her brunette curls pinned loosely atop her head, arranged a platter of sliced watermelon and deviled eggs. The scene was idyllic, the kind of moment you'd see in a magazine spread about summer living. I bent to put the homebrew in the cooler with a satisfied grunt, popping the cap off one bottle and handing it to Dan, who raised it in a mock toast before taking a swig.

We settled into the chairs, the wood creaking beneath us as the conversation flowed as easily as the beer. The deck overlooked a manicured lawn where a wooden swing swayed gently in the breeze, and the distant hum of a neighbor's lawnmower underscored the lazy rhythm of the afternoon. Janice stretched out beside me, her bare feet propped on a stool, while I leaned back, savoring the cool bite of my IPA against the warmth of the day. It was the kind of relaxation that seeps into your bones, unhurried and complete--until Dan's voice cut through the haze with an unexpected edge.

"Carol and I have something to tell you," he said, setting his spatula down and wiping his hands on the dish towel slung over his shoulder. His tone was steady, but there was a glint in his brown eyes, a mix of pride and defiance. Carol tensed slightly, but gave him a slight nod to go ahead. "We are in a lifestyle master-slave relationship."

I took a slow sip of my IPA, letting the fizz bite my tongue as I steadied myself to respond. "I was actually pretty sure of it already," I said, keeping my tone casual, almost offhand. Dan tilted his head, intrigued, while Carol's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile, like she'd been waiting for me to say it. "I noticed Carol and I have a mutual Facebook friendship with Lucy Hofferson..." I launched into my deductions--Lucy's not-so-subtle hints, the neighborhood mismatch, Dan's assertive streak--laying out the puzzle I'd quietly solved over years. Janice's gaze flicked to me mid-explanation, her brow furrowing slightly, a flash of betrayal or maybe just surprise that I'd kept this from her. I hadn't meant to--I had never seen a reason to voice my suspicions, not even to her--but now her silence felt louder, her eyes boring into me before snapping back to Dan and Carol, drinking in every word.

When I finished, Carol's gaze softened, her fingers tracing her glass, and Dan nodded, flipping a burger with a metallic scrape. "Look guys, I've known you both forever, even before you got married" I went on, leaning forward, the bottle dangling between my fingers. "I get it--a release for Carol, an anchor for Dan. And judging by how happy you both are at home--radiant, really--I'd say it works for both of you. I've never spilled Lucy and Robert's secret, and I won't spill yours. That was true when I just suspected, and it's damn sure true now that you've trusted me enough to bring it out in the open. My voice was firm, sealing the trust, but Janice's chair creaked again, cutting through my wrap-up. She'd been quiet, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, but now she leaned in further, elbows on her knees, her auburn hair spilling forward as that spark of morbid curiosity flared into something insistent.

"What kind of things does this master-slave thing involve?" she asked, her voice bright with intrigue, almost breathless, like a kid prying open a forbidden book. Her eyes locked on Dan, wide and unblinking, then turned to Carol, searching for clues in her calm nod. "I mean--how does all of this work day to day? Is it just, like rules, or something bigger?" She straightened a little, glancing at me with a quick, sidelong look--half-accusing, half-awed, as if to say, 'You knew this and didn't tell me?' before plunging back in. "Does Carol wear something special, like a collar, or is it all in your heads?"

Dan set the spatula down again, stepping closer to the table, his posture relaxed but commanding as he met her gaze. "Well, the dynamic defines our whole relationship--at least behind closed doors," he said, his tone matter-of-fact but warm, like he was explaining a hobby he loved. "Carol's not submissive to anyone else. Mike's seen her at work--she's a bulldog. But at home, she lets me control everything, from what we eat for dinner to how we spend our evenings, in and out of the bedroom. There's a sexual side, sure, but it's more than that--it's a total commitment. You might think being the master is something selfish and all about me, but it's a hell of a responsibility. Carol trusts me to take care of her completely, to never cross any lines that would hurt or shame her. I don't take that lightly."

Janice's lips parted slightly, a soft "Oh" escaping as she processed it, her fingers tightening around the armrest. "So it's, like all the time?" she pressed, her head tilting, her curiosity spilling over like water from a tipped glass. "Like, right now--are you 'on'?" She waved a hand vaguely at the deck, the grill, the watermelon platter, as if trying to spot the invisible threads of their master-slave dynamic woven into this barbecue. Carol laughed, a low, easy sound, and leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. "Not exactly," she said. "Out here, we're just Dan and Carol--well, mostly. But the trust? That's always there. It's like a hum in the background, even when we're flipping burgers or arguing about who left the garage light on."

Janice nodded slowly, her hazel eyes glinting as she turned to Dan again. "Do you ever spank her?" The question slipped out fast, unguarded, and hung in the air like a dare. My mind betrayed me--an image flared of Carol bent over Dan's lap, her bare bottom reddening under sharp slaps--and I shifted in my seat, heat stirring low despite myself. Janice didn't notice, too caught in her own fascination, her foot tapping now as she waited, oblivious to how her question had jolted me.

Dan grinned, a little sheepishly. "Spanking isn't the core of our relationship, but yeah, we dabble. Once a month or so, I give Carol a play spanking with my bare hand, just enough to turn her butt cheeks a hot pink. It's foreplay--it gets her worked up, wet and ready. But we've got rules, and when she breaks one, she knows she's in for a punishment spanking. Those are different. Much harder and longer. She's usually a sobbing mess by the end and can't sit comfortably for a day."

Janice's eyes widened further, a flush creeping up her cheeks--not embarrassment, but excitement, like she'd cracked open a mystery and found it thrillingly alive. "A sobbing mess?" she echoed, glancing at Carol with a mix of awe and disbelief. "And you're okay with that?" Carol nodded, her voice steady. "He's right. I don't get a punishment spanking very often, but they work. After Dan blisters my behind, I'm desperate to avoid another. It's intense--by the time he's done, I'll promise anything to make it stop." Her casual tone clashed with the vivid picture she painted, and my dick twitched traitorously in my jeans. Janice, oblivious to my involuntary reaction let out a small, incredulous laugh, shaking her head as if she couldn't quite picture it--or maybe could, too vividly.

I guess it was an evening for sharing deep, dark secrets, and Janice blurted out "Mike likes spanking too," suddenly, almost brightly, her voice cutting through my thoughts like a blade. "But I'm not really into it." I froze, my breath catching before she let the other shoe drop. "I've never been able to spank him as hard or as long as he'd like."

The air thickened, my secret spilling out into the open like ink on a white tablecloth. Carol's eyes flicked to me, a spark of surprise there, while Dan's brow arched. "Oh, that's never been a problem for Dan," Carol said, smirking. "He can spank longer and harder than I ever thought I could take."

"Hang on a minute, guys," I interjected, my voice tight. "I'm not comfortable with where this is going. This is private--something I never planned to discuss outside my marriage."

Dan held up a hand, his expression softening. "Mike, we thought long and hard about sharing our secret with you two. You know what it could do to Carol's career if this got out. We trust you--absolutely--not to betray us. That trust goes both ways. Your secret's safe with us, just like ours is with you."

His words eased the knot in my chest, the flattery of their faith in me smoothing the edges of my embarrassment. "Of course I'd never repeat anything you tell me," I said. "I'd never embarrass you guys. But I don't want you to misunderstand--I do like Janice spanking me, but we're not into some kind of a domme/sub thing. I'm a switch, maybe. I've got submissive kinks in the bedroom, but that's where it stays. Outside of that, I'm usually the one taking the lead."

"That makes sense," Carol said, her tone warm. "I never pegged you as fully submissive anyway (was that a double entendre or just my imagination?). This is a safe space--your preferences stay here with us."

Relief settled over me, though my cheeks still burned from Janice's revelation. She wasn't done, though. "Have you ever spanked another guy?" she asked Dan, her curiosity relentless.

Dan chuckled, shaking his head. "Not my thing. Our play spankings are for Carol's pleasure, and her punishments are for correction. With a guy, I have to admit I don't really see what would be in it for me."

I could almost hear the gears turning in Janice's head--I could see it in the way her lips pursed. "Hmm, I guess I can see that." She paused in deep thought and I swear I could see the lightbulb above her head as an idea popped into her head. After a beat, she dropped the bomb. "Would you consider doing it for a blowjob?"

My jaw slackened. In all our years together, Janice had never given me a proper blowjob--teasing licks, sure, but never the full act I'd craved and begged for. Yet here she was, offering it to Dan if he'd spank me harder and longer than she had ever managed, while she and Carol watched. Dan glanced at Carol, raising an eyebrow. She gave a tiny nod, silent agreement passing between them. The deal was struck, whether I was on board or not.

"So, Mike," Dan said, his voice firm but neutral, "let's be clear. I'm not here to dominate you. This is transactional--you get your spanking; I get my reward. It doesn't change our friendship. After this, we're the same as always."

I exhaled, grateful for the boundary. "Good. I feel the same. I don't want this messing us up."

"Alright then," he said. "Tell me what kind of spanking you want. What is it that Janice hasn't been able to give you."

I hesitated, the words sticking in my throat. "Well... my spankings with Janice are always on the bare. They have mostly been like your play ones, but she uses a paddle or bath brush. The most she's done is turn my cheeks dark pink. I think I want something more like your and Carol's punishment spankings, even if it scares me. In my fantasies, the first smacks shock me, like, 'What did I sign up for?' It builds until my legs are kicking, but I fight to stay put. When I can't take it anymore and beg for the spanking to stop, it keeps going for at least 20 or 30 more hard smacks until I'm breathless. That's the dream, anyway. I don't know my limit, but I'd like to find out." I paused, then added, "And we've got this vocabulary thing--childish words like 'bottom,' 'spanking,' 'penis,' and 'underpants.' It's all part of my fantasy, feeling small and helpless."

Dan nodded. "Do you want me to give you this spanking with my bare hand, or should I have Carol help you pick one of our paddles?"

"Your hand is strong, but I'm not sure a bare hand spanking would be enough to get me where I want to go," I said. "I think I'd like Carol to help me choose a paddle."

Carol grinned and rose from her chair, her sundress swishing as she gestured toward the house. "Come on, Mike. Let's see what we've got." I followed her inside, the cool air of their home a stark contrast to the deck's warmth. We passed through a living room cluttered with framed photos and knickknacks--a ceramic owl, a stack of coasters--then down a narrow hall to their bedroom. The space was tidy, the bed draped with a quilted throw in muted blues, and Carol opened the closet door with a soft creak. Inside, a small collection of implements hung on hooks or rested on a shelf: paddles, a strap, a hairbrush--tools of their private world, neatly arranged like a craftsman's kit.

She pulled out a heavy, rectangular paddle of dark-stained wood, its surface polished to a smooth shine and menacingly solid. "This one's got some weight to it," she said, handing it to me. The grain stood out dark and unyielding. "It'll leave an impression. Dan usually reduces me to tears pretty quickly with this one."

I took it, the heft sinking into my palms. It was nearly 3/4 inch thick and surely over a pound, maybe 18 ounces compared to the 12 or 14 ounces of the Jokari paddle I bought on eBay for Janice to spank me with. My fingers traced the unyielding edge, and a flicker of unease coiled in my gut. This thing is a beast, I thought. The Jokari paddle is big and I love how it lands, that deep thud that warms me up, but even that never pushed me past my edge. This one, though? In Dan's hands, with his broad shoulders and that grip he's got from years of hauling lumber at work? It might be more like a sledgehammer. I want a real spanking--shock, kicking, begging--but not a trip to the emergency room. My bottom would be black and blue before I could even process it. No, this is overkill, way past what I'm ready for.

I handed it back to her, shaking my head slightly. "This one's probably too much," I said, keeping my tone steady but firm. "It's heavier than my paddle, and that's already a handful. I like the idea of something solid--Janice uses a Jokari paddle on me, and it's great--but with Dan swinging this, it would leave more than an impression. I'd be done before I even started. Maybe I should look at something a little lighter."

She reached in and pulled out the next option, holding it up for me to see. "This one is made of oak," she said, turning it in her hands. It was about 11 inches long, with a broad, flat blade; maybe 5 inches wide and half an inch thick, with a short, sturdy handle. It was the same size and shape as a child's paddle ball toy, though clearly built tougher, with a polished finish that caught the bedroom light. "It's solid, heavier than it looks. When Dan uses this on my bottom, it's a deep, thumping feel--it sinks right in. It leaves me warm all over, but it can build up fast if he keeps going."

I took it from her, feeling the weight--probably 10 or 11 ounces, quite a bit lighter than my Jokari paddle. The size and shape intrigued me, I liked the idea of a familiar toy turned into something altogether different. "This one's got some promise," I said, tracing the smooth oak with my fingers. "I've always liked the idea of repurposing a kids' game for adult play--turning it into something else. I'd even thought about making one in my workshop, you know? I think I would have made it out of maple, maybe a bit thinner than this one, sand it smooth and give it a nice coat of varnish. My Jokari paddle is bigger--16 inches and quite a bit heavier--and even with that, Janice can't quite break through to my limit. I feel it, sure, that solid thud I love, but it's never pushed me past 'enough.' This one is close, but with Dan swinging it, his strength might take it too far too fast."

Carol tilted her head, considering. "Yeah, it's got a good heft to it. Dan's got a strong arm--when he gets going with this paddle, my cheeks start throbbing in no time. It's not as wild as it could be, but it's no toy anymore, that's for sure."

I nodded, handing back the oak paddle with a mix of reluctance and caution. "I like it--really, I do. The size and weight are familiar, and that thump could get me close to what I'm after. Even if Janice can't quite get me there with the Jokari paddle, I'm a little intimidated. Dan's got a lot more power, and I don't want to risk getting into more than I bargained for."

"Fair point," Carol said, reaching for the next option. She picked up a thinner paddle, this one birch, about 15 inches long and 4 1/2 inches wide, with a blade just under 3/8 of an inch thick. Three 1-inch holes dotted the surface, and the handle was wrapped with a thin leather grip. "This one's lighter," she said, handing it to me. "The holes make it swing fast, and when it hits my bottom, it's sharp--a real sting that wakes you right up. The burn doesn't go as deep as the oak paddle, but it lingers on the surface and keeps me squirming bent over Dan's lap."

I hefted it, noting the reduced weight--maybe 8 or 9 ounces. It felt nimble, less imposing than either my Jokari paddle or the paddle ball paddle, and much less intimidating than the beast. "That sting sounds intense," I said. "I want something that'll push me, like I told Dan--shock me at first, get my legs kicking. This could do it without feeling like a sledgehammer, but I think I'm looking for more than a surface sting."

"It'll definitely snap you to attention," Carol agreed, a faint smile tugging at her lips, but you're right about it not sinking much below the surface. She set it down and reached for the next option--a leather slapper, 12 inches long, with a 6-inch striking surface about 3 inches wide and a stiffened handle. The black leather was double-layered, stitched neatly, and it flexed slightly as she passed it over. "This one's light as a feather," she said. "When it lands, it's a quick, loud slap--it stings like crazy, but it doesn't sink in too deep. It makes a lot of noise, and keeps things lively, but it's easy on Dan's arm."

I bent it in my hands, feeling the give--probably 6 or 7 ounces, barely there compared to my familiar paddle. "I like hearing the slapping sound when the paddle contacts my bottom," I said, "but this seems a little too much like a stereotypical BDSM toy to fit in with the feel of my fantasy. "Besides, I'm not sure it's got the weight I'm after. With Janice, the deep thud of the paddle is what gets me--it's not just the noise, it's a feeling. Like the last one, this might be too... surface-level."

"Could be," Carol said, shrugging lightly. "I guess it depends on what you're chasing. Last one, then." She picked up a broad-backed wooden hairbrush from the shelf--solid maple, about 10 inches long, with a wide, flat back maybe 4 inches across and half an inch thick. The bristles were stiff on one side, but she turned it over to show me the smooth, polished reverse. "This is a classic," she said. "When Dan uses this on my bottom, it's a mix--sharp at first, like a smack you can't ignore, then a warm ache that builds. It's not as heavy as the paddle ball paddle, but it's got enough to make me feel it for a while."

I took the hairbrush, turning it over in my hands. It was lighter than the oak paddle--maybe 8 or 9 ounces--but much denser than the leather slapper, with a compact heft that felt purposeful. The broad back gleamed under the overhead light, its simplicity belying a quiet authority. I paused, my mind drifting to the image it conjured--something primal, etched deep in memory or imagination. "This... it's got that classic feel," I said, my voice softening as I thought it through. "You know, the kind of hairbrush a firm mother figure might pull out of a drawer. I can picture her sitting on a straight-backed chair, skirt smoothed over her knees with a wayward boy draped across her lap, squirming as she brings it down. Sharp cracks, one after another, until he's kicking and bawling, reduced to tears, promising to behave. It's not just the sting or the ache--it's that weight of discipline, that promise of breaking you down."

I flipped it over, studying the flat expanse of the back, imagining its impact on my own skin. "With Janice, the Jokari paddle is playful, but it doesn't really satisfy my craving. This hairbrush feels different. Lighter than the first one or my paddle, sure, but focused--enough to shock me like I told Dan I wanted, then build into something deeper, something that might finally push me over the edge. I think this one could do it--get me kicking, begging, maybe even close to tears, without being more than I can handle my first time."

Carol watched me, her expression steady but with a flicker of recognition. "It's got that power," she said. "That mix--it hits my bottom hard enough to make me gasp, then leaves it aching so I don't forget. Dan knows how to wield it, too. You'll feel it, no question."

I nodded as I made my decision almost unconsciously. "That paddle ball paddle is pretty tempting. I love the idea of turning a toy into a spanking implement, and I might still make one someday. The first paddle is close to what I know, the birch has that sting, and the leather is lively--but this hairbrush... it just seems right. It's got that classic pull, that motherly promise of reducing a boy to nothing but reaction. I think this one will get me where I want to go--just past 'enough,' like I told Dan--without causing any permanent damage."

Carol smiled faintly, setting the other options back in the closet. "Good choice. It's got a good bite, but it won't knock you out of the game. Dan will make it count, trust me--my heinie has borne proof of that more than once." My choice made, Carol closed the closet and gave me a quick, knowing look. "Bring it along and let's get you sorted" she said as she led me out the door.

I followed Carol back to the deck, the heft of the wooden hairbrush a steady presence in my hand, my pulse ticking up as I pictured it--bent across Dan's lap, Carol's broad wooden hairbrush raining relentlessly down on my bare bottom, my limits finally tested. The paddle ball toy lingered in my mind--another toy for another day--but for now, the hairbrush carried all the promise I needed.

Back outside, I noticed that in my and Carol's absence, either Dan or Janice had retrieved an armless chair from the dining room and placed it in the middle of the deck. Dan sat upright in the straight-backed chair with two of the Adirondack chairs rearranged facing him. Sheepishly, I handed the hairbrush to Dan. He laid it on his lap and asked, "What about a safe word?"

"None," I replied. "I don't know if you can understand this, but I don't want to be in control of this, like at all. How long and how hard you spank me is up to you. I trust you not to injure me. If you leave a few bruises, they'll heal in a couple of days anyway."

Janice clapped her hands. "Time to ask, Mike. Go on."

I stood facing Dan seated in his chair, my voice shrinking. "Dan, may I have a spanking?"

"Be specific," Janice prompted, her tone teasing. "What kind of spanking do you want Dan to give you?"

I swallowed hard. "Dan, will you give me a hard paddling on my bare bottom?"

Dan simply nodded.

"And what about his reward?" Janice prodded.

My eyes dropped to the floor, resentment simmering. "When you finish," I managed to choke out, "you can have a blowjob."

"Good boy," Janice said. "We need you to pull down you pants now, Sweetie."

My fingers fumbled with my belt, the metal buckle clinking, the sound swallowed by the hum of anticipation buzzing in my ears as I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them to my knees. I lowered the zipper and hesitated, my thumbs hovering at the waistband. The denim slid to my knees with a soft rustle, bunching awkwardly around my calves, leaving me half-exposed. I took the jeans the rest of the way off and hung them over the arm of Janice's chair. My briefs clung tightly, the white cotton outlining the modest bulge of my penis--barely contained, yet unassuming in its softness.

"Underpants too, mister," Janice piped up, her voice dipping into that sing-song, childish cadence we reserved for our private games. "Don't worry about everybody seeing your little penis. We've all had little boys--it's nothing new." The words stung, sharp and deliberate, piercing through the casual air of the deck like a needle through fabric. They were our secret code, a kink we had honed over years--her calling it my "little penis," never my cock or dick, a playful humiliation that made my pulse quicken and my face burn. It wasn't about truth; I was a grower, not a shower, and she knew it. But here, in front of Dan and Carol, it amplified my vulnerability, laying me bare in more ways than one. My face blushed a deep red. If admitting my predilection for spanking to my friends had been an embarrassment, bringing our very private small penis play fetish into the mix added a level of humiliation I couldn't have imagined.

I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my briefs, the elastic stretching slightly as I peeled them down. They stopped at my knees, and a cool breeze brushed across my newly exposed skin, sending a shiver up my spine. My penis hung there, uncircumcised and soft, barely over 4 inches flaccid on a good day--maybe a touch shorter now, shrinking under the weight of "stage fright" and the eyes I could feel boring into me. The foreskin draped over the tip, a loose sheath that hid the head completely in its flaccid state, giving it an even smaller, more compact look. My scrotum, freshly shaved that morning in anticipation of some intimate play with Janice later tonight, was smooth and tight, the skin taut and hairless, glistening faintly in the late afternoon light. I'd taken the razor to it carefully, imagining her fingers or lips exploring me when we got home from the barbecue--a private ritual now unwittingly on display. Above, a faint shadow of neatly trimmed pubic hair lingered, clipped short but not gone, a subtle frame to my otherwise bare groin.

I clasped my hands behind my back, resisting the urge to shield myself, letting them see everything--my soft, unassuming length, my bald sack, the vulnerability I couldn't hide. Carol tilted her head, her brunette curls shifting as she smirked, her eyes flicking over me with a glint of amusement. "I thought you were into this. You don't seem very excited," she teased, her tone light but cutting, unaware she'd stumbled into the heart of my and Janice's game.

Carol's words hit like a spark, igniting a flicker of thrill beneath the embarrassment. She didn't know--couldn't know--how perfectly her quip echoed Janice's private script, the way Janice wielded the phrase 'your little penis' to make me squirm in the best way. My cheeks flushed hotter, a deep crimson spreading across my face, but a secret jolt of arousal pulsed through me, tingling down my spine despite my softness. I shifted slightly, the deck creaking under my weight, hyper-aware of my exposed state--small and shrinking under their gaze, yet alive with the perverse delight of being seen, even if they didn't fully understand why.

The truth is, I was both excited and scared. I remember the first time I sat on the edge of my bed with my newly purchased paddle in my lap, waiting for Janice to join me and deliver the spanking I had meekly asked for. My legs shook for the whole 20 minutes or so she kept me waiting, but I never got an erection. The butterflies and nervousness were real, and the anticipation was delicious, even if the actual spanking didn't quite live up to my expectations. That was the first time I had handed her the Jokari paddle and I had both hoped and was genuinely scared that I might have bitten off more than I could chew. I figured I could make up for my wife's lack of enthusiasm for spanking by resorting to a heavier paddle. If you've never seen one, look it up. A Jokari paddle is pretty intimidating in size and weight. In Janice's hands it always lands a satisfying smack and a warm sting. In the hands of a stronger, more experienced spanker it could really do some damage.

"I am into it," I answered. "The way you describe having been on the receiving end of Dan's punishment spankings, I'm sure you can understand why I'd be a bit nervous. I'm not sure if I've gotten myself into something that I'll wish I hadn't later."

"I thought that was at least part of the idea, Honey, but tell her the rest of the story," Janice said, a wicked smile on her lips.

I exhaled, face heating. "The fact is, I don't get hard either before or during a spanking. But afterwards, I drip precum for hours--by bedtime, my underpants are sometimes so soaked, it looks like I've wet myself." I didn't mention how the anticipation shrank me even smaller, but they could see that for themselves.

A beat of silence hung in the air, thick with the weight of my confession. Carol's smirk softened into something unreadable, while Janice's eyes glinted with that knowing mischief I'd come to expect. Dan cleared his throat, shifting in his seat, the chair creaking under him. "Well," he said, his voice low and steady, "I guess we'd better get started then." He patted his thigh, a firm, deliberate gesture that snapped me out of my embarrassment. "Over my lap, Mike."

I shuffled forward, my underpants around my knees hobbling me, the cotton dragging against my calves as I moved. I lowered myself across Dan's knees, the coarse denim of his shorts scraping my bare stomach, a rough contrast to the cool air brushing my exposed skin. My ass jutted up, vulnerable and pale, a light breeze tickling the backs of my thighs as I braced myself, hands gripping the deck's edge. Dan reached across my back with his strong left arm, his work-calloused fingers clamping around my side, pulling my helpless body tight against his solid abdomen. The pressure was unyielding--a promise of no escape once he started, his grip like a vice forged from years of manual labor. My heart thudded, a mix of nerves and anticipation, as I surrendered to his hold.

Without delay, he began spanking my bare bottom with his work-toughened right hand. The first smack landed firm and sharp, a bright sting that flared across my left cheek like a splash of scalding tea on a winter morning--jarring yet oddly welcome. Each subsequent slap--crack, crack, crack--echoed off the deck, the sound sharp and clear before fading into the rustling trees out back. The warmth spread quickly, a glowing flush that seeped into my skin, radiating from each impact like sunlight soaking into a chilled stone. After a half-dozen, my cheeks tingled, alive with a satisfying heat that felt earned, a steady rhythm I could lean into. Two dozen sharp slaps later, the burn was a soft, pulsing blanket--intimate, controlled, exactly the kind of play I'd savored with Janice, leaving me grounded and still a man in my own mind.

Then Dan shifted, his left arm tightening as he reached for the hairbrush--the broad-backed maple one I'd chosen, its polished weight now a live threat in his hand. The first strike landed with a sharp thwack that jolted me forward, a fiery bloom erupting across my already warmed skin. I gasped, a ragged breath torn from my lungs, the shock slamming into me like a thunderclap 'What have I gotten myself into?' I asked myself, matching the fantasy I'd spun only sharper, and much more real than I had dared imagine. Carol's hairbrush didn't carry my Jokari paddle's broad thud; this was a concentrated sting, like a swarm of angry wasps zeroing in on one spot, their venomous pricks overlapping into a buzzing inferno. The second and third smacks followed fast, each one a crisp crack that deepened the burn in my bottom. My legs twitched uncontrollably, my toes curling as I clenched my fists, fighting to hold my position against his iron grip.

The paddling intensified, a relentless rhythm--thwack, thwack, thwack--each strike building on the last, the heat sinking into my muscle like molten wax hardening into an ache. Physically, it was a revelation: the sting of the awful hairbrush layered over the almost pleasant warmth of the hand spanking, turning it into a searing pulse that felt like my skin might split, though I knew it hadn't. Emotionally, it unraveled me--stripping away the grown man who'd walked into his friend's backyard for a barbecue with a six-pack and a grin. I was a little boy now, bent over a stern lap, the hairbrush's classic weight reducing me to a squirming, whimpering mess. The initial smacks had sparked that thrill of doubt, a satisfying burn I could ride, but as it continued--ten, fifteen, twenty blows--my control frayed. My legs kicked harder, scuffing the deck, and a groan slipped out, low and desperate, the wasps' sting morphing into a firestorm--imagine pressing your palm to a hot skillet, the sizzle growing louder, hotter, until it's all you can feel, a relentless blaze that consumes every thought.

Discomfort started to turn to panic as the spanking stretched on, Dan's rhythm unbroken--crack, crack, crack--my poor bottom caught in a throbbing furnace I couldn't escape. Time blurred, the count lost in a haze of heat and hurt, and my adult mind flailed, drowning in the childish fear of a punishment without end. "Okay, I've had enough!" I yelped, voice cracking, a high-pitched plea as tears welled hot in my eyes. But Dan didn't stop--the relentless rise and fall of his powerful hand wielding the hairbrush continued, landing with thunderous thwacks. Panic turned to terror as I finally reached my limit. I was gasping for breath as I pled "No more, pleeease," the last word drawn out to a keening wail as the brush landed squarely across both battered cheeks. Dan paused for long enough for me to catch two hitching breaths before they were driven from my lungs by the hardest swat yet, as I remembered too late my own reckless request: I had asked my friend to continue with at least 20 or 30 more hard spanks after I begged for it to end. "No, please, stop!" I wailed, a sob bursting free, tears spilling down my cheeks as my kicks turned frantic, useless against his hold. The next dozen--maybe more--ripped through me, each one a jolt that shredded my last reserves, reducing me to a blubbering boy, snot mixing with tears as the firestorm raged on, my pleas swallowed by the deck's echo.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity--it was surely more than 30 (could it have been 40 or 50) the hairbrush stilled. My breath came in ragged heaves, chest shuddering as I sagged over Dan's broad lap. Finally, I collapsed onto the deck, chest heaving, my bottom throbbing like a furnace.

"Dan exhaled heavily, wiping his brow with the back of his hand as the hairbrush clattered to the deck beside him, its polished maple gleaming dully in the fading light. Carol shifted in her chair, her smirk softening into a quiet nod of acknowledgment, her eyes flicking from my curled form to Dan's steady frame. Janice knelt beside me, her sundress brushing the wood, her breath still quick from watching, a faint flush on her cheeks as she reached out but stopped short, letting the silence settle. The barbecue coals hissed faintly, a distant echo of the fire still throbbing in my bottom, and for a beat, we all just breathed, the air thick with what we'd done."

I don't know how long I lay curled up on the deck, my body a tight ball of throbbing heat and trembling limbs. The helpless sobbing that had spilled out--raw, choking gasps that shook my chest--slowly ebbed into hitching breaths, each one a struggle to pull air past the lump in my throat. My cheeks were slick with tears and snot, cooling against the wood as the sting in my eyes faded, leaving them raw and puffy. My bottom pulsed like a live coal, each beat of my heart sending a fresh wave of ache through the tender, swollen flesh. Bit by bit, I clawed my way back to myself--my breathing gradually steadying, fists unclenching--until the world sharpened again, the haze of the spanking lifting like fog burned off by morning sun. Janice's voice drifted through, soft but piercing, cutting the silence. "Well, Mike, was it everything you dreamed of?"

I shifted, wincing as the movement grazed my scorched backside against the deck, and propped myself up on one elbow. My throat felt like sandpaper, scraped raw from crying, and my voice came out a raspy croak. "Intense--God, it was intense," I said, the words scraping past my lips. "It's hard to even... I mean, yeah, it's what I wanted, exactly what I pictured in those late-night fantasies--shock, kicking, breaking down like that. The hairbrush, Dan's arm, it took me there, past 'enough,' right to that edge where I couldn't hold it together anymore. I felt small, like a kid caught out of line, bawling for mercy. That's what I'd chased, and Dan really delivered--left me a mess, just like I thought it would."

I paused, swallowing hard, the taste of salt still lingering from my tears. "But living it? It's... bigger than I expected. The pain, that firestorm--it wasn't just a burn, it was alive, swallowing me whole until I panicked, thought it'd never stop. I'm not sure I'd line up for it again--not soon, anyway. My bottom feels like it's been branded by a hot iron, and my head's still spinning, trying to sort out what's left of me. There's this weird satisfaction, though, like I've scratched an itch I couldn't reach before. I proved something to myself, maybe. I got what I asked for, every stinging, sobbing bit of it, and that's enough for now."

Janice smiled warmly. She had known that she didn't have it in her to deliver the kind of spanking that would literally turn a grown man into a sobbing child, however briefly. It was a stroke of genius on her part to get Dan to step into that role and perversely an act of generosity to give me what I had wanted for so long but that she wasn't able to give. "Are you ready to stand up, Sweetie?" she asked as she stepped to my side and reached her hand down for mine.

I uncurled slowly, my body still trembling from the ordeal, the deck's rough grain pressing into my side as I shifted. The fire in my bottom had dulled to a deep, throbbing ache, a constant reminder of every thwack that had stripped me bare--emotionally and otherwise. Janice's hand was warm and steady in mine, a lifeline pulling me back to the present. She tugged gently, and I rose to my feet, wobbly at first, my knees protesting the effort. Once again, I stood fully exposed in front of my friends. My jeans still hung across the arm of Janice's chair, but I couldn't account for where my briefs might have gone. I could only assume I had kicked them off when I was flailing helplessly across Dan's lap.

True to what I had told my hosts before this ordeal became only too real, my penis still hung soft and barely over 4 inches, the foreskin glistening with a thick, silvery string of precum that stretched from the tip to the inside of my thigh--a slick, undeniable mark of the spanking's aftermath. After sobbing like a child over Dan's lap, tears streaking my face and my pride in tatters, this nakedness felt... different. Less humiliating, somehow. I had just bared everything--my limits, my tears, my little-boy wails--the physical vulnerability of my nudity in front of my friend and both of our wives, all fully clothed, paled in comparison, almost trivial next to the raw exposure of my breakdown.

Carol's eyes flicked over me, taking in the scene with a quick, appraising glance. Her lips twitched into a half-smile, a spark of amusement dancing there, but it was tempered by something else--maybe respect, or at least a quiet acknowledgment of what I'd endured. "Well, damn, Mike," she said, her voice light but edged with a wry note, "you weren't kidding about that dripping part. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, her gaze lingering on the stringy precum on my penis before meeting my eyes with a nod that felt oddly approving, like I'd passed some unspoken test.

Janice squeezed my hand, grounding me as I stood there, still shaky but steadier with her touch. "Thank Dan," she said, her tone gentle but firm, nudging me forward.

I lifted my head, avoiding Dan's eyes at first, my voice still hoarse from crying. "Thank you for spanking me, Dan," I said, the words feeling small against the vastness of what I'd just endured. My legs trembled beneath me, the ache in my bottom a pulsing drumbeat, but I managed a shaky nod, hoping that'd be enough.

"That's nice, Dear," Janice said, her tone gentle but firm, a familiar lilt that usually steadied me. She paused, her hazel eyes locking onto mine with a quiet intensity. "But I meant you should give Dan the reward you promised him."

The deck seemed to lurch beneath me, a dizzying tilt that matched the churn in my gut. "But--" I stammered, my tongue tangling as my mind raced to make sense of it. My heart pounded, a hot flush crawling up my neck to burn my ears. Dan's reward? The blowjob? When I'd made the promise to Dan, I'd assumed Janice was the one offering--her lips on him a trade for the spanking I'd begged for. The thought had stung even then, a bitter twist that she would give him what she had denied me for so long, her teasing licks always stopping short of what I craved. I'd swallowed that unease, figuring it was her call to make, but this? To kneel at my best friend's feet and take his hard dick into my own mouth? It hit me like a slap. This was never her bargaining chip. She was looking for a trade to get me the spanking I craved, and I had misread her intent. No, the responsibility for this was mine, thrust back into my hands, and the reality loomed too close, too real. Carol let out a soft chuckle from her chair, her brunette curls shifting as she leaned forward, eyes bright with surprise and a gentle amusement. "Well, I'll be," she said, her voice warm with a teasing lilt. "You thought Janice was taking that swing? Mike, that's a twist I didn't see coming--it looks like it's your turn now."

"You offered it, Sweetheart," Janice cut in, her voice soft but unyielding, not a trace of malice in it--just that calm certainty she wielded when she knew she was right. She squeezed my hand again, her thumb brushing my knuckles, grounding me even as my mind reeled.

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words stuck. She's not wrong, I thought, my chest tightening. I had promised. Years of it--'I will do anything you ask, Janice, anything at all.' I had said it over candlelit dinners, whispered it in bed after she teased me with those maddening licks, never dreaming it would boomerang back like this. My promise was real, forged in love and trust, not some hollow vow--and she wasn't twisting my arm, not really. This was the love of my life finding a way to give me something else I craved in a way I hadn't expected, her curiosity and generosity tangled up in one wild, reckless suggestion. But sucking Dan? My best friend? The guy I'd shared beers and bad golf swings with? My stomach churned, a mix of dread and something else--curiosity, maybe, or the same reckless pulse that had driven me to beg for that spanking.

"But I--" I tried again, glancing at Dan. His brown eyes met mine for the first time since I'd collapsed off his lap, steady and unjudging, a faint question in them--not pressure, just waiting. No smirk, no demand, just Dan, solid as ever. My throat tightened. He's not pushing either. He spanked me because I asked, took it seriously. This is on me. I looked back at Janice, her expression soft but expectant, a flicker of mischief there I couldn't resent. She wasn't manipulating me; she was calling my bluff, trusting me to mean what I'd said all those years. And damn it, I did mean it--I'd promised her anything, and here she was, asking.

"I've never..." I started, voice cracking, then stopped. My hands flexed at my sides, the precum string on my thigh a sticky reminder of how far I had already gone today. Sure, I've never sucked a guy, but I've never bawled like a little kid over a hairbrush spanking either, but I survived that. What's one more leap? The thought twisted in my gut--fear, yes, but also a strange pull, like stepping to the edge of a cliff and wondering what the fall would feel like. I had begged Janice for blowjobs, pleaded for her lips on me, and she had always sidestepped it. Now she had flipped the script, and backing out felt like breaking more than a deal with Dan--it would be breaking faith with her.

Dan shifted in his chair, the wood creaking, and cleared his throat. "Mike, you don't have to if it's not--" he began, but I shook my head, cutting him off.

"No, I..." I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "I said it, didn't I? I promised. And Janice--she's right. I've asked her for this, pushed her, I've said I would do anything she asked. If I can't follow through..." I trailed off, meeting her eyes again. She nodded, a small, encouraging tilt of her head, and I felt the weight of my honor pressing down. She's not forcing me. She's trusting me to be the man I said I was. My resolve wavered, then hardened--not eagerness, but duty, love, and a flicker of that same thrill I'd chased with the hairbrush.

I turned back to Dan, our gazes locking fully now. His face was calm, the face of a friend, not a stranger, and that made it both harder and easier. "Okay," I rasped, barely above a whisper. "I'll do it."

Janice's smile widened, warm and proud, no triumph in it--just relief, maybe, or affection. "Good boy," she said softly, stepping back to grab the cushion from her chair and placing it on the deck in front of Dan. "Take your time, Honey. Make it worth his while." Her whisper brushed my ear as she kissed my cheek, a nibble on my earlobe sending a shiver through me before she retreated to watch.

I lowered myself to my knees on the cushion that would spare my knees from the rough deck biting into my skin, and stared at Dan's lap, my hands trembling as they reached for his shorts. The zipper rasped, loud in the silence, and the bridge was crossed--slowly, painfully, but willingly.

I grasped the waistband of Dan's shorts and tugged slightly. He lifted his hips so I could ease the khaki down his legs and off his feet. His boxers came next, a plain gray pair loose enough that they didn't give much of a hint at what they were hiding from my anxious eyes.

When I gripped the waistband and slid Dan's boxers past his hips, his cock emerged--not yet fully hard, a soft curve hanging between his thighs, a touch thicker than mine when flaccid but unremarkable in its partially limp state. Dark curls framed it, a wild, untamed bush compared to the neat, trimmed shadow above my own shaved groin. He shifted in his seat, a subtle flex of his legs, and it bobbed slightly, the circumcised head peeking out fully, no foreskin to cloak it like mine. I froze for a second, staring. I'd seen other men in the gym showers--quick, distant glimpses of dangling shapes under fluorescent lights--but never up close like this, inches from my face, alive and real. Dan's lack of a foreskin fascinated me: where mine bunched soft and loose over the tip when soft, his was bare, the head a smooth, pinkish dome, faintly ridged, exposed even at rest. It was alien yet oddly compelling, a stark contrast to the hooded familiarity of my own uncircumcised length.

My hand hesitated, then reached out, fingers brushing his warm, yielding flesh. I fondled his dick gently, rolling it between my thumb and forefinger, feeling his skin's velvety texture--softer than I'd expected, almost delicate. It twitched under my touch, stirring to life, and I marveled at how his penis thickened and straightened, the shaft firming in my palm. My penis still lay tucked beneath its foreskin unless coaxed hard; Dan's responded faster; his circumcised head darkened to a darker pink color as blood rushed in, the thin ridge beneath it sharpening. I turned it slightly, inspecting the way it lacked that extra sleeve I was used to, how his skin stretched taut without sliding. His dick was lighter than I'd imagined, maybe 5 ounces of shifting weight in my grip, and I squeezed experimentally, watching it grow--still thin, but lengthening toward just under 6 inches.

The dark curls of Dan's pubic bush tickled my knuckles as I explored, my breath catching at the strange intimacy of holding another man's dick. He hardened steadily, the pulse beneath my fingers quickening, until it stood mostly erect, a slender arc not yet at its peak. I leaned in, close enough to catch his musky scent--earthy, warm, with a faint tang of sweat--and hesitated, my tongue darting out for a tentative lick. The head was smooth against my lips, a salty bead of precum met my taste buds, sharp and unfamiliar. At the first touch of my tongue, Dan's dick surged nearly to full hardness--not quite 6 inches, both shorter and thinner than mine when erect but mostly rigid now. His circumcised penis was flushed and glistened with precum, a taut little spear in my hand. I pulled back an inch, staring at it, captivated by how different it felt from mine--exposed, unyielding, a raw contrast to the soft shield I carried.

I hesitated a moment longer, just staring at it, my breath shallow. "Go on, Sweetie," Janice cooed, her voice a mix of encouragement and command. "You promised."

I leaned in, Dan's musky scent hitting me first--earthy, warm, a faint tang of sweat from the day's heat. My lips parted, and I took his hard tip into my mouth, the texture strange and yielding against my tongue. It was smooth, almost velvety, with a faint saltiness that wasn't unpleasant but wholly unfamiliar. I closed my eyes, trying to focus, and sucked gently. Dan twitched, hardening even further, the flesh firming under my efforts. My tongue brushed the underside of his glans and traced his thickening shaft from his tight balls back to the tip. I felt the veins pulse as blood rushed in.

Dan let out a low grunt, his hand resting lightly on my head--not forcing, just steadying. His cock grew to full size--still just under 6 inches, but solid and insistent now. The head pressed against the roof of my mouth, slick with a bead of precum that tasted sharp and bitter, cutting through the salt. I adjusted my jaw and lowered my head toward his lap, taking more of him, my lips stretching around the girth. The texture shifted--smooth skin over a rigid core, warm and pulsing, filling my mouth in a way that was both invasive and oddly grounding. My jaw ached faintly as I worked, bobbing my head, the wet sounds of my sucking mingling with the distant chirp of crickets.

I glanced up briefly, catching Janice and Carol in my peripheral vision. Janice had one hand slipped beneath the hem of her sundress, her fingers pressing against the thin fabric of her panties, tracing slow, deliberate circles between her thighs. The soft cotton of her dress shifted with each subtle motion, a faint rustle blending with her quickening breath. Carol mirrored her, her own hand tucked under her sundress, rubbing along the curve of her hip where the fabric bunched, her lips parted in a silent gasp as she watched me intently. The sight of their arousal--the way their dresses draped and fluttered, hinting at the hidden urgency beneath--stoked a dull throb in my groin, a faint echo of heat despite the soreness pulsing through my ass. My penis stayed soft, true to form, but the air crackled with their quiet need, pulling me deeper into the moment.

Minutes stretched on, my knees aching against the deck, my tongue swirling around Dan's shaft. I explored every inch--the slight ridge where the head met the shaft, the pulsing vein along the side, the slickness coating my mouth as he leaked more precum. I sucked harder, hollowing my cheeks, and Dan's breathing grew ragged, his fingers tightening in my hair. "Fuck, Mike," he muttered, voice husky, "you're really good at this."

Dan's praise both stung slightly and spurred me on. I redoubled my efforts, taking him deeper until the tip nudged my throat, triggering a gag I fought down with a muffled grunt. My hands gripped his thighs, steadying myself, his coarse leg hair prickling my palms like dry grass. His dick throbbed, hot and heavy in my mouth, the pulse quickening as tension coiled tight in his frame. I glanced up through watery eyes, catching Janice and Carol in a fleeting blur. Janice sat rigid, her sundress hiked just enough to show her hand clamped tightly between her thighs, her fingers rubbing over the damp cotton crotch of her panties, a soft moan slipping past her clenched teeth. Carol was bolder, her dress rucked up higher--one hand shoved down the front of her panties, moving with frantic, wet strokes as she watched her husband's dick disappear into his best friend's mouth, her breath hitching in sharp, ragged bursts. Their arousal crackled in the air, a live wire that jolted through me, my own groin stirring despite the ache in my jaw.

Dan's hips bucked, a sudden twitch rippling through him, and then he let out a groan, deep and guttural, the sound rolling down his chest and out into the open air of the deck. He sat slouched in the wooden chair, its weathered slats creaking under his weight, his thighs tensing beneath my grip. The first jet of his cum rocketed straight to the back of my throat, thick and bitter, a hot flood that caught me off guard, slamming past my defenses. I choked slightly, the taste overwhelming--salty and musky, with a harsh, earthy edge that lingered like wet soil after a downpour. My pulse hammered in my ears as I swallowed reflexively, a quick, desperate gulp to clear the sudden rush, my throat tightening around the heat.

Instinctively, I pulled back, easing off until my lips encircled just the top third of his penis, the circumcised head flushed and slick. The next spurt landed squarely on my tongue, warm and viscous, a slower wave I could feel rather than fight. I let it pool there, savoring the texture--smooth yet sticky, coating my taste buds with its sharp saltiness, a faint tang cutting through the musk like a bite of overripe fruit. Another pulse followed, then another, each one washing over my tongue in steady, shuddering bursts, less forceful now but heavy with that raw, primal flavor. I tilted my head slightly, the deck's cool breeze brushing my neck as I focused, swirling my tongue around the sensitive tip to catch every drop, deliberately tasting his essence--bitter, warm, alive. Only after the last weak dribble did I swallow again, slower this time, letting the thick residue slide down my throat as I registered the full weight of it, my breath ragged against the outdoor stillness. Dan sagged back in the chair, spent, his hand slipping from my hair to rest limply on the armrest, the wood groaning faintly as his weight shifted in the chair.

We sat in silence for a moment, the barbecue forgotten, its coals long since cooled to a dull gray in the grill. The deck creaked faintly under us, the evening breeze rustling the lilacs as the sun started to settle lower on the horizon. Dan shifted in his chair, zipping up his shorts with a quick, practiced tug, the sound sharp in the quiet. "Well," he said, his voice steady but lighter now, "that's that. Friends?" He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his brown eyes meeting mine with a familiar, easy grin--no trace of awkwardness, just Dan being Dan.

"Of course, numbnuts," I shot back, my voice still rough but finding its footing, a grin tugging at my lips despite the rawness in my throat. It was pure reflex--years of ribbing each other over botched putts and burnt burgers kicking in. Dan snorted, shaking his head, the tension cracking like thin ice underfoot. Carol let out a soft chuckle, stretching her legs out. "Well, if that's not proof that you're still you two, I don't know what is," she said, her tone warm with a teasing lilt, winking at Janice. Janice laughed, bright and clear, squeezing my hand. "Guess I'm stuck with both of you now," she quipped, nudging me with her shoulder. Dan smirked, leaning back. "Lucky you--my arm's still good for grilling, at least."

He stood, stretching with a groan, the chair creaking. "Man, I need another beer after that," he said, ambling to the cooler where my six-pack sat. He fished out an IPA, holding it up. "Still cold. A miracle after all this. You're a wizard with this brew, Mike." I managed a shaky laugh, the normalcy loosening my chest. "It took me three batches to get this right," I quipped, "don't waste it." Carol smirked, grabbing the watermelon platter. "If you two start talking hops, I'm locking you out 'til midnight," she teased, brushing past Dan with a hip bump. Janice grinned, leaning in. "Let's not test her--she's got the keys."

The sky deepened to indigo, crickets chirping as the air cooled. Janice tugged my hand softly. "Ready to get decent, Sweetie? It's getting chilly." I nodded, wincing as my knees creaked, my bottom still throbbing. Carol stepped up with a wry smile, holding my briefs. "Can't send you home like that," she said, helping me step into my underpants, the cotton cool against my skin. Janice flanked me, squeezing my hand, her eyes promising a future talk about all I had been through today. Dan grabbed a bun, popping it in his mouth. "Guess that's the barbecue," he mumbled, leading us inside. We crossed into the warm glow of their living room, photos and knickknacks cozy around us.

We converged in the front doorway to say our goodbyes. Dan and I traded firm handshakes, his grip steady and warm, a silent nod passing between us--business as usual. Janice leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, then mine, her lips soft and lingering just a second longer on me. Carol followed, kissing Dan's cheek first, then mine, her blonde curls brushing my jaw. As she pulled back, her hand darted down, cupping my little package lightly through my briefs--a fleeting, mischievous squeeze. "We may have to chat more about your Jokari paddle sometime," she whispered in my ear, her breath warm against my skin, voice low and conspiratorial. "It sounds like it could be a fun addition to our collection." She winked, stepping back with a grin, leaving me flustered but smiling.