by Leland Mays
How shall I describe my wife, Jill? She is almost thirty, with short auburn hair and a soft, luscious figure. She loves to laugh and to have a good time. Jill is also the boldest, most shameless woman in the town of Ashford.
How do I know? I know. Let me tell you how it began. She and I were playing golf with our best friends, Lori and Casey Thomas. So we reach the eighteenth hole. Lori needs to sink a 20-foot putt for Casey and her to win the match.
Jill laughs in contempt as Lori lines up the putt. "Lori, forget it," she says. "You couldn't make a putt like that if your life depended on it."
"Well, maybe I can," replies Lori nervously. Among the four of us, she is by far the worst golfer.
What possessed my wife to say those fateful words? "Lori, you silly dope. If you sink that putt, I'll walk stark naked down Main Street."
The Fates, of course, cannot resist an opportunity like that. Lori taps the ball with her putter. It goes unerringly, as straight as an arrow, toward the hole and drops in. Jill gasps; then begins to beg, to bargain. "I was only joking," she says. "Well, I'll do it at four in the morning, okay? Pleeze?"
But Lori stands firm. Jill is desperate. "Oh, I'd die if I had to be nude in front of strangers. Look, I've a see-through blouse. I'll wear it next time you invite us over for dinner, okay?"
Lori only grins all the more. "No, Jill. I may be a silly dope, but I sank the putt. So sweetie, you are going to walk a block down Main Street next Saturday in broad daylight. And you'll do it, my dear, just as you promised. In the nude."
As Jill's husband, I merely smile. I know that Jill could never do something so scandalous. Women, you see, are by nature modest, even demure. They strive to be proper and virtuous at all times. If society dictates that one must never walk naked down a public street, then far be it for a woman to break the rule.
So when Lori and Casey pull into our driveway on Saturday morning, I shake my head in disbelief. "Jill," I say, "tell me you aren't going to go through with this crazy stunt."
"You know I can't do it, Ryan. But if I don't try, Lori will tease me forever. If I go over to Main Street and then chicken out..."
"Which you will do."
"...at least Lori will understand. Any woman would."
While Casey and I have coffee, Lori and Jill disappear into the bedroom. When they emerge, Jill is wearing sandals, a knee-length green spa robe, and nothing more. But again, I chortle.
"This is a waste of time," I remark to Lori as she and I drive over to Main Street. "My wife will never bare herself in public. She's way too modest. You'll see."
On any warm Saturday morning, Ashford's Main Street is crowded with shoppers, loafers, ordinary townsfolk. Lori and I park my car and walk to the corner of 7th and Main. Lori is carrying a white kimono for Jill to put on after she finishes her nude stroll. But Jill will do no such thing.
At 8th and Main, Casey pulls up in his Toyota SUV. Out steps Jill, trembling like a leaf. She is literally terrified.
"See," I smile at Lori. "In a few seconds she'll jump back into the SUV. Trust me, Jill will never do it."
My wife takes several deep breaths. Then, closing her eyes, she does it. Unties the robe. Pushes it off her shoulders. It drops to the sidewalk. Now she is standing among a throng of pedestrians completely and gloriously nude. She opens her eyes and takes one step, then another. Jill is walking naked down Main Street.
I stagger back in disbelief. Can it be? Yes. That is my wife, and she is in the buff - au naturel.
Jill's face is beet red, her eyes are wide with fear. But with her hips swaying, her pendulous breasts bouncing delightfully, my wife comes toward us. The crowd parts before her. People gasp, they gawk, they say, "Good grief!" "What th' heck?" "Hey, lady!" Cell phone cameras are whipped out to capture the moment.
I watch. It seems surreal. All of my wife is on display: her hard nipples; those wide areolae; the prominent mound of Venus and tan puffy lips of her clean-shaven pussy. Jill's feminine charms in their entirety are viewed by one and all. People in Marty's Cafe abandon their late breakfasts and rush to the windows to watch. Those on the other side of Main hurry across for a closer look at the show. Had Jill's nude stroll lasted longer, they might have brought in charter buses from Altoona and Shippensburg.
After an eternity, Jill reaches us. She can scarcely breathe, more amazed than anyone that she could do the unthinkable. She manages a wan smile as she says to Lori, "There. Are you happy now?"
"Oh yes," laughs Lori. "You've made a complete spectacle of yourself, Jill. Now you can put on this kimono."
Why did Jill do what she did then? I still can't believe it. A saucy look comes to her eyes. She says, "Oh, why bother? I'll just wear the robe I came in." With that she turns and walks back down the street. And still she is nude, wearing not a stitch. Her hips sway; we see Jill's ripe buttocks jiggling back and forth. Murmurs and laughter sweep through the crowd as they realize my wife is giving them an encore performance. Several who know Jill ask the obvious question. She only smiles and nods to the onlookers.
Meanwhile, Casey has picked up her green robe. He has watched my wife walk down the street in her birthday suit. His jaw drops as he sees that she is now walking back toward him. Jill is in no hurry. She casually strolls along, perhaps enjoying the warm sun on her nude body.
When she reaches him, Casey offers my wife the robe. She puts it on. Someone, old man Wallace I believe, begins to clap. Others join in. Soon everyone is applauding a woman for walking naked down Main Street. Showing their appreciation to a brazen, shameless hussy who happens to be my wife.
Jill waves to the spectators. Still blushing, she jumps into the SUV. Casey and Jill drive about three blocks before Cliff Hedrick, Ashford's deputy sheriff, pulls them over. Jill is placed under arrest, charged with indecent exposure. Lori and I follow them to the police station. It takes half an hour for me to post bail for my naughty wife. It's what any loving husband would do.
I drive Jill, who is still wearing the green robe, back home. There is an awkward silence. What does a man say to his wife after she has walked down a busy street as naked as a jaybird?
We arrive home. Entering the living room, Jill heads straight for the bar, saying, "Oh, I need a scotch and soda." She makes the drink, takes a sip, and turns to me. "Ryan, I don't blame you for being angry with me. But standing on the street in that robe, it was like being in a dream. Something came over me. I had to take it off. As if I had no choice."
Can Jill see that my cock is swollen hard and has been ever since she dropped the spa robe? Should I tell her that watching her walk naked down Main Street was the most erotic moment of my life? That she was never more beautiful than when everyone was staring at her nudity? Should I say that her playing the brassy tart makes me love her more than ever?
I want to say those words. But something stops me. There is, I believe, a sixth sense between a man and a woman after they've shared years together. In an instant it comes to me. I know exactly what Jill wants her man to do.
"Angry?" I exclaim. "That doesn't begin to describe how I feel! I've never punished you, Jill," I say menacingly. "But if ever a woman earned a good spanking from her husband, it's you. Now, drop that robe."
My wife obeys. I sit on the sofa and motion to her. She understands. Jill kneels meekly before me. I grasp her left shoulder and bend her torso across my left thigh. Without being told, she spreads her legs and arches out her buttocks. I raise my arm high. For the first time ever, I slam my hand with full force into my wife's bottom. The room echoes with the sharp Whap! of hand smashing into soft flesh.
"Oh my god!" Jill wails. "Ooh jeez!" Her butt cheeks shimmy from the impact.
I spank my audacious wife. Five, ten, then twenty times, my hand assails her bottom. I lecture as I paddle this lewd woman.
"You made a fool of yourself, Jill! ... (Smack!) ... Parading in the nude, showing everything you've got! ... (Smack! Smack!) ... We'll be the butt of jokes now ... (Smack!) ... Oh how they'll laugh! Look, it's Jill Denson, the little minx who walked down Main Street stark naked!"
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Amid Jill's cries and sobs, I pause to squeeze her reddened butt cheeks, to explore her cleavage. Then down to her pussy. That most intimate part of Jill is not damp, but wet. It is soaking, sopping wet. From the cleft between her pussy lips comes a veritable flood of juices.
Yes, we both became aroused when Jill shamefully displayed her nude body. But spanking her was like pouring gasoline onto the flames. I can stand it no longer. In a trice I'm carrying my wife to the bedroom. She practically rips my clothes off.
In a frenzy, I mount Jill and bury my manhood in her. She clamps down on it, squeezes my cock with the muscles of her pussy. Now she's gasping, "Oh yes, yes! Oh that's soo good!" Almost at once, I fill her pussy with semen.
Always before in our lovemaking, even in the extremes of passion, we maintained a certain restraint. But not today. A woman who will walk naked down Main Street has forfeited any right to be treated with restraint. I lose control. We both do. Even after my orgasm, I continue to pound my wife with fierce abandon. She in turn is screaming like a banshee. From her lips come words so wicked, so licentious that I can scarcely believe my ears.
Jill reaches orgasm. She claws my back like a wildcat, lost in a world of raw debauchery. The firestorm in her begins to ease. Then I hear her say, "More, Ryan, don't stop. Not yet!" I give her more. By the time my cock grows soft, my wife has had a second, then a third long deep orgasm.
Our bodies are covered with slick perspiration. I rise up, my sweat dripping onto the strawberry blotches that cover Jill's chest. The thought comes to me. Is one spanking sufficient for a woman who has flaunted her nude body? Of course not.
"Jill," I say in a low voice, "I never thought my own wife could be so shameless. I'm not through punishing you."
I get up and go to the dresser. I take Jill's big hairbrush and return to the bed. Realizing my intent, Jill says, "Yes, Ryan, yes. Spank me again. We both know I deserve it."
I bend her over my knee. Once more I'm spanking the daylights out of my brazen wife. Butt cheeks that had faded to pink, again become crimson as I punish Jill's bottom
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