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."