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His sweet, submissive Lacey needed her strict, disciplinarian husband back. And she was about to get it.
Being a submissive, well-spanked wife was pretty close to heaven on earth for Lacey Warren. The problem was, after the birth of her child, she was distinctly missing the “well-spanked” part. Perhaps she didn’t miss the pain of her punishments, the humiliation, and being bent to the iron will of her implacable, alpha male husband.
Or maybe that was exactly what she was missing.
Her problem was how to rekindle that red-hot, twisted, dark D/s undercurrent that used to run through every sexual encounter between she and her husband. Pushing him wasn’t an option; her husband would never do anything until he was good and ready. She’d resigned herself to a permanent change in their intimate lives...until the day he’d left her the letter. The old Troy had returned. With a vengeance. And it looked like Lacey was about to live out the very painful — but deeply sexual — reality of “be careful what you wish for.”
It had been long enough. Holding himself back from taking his wife in hand once again had been the worst torture he’d ever been through. With a new baby, he had no choice. Now? Those days were over, and his Lacey was about to find out that the old Troy hadn’t disappeared. He’d only been waiting. Soon, he’d have her on her knees again, and back firmly under his thumb — and his hand. The days of his wife walking around with a pristine white bottom were coming to an end.
The only question for Troy was: how far was he prepared to take her in order to show her their old D/s dynamic was very much still alive. Did he trust himself not to lead her too far down the road of deep, utter submission he required of her? When it came to his gorgeous, curvy wife, he would accept nothing less than her complete surrender. To a hard, strict man like him, Lacey was more than his wife. She was his possession. He intended to remind her of that in very sexual, painful, and even humiliating, ways. It was what she needed. It was what she craved. He would give her all of it, and more, in ways she could only dream about. Those dreams were about to become a dark, lurid, intensely passionate reality.
It was what they both needed.
There was more at play here than simply reminding his submissive wife that she was subject to her dominant husband in all things. His best friend Hunter’s marriage was slowly falling apart, and Troy suspected Lacey’s interest in helping Hunter might be more than...simple friendly support.
It shocked him though how much that suspicion — and what it might mean — didn’t bother him.
What’s more, since learning of the existence of the community of White Valley, a very unique town nestled high up in the Cascades of Washington state that embraced the deep D/s dynamic that Troy and Lacey lived, a possible solution had been percolating in Troy’s mind.
What would it mean to live in a place like White Valley? Could it both strengthen his own D/s marriage...and help mend a best friend’s broken heart?
Publisher's Warning: This steamy contemporary D/s romance is intended for mature readers. 18 and over only!
This novel contains the following themes or activities: pervasive D/s, intense and explicit sex, bondage, spanking and other corporal punishment, anal play, anal punishment, forced exhibitionism, humiliation, and other acts of (very) unequal power dynamics. If any of these might be offensive to you, please do not buy or read this book.
W aiting and dreading her impending discipline was bad enough. The fact that she was made to don the vaguely penitential “uniform” of the staid, drab smock made things even worse. To her, it seemed little more than a starched brown sack.
It galled her still that the discomfort of wearing such a dress was very much intentional.
She sat in the usual spot, on the varnished bench in the hallway outside the study, waiting for her appointment with shame and pain — and reluctant, embarrassing arousal. The slate gray tile under her plain low heels radiated a coolness that should have had her shivering, but her strange, ritualized dress, made from a heavy cloth with its unfashionably high neck, ensured trickles of nervous sweat meandered between her breasts, tickling the crease between sex and inner thigh. The scratchy fabric was made more so by the fact she was not permitted a stitch of underwear underneath. No women summoned for their periodic appointments with pain were allowed any underthings — unless such an accommodation was to feature prominently in her adjudicated correction.
The men who attended — and passed judgment — at the Accountings were ever inventive, as clever and diabolical as they were strict, taking pleasure in the ritual that was borderline sadistic.
“Provisional member” was what she still was, despite the fact she was anything but a new face at the neighborhood accountings. The shaming title — a concrete reminder that though she’d been welcomed into White Valley, she still wasn’t yet a full-fledged resident — rung in her head repeatedly.
Just because she wasn’t technically yet an official resident didn’t save her from being disciplined like one. Her naked buttocks twitched, knowing what they were in for in but a few short minutes.
She listened to the faint sounds coming through the heavy polished wood of the study door, closing her eyes at the frightful — yet arousing — imagery the sounds evoked within her.
Was that a woman? It sounded like... sobbing.
A loud thump made her jump, then a deep male voice rang out. It sounded authoritative, maybe even angry, but at the same time it was frustratingly muted, preventing her from making out any discernable words.
The hallway she sat in was so silent, almost funereal, her only company the chill-inducing song of feminine anguish and mortification coming from the other side of that door.
Her husband would be inside with them now, his eagerness to take her in hand every bit as intense as the twisted war of anxiety, lust, and fear of the unknown raging inside her.
If she had an ounce of sanity, she’d march from this house. Flee this strange, yet impossibly alluring town. Her hands were still cuffed, yes, but they were bound before her, not behind. Nothing stopped her from walking out the front door and simply getting the fuck outta Dodge.
The rhythmic slapping sound came again. She knew exactly what that was. And she knew that very same fate was in her immediate future. It was the third time she’d heard it during her interminable wait in her own personal Purgatory. Her bottom crawled as she heard the faint pleading, the female cries. The clear note of a shriek sent a shiver down her spine, gooseflesh breaking out upon her naked forearms.
Her pulse was frantic, her mouth as arid as a desert. Yet her nipples were so hard, she feared they’d be on prominent display, twin, impudent, shaming points tenting the front of the heavy starched fabric of the humiliatingly plain dress. Her pussy was a seething, slippery mess, her thighs sticking together. There was a very real prospect she’d be adding a mortifying dark wet spot to the back of the brown sack they’d forced her to wear for her latest Accounting. Would they note it? Would they comment on what a dirty whore she was for being so excited at the prospect of her punishment?
The term was so... formal. Sterile. Yet, she knew what awaited her in that study was anything but.
Submission. Force. Humiliation. Pain. Surrender.
Why did those thoughts make her clit throb when they’d have sent any normal woman screaming for the hills?
The door in front of her opened, Von’s towering form filling her field of vision. His eyes glinted as he smiled down at her, extending a huge, veined hand.
“Come with me, Mrs. Warren. We’re ready to hear your case now. Your husband is waiting for you.”
Several months earlier
T he moment she pulled the car into her driveway, her stern husband standing on the front porch with his arms crossed over his chest, Lacey knew she was in trouble.
He took hold of the car door as she opened it, his glare pinning her in place.
She tried to remember if she’d forgotten anything. If she’d neglected to follow any orders or dictates Troy had given. He’d been quite easy on her post-pregnancy, for which she was supremely grateful. For while carrying Hayden had been almost a dream, he’d been anything but during the first four months of his life. Raising children was hard!
“I think it’s time we talked about our arrangement, don’t you?”
“I… I’m not sure I know what you mean?”
Of course, it was a lie. She knew very well he was referring to their sexual dynamic. Lacey was a wife who’d gladly subjected herself to her husband — in all things.
Submission and discipline. Pleasure and pain.
“Upstairs, now,” he growled, standing aside to let her exit the car. “You know how I want you dressed. I’ll be up in five minutes.”
As if on reflex, she didn’t waste a single second protesting, fleeing through the front door and up the stairs.
She knew that voice, the twitch of muscle at the corner of his jaw. She’d missed that cold glint in his eyes that never failed to make her belly do flip-flops, her nipples grow tight.
He was back.
Stripping off her clothes even as she climbed the carpeted risers, she leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb to the master bedroom, yanking off her low heels. Then she saw it.
The pale, varnished plane of her paddle laying upon the bedspread, like a viper waiting in the grass.
“Oh, my God, I don’t know if I’m ready for this!” Her voice was a strained squeak, but still she rushed into the walk-in, elbowing the door aside, rifling through the bottom drawer of her dresser. She found them, folded neatly, a symbol of what they’d had to put aside to welcome Hayden into the world.
And a symbol of what still waited, perhaps eagerly, to be picked up once more.
It was a uniform of sorts, something they’d alighted on one day as she’d been doing laundry. A tight, white tank top, and a pair of black lace panties, so brief they were little more than an afterthought.
But it was the additions to the clothing that still made her blush.
The tank top was snug indeed, not even coming close to covering all of Lacey’s breasts — especially now that she was nursing. In a stark red script, emblazoned across the curves of her bosom were the words:
Property of Troy
Printed on the back of the underwear, in block letters was:
As she pulled the clothes on, her face heated as she remembered the first time Troy presented them to her, telling her they would be her new “uniform” when it came to discipline. He didn’t even need to refer to the special clothing directly anymore.
They both knew what she was expected to wear when it was time for her to be disciplined.
Her hair held up in a haphazard pile by several pins, she allowed herself a moment to try to right the mess that was her long, dark locks; she hadn’t done her hair that morning, foolishly assuming this day would be just like any other. She stripped the pins out almost frantically, knowing the clock was ticking down — and with the knowledge he’d be at the door to the bedroom at precisely five minutes from when she’d been dismissed from the driveway.
When it came to the subject of spanking his loving wife’s ass, Troy meant every word he said.
She frowned at her reflection as she pulled down the snug tank top enough to cover her belly; she still wasn’t used to the faint pattern of stretch marks there. Fortunately, she had at least been fairly successful in returning herself to some semblance of the shape she’d been in pre-pregnancy.
Troy had told her he loved those marks, that they were a reminder of what they’d created together. Even though she’d never believe those words, she still loved him for saying them.
He was a hard man, a strict man — but not for one moment did Lacey ever doubt her husband loved her.
“I see it might be time for a refresher on the importance of following directions.”
She spun around, bringing her hand to her mouth. “I-I’m sorry. I—”
He shook his head slowly. “Bend over the bed, bad girl. We’ve got a few things to discuss. Then we can address your little disobedience.”
Swallowing hard, her hand splayed across her chest in a vain effort to slow her racing heart, she walked to the foot of the bed. Dropping to her knees, fresh heat flushed up her cheeks at the way the tiny thong seemed to split and showcase her ass, the black lace displaying and presenting bottom cheeks she still felt were much too big.
“Jesus Christ, I’ve been thinking about this,” he murmured from somewhere behind her.
She wasn’t sure if it was something she was supposed to reply to, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Thinking about what, sir?”
“Your ass. Mine.”
“It was… always yours.”
His deep laughter rolled over her as he moved closer, looming over her. “True — but not like this. Not like it used to be.”
Oh, thank God.
To this day, she still couldn’t make sense of the warring fear and lust that swirled within her as she contemplated — often on her knees — a punishment about to be inflicted upon her vulnerable bottom.
It had been much too long, but she knew it was not her place to pressure him, or to try to get him to bring that part of their marriage back. He would bring it back, when the time was right.
Looks like it’s right now. Be careful what you wish for, Lacey.
The bed dipped as her husband sat down. She knew better than to move her head from where it lay upon her folded arms. A quiet contemplation of her kneeling form was something she still remembered he loved — required — before any meting out of punishment. He loved her — and lusted after her — and nothing fired that lust more than looking upon her naked ass.
Regardless of the fact she may have found her backside a little too… generous.
“Stand up, girl.”
His words were quiet, but the firmness of his intent was unmistakable.
This was no time to dawdle or disobey.
Rising to her feet, she wrung her hands in front of her, unsure what she was supposed to do. Face him? Stay where she was? Hop in place on one leg?
When he slipped into his growly, disciplinary mode, she was quite sure she’d do just that, if he ordered her to.
“Stand in front of me.” He reached out and hooked a big hand around her hip, yanking her close. She stumbled a little then stood before him, within the span of his knees. His gaze coursed at length over her form as she breathed in the pleasing scent of his cologne.
He said nothing as he regarded her, ratcheting up the tension by the second until she fluttered her hands at her sides, her heart pounding.
For a split second, she had to remember what that word entailed exactly, so long had it been since she’d heard the heated order.
Lacing her fingers together under the warm weight of her hair, she clasped her hands behind her neck.
“Good.” His hand caressed the broad curve of her hip, her skin breaking out into gooseflesh. He looked up at her. “Cold?”
“N-no, sir. Just… nervous, I guess.”
“You should be.”
“One of the things we need to talk about is how our lives are going to be, moving forward — now that we have Hayden. Have you thought of that?”
“What are your thoughts? It’s okay to speak, girl. Your words are likely to have a direct impact on how your ass feels in the next few minutes, so I expect you to be honest.”
Lacey shivered. “I-I wondered how long… until things would be back to how they used to be.”
“You mean me keeping you in line?” He palmed one of her buttocks, giving it a meaningful squeeze. “I admit I’ve missed it even more than I thought I would. Did you miss having a hot, throbbing ass, girl?”
“No… but I missed that you”—she took a deep breath, trying to plow forward despite the embarrassment the words elicited within her—“sometimes decided that I… needed that. Sir.”
“Did you miss your Maintenance Nights too?”
It shamed her more than perhaps anything else — and Troy went to great lengths to explore the depths of shame with his wife. She not only missed them, she yearned for them. This despite the pain, despite the humiliation, despite the way he used her like little more than a walking, breathing sex toy. Or maybe it was because of all of those things.
She’d even dreamed of Maintenance Night once!
“Did you worry that having our son was going to change things forever?”
It was always the elephant in the room during her pregnancy — especially when Troy had begun to go very easy on her. There had been no difficulty setting it aside then; her pregnancy and the needs of her unborn son took their rightful place as foremost in her mind. But there was no denying it was always a thought, a whispered fear.
Maybe he wouldn’t want her anymore? Could she still offer him the same deep submission she’d given him before she’d gotten pregnant? The fears of her body no longer being attractive to him were bad enough; ladling on her own growing anxiety that their dynamic was simply incompatible with being parents made things far, far worse.
“Haven’t they changed? I mean… look at me.”
“Oh, I am looking at you.” He hooked a finger under the bottom hem of her tank, and eased it up. Her breath caught in her throat as he pressed soft kisses to the pattern of pale stretchmarks decorating the gentle curve of her lower belly. “And what I see is a woman who’s never looked more beautiful.” His hands clasped her hips harshly. “And one who’s never needed to be spanked more than she does today.”
“Oh, God yes…” she murmured, closing her eyes, despite the pounding of her pulse.
“Look at me.”
Her eyes flying open, she met his stern, flinty gaze, the lust she saw there plain.
“Here’s the truth: things have changed forever.”
Her heart sank. “Troy, how can—?”
“Be quiet, wife of mine, or you’re going to get a spanking before your spanking. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“As I said, things have changed — but not in the way you might think.” His hands stroked up and down her hips, his fingertips playing with the lacy edge of her panties. “Starting today, we’re going to be getting you back in line. I’ve been far too lenient with you. You need a tight rein, bad girl, and I intend to provide it.”
“Unless you’re telling me no, you’d better keep those pretty lips zipped. Last warning, my girl.”
“I… I’m not saying no. Sir.”
“Good — then I expect you to listen quietly.”
She nodded, blushing, knowing he expected her silence.
“Maintenance Nights are now a regular part of your week again — starting Friday.”
Her heart squeezed so hard she thought it might stop — even as her clit immediately began to swell, her sensitive nipples instantly hardening to bullets under the tight fabric of her tank top.
Careful what you wish for, indeed.
Troy continued. “But since you’ve gone so long without the discipline that you’ve so sorely needed — and that I’ve so badly needed to provide to you — we’re going to be making up for some lost time, you and me. So, we’re going to be having a Maintenance Week for you, my dear. What do you think of that?”
Lacey was too stunned to even form speech. “I… what…?”
It used to take her days to fully recover from her Maintenance Nights before. How on Earth was she going to survive a whole week of them? Had he lost his mind?
“You’ll have seven different punishments, one per day. You can sort of think of it as us catching up as a couple again. What do you think?”
How about a nice getaway, instead? Flowers?
Who was she kidding? For women like her, bouquets and vacations were nice, but it was something else entirely that made her clit hard, that haunted her twisted, fevered dreams.
Despite the wording, she knew the man was not seeking her permission. He’d decreed it — and she’d endure it. Just as they’d both agreed years ago. Still, she had to say something.
“I… I don’t think I can take that, Tr — sir.”
“Ah, but I didn’t say they’d be in the same week, did I?”
“But… you called it Maintenance Week.”
He lowered his chin, a gesture that never failed to get her heart pounding faster — for it meant she was treading on thin ice.
It makes your pussy wet, too. You’re insane.
“You’ll have to pay off one punishment each week, over seven weeks. I think you can survive that, don’t you?”
She was only barely able to suppress a sigh. “Yes, sir.”
Though she knew it wouldn’t be easy, she knew she could do it. Yes, it was likely to be hell, knowing how hard he punished when it came to normal maintenance nights, but a part of her was anticipating it with a mix of dread and dark lust.
“We’ll go over the details later. For now, just know — things are going to change, and that starts right now. Understand me?”
“Yes, sir.” She licked her lips, her mouth hopelessly dry.
“Oh, what? Okay…”
“What was that?” His hand gripped her thigh, his fingers like steel.
“That’s my girl. Now, do as you’re told.”
She spun around, then stood silently, feeling his gaze course over her flesh, the humiliating — yet strangely arousing — encouragement to take her in hand emblazoned across the seat of her panties. It was never easy for her to let him look at her ass, especially when he made her cooperate in her display of it.
But it could always be worse, and she knew it was about to be.
“Take them down. Slowly.”
Hooking her thumbs in the thin lace, she drew the fabric down her legs.
“Bend at the waist. Just like you’ve been taught.”
“Yes, sir,” she murmured, her face flaming. It shouldn’t have mattered; the man had seen, and touched, every millimeter of her body. But it was this way every single time.
And she knew he loved it that way. He took advantage of the fact that no matter how many hours she spent on the treadmill, no matter how strict she was with her diet, she always, always, felt like her ass was too big.
It helped that he obviously adored it, but it didn’t change the fact that she cursed her genes — even as she thanked God for bringing her a man who loved how she filled out a pair of jeans.
Straightening her legs, she dropped the panties to her ankles, trying to ignore the wetness of the gusset against her foot. She knew he could see the evidence of her arousal, smell her desire — and her fear of what he was about to do to her.
He loved it all — and she was thankful for it. Somehow, it always eased her fear, and heightened her own arousal, knowing her submission to him was a turn-on for her husband.
Knowing her pain was his pleasure.
His hand slapped her ass playfully. “No, don’t clench them.”
She forced herself to relax those muscles, though it was a certainty her punishment would begin in moments.
He fondled and smacked her buttocks, squeezing them until she hissed. He always knew what mortified her most. And those same things were usually what aroused him more than anything else.
Still, it was a warm-up, one she would appreciate later when she found herself crying out from the cruel blows of his paddle.
Holding her hips still, his voice lowered to a murmur. “Step out of them.” He held her steady as she did so, handing the panties to him as she knew he expected. He grinned up at her as he tucked them in his pocket. “I missed this part too.”
She wasn’t sure what he did with her panties, but he sometimes kept the ones he didn’t rip during her punishments. She was never sure what he might do.
He’d at least had the courtesy not to keep the expensive ones, but she had a feeling her underwear bill was quite a bit higher than most.
“Turn around and present.”
Facing him so quickly her head spun for a moment, she returned to her familiar position.
“Shoulders straight. Arms back. Tits out.” He slapped her thigh. “More. This is called present for a reason, my girl. Present what’s mine.”
Spreading her arms, she looked down at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. It wasn’t expected at that point — and it wouldn’t matter, considering she knew what it was he was gazing at.
His fingers combed through the thick delta of dark hair covering her mons, a tug at a curl here and there making her grunt.
“Might be time to trim this a little.”
She nodded, blushing anew. “Yes, sir.”
Though she kept her pubic hair quite neat, it was often not enough for her exacting military man husband. They both reveled in keeping her on a very tight leash — in all things.
His fingers splayed her labia, the air cool on her exposed sex. “Legs apart. Wider. Wider, girl.”
He drew a deep breath, sampling her scent, her face flushing hot once more as he growled his approval. “This cunt’s been missing this too. Have you been dripping, thinking about it?”
There was no way she was letting him know exactly how much she’d missed it, how badly she’d ached for his touch, for his strictness.
“Yes, sir. I’ve… thought about it. All the time, lately.”
He slicked back the hood of her clit, just touching the tip, her breath catching in her throat. She’d been forbidden from masturbating for the past two weeks, her first clue that the old Troy might be stirring in his lair, and as a result, she’d been aroused almost continuously. Her clit seemed to stand up at the mere scent of his cologne at that point.
“Ah, ahhh!” His finger circled her clit, her hips leaning against his touch of their own volition. He expected stoicism while he touched her, inspected her, but she wasn’t sure she had the willpower to obey. She was much too starved of his touch — and his discipline.
Spreading her open again, he leaned close, breathing in once more. “ Fuck, I love this cunt. It’s so wet, so needy. What do you think it needs, girl?”
“That’s right. It needs me, the man who owns it, the man who gives it pleasure.” His voice grew rougher. “And pain.”
Thick fingers glided within her, deep, deeper, making her rise up on her toes, the stretching sudden, but not unwelcome.
No, not unwelcome in the least.
“That’s a girl, oh yes, you needed this so badly, didn’t you? This wet cunt, dripping for your sir.” He pressed a kiss to her mound, her breath already beginning to come in pants. “Well, he’s here now.”
Oh… my God.
Thrusting briskly, the sounds of her wet pussy around his fingers adding a particularly mortifying note to her surrender, he reached around and smacked her bottom. “Eyes on me.”
She obeyed, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. It was easier to hide, to be the passive, submissive vessel for his lusts. To look upon him felt too much like a provocation for him to go still further.
But the worst part was that he might see the naked lust, the animal need in her own eyes.
He patted her mons gently. “Time to get you sorted out then, bad girl. A hot, aching bottom, and a well-fucked cunt should take care of the problem, I think. Over my knees.”
She practically fell over him as she rushed to take the familiar, but mortifying, position. His thighs were like tree trunks against her belly, the thick muscle as hard and implacable as his will.
He pushed her over further, until only her toes touched the floor, her palms flat against the carpet. “Legs open — more.” His hand cupped her pussy and she sighed. “Wider, Lacey. I want to look at your wetness while you’re punished.”
She bit down her whimper, but complied, showing him everything, her legs trembling with tension.
Relief — and an embarrassing amount of pride — flooded through her at the words. They aroused her and strengthened her all at once. That she knew he was pleased with her, regardless of the fact he was about to mete out a hard spanking, made it easier to contend with what was to come, his approval boosting her determination to behave, to obey, to be his good girl.
Even if it hurt.
Or because it hurt.
His palm crashed against her left buttock, and she froze in shock. He was never one for preliminaries, believing when it was time for punishment, then a punishment it would be. Yes, he enjoyed playing with her before, during, and after, but that was as much for his benefit as hers.
It was his rightful enjoyment of the plaything that was his loving wife.
She’d never have it any other way.
Biting off a short cry as he spanked her right cheek, she tried to remain motionless, knowing he was just getting started.
“That’s right,” he growled. “Very still. Take your spanking obediently — and quietly.”
Then he began in earnest, taking up a firm, unhurried rhythm, his hard, callused palm stoking a fire in her ass, the temperature spiraling higher by the second. He alternated between cheeks, sometimes smacking high, other times hitting low, spacing out the blows to ensure the pain sunk deep. She knew he’d be watching her for any disobedience, any sign of trying to avoid her punishment.
But she was made of stronger stuff than that. No matter how badly her ass already burned — and it flamed hot indeed — she would show him. She would submit to him in all ways, in all things.
Taking up even harder blows, he concentrated several smacks upon the same spot, and with these, her will began to break, her high-pitched cries growing in volume with each heavy impact of palm on bottom.
He didn’t allow that to deter him though; he never did.
Rather, he intensified the punishment, until they became a storm of spanks painting her entire ass. Finally, she lay panting over his thighs, mortified — and incredulous still — that no matter how badly the discipline hurt, once again, her body had reacted.
Though her legs churned slowly as she tried to process the pain, the motion only emphasized how hot and slippery she was between the lips of her pussy. A bead of her warm liquid was already meandering down the vulnerable flesh of her inner thigh. She hoped he wouldn’t see it.
His fingertip scooped up the shaming evidence, and he leaned over to hold the glistening finger before her. His voice danced with playful mirth. “Bad girl. I must not be punishing you hard enough.”
“Quiet now,” he murmured, palming the seething heat of her bottom. “I was thinking of going a little easy on you, but considering how wet your cunt is already, I think I’m safe to continue as planned. Any objections?”
She knew what the question was — a subtle escape hatch, a last chance to affect events.
It was something she’d never once done.
“No, sir. No… objections.”
“Good.” The cold, smooth wood pressed to her bottom, and she couldn’t help but jerk, her buttocks balling into hard muscle. The paddle hurt so badly!
It was far from her first time, of course, but aside from the cane, it was the most fearsome implement he wielded.
And like the cane, no matter how many times she’d felt its cruel caress, she’d never get used to it.
“Ten should do, I think.” He clutched her around the waist, pulling her closer, the firm — and strangely comforting — bulge of his erection jutting against her hip. “Be still, my girl. You know what I expect.”
“Yes, sir,” she warbled, her voice little more than a whisper.
The wood slapped against the very center of her cheeks, and she drew in a harsh breath, the burn sinking deep into already inflamed flesh.
“Oh God! I don’t know if… I can do this!”
He tapped the paddle lower down. “Shall I stop then?”
For a second, she thought about it, but dismissed the notion. She’d been through far worse. It was merely her fear at confronting the reality of what she’d been dreaming about for months.
Her husband finally taking her firmly in hand again.
“No, sir.” She leaned further forward as much as his strong grip allowed, hollowing her back and widening her thighs just enough. “I can do it.”
“You’re a good girl,” he said, the smile plain in his voice.
Before she had a chance to bask in those lovely words, the paddle impacted again across the lower curve of her ass, the humiliating jiggle of her cheeks almost as bad as the hot burst of pain across her flesh.
The third blow landed still lower across the boundary between thigh and bottom, and she screeched at it.
“Easy, now,” he rumbled, the grip of his hand slipping down to wrap about her upper hip, pinning her in place.
Several hard strokes of the merciless paddle followed, all across the lower half of her buttocks, leaving them a quivering mass of flames. Finally, the dam broke, the tears streaming down her cheeks, wetting the floor between her palms, her fingernails digging into the carpet.
Finishing up with a final flurry of loud, agonizing smacks all over her tormented bottom, the wood finally settled, stroking the crown of her ass in slow circles, soothing and menacing all at once.
His big palm caressed her lower back. “Breathe. That’s my girl.”
She closed her eyes, inhaling through her nose, exhaling through her mouth, over and over, her strict husband cooing to her as he stroked her skin. Concentrating on her breathing always helped with the pain — and it distracted her from the strength of her arousal too.
“You did so well. I’m very proud of you, girl.” He pressed the softest of kisses to the upper curve of each of her buttocks, his stubble tickling her welted skin. His hand eased between her cheeks, the pad of his thumb gently touching her anus as his fingers played with labia sticky with her hot arousal. “Mmmm, I see some things haven’t changed. My horny little Lacey.”
“Please what, my girl?” He pulled her up, forcing her to her feet to stand before him again, her knees trembling against his spread thighs.
She couldn’t help but look at the large bulge of his genitals, her mouth beginning to water. He’d taken to making her service him with her mouth quite often during her pregnancy, and it made her face flame to think of how she’d come to crave taking his penis between her lips, looking up at him as he pushed for the depths of her throat.
Just because you love sucking his cock doesn’t make you a whore, Lacey. Not quite anyway.
Though part of her might doubt it, might be horrified at the way she seemed to constantly think about sex when it came to her husband, she’d learned to ignore it. There was a freedom in her submission, a letting go of inhibitions, of fears, of doubts.
All that was left was obedience, and lust — and obsession.
With Troy, no matter what he made her do, she always dived in, no matter how much it might make her cheeks burn bright. In more ways than one.
He seemed to take particular delight in pushing her boundaries — even when she found it embarrassing.
Especially if she found it embarrassing.
She could see him considering it, his eyes burning with desire. Then he met her gaze, dropping the paddle on the bed next to him. “On your knees.”
Dropping to the carpet, her bottom on her heels, she laid her palms on either of his corded thighs, reveling in the raw power she felt there.
“Take my cock out, girl.”
She practically attacked his zipper, the size of his erection making it difficult to draw it down for a moment. Then, slipping his boxers down just enough, his shaft sprung free, high and hard, the veins congested and throbbing, the purplish head broad and heavy, glistening stickiness already collecting at the tip.
Dying to wrap her hand around it, to hear his soul-deep groan as she stroked it lovingly, she nonetheless waited, like a setter at its mark, listening for the command of its master to set upon its delicious prey.
His hooded, dark eyes watched her for a moment, his lips tight, nostrils flaring. He loved to make her wait. She knew it was a quiet, subtle reinforcement of his command, of her submission to his will, her surrender to his every desire.
“Do you want to suck it?”
“Yes, sir.” Her cheeks flamed, but she didn’t look away from his intent gaze. There was no point in lying. They both knew the truth.
“Should I make you swallow every drop, or maybe I’ll come all over those soft lips of yours? I like how you blush as you lick it off.”
Looking upon her for long moments, the tension was almost unbearable.
But he surprised her, taking her hands and drawing her up. He clasped those hands in his, his thumbs stroking her delicate fingers. “Take off your top, greedy girl.” He let her go.
Confused at his intent, she stripped off the tank, folding it neatly, trying to ignore the soft sway of her breasts as she did it. They were already beginning to feel tight.
She’d need to pump again soon.
“Get those fingers laced behind your neck,” he barked. “Present properly.”
Almost yelping at the harsh note of his voice, she was instantly in the prescribed position, blushing anew at the way the pose displayed her breasts.
You’re showing off a helluva lot more than your tits.
He touched the achingly sensitive nipples, his other hand languidly fisting the thick shaft of his cock as she stood before him in compliant silence.
“You hurting yet? Been a while since you’ve done it, right?”
“Yes, sir. A little tender.”
“Oh, good,” he drawled, twirling his finger. “Turn around, dear. Show me that nicely spanked ass of yours.”
Reluctantly, she obeyed, keeping her fingers laced at the back of her neck, knowing he’d expect her to remain in that position until told otherwise.
His palm coursed over her martyred flesh, and she hissed as he tested the swelling of a couple of her welts, the pain there burning brighter.
“Much better with a red, hurting bottom. Sweeter, more compliant after a punishment, aren’t you, dear?”
She had no idea if she really was, but she sure wasn’t going to argue with him at that moment, lest he decide her lesson hadn’t been fully learned yet.
“We’ll need to keep you this way more often, I think.”
Before she could reply though, his hands clasped her hips. “Get that cunt open.”
Plunging a hand between her thighs, she splayed her soaked labia wide, biting her lip at the way her inner thighs were coated with her fluids.
Drawing her down, his voice was a harsh growl. “Guide it inside, then sit down on my cock. I want every fucking inch inside that wet cunt of yours.”
She reached back for his bobbing erection, Troy not doing anything to help her. This was part of her submission, the acknowledgment that he would use her body in any way he liked. Her job was but to obey, to do as she was told as quickly as possible.
And just the thought made her pussy even wetter.
Grasping the veined, hot shaft, she pushed the big head of his penis between her labia. Her long, trembling sigh the only sound in the room as she sank down fully upon him, her soft thighs pressed to the hard muscles of his legs, his wiry pubic hair grinding against her flesh.
“Arms behind your back, holding your elbows. You break position and I’ll take a cane to this red ass of yours.”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, though there was no need to answer the rumble of his voice. Strict obedience was all he required.
His hand clamped to her shoulder, squeezing it harshly as he held her hip with the other.
“Do you want to come, girl?”
The question never failed to make her blush, even now.
“Yes, sir. I want to come… very badly.”
“Do you think you deserve to come tonight?” He began to thrust ever so slowly, and she took the inside of her lip between her teeth, the tight fit of his big penis moving inside her feeling so good it threatened to drive her mad.
“N-no, sir.” The plaintive sound of her voice only drove her embarrassment higher.
“And why is that?”
“Because… I’m being punished, sir.”
It was something they played with more and more, denying her a climax anytime she found herself subject to his discipline. Where once she could reliably count on coming — more than once — whenever Troy got after her, things had… evolved.
Another layer of control, it was an effective way of tightening his hold over her. Now, most of the time she’d ended her maintenance nights with her burning bottom pressed to her cool, bare heels, his heavy shaft plumbing the depths of her throat. Rather than a screaming orgasm, her appointments with pain often ended with a flood of sperm bursting upon her tongue — or sprayed across her face and breasts.
Though he did sometimes take mercy on her after a punishment, it was never something she could be sure of, her only recourse being especially obedient, especially shameless as she swallowed his cock as he stood over her.
“That’s right, you are being punished, aren’t you?” He slapped her hip. “Now, be a good girl and hold still while I fuck this cunt.”
For the next ten minutes, the quiet room was filled with the slap of flesh on flesh, interspersed with her harsh panting, the wet sounds of her sex being plundered by her avaricious husband, and his growls for her to squeeze his cock tighter.
Her breasts painfully bounced and wobbled as he fucked her — no doubt something he intended.
“I’m close. Squeeze… more! Squeeze that cock.”
She beared down upon it, whimpering at the way the hard head battered the entrance to her womb each time she was thrust back down upon his shaft.
“There you go. Good girl!” He groaned, his grip upon her tightening, as he thrust into her brutally, shaking her body with each impact of her bottom against his hips. “I’m… going to… come!”
He grunted as he held her down against him, his cock impossibly deep, his hips jerking against her, the hot bloom of semen filling her.
Her clit throbbed, lonely, bereft as she felt his last spurts of seed, the aftershocks of his orgasm coursing through his strong body below her. She knew she was expected to sit still as he recovered, his breathing heavy and fast behind her.
“Jesus,” he murmured. “I… it’s been too long since I’ve done that. You were good — mostly.”
She smiled at that, her misgivings at not being able to come washed away by his playfulness. It was something else she was very glad to see again.
Finally, he pulled her back against him, his softening penis slipping from the clutch of her sex, leaving a trail of wetness along her thigh as he drew her close.
She turned to him, snuggling against his chest, loving being in his arms once more, loving even more being the focus of his lust. Most of all, she anticipated what was to come, relieved to once again be the subject of his attentions, his desires — both painful and pleasurable.
“I’m so glad you’re back, sir… but I still want to come.”
He laughed, stroking her hair as he kissed the top of her head. His voice was a rumble in his chest below her ear. “There may come a day when you regret those words, Lacey girl.”