by Lee Savino
Johnathan pushed his hips forward, feeling her almost gag over him as she took his full length. Over the years, he’d trained her gag reflex also, at her insistence and eagerness to throat him fully.
Reaching over her, he rewarded her by playing with her clitoris, feeling the fleshy button rise against the pad of his thumb.
She breathed through her nose, humming as he sawed in an out. The vibrations along his dick almost brought him to his knees.
“Oh, Esther, you are perfect.” He couldn’t hold back any longer. “Come for me.” He plucked at her nipples, and swatted her breasts lightly again, watching them dance and grow pink under his torment.
He slapped one of them a bit harder and she stiffened, a flush growing over her chest as her orgasm took her.
He drew out and fisted his cock as he watched her come.
When it was over, she breathed his name, and looked up at him with dazed happiness he loved so much. Her body stretched out before him, blonde hair wild, face a mess of spit. She was so beautiful.
As she caught her breath, her eyes fastened onto his cock and her mouth opened.
“No, darling,” Johnathan said. “Lie on your back on the bed.”
With a little grimace, she got into position, and he climbed over her, settling his hips into the cradle of hers. She grimaced as his weight forced her bottom onto the bed.
“Sore?” he asked.
She nodded.
“You deserve it.”
“Yes, sir.” She sounded almost eager.
Grinning, he pinched her bottom. Her mouth parted in a little smile.
“I bet I can make you climax just by tormenting these.” He swatted her breasts lightly, watching closely as she stiffened and moaned. “We’ll have to experiment one afternoon, hmm? All in the name of scientific inquiry.”
Her body writhed in response to his words and torture.
“I could spend a life time studying you.”
“Johnathan, please.” She pushed her hips up in invitation.
He thrust inside, not bothering to be gentle. Esther gripped his back, encouraging him, her muscles inside milking his cock with delicious movement. With a hoarse cry, Johnathan let go, and pounded them both into a beautiful climax.
After taking a candle to light his way, Lyle headed for his own room. From the look of the other husband’s faces, the women were going to get a hearty punishment tonight.
His own wife was lying on her side on the bed, a candle of her own on the bedside table. The light washed over her red hair, pale limbs, and haughty expression.
The sight was enough to get him hard all over again.
He let a grin curve his lips and set the candle down on an upturned barrel on the opposite side of the bed.
Rose sat up, her eyes following him. When he raised a brow at her, she raised her chin.
“We meant well,” she said.
Keeping the smirk on his face, he strode back around the bed, hands in pockets.
“I know you did. It seems you had some fun.” From his height, he looked down at her, and wondered if he intimidated her. She never seemed to let it show.
She lifted her head, somehow managing to look down her nose at him, even from her seat on the bed. “I’m not sorry.”
He chucked her under the chin. “My dear Rose, I know you’re not. It’ll be my pleasure to make you so.”
Her nostrils flared, and she started to her feet, rushing at him or the door—he never found out. Before she reached him, he stepped aside, then grabbed her arm and pulled her to a nearby chair, using the momentum to put her over his lap. Face down, Rose fought with flailing arms and legs, but he threw a leg over hers, trapping her. Her body tipped over his knees and she yelped, hands on the floor to steady herself.
“Little spitfire.” He pulled up her chemise for the second time that night, baring her delicious bottom. His wife was slim and small breasted, but with an ample rear. Fashionable society called this a perfect figure, and Lyle had to agree.
His cock twitched, looking down at her struggling form. Rose rarely submitted right away, and it made her punishments so much more delightful.
He couldn’t resist adding, “Fight me and it’ll go worse for you.”
Her hands struck out like claws and he caught them both, holding her wrists with one hand while he pulled out a leather thong from his pocket and secured her. Once tied, she flexed her fingers, but he held her still with one hand, while the other caressed her bottom.
His hand smacked down hard, with no warm up. It left a red print on the pale skin.
Rose yipped and tried to kick her legs, but they were pinned under his thigh.
“Quiet, lovely,” he warned. “Others are sleeping.” His hand unleashed a flurry of spanks to her pale flesh, watching it dance and quiver and grow pink.
Rose responded with little squeaks of pain and indignation.
“Do I need to gag you?”
Without waiting for an answer, he stuffed his handkerchief in her mouth. She glowered at him, but he knew from experience she appreciated the help. She hated making a fuss, and a gag would make it easier for her to hold in the sound.
He paused. “Are you going to be a good girl and take your punishment?”
In response, she thrashed, trying to free her hands and feet. He reaffirmed his hold, then slapped her bottom even harder, watching the cheeks turn a beautiful red.
She moaned into the gag, the sound betraying more anger than pain.
Lyle paused again to dip his fingers into her cunny. “My, my, so wet from your punishment,” he said. His wet fingers explored, and then started to dip between her burning cheeks.
She started squealing through the gag.
He chuckled. “All right, then. We’ll stick to discipline. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you why you’re being punished, but you seem to have no shame over what you’ve done.” He kept spanking her, peppering her flesh from right to left, up and down and back again.
“Your plot manipulated two people, who must now bear the consequences of your actions. As pranks go, this was cruel, Rose.” As he spoke, he felt the fight drain out of her. He hated speaking so harshly, but he had to make his point. The whole community would be affected by the women’s nasty trick. “I know you don’t like Mr. Martin, but he doesn’t deserve your contempt. And Mrs. Lovett is innocent in all of this. Imagine someone doing the same to you, or to one of your friends.”
He let go of her wrists but continued to whale on her bottom, watching for the telltale sign of her submission. Finally, her head dropped a little, her body sagging over his knees.
It wasn’t full contrition, but it was a start.
He stopped, admiring the glowing state of her bottom. Running a light finger down her backside was enough to make her wince, but she still showed no tears. It always took a lot to make his Rose cry.
Raising her by her shoulders, he had her stand in front of him, arms still bound behind her, mouth still gagged.
“Miles got us an early Christmas present. He gave it to me just a few minutes ago.”
Watching her face, he reached down and brought out a flat piece of wood carved into a long rectangle with a handle.
Her eyes widened.
“Are you going to be good?”
Her head bobbed so hard strands of hair fell in her face. Smoothing back her hair, he took out the handkerchief so she could talk.
“Yes, please, Lyle, I’ll be good.”
He untied her hands and said, “All right. Take off your chemise and hold onto the back of the chair.”
She gave him a stricken look, and her lip trembled as her shield started to crack.
“Submit to me, Rose.” He stroked her hair. “I know you can do it.”
With a nod, she lifted off her chemise and obeyed his command.
He had to adjust himself as he approached her lovely form, positioned in readiness for her paddling. Her skin was flawless and pale, but for two red hot coals right on her sit spots.
“Arch your back, stick out your bottom for me.” He swept a hand over her, pressing lightly on her waist to guide her.
When she was in position, he swung the paddle in the air for practice, feeling the weight and heft.
When he tapped her bottom, she whimpered, but Lyle could see her nipples harden.
His first swing landed harder than he expected, and her knees buckled a little. Her groan escaped through gritted teeth.
“Do you want me to gag you, sweetheart?”
She shook her head.
“Two more. That’s all. You’re being so good.”
He waited until she settled herself back in position. The paddle cracked against her backside, once, then twice more. Rose slumped forward, tears running down her face. Dropping the paddle, Lyle pulled his wife up into his arms, holding her tight and whispering how good she was, how strong, how beautiful she looked when she obeyed him.
And she did look so beautiful to him, even crying in his arms.
When she’d quieted, he gave her a kiss. “Feel better?”
She nodded.
“Good.” He couldn’t help lowering his mouth to hers again and taking possession of it. He ravaged her lips until she clung to him, soft sounds escaping from her that went straight to his dick.
He broke the kiss and she tipped her head back, a dreamy expression on her face.
“Lyle,” she breathed.
“On the bed. On your knees,” he growled. She flew into position, and he stripped out of his clothes, then took her by the nape of her neck and forced her down into the bed, so her cheek lay on the coverlet. Her legs rocked apart further, opening for him.
Checking between her legs, he found her sopping wet and entered her in one hard thrust, his body slapping against her bottom. They both groaned, him in pleasure, her in pain as her freshly paddled buttocks pressed against his groin.
He started to rock in and out of her, his legs slapping against her fiery cheeks until her whimpers turned to cries of lust.
“Touch yourself, Rose. Good girl.”
She was panting, upper torso molded to the bed, arching her back as she kept one hand between her legs. Lyle couldn’t help slapping her bottom again, and it seemed to tip her over the edge. As Rose’s climax started, her insides squeezed him so tight, he lost it. His fingers gripped her hips so hard he was sure he left marks.
He sagged over her limp form, completely spent.
“My god, Rose,” he said. “You are lovely.”
He planted kisses down her back, then knelt and touched his lips to one red butt cheek, then the other, feeling her shiver.
Drawing her up, he led her to the side of the bed, then lay on his back and pulled her like a blanket over him, the silky strands of her red hair tickling his body.
“Love you,” she murmured.
“Love you too.” He bent his head and kissed her, before stretching to blow out the candles.
When Miles entered his bedroom, Carrie looked up from rocking Mary to sleep and turned pale under her freckles. Miles turned to shut the door, trying to arrange his features into an expression less grim. His mother had always chided him for his serious looks, saying no woman would marry him—they’d be too frightened.
Now he had a wife, sweeter and more loving than he’d ever dreamed, and everything in him worked hard to treat her with care.
He sat near her on the bed, pulling off his boots. “You warm enough in here?”
“Yes, Miles,” she said softly, and he shot her a small smile, which she returned.
She looked less frightened, but still worried. “Is everyone okay?”
Standing to strip off his shirt, he considered his answer. “Mr. Martin is still recovering. Mrs. Lovett isn’t the sort to be faint hearted.”
He moved in front of her, looking down at her sweet face, and touched the thick fall of chestnut hair, stroking back an unruly curl that always seemed to fall over her face.
His wife bit her lip. “I’m so sorry.”
Nodding, he reached for his daughter. Carrie handed the baby up, and Miles felt his face soften as he looked down at sleeping Mary. He kissed her downy head, and lay her in the blanket lined basket Esther had found for a bassinet.
Then he turned back to his wife, who now sat with her head bowed, hands worrying the fringe of her nursing shawl.
He sat beside her again and, taking her shoulders, turned her to face him. “Carrie, look at me.”
She did, and his heart melted. Her eyes were awash with unshed tears. “We didn’t want to cause so much trouble.”
“I know, sweetheart. Why didn’t you tell me of this?”
Her throat worked a while before she whispered, “They’re my friends.”
“I know they’re your friends, but your first loyalty is to me. And scheming to trick two good people—that’s not like you.”
Her face fell, and she let out a sobbing breath. Miles could no longer stand being so far from her. Guiding her into his lap, he tucked her face into his neck, securing his other arm around her small, curvy body as she cried it out.
His Carrie, so tenderhearted.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “What’s done is done. Everyone is safe and warm tonight; it’ll all work out.”
“What will happen to them?” she sniffled.
“Not to worry, sweetheart. In the morning, we’ll talk it out and see what needs to be done. If Mrs. Lovett wants to stay here, she can. We’ll all pitch in to help her.”
She nodded, still looking miserable.
Lifting her easily, he set her on the bed. “Rest now, sweet Carrie.”
She blinked. “You’re not going to punish me?”
He couldn’t help chuckling at her tone, half relieved, half disappointed.
“Not right now.” Bending down, he smoothed her thick hair away from her forehead and kissed it. Turning off the light, he climbed into bed and settled on his side, chin atop her head, arms around her.
Nights were his favorite time with his wife. During her pregnancy, he watched in wonder as her body changed. Her curves, always stunning, had grown even more lush, until she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Often he had her undress and lie in bed so he could admire her. As her belly grew, he rubbed balm into her skin every night, massaging her muscles until her body glowed in the candlelight. Most rub downs ended with him exploring her secret places, kissing, sucking, lapping, and drinking the dew from her sweet pussy until her hands fisted in his hair and her cries rang in his ears.
He felt himself harden at the happy memory, and shifted a little, delighting in the feel of her soft bottom against his length.
“Sleep now, Carrie.” He nuzzled her ear, hearing her sigh. “We’ll settle things in the morning.”
Tomorrow, early, he planned to find someone to watch the baby, so he could have his wife all to himself for a while. With that thought, and a silly grin on his face, Miles fell asleep.
“Carrie,” Miles whispered, stroking back her hair.
“Mmmm.” She moved, stretching, but didn’t open her eyes.
Threading his hand into her chestnut curls, Miles drew her head back gently and kissed her.
For Miles, morning had come too slowly. He’d spent the night rock hard, listening to his wife’s gentle breathing, and inhaling her sweet scent. Carrie had woken once to feed the baby, and then come back to bed. Miles often cared for Mary early in the morning so her mama could sleep. Today, he’d ventured out and found Esther in the kitchen, all too willing to keep an eye on Mary in the bassinet.
It had been a long time since he’d been this excited on a Christmas morning.
He strode back into the bedroom where Carrie slept. She looked so beautiful he almost couldn’t bear to wake her, but he had plans for them that morning and there wasn’t much time.
He felt his wife wake under the kiss, but didn’t release her lips. “Time to wake up,” he murmured against them. He’d shed his clothes, and now was working her shift off a
nd over her head. As soon as it whipped off her head, he saw her eyes were now wide on his.
“What about Mary—”
“With Esther,” he said, and rolled on top of his wife, feeding on her lips. A few more minutes and her body came alive, pressing up into him.
His fingers slipped between her legs to check—she was wet and ready for him.
“Spread for me,” he ordered, and she parted her legs, catching her breath as he slid down her body. When he got between her legs, he drew her knees even further apart, rewarding her with a hot gust of breath right on her lower lips. Then he lightly licked up and down, listening for the little whimpers of pleasure that Carrie tried to hold in. She was so innocent, often acting younger than her twenty-five years, but he knew how to unleash the wildness dormant inside. Taking his time, he nibbled her inner thighs. The air filled with the scent of her arousal as his tongue teased the inside of her thighs, flicking closer and closer to her center. Then he added his fingers, grinning as he felt her body clench around his digits. Her little cries were increasing when he withdrew them.
“No, no,” he said, wiping wet from his lips as he rose up to his knees. “This isn’t for you. This is punishment.”
Her head sank back onto the bed and she groaned.
“Up,” he ordered. “Hands and knees.”
She got into position quickly, breathing hard already as she guessed what was coming. During her pregnancy, he’d been careful, choosing to discipline her with a lecture followed by time outs in the corner, but now it was time.
He ran his hand down her back, feeling her shiver. “I know it’s been a while, sweetness. But you deserve this.”
“Yes, Miles,” she said, hair hanging over her face, so he lifted it and turned her chin to him. “I’ll be gentle.” He kissed her. “You’ve worked up quite a tally, but we’ll deal with that another day.” He almost grinned at the thought, but kept serious.
“I understand, sir.”
“There’s my good girl.”
He knelt beside her, rubbing her bottom, squeezing and then swatting her lightly to prepare her skin. Her breath caught as he finished the warm up and spanked her harder, smacking down one cheek and then the other. Her skin turned from pale to pink to a darkening blush, a beautiful sight Miles never grew tired of.
