“I’d love to!” he assured. “If I had a wife who would not take stupid risks, that’s exactly what I would do with her right now. Maybe one day you’ll be that wife,” he added. “But so far you’ve decided to be a naughty, disobedient, mischievous, and practically suicidal wife. So instead of snuggling, I get to perform a punishment night. I want you up there in no more than ten minutes,” he informed her, pointing to the second story of the garage. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”
It didn’t even take her five minutes to find suitable switches and to start slowly stripping the bark off of them. She sat in the locked, closed car garage for the rest of her time remaining, not wanting to go up to her room too soon, where he was surely getting his torturous new toys out of their packaging and getting her enema ready.
She shuddered at remembering her last enema; it had actually been a long time since she'd received one. Graham used bottom punishment sparsely in truth, and she probably only received four or five such punishments since they'd been married. Thus, it had nearly been five months now since her last enema or her last plugging. Though… the last time was the first he’d actually rode her afterwards. She finally graduated to a size that was bigger than his girth, which would stretch her bottom wide enough to allow him entrance.
Afterwards she didn’t know what to think of it. It was strange to be punished while being so close to him and giving him pleasure. Somehow, the act had embarrassed her, and he'd known that it would. Having anal sex seemed so animalistic to her. His girth was uncomfortable, but the fact that he didn’t care whether she got pleasure or not was shaming.
She was always in the mood for him, even when she pretended she wasn’t. He was the most handsome, strongest and most confident man she’d ever met, and she felt like she was so much more powerful since she’d been with him; more able, more confident in herself. That was probably because he was so strong and important, and she was the most important thing in his life; she could see it in his eyes in the way he looked at her.
When she was mounted from behind, however, she didn’t get to see that look. She was normally blind-folded for the bottom plugging ritual, since Graham rightly felt that the blindefold would add to her helplessness about the matter.
Nope—she definitely wasn’t looking forward to any part of this. She dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment slowly before walking in through the door. He was busy arranging pillows on her bed. It looked like he did some light cleaning; it no longer looked like she was trying to decorate her studio apartment with dirty clothing. She guessed he didn’t like the look of dirty socks on the lampshade as much as she did.
“Lots of cleaning for ten minutes,” she commented, trying to lighten the mood slightly.
“I discovered a hamper in the corner of the room,” he enlightened. “Did you know about it?”
“Oh,” she smiled weakly. “So that’s what that was. Thought it was just a fancy basket my mother put in here.”
He put out his large hand expectantly and she put her switches into it. He eyed them closely, but in the end he seemed to approve of them. He put them next to the pillow before he took the pocketknife from her hands and put it back into his coat pocket, then took off his coat and laid it over the back of a chair. He rolled up his sleeves…
It felt like he was moving slowly on purpose. Startled butterflies seemed to hive around her stomach when he finally looked at her. His eyes seemed to burn through her. She stepped back from him when he approached, but when he reached her, he put his hands on her face and kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her chin, then her mouth. She was surprised by this.
“My goddess,” he told her, his voice deep and velvety. She loved the sound of his voice. “Before all this, I thought the only thing tying us together was the Union. That if you died, I would only be depressed because of the breaking of that Union—the physical nature of what was binding us together would break apart. I would eventually go through serious withdrawals, but that it would heal in time…”
He knelt down on his knee and put his large hands around her waist. On his knee, he was still an inch taller than her, but he wanted to look into her eyes better. “But when they were telling me the chances of your survival—which were low— all I could think of was how I had lost my closest companion. You’ve become more than a wife to me, Eleanor. You’re my soul mate. I’d marry you in the human sense; even if we never had the Union between us.”
She bit her lip, unknowing what to say in response. It was the sweetest thing he’d ever say to her, she knew. It was the sweetest thing a Swarii male would ever say to his wife; that he would have chosen to be with her even without the binding power of the Union.
The Union itself was enough for the Swarii on the whole. They didn’t care about the personalities of their wives; they would love them despite who their partner was, what they looked like, or how they acted. When a Swarii wife was near her husband, their hormones were designed to think that their mate was simply the best creature in existence. They would like the way each other would smell, look, and sound, and their partner's happiness would be physically tied to their own. What they weren’t required to like was their personalities, their interests. Most Swarii were awed by Peyton and Mary’s relationship—the fact that they chose to stay together not so much because of a physical love, but because of an actual deep affection for each other.
Instead of saying anything, she propelled herself onto Graham and slung her arms around him. “I love you!” she cried. “I loved you the second I saw you. I love you even when I’m being rotten, and when you’re being grumpy and bossy and overprotective.”
He chuckled slightly. “You’re never rotten,” he assured. “You just get out of control sometimes, and I’ve let you do it. You’ve begged for my attention and for my encouragement, and I was too wrapped up in myself and my duties to my career to give it to you.” He kissed her neck. “That will never happen again,” he vowed. “My first duty is to my wife, always.”
He gently pulled her apart from him and effortlessly pulled her dress off over her head. “Starting now,” he informed.
“Can’t we just start fresh?” she begged, the room feeling extremely cold on her naked skin.
“We will start fresh after your punishment,” he promised, unhooking her bra.
“I was hoping we could start before…” she clarified, covering her naked breasts.
He pulled down her panties to the floor. “I know. Step out,” he instructed patiently.
She stifled a sigh and steadied herself by holding onto his shoulder as she stepped out of her panties and her shoes. She felt awkward standing naked in front of him—it definitely felt different if she was naked for him before sex. Before making love, Graham looked at her differently: with a lecherous, wolf-like gaze. Right before spanking her, his face seemed filled with business-like determination. Something about his expression lectured, “I would also rather be having sex with you. Instead, I have to spank you to tears.”
He picked up the leather wrist restraints from the bed and began to lock them onto her wrists. He was careful to make them tight, but not so tight that it hurt her circulation. In seconds, she felt like a convict. “I don’t like these,” she whined.
He didn’t seem to listen to her whine, he merely led her over to the bed and pulled her over his lap until her nose was nearly touching the ground and her bottom rested underneath his palm. He didn't say anything further before he smacked his wide hand across her flesh, and dread soaked into her. She'd forgotten how much a single spank stung!
He called this a ‘warm up’. Ellie called it a ‘pre-spanking spanking’, because that’s what it was: a spanking normally good enough to make her forget all about the punishment’s 'main course.'
This was no different than her past experiences. It only took a few moments of his large hand rhythmically spanking her bottom before she began to beg. He didn’t listen, and she didn’t really expect him to, but she begged anyway. The wrist
restraints were soon tested, because as soon as she tried to shield her bottom, she found herself nearly falling off his lap. He held her steady and continued.
She was already screaming, inhaling breath and exhaling it in sharp, sobbing pitches. That was the only thing she could control: how loud she could get as Graham peppered her bottom thoroughly. Before he even started to switch her, she felt the tender, thin-skinned heat rising out of the affronted area like a sunburn.
By the time he let her go—after the ‘warm-up’—she was in tears and spent her two seconds of freedom to cling closer to his body, attempting to get off of his lap while still trying to pull his chest close to her own so she could cry into his ear. “Come on, Princess,” he cooed to her, his tone disappointed. He pulled her off of him and stretched her body over the pillows he had set up. Her bottom rose high up in the air like a dark-pink target.
“No, no, no!” she cried. “Please, please! Let’s be done!” The spanking was already worse than the vast majority of the ones she had received before.
“It’ll be over,” he promised, separating one of the switches from the small bundle of three.
She cried in response. SWISHSWACK!
For a second she swore she went cross-eyed. The pain was so sharp it made every muscle in her body seize up for a moment before the new welt began to tingle and itch. Before she could even appreciate the pain, another landed. Then another and another. She had been switched by Graham before on Swaraan… But it wasn’t this bad. She knew that Graham would never break skin on purpose, that he would try his best not to, but she was afraid that she was at her limit.
There was no fighting it. Her hands were still cuffed, and one of his mighty hands pinned her body to the bed. There was nothing to do but suffer through it except to plead. By the end, she was panting, sweating, and her throat was extremely sore. Her voice was extremely hoarse from crying.
And it wasn’t even over! She felt him run his finger gently over her most tender welts before he sighed and helped her off of the pillows. He couldn’t say that she had been brave. She had been two shakes away from trying to chew her way out of her situation, but she had certainly been disciplined. “Alright, let’s go into the bathroom,” he directed.
She let herself feel the few moments of relief, though knew she wasn’t allowed to nurse herself. Nor would she want to. Her whole bottom was too tender to scratch, yet it itched and tingled like crazy. He leaned her over the tub, which wasn’t anywhere nearly as comfortable as the higher-edged tubs at home—at home it was nearly impossible to touch the ground with her toes… Now her knees were being lifted completely off the ground and half of her body crammed into the tub. It wasn’t the most comfortable she’d ever been.
He had already prepared the enema, which meant that within mere seconds she felt the nozzle pressing up against her rectum. She grunted in disapproval of this whole situation, and when he pushed it into her tight anus, she shed fresh tears.
Enemas, she decided, were the worst things ever. They weren’t painful like a spanking, but they were certainly uncomfortable, and more embarrassing than anything else she could imagine. She tried not to think of what Graham was seeing—which was a bag of the fluid pushing into her bowels. That was too much.
He slowly pulled out the nozzle and let her belly cramp for a slow-moving few minutes before he stood her up and let her relieve herself, the worst part of it all, simply because it was so mortifying. Unfortunately, Graham felt the embarrassment was the most useful part. It was the only time Ellie actually felt truly humiliated, truly low, truly sorry. For a few moments, he actually believed her when she promised she would never do it again, if just to avoid it. Still the ritual was repeated, much to Ellie’s horror.
“What are you going to be from now on?” he asked patiently as he cleaned up any lingering soapy fluid from around her anus.
“Obedient,” she said through gritted teeth, knowing more unpleasantries would soon follow.
“And what are you going to do?”
“Obey.”
“More specifically?” he asked her, walking her gently over to the bed where he laid her back down on the pillows.
Die before being caught red-handed? “Follow orders,” she tried. “Get proper authorization… Show up for duty. Not steal ships. Not go anywhere without telling you where I’m going… Not to fly ships without a pilot’s license. To obey my superior officers…”
“And not scare the ever-living hell out of me?”
“I promise I didn’t mean to scare you,” she assured pleadingly. “I just wasn’t thinking things all the way through…”
“And now will you?” he charged, arranging the pillows so her bottom rose even higher in the air. He reached around and blind-folded her with a paisley bandana she had lying around her room.
“Please, Graham… I’ll do anything. Please—I’m so, so sorry. So sorry…” She felt the cold feeling of lube being spread against her anus. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, SORRY!” she begged more rhythmically, knowing that the first plug was soon at hand. She was right. The cone-shaped first plug firmly pressed against her anus. “Sorryyyyy!” she squealed as it pushed into her.
It burned and seared as her bottom stretched to the plug’s size. The pain subsided, seemed to go away, and then seared again as her bottom clenched firmly around it. Graham’s large hand soothed the small of her back and made shushing noises. As soon as she calmed, however, he took the plug out, re-lubed her entrance, and replace it with something larger.
“You’re torturing me!” she sobbed, writhing. “I’m dying! I’m dying!” She buried her red face into the bed mattress. Her voice was quiet now, cracking. She didn’t have much voice left, which was why she only cried breathily as he replaced her plug two more times.
While she adjusted to the last plug’s girth, she heard Graham removing his clothes. His member was actually smaller than the plug he had just stretched her with, but her anus was throbbing and burning with pain even when he removed the giant plug and pushed his entire length into her. His cock felt different than the plugs. He felt warmer, softer somehow. But then he started thrusting himself in and out of her quickly; his naked chest pressing against her back. His chin pressed against the top of her head, and she could hear him panting.
She tried to stop from crying and did her best to moan. He wasn’t interested, she knew, in her enjoyment. She was the punished one, and he was getting his relief. However, she knew from the first time they had done this that he loved hearing her moan and squeak with pleasure, and it would make him finish sooner. So, she tried… But all she felt was shame. Bad girl sex always did just that—made her feel like a bad girl.
She whined instead of moaned. Her breaths were shallow and raspy, making an uncomfortable squeak every time he pulled out and rammed his member back deeply into her warm, punished bottom.
Eventually he released with a guttural moan in his throat, and she felt his face press against her shoulder. She could actually feel his manhood contract and pulse, filling her bowels with his hot, milky seed. He reached around to her front and petted her stomach soothingly, and then patted her bottom as he pulled himself out of her.
He rolled onto the bed next to her. The end of his legs fell off of the edge, but he caught his breath and then pulled her body close to his, letting her face rest against his loudly beating heart as he stroked his fingers through her hair, calming her sobs. He pulled her blindfold up from her eyes and she looked up at him pathetically, looking acquiescent.
He looked down at her with his handsome, milky-brown eyes, into her pale turquois orbs that were as shiny as glass from her tears.
She was absolutely beautiful, he decided, and she had such a beautiful cry. Even her bottom, when extremely red and covered with switch welts, looked just as sexy and as bubbly as ever as she squirmed it uncomfortably against the pillow after rolling more onto her back. “Behave,” he demanded anyway. “So we don’t have to do that again.” Although, there were a couple of times in
the past where he’d hoped she would disobey him. Not over something life-threatening, but he did love how positively naughty she could be. She was a challenge for him, which he enjoyed, but he also enjoyed the process of punishing her, more than he would admit even to himself.
“Okay,” she agreed, sniffling. She looked down at her wrists. “Unlock me?”
He grinned predatorily. “Why would I have you take those off so soon?” he asked, grabbing hold of her wrists and pulling them far over her head as he rolled her flat onto her back and rolled his body on top of hers.
She found herself smiling back at his arousal. “Why wouldn’t you?” she asked. “Aren’t you spent?”
“Spent? I hadn’t had sex with my wife in more than two months,” he reminded. “And I’d forgotten that I have the sexiest wife in the universe. A fact I have been most enjoying the re-discovery of.” He looked down at her thoughtfully. “I should have you every morning—whether we’re in the mood or not. I should make it part of my new giving-you-attention regimen. Maybe if I ride you every day you’ll be less likely to act out.”
“I don’t think it’s going to be that easy,” she simpered. “Just always give me what I want and I won’t act out.” A wide, teasing smile appeared on her face.
He growled. “Spoiled, still? I could go back to work on you, little girl,” he told her playfully, cupping one of her bottom cheeks playfully in his hand.
She found herself giggling dispite the tears that were still drying on her face. She could tell, by the firm but tongue-in-cheek way he looked at her, that she was forgiven. Of course, she was always forgiven… But she had paid her dues… At least most of her dues, with a bottom seething in pain from the inside and out.
Learning to Blush: Swarii Brides, Book Two Page 7
