by Roz Lee
Spanking? She wants to be spanked? I’ve fantasized about doing that to my wife practically since the day I met her. I know a few details about what happened to her before, and it nearly tore her apart. That bastard ex of hers kept her tied up alone in the hotel room for so long that she ended up in the hospital. She has permanent nerve damage in her left wrist, and a slight limp too. One of her ankles never quite recovered.
I purposely stayed away from the cuffs and any kind of restraints in my little shopping spree. She’s so scared of what might happen that she’s all buttoned up these days. I get it. I do. I won’t ever put her through anything like that again. But I have needs. Needs that are becoming far more urgent, and if I can’t indulge soon I don’t know what’s going to happen.
I love Grace. She and the kids are my everything, and yet there’s a part of me deep down that’s being eaten up by this blackness that needs to get out. I’m not a sadist, as such, but I need to be in control. I need to take charge and dominate, for fuck’s sake. And I want to push my submissive wife’s boundaries until she has no choice except to completely submit to my whim.
Maybe she’s finally ready. The counseling helps, I think, because a lot of what Grace went through before we got together has finally come to light. Things even I didn’t know. Jeez, I’d like to fucking kill that prick. He nearly destroyed this beautiful woman, and all because she screamed too loud and embarrassed him. So he left her there, and never went back.
He has no fucking idea what it’s really like to top someone. Yes, you dominate, but you also care. You don’t abuse. It’s not rocket science.
After the night Grace booked this place, I couldn’t stop thinking about making my fantasy a reality. I love her rounded butt. It’s a lot plumper these days than it was when we were first going out, and that makes it even more to my taste. The thought of turning all that prized white flesh a delicate pink under my hand, or even better, with this paddle, has had me halfway hard ever since.
Yeah. This weekend couldn’t come fast enough.
When we stepped onto the wrap-around veranda and walked in to the cottage and I saw that fire already burning brightly in the grate, all I could think about was my wife bent over in front of it holding her ankles or calves in a classic position of submission. The firelight would turn her creamy skin a warm golden orange, and her bum would develop a bright pink tinge as I brand her with my mark.
And now here we are, and she looks even more amazing than I imagined, standing here beside the fire. Sexier than I’ve ever seen her, actually. Her curves are definitely golden and warm in the light, with flickering shadows adding depth and complexity to the view. Shades of darkness that didn’t exist in my imagination. Her brown, shoulder-length hair is usually scraped back in a messy ponytail, but tonight she’s wearing it down. It’s full of waves and appears extra-shiny in the firelight. Her hazel eyes have softened from their habitual sharp intelligence to a more accessible greenish brown, and she looks mysterious as well as sexy in that see-through red nightie.
Her breasts are full, though they do sit lower than they used to before the kids. Those cut-out bits in her top allow the curved flesh to thrust outward and show off the pointy pink tips. Her nipples and the area around them have always been enticingly large and tonight, even more than usual, they are crying out to be sucked. I have a couple of clamps in my toy bag that could perfectly adorn those nipples later on. First though, I intend to put this naughty little minx over my knee.
She wants it too. There’s something in her eyes, a wildness maybe, which I’ve only ever seen once or twice before. That night a few years ago when we both had too much to drink and our base desires started to crawl toward the surface… I loved that night. I use it to fuel my fantasies whenever I’m on my own. I know she sees it differently, though. Ever since then she’s even more buttoned up, cutting herself off from any kind of intimacy whatsoever. Shame? Maybe a little. Worry I’ll lose it like that fucking cocksucker ex-husband of hers? Yeah, no doubt. I won’t. Though if she hasn’t learnt to trust me by now, after all this time… Fuck, we need this. For her sake. And for ours.
Tonight my wife’s eyes promise wild and wicked, and my shaft jerks in recognition of what she’s really like, deep down inside. Yeah. That’s her. That’s the one I want. Let her out, Gracie.
“Well, Sir? What are you going to do about it?” When she throws out that challenge for the second time her voice is husky. Naughty girl. My dick aches so bad—especially when she adds in the honorific Sir in such a provocative tone—it’s almost impossible not to take it in hand and stroke. When I was young my erections were almost vertical, but these days they’re usually a bit more toward half-mast. Tonight, when I glance down, the hungry eye of my cock looks straight back up at me, glistening with a drop of pre-cum, and I can’t help the burst of pride that lifts my lips. The old man can still get it up. Right up, it seems.
Grace turns and sashays across the rug, her limp barely noticeable in the subdued light from the fire. She heads toward that comfortable-looking old couch, and I study her rounded ass, considering where I’m going to lay the first stroke. Left cheek? Or right? Either choice will be equally as good as the other. Her behind offers two perfect globes of flesh, their creamy expanse crying out for my disciplinary touch. I look down at the paddle in my hand, and instinct tells me to start this the old-fashioned way. With my hand. We can graduate to the paddle later.
I lay the implement on the side table next to the couch, then step around her to sit down and make myself as comfortable as I can. It’s hard to appear relaxed when so much adrenalin is pumping through my system that my hands are literally shaking. Grace looks nervous too, and it’s up to me to take the lead. I pat my thigh encouragingly. “What am I going to do about it? Naughty girls need a decent spanking to teach them how to behave. Come here, over my knee. You know this’ll be for your own good, and you know what? You’re just gonna have to suck it up and take it, baby.”
My voice is rough and when she glances down at me there’s a blush turning her cheeks a delicate pink. Her mouth purses momentarily into a perfect little “oh” and I imagine those sexy lips wrapped around me. Hot, moist, and tight. My dick jerks so hard it hurts.
Play the game.
“Over my knee. Now.” I inject authority into my tone and raise an eyebrow, trying for calm and wondering if she can detect my racing pulse. Is it visible at the base of my neck? I can feel it there, pounding as if I’ve just done a sprint.
I’ve been waiting for this moment so long that now it’s here I feel awkward. Like a novice once again, which I suppose I am really, after all this time. Novice or not, though, my cock is full and hard, and my fingers itch to tan her rear and assert my authority. I won’t do that, ever, until she agrees to play too. I point to my lap, determined to ensure my wife will do as she’s told.
∞∞∞
If it was anyone else who spoke to me that way I’d tell them to eff off, but this is Henry, and he looks hotter than I can ever remember. More macho and confident than usual. His background is what we always joke about as hybrid, being a mix of Australian, English, and Italian, and that heritage has given him a gorgeous olive complexion and smooth skin that looks as if he has a permanent date with a tanning salon. Sitting there on the couch, with one of his arms resting casually along the back and the other pointing commandingly to his lap, he’s tanned, fit, and seems far younger than his forty-two years. I swallow down my defensive words and give him a tentative smile instead.
He wants me over his knee? “Yes, Sir! But…”
There’s one thing I have to confirm first, and when one of his eyebrows begins to rise I add quickly, “Safe word, Sir. What should—”
“Red. You need to slow it down, say yellow. You need to stop? Use red.” His tone is decisive and clipped.
“Okay. Yellow, or red.”
I climb onto the couch and kneel beside him, hesitating for a moment. I’m tempted to lean down and take his erect shaft into my m
outh. I can see veins winding around that hard flesh, their distended form testament to the amount of blood that is holding the organ rigid. The tip, shaped like a neat little helmet, is shiny with pre-cum fluid. It’s been so long I can hardly recall what he tastes like, and I remember I used to love it. A caress on the curve of my butt distracts me from my memories of fellatio, and then a light slap reminds me that he really means business.
“Sorry, Sir.” I bend further across his lap, stifling a quick giggle. Tonight is probably the first time I’ve ever called him Sir. “Don’t get too used to this!” I mutter that last bit into the arm of the couch, where my face has ended up, but another slap, more firm this time and delivered across my rear, tells me he heard what I said.
“That’s disrespectful. I could get very used to this.”
The warm tingling in my pussy tells me I could, too. I know from past experience that spanking can stimulate the circulation in your genitals, enhancing the erotic pleasure, and from the increasingly heavy ache between my legs I can’t even imagine what it’ll be like when he really starts in on my butt.
Even though this position feels awkward at first, with his erection huge and hard and hot against my side, I’m hyper-aware of the throbbing in my clit as I rest my pussy against his muscled thigh. I wriggle a little, both an attempt to get more comfortable and because the compulsion to ease that ache by thrusting my hips becomes almost overwhelming. I press my closed mouth right into the arm of the couch in an attempt to hold in a groan.
My fidgeting has an added benefit. Henry’s cock shifts between us and I’m rewarded with a sharp intake of his breath from above, and then a slow release of air between his teeth. I can’t see his face from this position bent over his knee, but I know him so well I can imagine his blue eyes half-closed and desire pulling his generous lips taut. I love knowing how hard it is for him to hold on. I want him on the edge. It adds to my own pleasure.
I wriggle again, deliberately thrusting back and forth against him. The movement creates a strange contradiction of firm and soft as my mound smacks into the hard muscle of his leg and then releases. In between thrusts the light springy hair on his thigh tickles my clit with such delicacy that eventually I can’t hold in that recalcitrant groan. It forces its way up and out of my throat, and I clutch at the couch in reflexive action.
He grunts. “Stay still, babe. No more movement until I say you can.” The tone is imposing. It doesn’t sound like him, and because I have my back to him it’s almost as if I’m displaying my privates to a complete stranger. My wet and greedy pussy, opening up like a damp pink flower right there in front of his eyes.
A slow blush heats my face, rolling uncomfortably upward from my neck in a blanket of warmth, until his comforting and familiar masculine scent rises around me. The wave of shyness recedes and I lean more firmly into his shaft, sandwiching the hard flesh between our bodies and continuing to grind my mound against his leg.
Fingertips gently graze my skin as he lifts the negligee up and out of the way. Goose bumps form where he touches and I let out a satisfied sigh. It feels good. Familiar. I relax on his lap, closing my eyes and sinking in to the moment. The pop and crackle of the fire is a soothing background noise punctuated only by the sound of rain peppering the roof. Today has been a precursor to winter, with its cold winds and incessant rain. It’s a perfect night to nestle in front of an open fire and cocoon ourselves away from the real world outside. And then after, there’s a huge spa in the bathroom, and an electric blanket on the big four-poster bed with its light puffy duvet just waiting for us to slide beneath it to cuddle.
His breathing has grown so harsh I know my wriggling has increased the arousal for him as much as me, and my grin is wide as my face presses into the fabric.
The firm smack on my bottom comes out of nowhere and I lift my head, yelping at the sudden sting. “Ow! Henry!” It’s more surprise than pain, though. I wasn’t quite ready. Just as I begin to relax he does it again, and then again, each stroke becoming stronger as if he’s testing out how far he can go with his punishment.
Each time he does it my whole body jerks in reaction. I try to stay still, but it’s hard when there’s a burning pain being delivered across your rear and you can’t anticipate when the stroke will arrive. I grit my teeth, trying to pre-judge his actions, even though he’s not consistent with the blows. To make things more difficult, Henry’s other hand is sandwiched deep between my legs, exploring fingers caressing my inner thighs and brushing against my swollen labia lips with a tenderness that belies the spanking message.
Punishment. And pleasure. The twin sensations send conflicting signals to my brain. “You’re messing with my head, love.” I manage to gasp the words after one particularly hard smack, which he follows with a light dance of fingertips deep into my seam. I’m damp with sweat and desire, and it’s an easy glide for him up and down my slit.
“Good. I want you messed up, Grace. I want you so messed up you don’t care what we do to each other. I want you to forget convention, and I want you to remember…” One of his fingers reaches up into my vaginal channel, and another is toying with my anus. He’s never touched me in the latter spot before, and it feels so damn good.
“Remember what?” My voice is throaty and I can hardly get the words out.
“Remember who you really are.”
3
I Need More Than Spanking
Another light smack, and then he flicks my asshole. A moan escapes between my clenched teeth. “Do you like this?”
“No.” A shudder runs through me, contradicting my denial.
“Liar.” He spanks me again, and the smarting discomfort generates tears in the corners of my eyes. “Don’t lie. I won’t have it. It’s wicked.”
Desire follows the pain. I don’t want to enjoy this. I don’t want him to enjoy this. But I do, and he does, and we know each other too damn well. “Sorry, Sir.”
“Let’s try it again.” I bite my bottom lip as he flicks back and forth over my anus. “Do you like this?”
The sensation is extraordinary, ramping up the desire ten-fold. His other finger is still deep inside my channel, filling my emptiness with his touch. It’s okay. This is Henry. Just tell him the truth. “Yes. I do.” My breath hisses out noisily with the reluctant admission.
“Good. How about this?” Before I understand what he’s about to do, he breaches my anus with the tip of his finger. I’m so wet it doesn’t really hurt, and I don’t think he’s gone in more than a centimeter or two. It feels full, and weird, and so fucking good that I want to buck against his hand until I come.
“Yes, oh yes.” My groan turns almost to a sob and I give in to the temptation. I have to move. I have to. I push up against his hand, urging him deeper. “I love that. I want more.”
I feel him shift close. His breath is coming quickly, in and out, puffing against my hair and heating my ear. When he speaks his tone is low and urgent, and I can hear the excitement lying beneath. “Now you’re being really naughty. I told you not to move unless I gave permission.”
This time it’s a barrage of punishing smacks on my rear, and it burns like hell. Even as the scalding pain explodes across my butt cheeks I feel his fingers moving deeper inside me. Exploring my twin channels. Searching out the sweet spots, and eventually finding the jackpot. I want to groan and scream and cry, all at the same time.
Panting. I can hear it, and it’s coming from me. “Henry.” I gasp, not even sure what I’m asking. “Oh fuck, Henry. I can’t hold on much longer. I can’t…”
The climax is building. I can feel it, and I can’t stop it, and I can’t speak any longer to let him know. He’s already aware. How can he not be, with my channels clenching so tightly around his fingers, and my breath coming so uncontrolled, and my whole body hunching with the tension as I ride the inexorable wave toward orgasm? I’m heading fast to that place where thought ends and pure physical sensation takes over. His fingers penetrate even deeper as he slams his hand back
and forth between my clenching cheeks and his furious strokes on my ass echo the frenzy within.
Faster, almost frantic now, his finger fuck keeps pace with the spanking. The wave builds until I can’t hold it in any longer and I let the orgasm wash over me with a reluctant scream that rips at my throat.
Sensation. Desire. Need. Pain. Guilt.
Tears are dripping from my eyes at the smarting pain even as my muscles clench hard around his fingers. My body, at least, doesn’t want to let go even that small physical part of him. I rock back and forth across his lap, crying now for real as I can’t even remember the last time I experienced anything so physically overwhelming. I want to let go, completely, with my mind as well as my body, but…
“I screamed, Henry. I screamed. I’m so sorry. So—”
“Shh.” My punishment is finally over and he is stroking me instead, the same hand he used to spank me now caressing my back and the curve of my rear with gentle care. He’s not angry. “It’s okay, darling. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Grace.”
It’s not like my first marriage. It’s not. I screamed too loud last time and he got annoyed and left me. After I figured out he wasn’t ever coming back, I broke my ankle trying to get out of the restraints. Henry would never do that to me. Never…
