Over the Knee

by Ashe Barker, Lily Harlem, Katy Swann, Wendi Zwaduk, Lucy Felthouse, Dolly Watt

  “Shit,” Tristan hissed. “That never fails to fucking amaze me. You’re amazing. Now, I’m going to make use of all that delicious liquid you’ve just produced, little subbie. Better bite that duvet.”

  Chapter Four

  Jayme was still so limp from her incredible G-spot climax and the subsequent squirting that she quite literally lay there and let Tristan get on with it. Not that much movement was possible, anyway, with the way she was trapped beneath him.

  As he’d promised, he gathered up some of the liquid she’d produced and slicked it over and around her arsehole, pleasuring and relaxing her as he made her ready. Again and again he repeated the action, using the tip of his finger to work the makeshift lube inside her. Then he used some on his cock, too, getting his shaft nice and slippery, ready to breach her tight hole. In spite of her physical exhaustion, she began looking forward to it. Her backside always seemed as though it was overloaded with nerve endings, and once she’d stretched to accommodate Tristan’s cock, worked past the initial discomfort, those nerve endings sparked and, more often than not, made her climax without her clit even being touched. She had no idea how it worked, how it was even possible, but who cared? An orgasm was an orgasm, however it happened.

  Apparently satisfied with his work, Tristan shifted a little, and his knuckles touched the crease between her right thigh and bum cheek. He was getting into position, gripping the base of his delicious cock and aiming it at her rear hole.

  With his other hand he pushed at her left cheek, effectively spreading her buttocks so he could see what he was doing. His cock moved into place, the very tip resting against the entrance of her anus.

  “Ready, little subbie?” Tristan asked as he exerted the tiniest bit of pressure.

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

  And she was. When he’d prepared her backside, he’d fanned the flames of arousal all over again, taking her from her depleted state and working her back up to the horny little subbie she usually was.

  The pressure increased and she immediately bore down on the intrusion, allowing Tristan’s cock entrance, encouraging it to pop past the tight ring of muscle, which gave resistance. Slowly, he deepened the penetration—the lube, his care and her arousal and eagerness all aiding his passage.

  Tristan groaned as her arsehole gradually took him in. “God, you’re so fucking tight, little subbie. Feels so good.”

  “Oh, Sir. It feels amazing for me, too.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it. I do so like to fuck each of your holes in a single session. It’s so thorough.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Well, what else was she supposed to say to that?

  Soon, Tristan was balls-deep inside her backside, and the sensation had overwhelmed his ability to speak. He paused for a second or two, possibly trying to dampen down the need to come.

  But he couldn’t remain still for long. His need was clearly too great. Shifting his hips, he pulled back, leaving just the tip of his cock inside. Then he inched forward so his balls pressed up against her arse cheeks once more.

  After repeating the process a handful of times, Tristan swore. “I have to fuck you hard, little subbie. Until I come. My balls feel like they’re on fire. And by Christ I wish I could whack that bum of yours!”

  “Sir, I would absolutely love for you to fuck me hard. The whacking, I am sorry to say, must wait.”

  “I know, baby, I know,” he said, momentarily letting his Dominant persona slide. But it soon snapped back, and he continued, “A damn good hard fucking, coming right up!”

  “I can’t wait, Sir,” Jayme purred, grabbing the duvet for what felt like the hundredth time since they’d gotten naked.

  He said nothing else, instead moving again, to rock, to thrust—increasing his pace steadily, from slow and deep, through quickly, and right up to oh-my-God-he’s-going-to-start-a-fire-in-a-minute. Those sensitive nerve endings in her arse were most certainly alight, sparking and sending crackles of delectable pleasure jumping across her skin and along her veins.

  Her cunt felt heavy, swollen, her clit much the same. As Tristan powered in and out of her arsehole, his cock thick and hot, she wanted nothing more than to feel him burst, to have him empty his balls in her backside, claiming her wholly, like the good little subbie she was.

  Smiling, she hung on tight to the bedclothes, moans and grunts spilling from her lips as Tristan furiously fucked them both closer and closer to their respective climaxes.

  Unable to hold back any longer, Jayme gave in to the overwhelming need. Letting out a strangled moan, she succumbed to the perfect bliss that took over her body, centering in her abdomen and springing out. Her cunt clenched hard, then began spasming wildly. The sensation had to have carried through to her arsehole as Tristan spewed forth several curses before digging his fingers hard into her bum cheeks, powering forward, deep into her, and climaxing.

  His cock swelled then exploded. Jayme felt every orgasmic twitch, and groaned in pure delight as her internal walls were coated with Tristan’s spunk. A couple of warm drips landed on the backs of her shoulders—sweat, dripping from her husband’s face, she suspected.

  It was only then she realized that she, too, was bathed in sweat. She’d barely moved, but apparently it didn’t matter. Having an epic sex session with one’s husband was most definitely worth getting hot and bothered over, regardless of the level of physical exertion.

  After jerking his hips a couple of times, Tristan slowly pulled out of her bottom, then slumped down beside her on the bed.

  She turned her head to look at him. Damp with the physical effort, his face red, hair mussed, he’d never looked sexier. If she weren’t so exhausted, she’d have been tempted to jump his bones all over again.

  “Wow,” he said, breathlessly. “That was…”

  “I know, baby,” she replied, grinning. “It was amazing. I can’t think of a better word right now. I’m too knackered.”

  “Well, I guess it shows we don’t need spanking in our bedroom repertoire in order to have a good time.”

  She thought for a moment before replying. “No, we don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I missed it, and I’ll continue to miss it, but I certainly didn’t feel like that was a substandard sexual encounter. Far from it, in fact. I’m still tingling all over!”

  Chuckling, Tristan shuffled closer and dropped a kiss on her shoulder. “Me too. I was tempted so many times to whack that wobbling backside of yours, even just once, but I kept myself in check.”

  “Well done, sweetie. I’m very proud of you. The doctor would be impressed… You know, if he didn’t die of that heart attack first!”

  Laughing, they snuggled into each other’s embrace. Jayme kissed any part of Tristan’s exposed skin she could reach—his collarbone, neck, chin. “I love you, Tristan. Husband of mine, Dom of mine, Master of mine.”

  “I love you too, Jayme. Wife of mine, little subbie of mine, sexy bitch of mine!” He kissed the top of her head and gave her bum a cheeky squeeze at the same time. “Shall we go and grab a shower?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Chapter Five

  Several weeks later

  Jayme hummed to herself as she dusted the top of the chest of drawers, which held many of hers and Tristan’s sex toys and implements. He’d called earlier to say he was going to be late home from work. This was typical of him—rather than taking it easy after his operation, he seemed to be working even harder than before, determined to catch up on lost time. She was taking advantage of the quiet time to do some household chores. It was dull, but necessary, and best of all, it gave her time to think.

  The weeks leading up to Tristan’s operation and the weeks since had not been easy. Despite proving they could still have perfectly hot, satisfying sex without involving spanking, she knew her husband was struggling. He’d kept it fairly well hidden, but she’d caught the occasional wistful glance at her arse, had felt his restraint as they had sex and noticed him lingering over the paddles, crops and whips in the drawer as h
e looked for another toy for them to play with.

  It had been hard for her, too, but she’d reminded herself over and over that it was just temporary, and that there was nothing to be done. Tristan’s wrist had to heal up fully and he had to be given the all-clear by a medical professional before they could do anything. There was no way of speeding up the healing, either. The only thing for it was patience…not something Tristan had in abundance right now, either. His next doctor’s appointment couldn’t come soon enough, in her opinion.

  The more Tristan struggled, the harder it became for Jayme, too. She wanted to ease his burden, to have him let rip on her arse and thighs until she was glowing red, almost purple. She needed it, ached for it. Craved it. Which is why, as she picked up each item from the dresser, dusted it, then replaced it, she set her mind firmly on figuring out an alternative. Or at least a temporary measure—just something to get them through the remaining recuperation time before they both went crazy.

  Sighing, Jayme threw the duster down, opened the top drawer and stared at the contents, hoping for some inspiration. Shifting her gaze over the items—dildos, vibrators, handcuffs, blindfolds, anal plugs, anal beads, nipple clamps, whips, crops, paddles, floggers, rope, the list went on… She frowned. Surely there had to be something she could do?

  It was when her gaze alighted on a particular crop that an idea came to her. It wasn’t perfect, not even ideal, but it was the best she could come up with. Removing the crop from the drawer, she studied it. It had always been one of her favorites—it was quite short, and, most amusingly, was girly and sparkly. A handmade item they’d picked up at an alternative shopping fair for a laugh, its handle was purple, the length of it pink and purple stripes. The business end was heart-shaped faux leather, in pink. It wasn’t designed to give a huge amount of pain, but in the hand of her Master it still packed a punch. Or a smack, anyway. Despite the colors, Tristan still looked every inch the Dominant, masculine male when he was holding it.

  Flexing the crop, she then waved it around a little, enjoying the severe whooshing sound it made as it cut through the air. Though it was better when it was Tristan wielding it and causing the sound. Angling her arm, she attempted to land a blow on her thigh. Hmm. If the implement had been any longer, it wouldn’t have worked, but she could, with a bit of maneuvering, spank herself on the thighs with it. Possibly, if she bent over something, she could do the same on her arse. With a bit of practice she might even get good at it, start causing some pain, leaving some marks. Whether she’d actually be able to hit herself hard enough to get off was another matter. And whether it’d do anything for Tristan, she didn’t know. But he’d always enjoyed the sight of her punished flesh, so if it went even a small way to cheering him up, then it was worth a go.

  Nodding to herself, she then crossed to the bed and put the crop down on the mattress. Then she undressed. Once naked, she sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread, and began tapping the faux leather heart against each of her thighs in turn. The tops, the outsides, the insides… Tap, tap, tap, tap. Then, getting more used to it, she increased both the pace and the force behind the blows.

  Smack, smack, smack, smack. Harder, faster. Surprisingly, she actually felt her pussy grow a little wet. Interesting.

  Her skin bloomed a pale pink, then grew darker as she really got into her task. She was nowhere near as strong or as skilled as Tristan, of course, but she still managed to cause an intense sting and a bloom of pain with each blow.

  Maybe, just maybe, this could work.

  Ready to move on to the next step, she stood, turned around, and leaned over the bed. Holding the crop in her right hand, she braced herself against the mattress with her left. From here, she could get the backs of her thighs and her arse cheeks. It was awkward, but doable.

  “Jayme, what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  With a squeak, she dropped the crop and spun around to face her husband. “Um…” She twisted her hands together, wondering how exactly to explain. “What does it look like?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “It looks, my darling, as though you couldn’t just wait for your beloved husband to be fully healed before getting a spanking.”

  Her heart pounded. “No! It wasn’t like that at all.”

  “So tell me how it was. You’re the one that said ‘what does it look like?’ And that’s what it looked like to me.”

  Touché.

  “I was…” She sighed then ran a hand through her hair. “I was cleaning, and I started thinking about us, and how we’ve had to make adjustments in the past few months. I can tell how hard it’s been for you, sweetheart, and I really wanted to do something to help. To relieve your pressure, make you feel better. Just until you’ve had the all-clear. I looked in the drawer of the dresser, and that’s when I got the idea. Try and spank myself—or crop myself, anyway—and perhaps the marks themselves would get you off, even if you couldn’t make them yourself just yet.”

  Tristan had adopted a thoughtful expression, his eyebrows raised, lips puckered. Then he narrowed his eyes again and Jayme’s stomach sank. Shit, she’d really got it wrong, hadn’t she? She should have just left things well alone!

  He stalked slowly toward her. “Hmm,” he said, his voice low, husky. Butterflies raced around her stomach. “I suppose I can see your logic. Sort of. But I’m not happy that you decided to take matters, quite literally, into your own hands. I told you months ago, little subbie, that you would either be spanked properly, or not at all. Do you remember?”

  Jayme gulped then nodded. “Yes, Sir. I do remember. I’m very sorry. I was just trying to help.”

  “Well, maybe since your heart was in the right place, I won’t punish you too badly.”

  “P-punish me? But—”

  Having reached her, he pressed his finger to her lips, cutting her off. “I told a white lie, my darling. I wasn’t working late this evening. I had an appointment with the doctor. I was very hopeful that he would indeed give me the all-clear this time. I kept it secret from you, so if I did get the news I wanted, I could surprise you with it. But it appears you’ve managed to trump my surprise with one of your own!”

  He’d moved his finger, but Jayme didn’t speak. Mostly because she didn’t know what to say. This was the news she’d been longing for, and her brain was struggling to absorb it.

  Finally, she managed, in her smallest, cutest voice, “I truly am sorry, Sir. I meant no disrespect. I just wanted to make you happy, to please you.”

  If he realized she was deliberately saying all the right things in order to move things along, he didn’t show it. There was a time for games, for delaying, teasing tactics, but that time was not now. They’d waited too damn long.

  “It’s okay, my sweetheart. It doesn’t matter whether you’ve been good, bad, or somewhere in between. I plan to color that arse of yours, and I plan to do it right now. Any objections?”

  “Of course not, Sir!” she said on a gasp. “Where would you like me?”

  With a Cheshire cat-like grin, Tristan said, “Ooh, decisions, decisions. I think, since you’ve so kindly provided me with an implement already, that you should get back into the position you were in when I so rudely interrupted your self-flagellation.”

  “Yes, Sir.” With that, she spun around again and bent over the edge of the bed, this time using both hands to steady herself. With her husband wielding that crop, she’d need all the steadying she could get.

  For a moment there was silence, then the quiet rustle of clothing. Next, an almighty whoosh as Tristan sliced the implement through the air. “Oh yes,” he said, his voice sultry, sexy. “That feels good. I’d almost forgotten just how good. And I do love this crop. It’s a little shorter than I prefer, but it means I get to stand a little closer to you, my darling—all the better for seeing the effect my blows are having on your beautiful bottom.”

  Tristan trailed the end of the crop over Jayme’s skin and she resisted the temptation to tense up. If she did, he might just land
a quick smack, and it would hurt all the more if she’d tensed up. The key to corporal punishment, she always found, was relaxation. It helped that she trusted her husband fully—he knew her limits without her even having to say anything. They had a safeword, naturally, but she’d never needed to use it.

  “You’ve made a start on your thighs, I see. But the backs of them and your bum are still beautifully white. Unblemished. Ready for me. Perfect.”

  A couple more whooshes followed. “This really is a very pretty crop, isn’t it? All girly and sparkly—more like something a bloody fairy princess would have than a Dom. But still, it’ll do the job. To complement this daft-looking thing, I’m going to go with a lovely cliché. Six of the best, little subbie. Two on each cheek, one on each thigh. Ready?”

  “Yes, Sir!” She wanted to tell him to be careful—not for her sake, but for his. His wrist was probably still delicate. But then he was a sensible man. If there was any risk whatsoever of setting himself back, he would not be doing this. So she kept quiet.

  “Good. I’ve been looking forward to this for a very long time.”

  “Me too, Sir. Me too!” The emphasis on the last word came as he landed the first blow at the very time she said it, surprising her.

  Normally he liked to tease her a little more, amp up the anticipation. But she understood—the past few months had been one big waiting game.

  Chuckling at her reaction, Tristan waited only very briefly before whacking the opposite cheek. They both burned—small, concentrated areas of pain blooming at different rates. She was just getting used to it, feeling the endorphins rushing through her system, when the next hit came. On the same cheek. Deliberately to throw her off, she knew.

  Yelping, she said breathlessly, “Thank you, Sir!”

  “You’re welcome. Three more. Damn, you’re already coloring up beautifully. Seems I haven’t lost my touch.”

  “No, Sir. Definitely not.” Inside, she was already lamenting the time when he would stop. After all these years, all the experience she’d had, six was really not very many spanks at all. She’d taken lots, lots more, but at the same time, she understood his reasoning. It had been a while—six was probably all Tristan could give before he’d want to toss the crop to the carpet and bury his cock in her willing pussy.