by Zoey Marcel
“In my perfect vision of us I wear the pants and you wear whatever I tell you to wear, if I let you wear anything. You wear skintight jeans and a slutty top when I tell you to, or a dress that’s as revealing or as retro as I dictate.”
What the hell did he mean by retro?
“Excuse—Oh no! Not three fingers.” Her pussy screamed in protest as it was stretched for her husband’s pleasure, but her soaked depths quickly silenced their refusal and accepted the testing digits.
Ben gripped the neckline of her dress tightly. “Yes, three fingers. You’ll take as many as I give you and like it.”
“Oh god!” Her cunt leaked its wet submission all over the fingers probing her, lubricating her for their intent. “This is just bedroom talk. It won’t turn into anything more. It can’t.”
“It can and it will.” He tore her bodice, and the chest-thumping act threw her into orgasm. “That’s right, babe. Come for me. This is what you want, to be controlled and pleasured by a man.”
Her pussy fluttered and contracted around his fingers, stretching and filling her to the point of insanity. Her clit seemed to double in size as it sizzled and swelled beneath the heat and skill of his distinctly masculine touch.
“In my head you have dinner ready when I get home, always homemade, and when I choose to treat you out somewhere you’re grateful. You don’t expect and demand it.”
“Not another one.” She wriggled to escape the insistent rubbing on her defeated clit, but he kept her there and made her take what they both wanted her to have.
“Yes, another one. As many orgasms as I decide.” He nuzzled her close, conveying the tenderness that was absent from his authoritative demands. “You raise my kids and keep the house clean. You never put your career before me, or flirt with other men, because you have no career. Your place is at home raising our children. And you only have eyes for me.”
“What about Neil?” she squeaked, trying to inch away from the climax creeping up over her.
“Neil, too, but no one else. Your top concern should be how to make your husbands happy. And ours will be to protect and take care of you like real men should.”
Ben was seriously asking to be smacked, but she still couldn’t move. “Or what?”
“You’ll be spanked,” he said plainly as he forced the thin sleeves aside. His hand went between their bodies to unclasp her strapless bra. “The severity of your punishment will depend on what you’ve done. Spankings for mild infractions. More severe forms of pain, humiliation, or unpleasant chores for more serious offenses.”
Jill let out a soft gasp when her bra sagged open and he tossed it aside, exposing her large breasts.
“Then of course there’s forcing you to service Neil and me and denying you orgasm if you’re a brat,” Ben went on as he teased her throbbing nub to the brink of release before cutting it short. He removed one finger from her drenched slit and went back to fucking her with two. “In my world I’m in charge and you respect my wishes, setting the perfect example of a good woman for our kids. They won’t grow up in the materialistic, polluted, fucking crime-ridden big city. They grow up here with clean air, beautiful surroundings, and family values.”
Ah, another term she hated—family values. “This town is risqué, you idiot.”
He pinched and twisted her nipple, making her cry out in pain as her pussy clenched his fingers for refuge. “Anything you’d like to add to that?”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s more like it.” He ran her nipple between his thumb and forefinger to chase away the painful pinching sensation he’d inflicted it with. “Temptation is tame compared to the olden days, rumor has it. This town teaches acceptance of who you really are and to accept others for who they are. This is a great place to raise children.”
“My daughters are not growing up here to become little wallflower tramps for chauvinistic assholes.” She tried to move, but he kept her there.
“Our daughters,” he corrected her sternly. “Get it right. You don’t have a show to put on here, Jill. You don’t have to fight and claw your way to the top of the corporate ladder, or cater to celebrities with attitudes. You can embrace your submissive side and be the wife you were always meant to be.”
He was starting to make sense and it scared her.
No, he wasn’t. Damn him. He would never win. She was stronger in every sense of the word.
Ben grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back and to the side so he glared down at her. A ragged cry rushed from her at the aggressive gesture and the fierce look of authority on his manly, model-handsome face.
His warm breath blew on her, sweet and pungent. The light sugar scent of cake and frosting made her pussy tingle and pulse with the need to be licked like a personal treat made just for him. The harder, stronger aroma of liquor overpowered the weaker, sweeter fragrance of cake that refused to be subdued. Despite the sugar’s persistence, the more potent alcohol was winning.
“You had it backwards before, Jill,” he said in a gruff, dominating tone that made her knees shake. “You were a lady in bed with me, and a whore with Shaughnessy.”
Guilt whispered its subtle accusation once more, but the thrilling rush of seeing an angry man assert his jurisdiction over her and touch her possessively eclipsed her shame.
His fingers drove into her soaked cunt hard and relentless, thrusting their point into her until she could do nothing but understand and feel what he wanted from her. His thumb rubbed its obvious designs on her clit, pushing her toward the inevitable loss of control he demanded from her.
“Well, I’ve got news for you, sweetheart.”
The backs of his fingers trailed seductively down her collarbone and over the exposed mounds of her breasts, forcing the air to rush from her lungs, and her body to shiver with strange, frightening needs.
“From now on you’re going to be a lady in public, and in bed you’re going to be my whore and Neil’s. No other man’s. And I don’t want to see you with Judah Shaughnessy or hear that son of a bitch’s name come out of your mouth ever again.”
Jill didn’t know if his threat got her off or his fingers did. She felt the familiar pressure and wild energy commencing from within. Her legs locked and her mouth started to open.
Ben grabbed her hair and held her head in place. “Look into my eyes while you come. Don’t you dare close them or look away.”
Her cheeks flushed hot and embarrassed to be so vulnerable and open to him while in the throes of coming. Strangely, the same command that made her blush was the very trigger that heightened each sensation of finishing in her husband’s arms.
“Yeah, you like it just like that, don’t you?” he taunted.
She blushed and tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let her.
“No. Your eyes are for me. You share everything with me. Every thought and feeling, every orgasm, every decision—it’s all mine.” The words were exhaled against her lips just before he crushed his lips against hers in a hard, furious kiss that commanded her submission.
His fingers left her pussy and went to grope her breast, smearing her womanly cum all over her tits.
It was just as she’d feared and secretly fantasized about. Ben wanted more from her. He wanted to be the head of the household, but as hot as that sounded that shit just wasn’t going down. She wouldn’t let any man walk on her or treat her like crap again.
Jill pushed against him, trying to pry free of the deadly oral assault that worked its beguiling spell over her will. She slapped Ben hard before scampering a few feet away from him in apprehension. “No! You chauvinistic pig! I won’t be your little housewife. It will never be like that, and my girls are growing up in California, not here, Ben.”
She wanted to pull her panties back up but was afraid of the vulnerable position bending over would lend itself to being. She did her best to pull the scraps of her bodice up over her breasts, feeling strangely conquered and unbelievably aroused over having a ripped dress that he’d
torn from her body.
“I’m not having a divided household, Jill,” Ben told her seriously.
“Well, I’m not having a retro household,” she shot back. “I’m a career woman and a single mom, Ben. I’m not your barefoot hausfrau, who’s just aching to serve and please you. This isn’t fucking 1954!”
“Well, maybe it should be!” he yelled.
His comment startled a gasp of shock from her. Oh, surely not.
He glared at her before storming out of the room. Even without following his angry steps up the stairs with her eyes she could hear him tromp up them in frustration. His footsteps became fainter when he reached the top and then she heard his bedroom door slam shut.
She shuddered at his anger and wanted desperately to make things right between them again.
No. He must come crawling back to her. If she did the groveling, he would win, and that couldn’t happen. The cost was just too damned high.
Chapter Three:
1950s Household
Jill was torn between going out and enjoying the town, or staying home and surfing the net. She opted for the latter and got on Ben’s computer in the living room. She’d never been on his computer since returning to Temptation and was rather curious as to what sort of things he had on there.
If it were Neil’s computer there would undoubtedly be porn. Ben had never really been a porn kind of guy, though. He seemed to only have eyes for her. Originally she’d thought he must be some kind of psycho freak or just a liar, but she used to sneak peeks at his e-mails, and he never cleared his history. Hell, half the time the lazy bones didn’t even bother to log off.
Her lips curved slightly into a crafty little smile when she saw that he hadn’t logged off this time. She got into his e-mail and scoured through the subject lines of each message in his inbox. Nothing from any women thankfully and nothing suspicious, either.
It surprised her, though when she saw several e-mails from her oldest brother-in-law, Brad Taylor. She hadn’t been aware he and Ben had grown close enough to exchange e-mails. She would have read them, but her man could come downstairs at any minute and catch her snooping. Best to just browse online for fun.
He wouldn’t be mad even if he’d caught her, though. That was one great thing about her husband. He never got ticked off or defensive when she spied on him. He’d simply laid everything out in the open and told her to look through whatever she wanted. Her reassurance of his honesty seemed a bigger deal to him than his right to his privacy, and she’d always respected him for it.
She noticed a file that said Domestic Discipline. Well, nothing wrong with him having a little fetish. After all, she enjoyed reading books on BDSM and ménage. There was no harm if he liked to read fictitious stories about getting spanked.
Her jaw went slack and her eyes popped open wide when she saw the content in the folder. There were pictures of 1950s housewives turned over their husbands’ knees. The women wore full, flowing dresses and tall pumps. Their husbands wore business suits and had the women held down on their laps with one hand while the other hand delivered the spankings to their bare asses.
Some of the wives’ butts were white and the man’s hand was in midair as it prepared to strike the first punishing blow to the wayward homemaker. Other pictures showed the bread-makers’ bottoms red, and in some cases their tender flesh was decorated with masculine handprints.
Some of the ladies blushed in humiliation over having a man stare down at such a private place on them. Other pictures portrayed submissive women who readily accepted their discipline with subservience.
Some of these pictures were retro paintings, but there were black and white photos of real people as well. Men in suits presented their hard cocks to naked women on their knees. Women wore collars and expressions that screamed “I’m a fucking vessel. Fill me” all over them. There was a strange serenity with their blind surrender, though.
Jill’s heart raced, though in the name of what emotion she couldn’t be sure. There were photos of women in skyscraper heels and long, elbow-length black gloves that were bound and forced to endure the touch of a hottie in leather.
Still, more pictures of fucking 1950s doormat wenches with their dresses flipped up as they were spanked or fucked by men in suits who reminded them of their place.
Jill’s pussy pounded and she felt a spasm in her womb. Those bastard men. Those lucky bitches. Ben evidently had a thing for spanking. Not surprising, really, given all the times he’d threatened it during their marriage whenever she behaved like a brat with him. He’d never followed through with it. Her threats of castration had been a good deterrent.
She clicked on his search history and looked for anything supporting this spanking fetish of his. Sure enough there were blogs he’d visited regarding the subject. They spoke of women finding pleasure in subjugation and remembering their places after their husbands spanked or disciplined them for being disobedient or disrespectful.
There were also a few blogs of men who enjoyed turning ape and stomping on these stupid women. What the fuck? If reading about arrogant, knucklehead men was annoying, reading about the airheads who permitted these unconscionable beasts to treat them that way was even worse.
One woman spoke of feeling humbled after her spanking and somehow closer to her man. She had a sense of belonging and tranquility, a weird sort of release that came from being reminded by her spouse of her place.
What the fuck is wrong with these people? Oh god, what’s wrong with me?
Her slit moistened and her cunt throbbed with a hot ache that pulsed deep inside of her.
One woman spoke of being spanked with a belt by her husband for mouthing off to him in front of others. He made her flip up her skirt and then he took off his belt and spanked her with it until she cried. Then the bastard dared to hold her in his arms afterward and rocked her while she cried on him. He told her it hurt him more than it hurt her.
Right.
He also said she must never sass him again and she apologized to him. Then they slept in bed naked with each other.
What?
If Ben did something like that with her his ass would be sleeping on the couch.
Jill scrolled down through his history, but the list was too long to go through each one individually. Well, spanking wouldn’t be so bad. It was erotic after all.
Then she saw searches of how to introduce the D/s lifestyle into a marriage, and others on women who went from feminist to willing homemaker.
Fuck no!
Ben was seriously starting to freak her out, but her pussy grew wetter the more she read. Now it ached almost unbearably.
She had to know what the hell Brad had written to him in those e-mails. Brad Taylor was a Dom, and now she was starting to wonder if Ben’s exchange of e-mails with him had something to do with taming her.
She read through a few. Some of them mentioned Brad’s excitement on Chanel agreeing to become slave and wife to him and his two younger brothers. Ben mentioned his interest in the lifestyle. Some of the e-mails were dated during the period of their separation and he mentioned missing her.
That son of a bitch Brad was giving Ben tips on how to introduce deviant madness to her? Damn him.
Jill loved to read about power exchange and hardcore BDSM sometimes, but Ben was seriously barking up the wrong tree if he thought she’d don an apron and make him a homemade pie with a fucking smile on her face. Oh, she’d make him a pie all right and then she’d smile when the meringue bastard was thrown in his face.
She noticed a few e-mails from someone she didn’t recognize. The person’s name was apparently CowboyMaster76. At least it was a man, but he and Ben spoke seriously about the lifestyle back and forth. Ben asked a bunch of questions and this phantom Dom answered them. Ben even mentioned her name a bunch of times and questions about how to introduce the concept of a Master/slave relationship to a feminist, and effective ways to implement the lifestyle into a marriage.
This cowboy freak, whoever he was
, gave good advice, but she was getting more apprehensive by the minute. The mystery Dom mentioned something about the different collars they had talked about on a BDSM website and encouraged Ben to go about it that way, taking baby steps rather than going cold turkey.
There were different types of collars? They’d apparently discussed this at length someplace else, so the explanation of the different collars, whatever they were, was absent from the e-mails.
In another e-mail the stranger asked Ben if he’d bought a Collar of Consideration for her yet. Ben said he’d opted for the other options they’d discussed before and that he was off to buy it for her. The message was dated yesterday.
She panicked. At some point yesterday, her sly-handed husband had gone out and bought some freaky “I own you, bitch” thing in place of a collar. What was it? The e-mail didn’t say.
Jill closed his e-mail and wobbled to her feet. Her hands were clammy and she felt weak in the knees as she went upstairs to cuss Ben out for chauvinism and demand answers from him. She paused at his shut bedroom door when she heard talking. It sounded like an old movie. Curious, she opened the door a crack and noticed Ben lying naked on the bed with his stiff cock in his hand.
Her mouth watered at the sight and she wondered what kind of movie had him so worked up. A slapping sound startled her, and she saw a brunette in a 1950s style dress turned over her suited-up man’s lap as he garnished her bare bottom with spankings.
“You won’t burn my biscuits or sass me ever again, will you?” the husband asked in between each slap to her pink butt.
The wife cried out softly and at times groaned in pain. “No, Daddy. Never again. I’m sorry I disappointed you.”
Jill swallowed down the scandalized gasp that threatened to emerge. The woman called her man Daddy…like Ben sometimes demanded her to. Did he have this video because he liked that sort of talk in bed, or was his requiring her to use the title a subtle movement toward the controlled housewife existence he wanted for her?
