Putting his hands lightly around her throat, he pushed his cock into her pretty mouth and closed his eyes. Ah, life was good.
Chapter 12
Kelsey sat cross-legged on the throw rug beside James’ desk chair. She stared down at the legal pad on her lap, her pen poised, her mind blank. She knew what James expected—he’d read her enough of the endless, nauseating blogs written by brainwashed women and their deluded partners—but she couldn’t seem to make her brain perform the necessary functions to get words onto the page.
At least her stomach was full, almost uncomfortably so. After the beating that morning Kelsey had fallen into a fitful sleep. James had woken her with a tray of food, and instead of the usual two or three bites, he’d let her eat the entire sandwich, plus a peach and a big glass of iced tea. Maybe the prick was feeling guilty.
Kelsey closed her eyes, trying to let go of the negative energy building inside her. It wasn’t good to resist. It only made things worse. Positive thoughts. Focus on the good things. Anger is destructive. He’ll sense it and he’ll punish you. James loves you. He takes care of you. This is your life now.
She stole a glance at James. He was shirtless, wearing his favorite khaki shorts. His right hand was resting lightly over his crotch, his mouth hanging open, his eyes glued to the screen, though whether he was reading from one of his favorite blogs or staring at naked girls, Kelsey couldn’t tell. At least he was leaving her alone, for the moment anyway.
Kelsey glanced down at the welt on her left breast. She could feel welts on her back, ass and thighs too, though she didn’t dare shift her position to try and see, not with James right there beside her. She tried to recall what heinous crime she’d committed to deserve such brutal treatment. His words came back to her. You forgot one of the prime rules of wifely submission. A wife doesn’t voice what she does or does not want. She asks what would please her husband, and no more.
Okay, so she’d fucked up. She’d forgotten the rules, but did that really merit the savage beating that had followed?
You were disobedient. Don’t question him. Do what he says. You belong to him. To resist is to suffer. Focus on the good.
She knew she should listen to that voice of reason. James quite literally held her life in his hands. She knew better than to break the rules. Why was it suddenly so hard to control the rage she thought she’d conquered?
Because something was different now. Somehow that beating had reawakened a part of her that had been lying dormant during this time of forced captivity. She realized she’d been sinking deeper and deeper into a kind of trance, a self-induced pretense to make her lot bearable. How long until it was no longer pretense, but her reality? How long until she’d shut down completely, giving herself over to James’ constant brainwashing and subjugation?
But was this sudden awareness any better? Stripped of her coping mechanism of denial and acceptance, she felt emotionally naked—shivering with rage, raw with pain and anger. I don’t belong to you, she wanted to scream. I belong to myself. I am my own person. I’m not your fucking obedient wife.
“How’s it going, Kelsey? You making progress? Let me see what you’ve written so far.”
Kelsey jerked in startled surprise, the pen skittering over the page at the sound of James’ voice. He held out his hand for the pad. Kelsey let out a deep, shuddering breath, willing her expression to go blank, terrified he’d see the rebellion on her face. Keeping her head down, reluctantly, Kelsey held out the pad.
James took it, his smile shifting to a frown as he read the only two sentences she’d managed to come up with so far. “That’s it? That’s all you wrote in twenty minutes?”
“I—I’m not used to writing with a pen. I think better with my fingers on a keyboard.” That much was true. But James didn’t trust her to get on his laptop. The internet was only a click away and she might blow the bastard’s cover.
He might try to pretend that what they were doing was consensual, but he had to know better. Even he couldn’t be that fucking deluded.
James read her words aloud, words he’d basically told her to write as an opening. “I am an obedient wife. My husband has been teaching me that to submit and obey are the hallmarks of a truly content and spiritual woman.”
He handed the pad back to her. “It’s not a bad start, but I know you can do better than that. Write about how good it makes you feel when you’ve pleased me. Write about why being punished makes you a better wife, and what steps you have been taking to make sure you keep your husband happy. Put some stuff in there about the sex, too. I want details about how intense your climaxes are within the framework of pleasing your husband. Tell about how grateful you are for the orgasms, but even more grateful for the opportunity to satisfy and serve your husband.”
Why don’t you write the fucking thing yourself?
Kelsey clapped her hand over her mouth, for half a heartbeat terrified she’d spoken those words aloud. James was watching her, a frown on his face. Get a grip, get a grip, Kelsey ordered herself. Don’t let him know anything’s different. Don’t let him think you’ve changed.
She ordered her face to smooth itself into a bland smile, the expression he liked to call “serene”. “Thank you, sir. Those are good suggestions.” She picked up her pen and bent over the pad. She would use his words and make him happy so she could end this particular farce. What had he said? Something about punishment making her a better wife?
Fucking asshole. How does being brutalized, terrorized and half starved make me a better wife? And I’m not your fucking wife, anyway.
Kelsey realized she’d been writing, her hand moving of its own accord over the paper. She read what she had scrawled: I hate James. I hate James. I hate James.
With a gasp, she grabbed at the page and tore it from the pad, crumpling it into a ball. James looked down at her. “What? What’s the problem?”
“Nothing.” She hid the balled paper behind her back and pushed it beneath her bottom.
“Let me see. I bet it was fine. You need more confidence.” He held out his hand. “Come on. Show me.”
“No!” Oh god, why hadn’t she crossed out those damning words? What was wrong with her? She couldn’t let him see it. No, no, no, no.
James stood, towering over her. “Did you just say no to me?” His voice had taken on that silky, dangerous tone she knew meant trouble.
“Please. It’s—it’s just scribbles. Really. I’m starting over, see?” She held up the blank pad, her heart beating like a drum in her chest, the crumpled paper prickling beneath her still-tender ass.
James reached for her, gripping her forearms and hauling her to her feet. “To quote Shakespeare,” he said with an ugly grin, “methinks the lady doth protest too much.” He pulled her against him and wrapped one strong arm around her torso, while leaning down and grabbing the ball of paper with his other. He let her go and sat down, smoothing the page flat against his computer desk.
Kelsey sprinted away from him, not sure where she was going, but desperate to get there. Though mostly healed, the wound on her leg still slowed her gait, but fear spurred her forward. She ran through the living room to the kitchen and skidded to a stop in front of the silverware drawer. She yanked it open and groped for a sharp knife.
James came thundering into the room behind her. She whirled to face him, the knife clenched in her shaking fist. Blind with fear and fury, she raised the knife and rushed at him, aiming the point at his face.
She wanted to scare him.
She wanted to hurt him.
She wanted to kill him.
As she lunged, James lifted an arm to deflect her attack, while he reached for her with the other. The point of the knife slid along his shoulder, leaving a red line in its wake.
“You cut me!” James roared. “You fucking bitch, you cut me!” His hand closed over her wrist, squeezing and twisting until the agony of his grip forced her to let go.
The knife clattered to the floor.
She saw his
fist hurtling toward her in the second before it made contact with her cheekbone, and then the floor slammed into her face.
~*~
James examined the wound in the mirror, his lips pressed into a grim line. The cut was deep and hurt like hell. He daubed gently at it with a damp cloth and applied some antibiotic cream.
It should heal okay without stitches, though it would probably leave a scar. His heart, however, would never heal from what had just happened. He stared down at the wrinkled piece of paper. The spiteful, cruel words hit him anew like a slap in the face each time he read them.
I hate James. I hate James. I hate James.
The hours, days and weeks of his constant, undying attention, of his firm but loving hand, and she had written those words! All her apparent strides in learning to embrace her life as an obedient, submissive and loving wife had been a fucking lie. She was still the same willful cunt she’d been before, just waiting for the chance to stab him in the heart, both literally and figuratively.
James went back into the bedroom. Kelsey was locked in the closet, where she would stay until he could calm himself down enough to deal with her. He felt bad for hitting her in the face like that. He’d been beside himself with pain and rage, but still, he knew his temper needed work. A responsible husband punished his wife, but never with anger.
He sat at the computer and logged onto the new site he’d discovered, a chat site for men who subscribed to the obedient wife lifestyle. Earl, the moderator and owner of the site, was online. James typed a direct message to Earl, a wise man with thirty years of experience in wife obedience training.
James: Hi Earl. Can we chat privately for a few minutes?
Earl: Sure. What’s up, James?
James: I just had an incident with my wife. She was very disobedient.
Earl: Not good. What happened?
Did he tell Earl what Kelsey had actually done? As far as Earl knew, theirs was a consensual relationship. If he admitted the extent of what had happened, he might end up sharing more than was wise.
James: She was noncompliant with a writing assignment I gave her. When I rebuked her for it, she raised her hand to me. She struck me.
Earl: Raising your hand to your husband is a very serious infraction. A woman who does that clearly doesn’t know her place. Not to be too harsh, James, but when a wife behaves like that, it’s because the husband is too lax. You have failed in your teachings. She is not learning her lessons properly.
James: I put her in the punishment closet. I was afraid to do much else at this point, because I was acting out of anger. I know how important it is not to punish your wife in anger, but rather to wait until you are calm and rational.
Earl: That’s certainly true. I admire your restraint. But remember that important adage about sparing the rod. Grave actions call for a grave response. She must learn that under no circumstances must she ever raise a hand to you. The lesson must be burned into her consciousness. I have found with my own wife that adding humiliation to the punishment makes for a more lasting impression.
James: How do you mean?
Earl: Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but some women, especially women who engage in our lifestyle, get a kind of thrill, sexual or otherwise, from corporal punishment. It becomes an almost erotic experience for them. But if you were to add a humiliation element, say, for example, if you were to take a video of her doing something private and post that video on our website for others to comment on, that might make more of an impact.
James felt his cock harden at the thought of displaying his woman for all the world to see. Prudence quickly intervened, however. Kelsey was officially a missing person, after all.
James: We’re kind of private that way. I wouldn’t want to splash her face over the internet.
Earl: Who said anything about her face? Put a hood over her head. That could be part of her humiliation. It’s dehumanizing. Make her do something normally kept private, something she wouldn’t want the world to see.
James: Like masturbating?
Earl: Sure. Something like that, or maybe something even more private, like making her squat on newspaper to move her bowels while you film it. I have found just the threat of such a punishment very effective in keeping my wife in line.
James wasn’t sure filming Kelsey taking a dump was the way he wanted to go, but he had to admit the idea of public humiliation was arousing. Still, there was the core issue still to deal with.
James: She said she hates me.
His face burned as he typed those words, and he was glad for the relative anonymity of the internet.
Earl: She doesn’t mean it. If she’s in this lifestyle, she wants your firm hand. She yearns for your control. She’s just testing you, the way a child does. She’s pushing the envelope. She’s relying on you to put her in her place. It’s where she longs to be. It’s where she needs to be. It’s up to you to put her back there so she feels cherished and safe.
James leaped on Earl’s words, hope suddenly flaring where a moment before all had been dark. Maybe Earl was right! She had just been testing him. She wanted him to come down on her with a firm hand. She needed him to help her get to where she belonged. His mistake had been in being too easy on her. He needed to show her in no uncertain terms that he was in charge, no matter what she did. His love was unconditional, but so was his control.
Earl: You still there, James?
James: Yes. I was just mulling over what you said.
Earl: Let me know when you’re ready. We’ll do a public announcement on the site, and I’ll send emails to all the members encouraging them to watch and comment. Your wife will think long and hard before she dares to raise her hand to you again. But James, don’t forget one thing.
James: Yes?
Earl: Once she’s been chastised, you must find it in your heart to forgive her, wholly and without reservation. That’s the beauty of our kind of lifestyle. You punish her, but then you let it go, and the two of you can move forward with a clean slate. No lingering resentments, no recriminations. Just a purer love, made all the stronger by your firm hand and her repentant tears.
James: Thanks, Earl. I knew you’d have good advice. I’m feeling much better.
Earl: Glad to be of help. Don’t dawdle now. You need to act fast, while the transgression is still fresh. Make the video now, punish her as you need to, and then let it go and move on.
James logged off, excited by what he was going to do. Earl was right—it was up to him to train Kelsey. If she still thought she hated him, it was because he wasn’t doing a good enough job teaching her to accept her position as his obedient wife. He would do better, starting now.
He got a pillowcase from the linen closet, along with a hank of rope and a roll of duct tape. He placed the items on the edge of the bathtub and returned to the bedroom. He slid back the latch that kept the closet closed and pulled the door open.
Kelsey was lying on her side, curled into a fetal ball. She blinked as light flooded the small space. James saw the bruise that bloomed over her cheek like a purple flower, and his heart constricted with remorse, until he remembered the knife, and her murderous intent.
“Get up,” he said brusquely. He reached for her, pulling her to her feet. She swayed as her eyes swept the long gash on his shoulder, her mouth falling open. “That’s right,” James said as he pulled her out of the closet. “You did that. You could have killed me. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
“I’m sorry, James. I—”
“Save it. I don’t want to hear it right now. Not a fucking word.”
Wisely, she shut her mouth. He led her to the bathroom and pointed to the tub. “Get in and stay on your feet. We’re going to make a movie.”
She shrank back. “I said get in,” James said, half-lifting her as he forced her into the bathtub. “This is what’s called a humiliation exercise. Humiliation is an important tool, especially when training a disobedient willful wife such as yourself. Here’s what’s going
to happen.” As he talked, he pulled her hands behind her back and clipped her wrist cuffs together. “You’re going to pee while standing up while I take a video of you. You’re going to spread your legs and spread your cunt with your fingers so everyone can see you piss on yourself. Because I don’t want to show your face on the internet, I’m going to put a hood over your head. And because I can’t trust you to keep your mouth shut, I’m going to tape it shut.”
“No, James. Please, this can’t—”
“I said shut up!” James clenched his hand into a fist, aware he’d been about to strike her again. Not in anger, he reminded himself. Not in anger. He reached for the duct tape and pulled a strip from the roll. Putting one hand on the back of her neck to hold her still, he pressed the sticky tape over her mouth. Ignoring her muffled cries, he placed the pillowcase over her head and tied it in place around her neck with the rope.
His cock was rock hard as he drank in the sight of his naked girl with a hood over her head, her pretty breasts still sweetly welted from the morning whipping. “Spread your legs,” he barked. “I know you must have to pee after all that tea you drank at lunch.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone. He unclipped her wrists so she would have use of her hands. “Go on. Show the world what a filthy little cunt you are. Piss for the camera, Kelsey. Make sure you spread those cunt lips so everyone can see.”
He hit the record button as he peered through the lens and said in a loud voice, “Wife, this is your punishment, and then all will be forgiven, as long as you promise to be a good girl from now on.”
Kelsey stood still as stone for several long, defying moments. James paused the recording. “Do it, Kelsey. Or I’ll tie you to the beam and whip you until you bleed. Is that what you want?”
Dark Obsessions - Volume 2: Four Dark, Delicious Capture Fantasies Page 57