by Renee Rose
So similar they were from this view—the pale alabaster skin and perfect, arousing curves. The splays of red wavy curls spilled out on the quilt around their heads. They had turned their faces to each other—a sweetness that moved him. How richly colored his life had become since these two women had entered his life. He stood between them, trying to decide which one was Lucia.
The riding crop was a cruel instrument, and one with which he had no experience, so he erred on the side of leniency. He brought it down across Lucia's buttocks at a tempered force. At least he thought she was Lucia. She rose up on her tiptoes, gasping and squeezing her cheeks together. He repeated the action on her sister. The girl jerked and let out a squeak, but held still. He alternated, spanking first one lady, then the other, until he'd left six red lines across each of their bottoms.
* * *
Lucia wrapped the quilt in her fingers to keep from reaching back and rubbing her blazing backside. The crop hurt like the devil, and she didn't even think he was swinging it that hard.
"Lucia." Marco spoke softly.
She lifted her head.
"Jesu," he muttered, turning to look at her and giving his head a quick shake. He'd been looking toward Celia, obviously confusing the two. He walked to the other side of her, set down his crop and slapped her sore bottom. She gasped. He continued spanking her slowly with his hand.
At first, there was something almost satisfying about the sting of it after the welts of the riding crop. The crop had been so painful it had taken her breath away and blinded her with its sting. Now the smack of his hand dulled the sharp lines of crop welts, blending the fire into a more uniform burn. But before long, this pain also overwhelmed her, and all her efforts at maintaining control were lost. She started to cry in earnest—the whipping had been over too quickly to bring out any tears, but now they flowed. As she dissolved into the pain of it, all sense of herself disappeared, and there was nothing but his hand and her bottom. When he stopped spanking and spoke, it was as if he spoke directly into her body.
"You made a fool of me."
"That's not true," Celia said from the other side of him. "Tomi believed you sent us."
"Was I speaking to you, Celia?" he snapped. "Your punishment is finished. Leave us."
The bed moved as Celia stood and obeyed him without another word. She wished Celia could have stayed. Having her there had given her strength.
Marco started spanking again. She held her breath at first, resisting, then allowed the edges of herself to bleed out again and experience the pain. When he stopped, she felt the reverberation of the spanking through every part of herself.
"Tell me everything. Everything you did with him. I need to know." The hardness and pain in her husband's voice were far worse than the spanking.
Like a sinner in the confessional, she offered it all up for him to judge. "I touched him. With my hands. I ran my hands all over his chest. I held his cock for Celia."
"What else?" Marco seemed frozen there. Neither of them had moved from their position—him, standing behind her, his hand at the ready to chastise; her, bent over the bed.
"I put my tongue in his ear," she paused to sniffle. "I kissed him. Open mouthed. I used a bedroom voice with him." What else? She searched her memory for more sins to offer up for cleansing.
"Is that all?"
"I think so," she whispered.
"Leave me."
Those two words tore her apart more than anything. There was no comfort, no coming together this time. He didn't want her in his bed. It grieved her, terribly. She got up stiffly and gathered her discarded clothes, sniffing as she walked to Celia's room.
She slept curled into Celia for comfort. In the morning, Marco had already gone. On the table, he'd left a note under a jug of olive oil.
Use this to oil the strap in my room, was all it said. In his room, they discovered he had cut a belt of his so it was shorter—a little longer than a foot and a half. She and Celia took turns in silence, massaging oil into the dry leather until it was slick and flexible, Celia sparing worried glances at her all the while. Celia knew her too well—there were no words needed between them to describe the depth of her anxiety.
She was terrified of losing him. Afraid she'd done irreparable harm to their marriage, their relationship. Fearful they would never be the same again. And apart from all those huge worries, the thought of the oiled leather strap on her bottom was one she couldn't bear to dwell on, either. Not just for the pain, but also because it dredged up the memory of the last time he'd taken a strap to her. That horrible fight they'd had over the puttana. And now, here they were again, only the other way around. She remembered her pain at the thought of him with another woman. That was the pain she'd given him.
He didn't return until after supper that night. They stayed in Celia's room, hiding like cowards, until he called to them. He said nothing more, just indicated his room with a tip of his head. Inside, he said, "Robes off. Same position." He picked up the strap and examined their work. Lucia trembled.
He whipped Celia first, snapping the oiled strap across her bottom again and again until she moaned into the covers. He paused, and Lucia thought he was through with her sister, but then she heard the slap of the strap again, louder. Harder. He brought it down on Celia five times, very hard. Celia yelped with each one. Lucia hid her own face in the bed, crying already, even though it wasn't her turn yet. Her whole body started to shake so much that she couldn't hide it—her legs trembled noticeably.
Lucia felt Marco turning his attention to her, and she wept. "Lucia," he said quietly and pulled her out of her position to standing, facing him. The lines of his face were still tight and stiff, but his eyes searched her face with concern.
"What is it?" he asked.
Tears ran down her cheeks, but she couldn't answer, she just shivered before him. She was astonished to see tears fill his eyes, suddenly, before he blinked them back. "Are you so afraid of me?" His voice cracked.
Still, she could not answer. Was she afraid of him? She certainly was scared. Afraid she'd ruined her marriage. Afraid he would not forgive her. And yes, afraid of a punishment with that strap. But afraid of him? No.
She shook her head. "No. I trust you to punish me," she whispered.
He looked momentarily shocked at that and then sad. He cupped her face in his hands. "Let's get it over with then, no?"
She nodded mutely, and this time he sat on the bed and pulled her over his lap, rather than having her bend over the side of the bed. She greatly preferred this position—she felt closer to him this way. He brought the strap down sharply across her bottom, and she gasped at the pain. Again and again, he brought it down. As with every spanking, she quickly reached the point where she felt the pain was too much and she struggled, resisting, as if she could somehow avoid it. He held her firmly in place and continued snapping the oiled strap across her tender flesh. The oil had made it flexible and much more stingy than usual. Knowing there were no words to stop this spanking, she bit her lip when the urge to beg and plead hit her, passing through that stage and arriving at full submission relatively quickly. She gave up all resistance and lay limply over his knee, accepting the sting of his punishment as a cleansing ritual.
Marco stopped and lay the strap down on the bed. His hand stroked up and down the backs of her legs and bottom. It was gentle—tender, even, and it made her eyes wet. How much she wanted his forgiveness now.
"Celia..." His voice was full of regret.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed.
"Why...why did you not come to me with your plan?" He sounded hurt.
"It was not planned...really, my lord. The opportunity presented itself, and we were of the same mind."
"And if there had been time to discuss it? Would you have brought it to me for my consideration?" She could tell by the demand in his tone he already knew the answer.
"No."
"And why not?"
Because it is better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. "
We wished to surprise you."
"No." He started spanking her afresh with his hand. Slaps falling over and over again. "You knew it would offend me. You lied when I asked how you came upon the knowledge. Do not pretend this is a pleasant surprise." He punctuated his words with hard slaps, then began his rapid assault again, striking the same place three or four times in a row before moving to the other side. She wriggled in panic.
"Please, Marco!"
He stopped and rubbed. "Don't beg, Lucia," he said quietly. "Be grateful I'm only spanking with my hand." He applied several more hard spanks to her twitching bottom.
Weeping, she nodded into the covers to show she agreed.
"Apart from the personal offense you gave me, what you did could have been dangerous. Were you prepared to give it all up to him? Because you can't take a man to an edge and expect to pull back. What if he had decided he wanted more from you? You could have been raped."
"That's why I went along—for Celia's safety."
Marco was silent for a moment. "Well, there's reason in that," he conceded.
She was surprised he was rational enough to concede any point to her, considering how angry he'd been.
"Perhaps the two of you together could have defended yourselves. But that's not the only reason you participated, is it?"
Lucia cringed, expecting a fresh volley of spanks, but instead he waited for her answer, lightly stroking her blazing bottom again. Despite all the pain of this punishment, it was so much better than being bent over the bed and chastised with the riding crop. Here she felt the warmth of his legs underneath her, his hand on her back, the occasional caress. Here she felt like the bond between them that she had so badly jeopardized was not unrecoverable.
"No," she whispered.
"No. You knew having two women at once is an irresistible proposition to a man, especially when they are beautiful and identical. You are a clever pair of women. Very clever."
He started spanking again, and she hunched into the bed, rolling her face back and forth on the mattress. He spoke as he spanked, speaking intermittently and allowing his hand to place emphasis on his words. "The trouble is, Lucia, you're mine. I will not share you with another man. Not even if it's for my benefit. Not even if it's just kissing and touching with your clothes on. Not for anything." He continued to spank her. "I love you, Lucia."
Her breath stopped. The words she'd been longing to hear. She rolled over to look at him, and his arm supported her waist so she didn't fall off his lap. When he looked at her, she saw pain and vulnerability in his serious face.
This was new for him. He had not just admitted it to her for the first time, he had admitted it to himself.
He lifted her up and pushed her farther back on the bed. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she slid her knees up slowly to invite him. He climbed over her, hovering on his hands above her, staring down as if trying to memorize her face. He kissed her with a bruising ferocity, his mouth open, his tongue aggressive.
Feeling the hardness of his sex, she reached down to free him from his pants, and he broke the kiss, sitting back on his haunches to strip off his shirt and toss it over his shoulder. He crawled back over her as he used one hand to slide his pants down further. He pressed the tip of his length between her legs and she found she was ready for him—the stimulation of the spanking in such near proximity had made her slick and open. He slid into her, filling her so completely she had to force her muscles to relax so she could fully accommodate his size. He paused there a moment, closing his eyes, then began to slide in and out of her slowly.
She heard a rustle next to her as Celia slipped off her position on the bed, sneaking quietly away to give them privacy. She returned her gaze to the intense stare of her husband, his handsome face all shadowy planes in the lamplight.
She sighed. Her tears had stopped, but her breath was still finding its way back to a rhythm. Marco leaned down and kissed down her neck. She wrapped her arms around him, but he removed them, pinioning her wrists above her head with one of his large hands. His eyes swept down to her breasts, then back up. "Mine," he growled.
"Yes," she breathed.
The force of his thrusts increased, and she relaxed her muscles to avoid being hurt as he drove deeply into her, building the intensity until she sank her fingernails into his arms, making a keening cry when she climaxed. He followed with his own, and for the first time, he did not pull out.
* * *
"Celia."
She heard her name spoken the next morning from Marco's room. A soft command, given with the note of authority that knows it will be instantly obeyed. She got out of bed and padded in, stopping by the side of the bed, respectfully.
Marco held out his hand to her. "Come."
She crawled up on the bed. Lucia was on the other side of him, looking sated.
"Let me see your bottom," he said.
She pivoted on her knees to show him, looking over her shoulder at him. He nodded. "Despite the way it may have seemed last night, it looks like Lucia fared the better of you two."
He was right. Lucia's bottom, though still red, did not have the thin, raised welts from the crop nor the smattering of lines from the edges of the strap hers did. His spanking her with his hand afterward seemed to have prevented the raised marks.
"I wonder if it's too late to amend that," he mused and pulled her over his lap. She whimpered. He started spanking her with his hand, causing her to yelp. He continued for a few minutes, then stopped and rubbed.
His fingers dipped between her legs and slid up and down over her sex, creating a new sensation to attend to. His fingers entered her, stroking in and out, building a fire in her. Then she felt something pressing at her back hole at the same time. She froze completely. It must be his thumb.
"Fetch me that olive oil, Lucia."
She heard Lucia get up and cross the room and return, then the gurgle of liquid oil. The thumb stroked up and down over the little button of her bottom, oiling the surface with the olive oil. It was surprisingly erotic—a new kind of pleasure, but terribly embarrassing, just the same.
His fingers plunged into her sex again and then the thumb pressed more insistently, gaining entry. She gave a small cry of pain. "Hush, Celia. Take your punishment like a good girl," Marco murmured and she groaned her agreement. Again, there was pleasure. Mixed in with some pain. He moved in and out of both of her entryways, causing such intense sensations she was nearly overwhelmed by it.
He pulled his fingers out and started spanking again, and she instantly started sniffling. So intense had been the sensation he'd created in her that he had dissolved any internal resistance she might have. She was fully submitted. His to do with as he chose. And at the moment, he chose to spank. He spanked; she wept.
Then it stopped, and he slid her off his lap so she lay on her belly on the bed. He spread her thighs and climbed above her. She held her breath. He had steadfastly refused to have sex with her before, but perhaps he had changed his mind. But no, he parted her cheeks with his hands and she felt the lubricated tip of his cock on her back hole. She immediately clenched her cheeks together, tucking her tail as best she could.
"No, Celia." He started slapping her sore bottom and, even worse—the backs of her thighs, hard. "Open for me. You're mine, too, Celia. And I'm like the rutting stag that must claim what belongs to him."
He slipped his hand under her hips, and he circled the little nubbin of sensation at the apex of her sex. She gushed moisture in response. Marco parted her cheeks again and pushed into her back hole. She started to resist again, but he commanded, "Push back at me." She arched her hips obediently.
"No, not your hips, with this," he said, nudging her hole again. Slowly, she pushed the muscles back toward him, opening the hole like a flower as he slid in. She gasped at the pain. Lucia made little circles around the pearl of her sex to distract her, and she felt herself relax and open further. It was intense. Pleasure and pain mixed all together. He moved slowly in and out of her as Lu
cia kept her on edge with her ministrations. Soon the pleasure overtook the pain, swelling until she was moaning for release. She climaxed hard—a cascade of release and pleasure rolling through her in wave after wave.
Marco spared her his climax, perhaps knowing her virginal bottom could not handle any more. He pulled out and stroked himself, spilling his seed on the bed with a groan. Then he fell back and settled on his back on the bed, pulling her to him, tucked under one arm, with Lucia tucked on his other side.
They said nothing for a long time. Then Marco said. "It's not true, Celia."
"I'm sorry?" she started, pulled out of the daze she'd sunken into.
"What I said—I don't think of you as mine."
She didn't know what to say to that.
"I don't begrudge you being with another. Though I would still punish you for not asking permission first. But you are free to choose a man if you like. And you're not obligated to my bed."
"Thank you, my lord."
"Did you think you were?" He frowned.
She looked up in surprise.
"Obligated. To my bed?"
"No, my lord. I come willingly. Always."
He settled back at that, seemingly satisfied.
"Thank you," he said simply.
They laid that way for a long time. Marco drifted back to sleep, and she and Lucia stayed snuggled against him, happy he showed such signs of forgiveness. Lucia had been particularly stricken by his anger, so Celia had been glad for her that Marco had made love to her the night before.
After dozing for about an hour, they rose and broke fast together. It was a subdued affair, but not entirely uncomfortable. The overwhelming tension of the past days had broken.
Marco left the apartment again to conduct business and returned home in time for supper.
He seemed to be in a decent mood. "I made a deal for cork today," he announced, pleased with himself.
"That's great! Well done," Lucia said.