by Emily Tilton
“Why does it do that?” Carly asked, sounding half fearful and half fascinated. “Sir?”
“Because I want to fuck you, sweetheart,” Jim said simply and very gently. “Kiss up and down the shaft, now. Then you’re going to lick my balls.”
Carly took the inside of her cheek between her teeth, then, and her brow creased very deeply. Again her eyes rose to his.
“Do I have to?” she whispered.
Jim nodded, setting his own brow into a decisive smoothness. “Yes, Carly. You have to. From now on, things are going to go the way I want them, in here.”
“And…” Her voice trailed off.
“And everywhere else, too,” he confirmed. Then, hardly believing how dominant his cock’s aching need had become, he used his grip on the back of her head to bring her face forward once again, to enforce her obedience to his command.
Carly gave a little whimpering cry, and she started to kiss. When she had kissed her way down the shaft, to the spot that always seemed to Jim a center of his pleasure, he couldn’t suppress a groan of ecstasy. Carly’s answering sob of need and gratification, as if her husband’s pleasure had gone straight to her own clit, brought Jim close to coming. He pumped his hard shaft slowly, as he said, “Now the balls, Carly.”
“Oh, no,” his gorgeous, almost naked bride whispered, as she did as he had told her. She put her tongue out, and she licked his wrinkled scrotum, and Jim grunted with pleasure again. “Oh, no. Sir, please,” she breathed, kneeling before him and doing the thing she clearly wanted to do but didn’t want to do of her own free will.
“That’s it, good girl,” Jim said gently. “Now it’s time to get your face fucked. Open your mouth.”
He twined his fingers in the hair at the back of her head, to let her know she wouldn’t escape having her husband in her mouth that shameful way, but Carly bent forward on her own, moaning as she did indeed part her lips.
Jim held in her place, and he fed her his rigid manhood gently and shallowly at first. He thrust up into her mouth and he used her for his pleasure that way, as she whimpered around the thick shaft that pressed in a little further each time.
“Now put your hand on the cock,” Jim commanded. “Move it up and down the way I did, and learn to move your mouth up and down, too.”
Suddenly seeming eager to see what would happen, Carly obeyed. Jim relaxed his hold on her head, and guided her mouth gently up and down as for the first time she actually touched his cock. She moaned as she learned how big her husband’s hard penis felt in her little hand, and she used her tongue around its head so arousingly that Jim’s manhood rewarded her with another leap.
Carly’s little cry of apparent satisfaction raised his arousal so high that he had to hold her in place again, and thrust up, deep inside. She whimpered at this renewed use of her mouth as a mere receptacle for his hardness, and Jim came so close to orgasm once again that he relaxed his grip. He made sure she kept the head of his cock between her lips, and he stroked her cheek gently as she timidly began to pump his shaft again.
“Look at me,” he said. Her eyes had been fixed on his lap, on the obscene place where she must learn to do her conjugal duty. Now she raised them obediently. The sight of her with his penis in her mouth, looking up at him with blushing cheeks, nearly brought his climax on, but he stilled her motions to keep himself in check. “This is a blowjob, as I guess you know. You’re going to give me blowjobs, dressed the way you are now, whenever I ask. I’m going to ask often.”
A little whining sound came from Carly’s throat. She tried to lift her head from his erection, but Jim held her in place.
“If you need to think of it as part of your punishment for shoplifting, you can go ahead and do that.”
Carly’s eyes widened, and Jim could see in them that she hadn’t thought of that way of putting the matter to herself—and that it worked for her, on some deep level. Again, the Marriage Academy guidelines had come through: Give her a reason to think of submissive sex as discipline.
“But,” Jim continued, “the main part of your punishment happens now. You’re going to get over the pillows on the bed, and I’m going to whip you in these naughty panties. Then I’m going to claim you the way I should have done from the start.”
Chapter 9
In a kind of trance, Carly piled the two big pillows halfway down the left side of the bed, in the spot Jim had pointed to after he had taken the comforter and the top sheet off the mattress.
He didn’t mean that.
The pillows felt so soft in her hands; they had bought new sheets for their new bed, and new, very fluffy pillows. She tried to focus on the softness, how she would feel comfortable when she got over the cloudlike cushions…
The soft pillows that her husband had ordered her to put there, in the middle of the bed where they didn’t belong, so that…
“Get your naughty backside over them, now,” came his voice from behind her, making Carly jump and look back at him. He stood with a stern expression in his eyes, holding the terrifying belt in his right hand, once again coiled around the fist he had made over the buckle.
He couldn’t have meant… that.
The buckle… when she was eighteen, just going off to New Modesty college, Carly had sometimes imagined what men did, with their belts, when they gave young women ‘the belt’ for some severe fault in their conduct. She had always shivered, thinking about the buckle.
Carly had felt sure that it couldn’t mean that your husband hit you with the buckle. She had another distressing thought, though, every time she considered it, and the strange shiver had gone all the way through her body. If a girl did something really bad, maybe she should have her bottom whipped. Maybe she should even get a whipping with her husband’s belt buckle.
“You heard me, Carly,” Jim said.
She felt her face crumple. She knew why he would tell her to move along, to do as he had said. She had piled the pillows very slowly, in this strange trance, and she had paused, thinking about the softness, then thinking about the buckle, and then looking back at him with pleading eyes.
And trying not to think about… claiming. Claiming the way he should have done from the start.
Carly’s thoughts about the buckle went together with her thoughts about the little wrinkled button between her bottom-cheeks. Unconsciously—and even unwillingly, for she tried to stop the movement as soon as she realized it had begun—she put her hand behind her, as she looked at her stern, handsome husband.
She felt how very bare her bottom was, its little round globes still a little warm from the spanking. Her fingers had to go between the cheeks a little ways even to feel the lace that covered the tiny ring that Jim had just told her—if he had told her—he meant to enter with his hard cock, even though it didn’t belong there.
Her eyes went to him; Jim had taken off his shirt, now. He looked so powerful, naked, with the belt in his right hand and the rigid shaft of his penis in his left. Carly, in the tiny, lacy thong, felt much more exposed and displayed than her naked husband looked.
She had knelt and she had sucked his huge, hard cock. He had made her, but she had done it, as lewd and wanton as it made her feel. She had heard his grunts of pleasure, and he had held her in place to use her like a sex toy, and she had—without his knowing, Carly felt sure—had to put her hand inside the tiny panties just to soothe the arousal that had brought.
It had gone in her mouth, and she would take it there from now on whenever he told her to kneel before him. The idea sent a thrill of shame and need from her clit through her hips, and she turned back to the pillows, her face hot, because she didn’t want to think about the other thing.
The claiming.
The other thing Jim will do from now on, whenever he decides to put you over the pillows.
She heard him step forward, the floor creaking a bit under his solid weight, and she felt him behind her. Carly started, expecting him to start whipping her because she hadn’t obeyed quickly enough.
They had never embraced this way, with no clothes—or practically no clothes—on. The feeling of their bare skin touching drew a sob of fear and arousal from Carly like she had never uttered before, and she put her head against Jim’s hairy chest and just wept for a moment.
“Shh, sweetheart,” he said gently. “You know I have to do this, and you have to take it.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered, her body suddenly warm with love in a way she realized suddenly she had never thought it might. “Yes, sir. But…”
“But it’s scary,” Jim said. “I know, Carly.”
“Do you have to… claim me?” she asked, half hoping her voice would get lost in his firm pectoral muscles.
“Yes, sweetheart. That’s very important to me, and I know now that it’s important to you, too. Your bottom is the place you get disciplined, and from now on you’re not going to be in any doubt who it belongs to.”
Another sob heaved its way up, and she clung to him, her arms twining around his back as if she could ward off the leather she felt behind her own back that way. But Jim began to turn her again, now, toward the bed and the pillows.
Fear jolted through her chest, and suddenly she tried to get away, tried to run. Jim easily grabbed her, and lifted her up, though Carly tried half-heartedly to kick, and he laid her over the pillows.
It all happened in a flash, and then her husband held her down with his left hand and began to whip her with his right. The slap of the leather rang out in their bedroom, and it took Carly a moment to understand, from the sharp pain rocketing through her body, that the belt had come down, very hard, across her backside.
“Your whipping… will start… when you… lie still,” Jim said, frustration very evident in his voice, which had risen in volume, as loud as Carly had ever heard it. He kept lashing her bottom and thighs with the horrible leather as he spoke, using his left arm to keep her well enough in place to deliver each stroke on target despite her kicking.
She had started to scream in pain. For a few moments she kept struggling, but not to get away and out the door. Her body simply wanted to avoid the awful sting of the belt against her poor bottom.
Carly’s face turned from side to side. Over her right shoulder she caught a glimpse of Jim, with a determined look on his face, bringing the belt down in a steady rhythm on the disobedient backside of a girl who had tried to shoplift the shameful panties she now wore.
With a little cry, Carly hung her face to the bed, and stilled her body despite the pain.
“Good girl,” Jim said grimly, and then he gave her three more lashes, his left hand resting with less force on her back, as if to steady her for her punishment.
Carly’s whole body jerked with each one, and the burning pain made her cry out, but she put her arms in front of her, and grasped the far end of the mattress, and she let her husband bestow his justice on her raised, almost-bare bottom.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, after the third awful stroke. “I’m so sorry, sir.”
Jim stopped whipping her. For a strange, confusing moment, Carly’s mind wondered if she should feel disappointed… as if she had become so accustomed to not getting the discipline she understood now, to her embarrassment, that she needed… so accustomed that she simply couldn’t ever get enough.
Then a wave of pain washed over her, from her burning, punished bottom, and she knew with a terrible kind of relief that her disappointment had flown away. She couldn’t bear another lash from Jim’s horrible belt.
“Please… no more. Sir, I’m so sorry.”
She turned her tearstained face back over her shoulder to look at her strong, naked husband. He looked back at her, still holding her down with his left hand but his right, the one holding the belt, at his side. His cock jutted proudly out, and she understood, with a sudden, shameful surge of heat below her tummy, that her husband liked to whip her naughty bottom. It made him hard; it made him want to fuck his disobedient bride.
The thrill of arousal took her utterly by surprise. Carly swallowed hard; she had thought that the moment she had come, playing with herself for the first time just a few minutes earlier, had represented the most wanton she could ever feel. Now, though, the agony from Jim’s belt had somehow become a kind of lewd ache she had never imagined. Her cheeks burned as she felt herself clench inside the naughty panties.
She couldn’t take her eyes from his hard penis. She wanted it in her pussy. She wanted it…
Wherever he wants to claim me.
“Oh, God,” she whispered.
“Are you planning on stealing any more panties, Carly?” Jim asked. His hairy, muscular chest rose and fell. He took his left hand from her back, and she watched, her lips parted and—to her embarrassment—her mouth watering as he began to stroke his cock again.
“No, sir,” Carly sobbed, the pain and the need seeming to burst out of her chest in the words.
“Good girl,” Jim said. The words made Carly arch her back and thrust her hips down onto the pillows.
For a moment she wondered what would happen next. In the month of their marriage, sex had always begun with her coming in from the bathroom, having just applied a generous amount of lube. With a blush she realized she had absolutely no need for that, but how would it start, now?
She needn’t have worried. No, from now on, clearly, sex would happen very differently for her.
Jim climbed onto the bed behind her. He put the coiled belt on her back, to remind her how she had ended up over the pillows, getting a whipping and a fucking in her naughty panties. Jim straddled her, a strong, hairy thigh on either side of her slim, soft ones. She gave a little cry as she felt him lay his cock between her bottom cheeks, and rub the punished globes gently but very possessively.
He’ll decide when to fuck me, her suddenly filthy mind whispered, sending a jolt to her nipples and her clit. He’ll decide how he wants to fuck me.
He had focused his attention downward, on his cock, her bottom, and the lacy panties. Now he met her eyes again. The smile on his face made Carly’s heart skip a beat.
“This took us long enough, didn’t it?” he asked softly.
“What?” she asked, her eyes widening.
His smile grew. “Me realizing what you need,” he said with a chuckle.
She felt her blush blaze up. For some reason, though she had thought exactly the same thing for the last, thrilling half hour or so, she still couldn’t admit it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
For a moment she thought she had ruined it, but then she understood: he really did know, even if she couldn’t—yet?—confess her whole shameful heart.
“Turn your face forward,” he said, his smile lessening, but not departing entirely from his face.
Carly’s heart started to pound. She almost questioned him, almost refused, but he seemed to realize, and he gave her bottom a squeeze as if to remind her that the belt sat right there on her back, ready to renew her whipping if necessary. With a whimper she obeyed. She turned her burning face to the sheet, wet with her tears.
“I’m going to fuck you in these naughty panties, now, Carly. I’m going to fuck your pussy, and then I’m going to fuck your bottom, to teach you the lesson you earned.”
Carly let out a little cry as she felt his fingers work their way between the narrow fabric of the panties’ back and tug the gusset out of her backside’s cleft.
“Oh, no,” she whispered to the mattress. She hadn’t considered that: the way a husband could get into his wife’s private places even while her sexy underwear stayed on. She gave a sob of shame and need as she felt Jim move his cock downward. A whimper broke from her chest at the touch of its firm but soft head against her clit, the rubbing of it between her tingling labia.
He put his hardness right where she needed it the most, then, just inside her.
“This is your reward
for taking your punishment,” he said in a low, rumbling voice, and then she cried out with pleasure as he thrust himself all the way in and began to fuck her hard from the start.
It felt so very different from the sex they had had so far that Carly instantly knew why some people called sex making love and others called it fucking. Jim, towering over her, astride her, fucked his wife now from behind. His hips drove hard and his cock went deep. He put his hands on her waist and held her still so that he could use her pussy exactly as he pleased.
To her mortification, Carly began to scream with pure pleasure from the start. She felt Jim’s sinewy lap slap against the bottom he had whipped, and the lingering soreness from the bruises she felt sure she would have felt like fiery ecstasy. Inside her, though—there lay the revelation. She didn’t know if was just the angle, or—more likely—the humiliation of being fucked this way after getting the belt, but her whole body seemed to have become nothing but one long orgasm.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Jim murmured as his hardness surged in and out. “Such a nice, tight pussy.”
Carly writhed over the pillows, the bucking of her hips, constrained by Jim’s hands, seeming to bring with each motion a new thrill. She came three times… four…
Suddenly Jim stopped his movements. Carly gave a little moan of frustration. Almost unconsciously she tried to move backwards, to get more of his cock inside her, but again he held her in place.
“Reach back and spread your bottom-cheeks, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a little stern now. “It’s time for the last part of your punishment.”
“Oh… no, please,” she whispered, but somehow her hands had already begun to obey.
Whatever he wants, from now on.
She gave a little sob as she felt her bruised bottom come into her own hands, after it had already belonged so thoroughly to her husband, while he had disciplined her. The feeling of the air on the cringing bud of her anus made her bite her lip.
Carly heard a familiar snap, and a soft squirting sound.