The Obedient Wife

by Faulkner, Carolyn

  He wore a self-satisfied grin when his hand began to vibrate. Although she was usually a good girl, even now her obedience to his commands could be an iffy thing, especially when it required that she act on her own and in a way that she considered to be contrary to her best interests or comfort. That was okay with him - not that he’d ever give her that impression of course; but he never tired of correcting her, and always managed, somehow, to find out when she had been naughty.

  In the interest of getting her home as soon as he possibly could, he withdrew his hand, however reluctantly, bringing it to his nose so he could capture her womanly scent. “Tell me what it felt like to do what I asked you to do.”

  “Embarrassing, especially having to insert them in the bathroom.”

  “But you insert tampons while you’re in the bathroom,” he countered.

  “Yes, but I don’t usually stick one up my butt,” she replied pointedly.

  “Were you able to get any work done?” He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, not managing to sound very sympathetic.

  “Not much.”

  “Good. You work too hard, anyway. They owe you a helluva lot more than a half hour or so of daily down time.”

  Ginger smiled, but it was strained. She was too close to orgasm - and had been for quite some time - although she knew she couldn’t come. Those things were cruel and unusual. They brought her right to that peak, right at that spot just before all hell broke loose - aching and throbbing and yearning - and kept her there. She had had to constantly adjust her skirt, worried that there would be a big wet spot on her office chair when she got up.

  His car had seat covers, so there was no such concern now, unfortunately. Perhaps if there had been, she could have gotten him to give her permission to remove the little devils, although that was highly doubtful. He would reserve that pleasure for himself, and she had no idea when she’d be allowed completion. She wouldn’t put it past him in the least to simply remove them before they went to sleep tonight, doing nothing towards a resolution for her in the least.

  What if he left them inside her all night?! She couldn’t bear to think of it. At least she’d know exactly what she would be dreaming of all night . . .

  They made it home in record time, although she knew he hadn’t sped once - unlike the way she would have driven. That was one of the reasons he was almost always the one behind the wheel when they were together. Her collection of speeding tickets were no lie, he’d found out early on.

  As if he thought she was going to run away from him, he came around and helped her out of the car, then guided her into the house and straight up the stairs to their bedroom - do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

  He was vibrating nearly as badly as she was with anticipation. He just loved stimulating her by remote control, knowing how prim and proper she was at work. He had thought of nothing else all day but had resisted the urge to turn it on too early. He didn’t want her losing control of herself at work and, if last night was anything to judge by, those little things packed a wallop. Sean was eager to discover the results for himself. She was nude in front of him - his preferred state of dress for her - practically before they’d made it into the house.

  Not that that was necessarily unusual. He had, on occasion, taken her in full daylight, up against a tree on their heavily forested property or on the grass of their small front yard . . . he loved the sight of her gloriously naked form in the sunlight, and her hesitancy - her modesty - on this point never failed to delight him. It didn’t seem to matter how many times he pressed her past her comfort level to obey him, making sure she was most generously rewarded for it; it always popped right back into place the next time he had a taste for taking her in the great outdoors.

  Now, though, they were standing at the end of their big comfortable bed, his hand already between her legs, just cupping her. Sean watched Ginger’s eyes literally roll back in her head at the waves of pure pleasure those two little helpers brought to her - nonstop for the last hour and a half or so.

  For his Ginger, it wasn’t just those godawful things buzzing away inside her. The biggest part of her response to them was that his command to her to do it. Submitting to him got her hot, and having his hand claiming bold possession of the tenderest parts of her only served to amplify what she already felt.

  It was him - not the gadgetry - to which she responded. That ultra-intimate level of connection that the muggles - vanillas - would never, could never really understand. Over their years together, she had voluntarily exposed herself to him - and sometimes he had laid her open himself in testing her limits, as well as setting a good number of them for her, provided a completely safe place in which she could be his to an extent that often left her breathless and tearful.

  She had reveled in almost every bit of what they’d explored, but that was because the basics were there: submitting to him had her at the boiling point from the beginning, and it was always what her responses came down to. His voice, his manner, his innate dominance turned her on more so than any contraption ever could or would. It was him. He was the key to her . . . everything.

  The center of her world was standing there holding what was - for the moment - the center of her world. Ginger could barely scrape together a coherent thought and absolutely could not prevent herself from grinding against that firm hand of his. It was so big that its presence there automatically forced her to spread her legs a bit to accommodate him, but then he used his own leg to sweep hers open even further - as if she was a perp he had up against a wall - forcing her to grant him access to that which he coveted.

  That which he owned.

  They had never had any sort of formal ceremony to acknowledge that side of their relationship. They didn’t need it. It just was. More than domestic discipline, but less - or rather different - than what either of them had seen online, she knew she could trust him not to ask anything of her that would be detrimental to her in any way, and yet he managed to think of things like this that tested her, stretched her emotionally and intimately and physically in ways she could never have imagined before they met.

  She’d been his - in this bare-bones, deeply committed manner - for longer than she would ever admit, not wanting to encourage him that much, but he wasn’t wrong when he insisted that it was true the moment they met.

  “You were a good girl today,” he whispered huskily against her neck, nibbling just below her ear, feeling her shudder all over at the compliment. He was always very supportive of her, but compliments were doled out sparsely, so as not to lose their effect, she surmised. “Was it hard to do?”

  “Yes,” she whispered baldly, answering him more slowly than usual because it was just that hard to concentrate on talking. “It’s just so . . . public, you know? The stalls have those doors that have the half inch gap around the doors - just enough that, if you look at all, you can really tell who’s in the stall and what they’re doing.”

  “Was there someone else in there when you went to insert them?”

  His lips weren’t the only part of him that was busy as he interrogated her. His fingers had boldly spread her lips wide apart, settling heavily onto her exposed clit but very carefully not moving at all after that, as if he knew just how close she was - and she was sure that, somehow, he did.

  “N-no,” she mewled, lost in his touch, eyes closed, her cheek resting against the bulge of his bicep for support. Sean liked to get her to talk about how doing what he commanded felt to her, but Ginger knew she wasn’t up for his usual voyeuristic explorations. She was quite literally seconds away from flying apart.

  As if he sensed just how close she was, he suddenly stepped away from her and Ginger let out a mournful cry at the sudden loss of intimacy - and stimulation.

  “I want you on the bed, with your legs spread. Now.”

  She hurried to obey, worried about where this was going to lead.

  He had turned to stand looking down at her from the end of the bed, arranging her close to t
he edge, legs splayed obscenely.

  “Touch yourself. I want to watch you cum,” he commanded.

  That was a surprise. He didn’t usually like her to masturbate - she was prohibited from doing so without his permission, and he almost never gave it. He liked the idea that her pleasure came from him alone.

  His unusual order had her flustered, since this was such a rare thing, and he was standing in a position where he would be able to see every bit of the action, how her hands began to wander slowly past her waist, using the fingers of her left hand and the outer edges of her ring and pinky fingers of her right to hold herself open to him - quite lewdly displayed - as her middle finger dutifully dipped down to wet its tip in the veritable fountain of her own dew, then began to swirl around her already severely swollen and distended clit.

  She was at such a sensitive point that even her own touch had her jackknifing from the sheer raw sensations.

  Sean was still fully clothed, although he had already freed himself from the confines of his jeans and underwear, springing forth a good eight inches away from his fly, long and thick and already dripping with pre-cum. He slathered himself with lubricant - some from a clinical tube and some by reaching down to press two thick, hard fingers deeply inside of her, pushing the invader that was already there just that much further inside her, with no preamble whatsoever, while she touched herself - causing his prim little wife to issue a guttural groan at his unexpected invasion.

  He didn’t linger. She was to pleasure herself on her own - with no help from him. Well, none but those ever-present balls that he revved up to their highest notch. This had her gyrating madly before him, nearly sending him over the edge before she got there seconds later, her body already so primed that she went off like a rocket, long golden locks ebbing and flowing against the background of the pale pink comforter, as if he was watching Venus herself writhing with pleasure in front of him.

  And she was his Venus.

  When he screamed with his own completion, spurting onto the tops of her still busily frigging fingers, she was coming loudly to her second completion, and didn’t show any signs of stopping.

  He stood there as he tried to catch his breath, marveling at her, wishing male anatomy allowed for such feats of sexual prowess as achieving ten or so orgasms at a clip without so much as breaking a sweat.

  As he climbed into bed beside her, tugging her up to his side from where she had collapsed into an incoherent lump at the end of the bed, holding her tight as she shuddered her way back down to Earth within the safety of his arms, still marveling at her whole-hearted response to him and her infinite capacity for pleasure.

  He’d admitted his envy of that component of being a woman - and only that component. He was too much of a man to covet much of anything else about being female. Ginger had tried to explain to him that it was wonderful, but - at least as far as she was concerned - that it really was a law of diminishing returns. Her first orgasm was always the best. When she was single and able to bring herself off any time she liked, she still stopped at about five orgasms, simply because her body became progressively more and more sensitive, to the point that there really wasn’t much of an explosion or culmination - just more, less satisfying, muscle spasms.

  But as many times as she reiterated that point to him, he still found himself endlessly fascinated by just the mere possibility of long strings of orgasms he knew he’d never be able to have.

  For him, unfortunately, they’d met too late in life for that - not that he’d done much of it even when he was young. He figured he could count on one hand the number of times in his life that he’d been able to cum twice in a row, and the instances had diminished considerably the older he got - even with the love of his life.

  But Ginger was another matter.

  Even now, he couldn’t keep his hand from wandering down between them to let that curious finger of his part her lips and find the little nub of flesh he’d been seeking. He knew that sometimes, when she’d cum a lot, she needed it fast and furious to get there again, and sometime she needed it slow and very, very light.

  He went for light first, and was rewarded by a deep groan.

  “Nooooooo,” she whispered raggedly, but she knew better than to close her legs to him.

  “Oh yes, Lovely.” He buried his face in the curtain of her hair, breathing deeply of the perfumey scent of her shampoo. “You know how much I love to make you cum.”

  “But I just . . . !”

  He didn’t answer her almost complaint, just continued to avidly read her face and every movement of her body, but mostly her eyes, which she locked with his while he made subtle adjustments to the pressure and speed of his bold caresses after adding a dollop of lube to his finger and replacing it, right where it had been, and picking up the thread of her arousal as if he hadn’t missed a beat.

  “You know I’m going to have to do that to you again, don’t you?”

  “Do what?” she asked. Arousal made her deeply stupid.

  “Have you go out in public wearing your little friends.”

  “Public?” she parroted back to him, trying for alarm but not quite reaching it through the layers of pure arousal he was conjuring in her.

  “Yes. I think the next time we go have dinner with my parents you’ll be humming along the entire time.”

  She wanted to argue with him - well, as much as she ever could. She wanted to protest - loudly - and do her best to change his mind, but every bit of her body was tensed and readying itself for the orgasm he was hurtling her towards and it couldn’t be bothered to spare her the brain cells necessary to do that.

  All she got out was a soft, “No,” but it sounded more like she was protesting his caresses than his devious plan.

  “Oh yes, my love. You’re going to be sitting at the Olive Garden,” which was his parents’ favorite restaurant, “in one of those maroon and wood chairs with the wheels, and I’m going to have the remote in my pocket. You’ll never know when I’ll goose the level, and you’re going to have to cope with it, somehow, without letting them catch on, of course.”

  She knew he wasn’t just talking. The things that Sean often wondered out loud somehow managed to really happen most of the time.

  She could see that these little things needed to go the way the she tried to get the Ben Wa balls to go. Only this time, she needed to succeed.

  Lord knows she didn’t want a repeat of that punishment.

  After a little while of torturing her with visions of being embarrassed in front of his parents, he finally allowed her the last orgasm of the evening, and it was one of the hardest she’d had, no thanks to his embarrassing threat.

  Although it was early, he had her tucked in and asleep not long after, until the bedside phone rang, waking her up.

  “Who is it?” Ginger asked, opening one bleary eyeball to stare up at him. Phone calls at night were rarely about anything good, in her experience.

  Sean grinned down at her like the Cheshire cat. “It’s Mom. She wants to know if we want to go out to dinner tomorrow night.”

  Both eyes opened comically wide in alarm and she made a desperate grab for the phone, but he held it well away from her as he spoke.

  “We’d love to, Mom. Where do you want to go?” As if he needed to ask.

  Ginger held her breath, already knowing her fate for tomorrow.

  “Olive Garden? Sure! Ginger will be positively vibrating with anticipation.”

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  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

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  Faulkner, Carolyn, The Obedient Wife