Confessions of a Kinky Wife

by Justine Elyot

  ‘Thought you’d like that,’ he said, his hands between my thighs now, pulling them apart. ‘Since you’re into pain these days.’

  ‘It’s not that I’m into pain,’ I said, my voice muffled by the cushion.

  ‘No? What then?’

  ‘Just … the whole idea turns me on, that’s all.’

  ‘The whole idea?’

  ‘Yeah. Being, I dunno, taken in hand. Dominated.’

  ‘Oh, so it’s a headspace thing.’

  ‘Totally.’

  ‘And I’m in charge, am I?’

  ‘If you want to be.’

  ‘So what if I just want to order you to get on your knees and suck me off?’

  I huffed. I hoped he wasn’t going to miss the point now.

  ‘If you want to do that, do it. But it’s about both of us getting what we want, not just one of us.’

  ‘Right. And what you want is a good, sound spanking, is it?’

  Oh, just hearing the words, spoken by him in his ‘arresting officer’ voice, could have got me off then and there.

  ‘Mmm, oh, God, yeah.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, his fingertips grazing the crotch of my knickers, stroking it up and down, up and down until my hips were undulating in sympathetic rhythm. ‘I’m not sure what you’ve done to deserve it. Apart from buy me a lovely anniversary present and give me three terrific years of marriage but … let’s say that you’re in trouble for having a bum that stops traffic.’

  I snorted and tried to kick my legs but, as he was kneeling on them, that didn’t make much difference.

  ‘Oh, yes, you stand accused of conducting your arse without due care and attention, so that everyone on the public highway was distracted by it. How do you plead?’

  ‘Guilty,’ I proclaimed, steeling myself for the first blow.

  It was much lighter than I anticipated, a little exploratory slap, so flimsy and weak-wristed I twisted my neck and frowned at him.

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Thing is, love,’ he said, his face crumpled in apology. ‘I’m not sure I can hurt you. Do you really want me to make it sting?’

  ‘Don’t hold back,’ I urged him. ‘I’ll tell you if it’s too much, I promise.’

  ‘Well, OK.’ He tried again, and this one made a most satisfying echo, his hand falling quite heavily across the meat of my right cheek. Oh, it hurt, but not too much. Really, just enough. I wondered how much it would take to get my arse really bright red, because that was what I wanted. No half-hearted blush pink, or rapidly fading warmth. I needed the full effect.

  ‘Harder,’ I said. ‘I’ve been bad.’

  ‘Have you now?’ More deliberate, forceful smacks landed on my rear. ‘You’ll have to tell me all about that. What have you done?’

  ‘I had bad thoughts,’ I gasped, starting to feel the burn spread through my lower body. ‘When you were on night shift, I thought about things you could do to me. All the time. And it made me touch myself.’

  ‘Oh, you naughty thing,’ he tutted, spanking steadily. ‘Perhaps we should have a rule. No touching, except by me. What do you think?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ I grasped on to this eagerly. I had often fantasised about being punished for masturbating.

  ‘So we have a genuine rule break to address,’ he said. ‘I think that calls for no knickers, don’t you?’

  He paused and pulled the stretchy lace down to my stocking tops, baring my now rather warm bottom.

  ‘You’re wet,’ he said, crouching to inspect my exposed pussy. He prodded at the lips, holding them aside for a better view of the hidden guilty secrets. One long finger glided easily up inside me. ‘Very wet,’ he amended. ‘Not much of a punishment, is it, if it’s turning you on?’

  ‘I can’t help it,’ I protested. ‘My body does it for me.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ll have to think of something else. Something you really won’t enjoy. A nice big pile of washing up, maybe.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ll just have to spank harder,’ I prompted. This wasn’t funny, no matter what he thought, chuckling away up there with his finger shoved inside me.

  ‘Well, it’s worth a try, I suppose.’

  He emptied my pussy and reverted to heating up my arse, but this time his technique was different, much faster and less predictable. It was infinitely more difficult to take and I was quick to squirm and yelp and try to pull my legs out from under him. He was having none of it, though, and he held me down, his fist in the small of my back like a human paperweight.

  ‘Feeling it now, are you?’

  ‘That. Really. Hurts,’ I complained, jerking my hips as best I could.

  ‘Do you want me to stop?’

  I shook my head. The heat was building beautifully and I didn’t want to call time until my skin was tight with it.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure about this to begin with, but I think I like it now. I think I could take to this.’

  I stuffed the cushion into my mouth, suppressing a howl as he laid a particularly wicked volley on both cheeks.

  Be careful what you wish for.

  ‘Your arse looks gorgeous, all lit up and glowing,’ he gloated. ‘I think you might have created a monster, love. And we haven’t even got to the belt yet.’

  ‘Ow,’ I said. It seemed to encapsulate my emotions.

  ‘OK, let’s temper justice with mercy, shall we? I think that’ll do for your first time. Now.’ He put his forearm under my stomach and encouraged me gently on to my knees, with my face still buried in the cushion.

  I heard the business of trousers being unzipped, fabric falling behind me.

  ‘Poor little pickle,’ he crooned.

  I felt the tip of his cock butting into my juices.

  ‘God, you are so wet!’ he exclaimed, obviously impressed. ‘This’ll be like a knife going into butter.’

  And it was. An exceptionally blunt, thick knife, right into my slippery slick butter dish, so to speak. I couldn’t get enough of him, pushing myself back on to him, especially when he rammed himself right up against my hot cheeks. He held my hips tight and I felt taken, owned, mastered. God, it was the hottest thing ever. When I came I bit into the cushion to stop myself screaming.

  Afterwards, lying on the sofa all rumpled and hot and tired, he picked the belt up off the floor.

  ‘Didn’t even get to use this,’ he said, yawning. ‘But it’s coming to you. Happy Anniversary, love.’

  I can’t wait.

  15 July

  We’ve had a busy few weeks, lots of overtime for Dan, and I’ve been trying to put together some summer-holiday workshops for my adolescents. Some additional family stress surrounding my mother-in-law (who else?) has also been ongoing, taking our attention away from our marriage and sex life to an extent.

  We’ve fooled about a bit, but any kinky stuff has been spur-of-the-moment and limited to a few smacks with the wooden spoon while I’m making dinner or whatever.

  And, while I like the fun aspect of it, and can’t complain at how it seems to have pepped up our bedroom activities, I can’t help craving something a little more. Do I mean more? Or do I mean different? I don’t know.

  The thing is, I’m not good with stress. In my day job, I have to model absolute patience and absolute tolerance, but this has always made Dan laugh because he knows that I’m actually extremely impatient and intolerant a lot of the time. I nearly ruined our relationship in the first year of marriage by constantly blowing my stack over the slightest little thing. I kept blaming him for everything – if I couldn’t find the scissors, he must have put them in the wrong place, though half the time it was me who’d done it.

  I did this so often that we ended up having a blazing row that must have kept the neighbours awake, with him threatening to move into the section house. Since then, I’ve tried to work on my temper, but I’m not sure my strategy of passive-aggressive stomping around and silent moodiness is really the best one.

  Ever since he spanked me on our wedding anniversa
ry, I’ve had this mad fantasy about him doing it as a genuine punishment. Not in an overbearing, patriarchal sort of way, but from a desire to help me overcome my faults and be a better person. Loving discipline, if that makes any sense at all. I’m tired of feeling guilty about my outbursts, or simmering and keeping all the resentment and irritation inside me. Perhaps, if he spanked it out of me, I’d be able to address my petty annoyances with openness and honesty, like a proper adult. Not that I’ve ever felt like a proper adult. Does anyone, ever? I constantly feel that events are spiralling out of my control and I want someone to take that control for me. I want it to be him.

  But I’m afraid to broach the subject with him. I think he’ll feel weird about it. So I’ve kept it to myself so far.

  I’ve ordered a book, though. The Guiding Hand – A Disciplinary Manual for Loving Husbands. Sounds like some kind of crackpot 50s-throwback thing, doesn’t it? But the blurb alone turned me on so much I had to order it.

  17 July

  So my new book arrived and it’s fascinating. I can’t stop reading it.

  I mean, I fundamentally disagree with nearly all of what the author thinks about male and female roles; a lot of it’s horrifically sexist, not to mention homophobic, but if you pretend it’s a manual for any dominant person and their lover – instead of traditional heterosexual married couples – it starts to make a bit of sense.

  I would die if anyone caught me with it but I just can’t put it down. I’m so conflicted, it’s as if I have an even split down the middle of me. There’s Pip the right-on youth worker and Pip the submissive wifey. Oh, God, I really can’t do this.

  I’m going to have to put the book away and forget about it.

  It’s just a fantasy.

  That’s all.

  20 July

  Oh, bugger.

  Dan has found the book.

  Everything had been going so well, too. We had the best night last night, and he actually used his new belt on me.

  We went out for drinks with friends and were both in a very happy, high, flirty mood all evening. I couldn’t help teasing him and making cheeky little remarks and there came a moment, halfway through the final drink, when he leaned into me and said, right into my ear, ‘My belt’s coming out when I get you home, missy.’

  It was ridiculously exciting. I bit my lip and clenched everything in my effort not to squeal. I made puppy-dog eyes at him, as if begging him to reconsider, but I had to tone it down a bit in case people cottoned on.

  He laughed and squeezed my knee and said no more about it, but the promise was so heavy in the air that I could barely swallow the last inch of my wine and longed for all the goodbyes to be over with, quickly, so we could get home.

  As soon as we were through the door, he had me up against the hall wall, his hand braced above my head, his forehead almost touching mine.

  ‘Someone’s been begging for a belting,’ he said softly. ‘Haven’t they?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said, coyly over-dramatic, the situation making my face burn.

  ‘Yes, you do, you minx.’

  He held me by my chin and took a fierce kiss from me until I nearly lost the use of my legs and slid down the wall like a person in a cartoon.

  ‘Go on,’ he said, releasing me. ‘Get those jeans down and bend over the arm of the sofa.’

  I stared at him, joyously open-mouthed.

  ‘Now!’ he ordered.

  I scampered off at the double, and, shivering inside, unbuttoned and lowered the jeans. Once they were mussed around my ankles, I bent over the arm of the chair, presenting my bottom in its sensible M&S cotton knickers.

  ‘That’s it,’ he said approvingly, once he had come out of the bedroom with the belt. ‘You know you need it, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh,’ I lamented, not quite able to talk the submissive talk, good as I was at bending over.

  ‘No, come on, I asked you a question, love. Now, what’s the answer? Do you need it, or do you need it?’

  I snorted. ‘Both.’

  ‘Good. Right, I think these might be surplus to requirements.’

  He pulled the knickers down.

  ‘You should have told me to take them off,’ I said, mildly surprised.

  ‘Are you telling me what to do? As it happens, I like pulling them down. It gives me a nice feeling. Right here.’

  He nudged his jean-clad crotch into the lower curve of my bottom. It was hard already. When he pressed it into my pussy, he soaked it in my flowing juices.

  ‘Point taken,’ I said.

  ‘Now get that arse nice and high, ready to be kissed by the leather. More than kissed, I’d say. A good, long, full-on snog with tongues.’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell,’ I said, nervous now. What if it was unbearably painful?

  He paused and put a hand on my bottom.

  ‘You OK?’

  I nodded vigorously.

  ‘Fine, honestly. Just a little … apprehensive.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you’ll tell me to stop if it gets too much, right?’

  ‘Go back to being all mean and dominant, Dan. I’ll tell you, I promise.’

  ‘Right you are. Mean and dominant.’

  He put his fist underneath my nose. It had the belt partly wrapped around it, about half of its length trailing away over the side of the sofa.

  I took a good deep sniff and my eyes crossed with heavenly lust.

  ‘You’re getting that,’ he told me. ‘Kiss it. Go on.’

  I laid my lips reverently on the supple hide, then watched it disappear from view.

  I tensed my buttocks, but all that happened was a light, ticklish sensation as the V-shaped end of the belt dangled between my cheeks.

  I twitched.

  ‘That tickles.’

  ‘It’ll tickle you some more. Stop tensing up.’

  He patted my rump until I unknotted the muscles, cursing him under my breath.

  I didn’t hear the belt fly through the air – I’d been hoping for that sexy whipping sound – so when it landed on my bum I was a bit shocked and my hand flew behind me to cover the little patch of sting it had left there.

  ‘Move your hand,’ commanded Dan, then, when I didn’t, he grabbed my wrist and tucked it under my stomach where it rested on the sofa arm. ‘No more of that or I’ll give you double strokes.’

  I waited for the second, and then tried to work out if it was more or less painful than his hand. His hand was heavier and covered more area, but this had a unique viperish quality to it that promised torments to come.

  It was deceptive in its lightness, little whispers of pain flicking over my bottom until he started to lay it on more heavily and then I began to rock and gasp. Solid bars of heat fell, one, two, three, then stopped.

  I looked over my shoulder. He had put the belt down. Was that it?

  ‘No,’ he said, in answer to the unspoken question. ‘Just an interlude.’

  He spread my thighs and began to rub my clit, gently, not enough to bring me off, but little teasing touches that had me pushing myself on his fingers and moaning for more.

  ‘Just as wet as ever,’ he said. ‘You want it, don’t you? God, you’re horny as fuck. Sorry, Twink.’

  He took his fingers away and I pouted.

  ‘I’m not finished yet.’

  The belt lashed down again and now it made a loud crack every time. I hoped our thin walls were enough to keep the noise from disturbing the neighbours. What on earth would they think we were doing? Would it be obvious? The thought that they knew Dan was giving my arse a good thrashing with his belt got me through six more hard strokes, keeping me soaking wet and ready.

  He put the belt down again, just as I was starting to struggle. My breath staggered out in uneven pants and I prepared for more fingering, hoping he would press a bit harder this time.

  But no.

  It was his tongue, warm and wet, that pushed at my pussy next. He made a seal with his lips around my clit and breathed on it until it felt so
hot and swollen I had to wriggle my hips furiously. Then the very tip of his tongue flicked at it, so tantalisingly I wanted to sob.

  ‘Oh, fuck, please,’ I wheedled. ‘Oh, yes.’

  But he wouldn’t give me the pressure I craved. It was like having a feather lightly brushed over my clit, his devilishly unsatisfying combination of breaths and little tongue-tickles. I began to wish he’d get back to strapping me instead.

  And so he did, six more firm strokes, and the harder he did it, the more I seemed able to take.

  When he dropped the belt again, I was straining and beginning to sweat, but a strange kind of exhilaration made me want more.

  Instead, Dan pushed the first couple of inches inside me and held it there until I begged him to fuck me.

  ‘Do you think you deserve it?’ he said.

  ‘I deserve it. I’m a bad girl.’

  ‘Then that means you need more of my belt, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Ohhh.’ I was delighted, loving every thrust, every stern word that went with it, even though it was more of his cock I really craved.

  Obligingly, he pushed further in, but still with a maddening slowness that made me jolt my hips backwards, trying to catch his full length.

  Once he was all the way in, I sighed deeply, ready for pleasure. But he thrust three times, then withdrew, and I was still vocalising my outrage when the belt lashed down again.

  ‘Just to make sure the message is getting through,’ he said, putting his shoulder into six more strokes.

  I was struggling now, and he seemed to know it. When he put the belt down, I was right on the verge of tears and pleas. I drew a huge breath of relief and spread my thighs in invitation.

  But, once he was inside me, giving me the hard fucking I’d wanted all along, part of me wished he hadn’t stopped. Part of me wished he’d carried on whipping my bum until the tears came and the pleas rained down, and then he’d whipped right through them. Did that make me wrong in the head?

  I imagined him doing this while he powered into me from behind, imagined my bottom even sorer, my submission absolute. In the end it was those thoughts, rather than his stout attentions to my pussy, that made me come.