The Unwholesome Adventures of Harita

by Lily Harlem

  I replaced the magazines in the order in which I’d taken them out. Thoughts and emotions rushed through me. Briefly, I glanced at the top one again. Spanking? My heart rate increased. If he enjoyed the adventures of Harita so much, was that something else I was going to be treated to?

  I certainly hoped so.

  * * * *

  Damon arrived home just after dark. Dinner was prepared, and as we ate, he chatted about his day.

  “And what have you been doing, Siyàra?” he asked when he’d finished filling me in on the deal he and his brother San had sealed.

  I shrugged and glanced down at my plate. “I’ve been busy unpacking, then when I finished, I set about cooking our meal.”

  “And a delicious meal it is, too.” He touched the tip of his index finger to my chin and raised my face. “And all the more sumptuous because it was made by the world’s most beautiful, perfect wife.”

  Heat spread on my cheeks, and my throat tightened. I wasn’t used to such lavish compliments.

  He smiled broadly. “I love to see you blush, but you should get used to being adored, Kamini. It is how the rest of your life will be.”

  I swallowed, reached for my water and drank down a gulp, hoping to suppress the wave of guilt assaulting me. Would Damon find me so adorable if he knew what I wrote? His words returned to me about not wanting me to have a dirty mouth outside the bedroom. Did that include dirty typing?

  And what if he found out I’d been snooping?

  But, either way, it was too late now. Because of that snooping, I knew the facts. Damon was a fan of Harita, the submissive nightclub dancer I’d dreamed up three years ago and who beckoned me each week with new, naughty adventures. There were worse secrets for Damon to have, worse things to know about him. Trouble was, since I’d seen those hidden magazines, I’d spent the rest of the afternoon building up my hopes that things would get seriously kinky in the bedroom later. If they didn’t, I would be sorely disappointed.

  “You look tired,” Damon said, resting his hand over mine. “Why don’t you go into the bedroom and undress. I’ll meet you there in a little while.”

  Staring into his deep, brown eyes, I saw they swirled with passion, with a burning heat that I wanted to feel, to own, to sate. Quickly I nodded, unable to suppress a small smile of excited anticipation.

  “Good,” he said, stacking the plates and standing. “I will be ten minutes.”

  I washed quickly in the bathroom adjoining our bedroom, soaping myself with nectarine shower gel and rubbing generous amounts of Chantilly body lotion over my limbs. I coated my rump in the sweetly fragranced cream and wondered, for the hundredth time since finding Ichchha, if I would soon experience what if felt like to be spanked.

  Waiting for Damon, I could feel my stomach begin to clench. My nipples were hard and my pussy moist. The night was early, and there was plenty of time for him to do with my body what he wished before there was any need for sleep.

  I jumped when the bedroom door finally opened and the white light from the hall spilt into our softly lit room.

  “You have too much on,” Damon said gruffly, stepping in, slipping off his shirt and tossing it onto the bed. “Take off your nightgown.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Hurriedly I stood and tugged off the soft, white cotton. I let it slide over my head and folded it quickly on the dressing table. I took a step back towards the bed.

  “Stay there,” he said, his gaze raking over my naked figure. “Pull out the chair and face it sideways to the mirror.”

  Moving back to the dressing table and clasping the back rung of the wooden chair, I did as he asked.

  He sat on it, his spine straight. “My wife,” he said, his eyes glazed and a small muscle flexing and unflexing in his cheek. ”I am going to show you what will happen if you disobey me.”

  “Yes, Sir.” I nodded, and my long hair fell over my breasts. I was sure he would be able to hear the thudding of my heart in the quiet room.

  “But first, do you want to know what kind of disobedience will earn you a punishment?”

  I nodded again and squeezed my legs together. The way he was sitting, knees apart, feet flat on the floor and his long, elegant fingers spread on his thighs, gave me an idea of what punishment I’d receive. It was what I’d hoped, but I didn’t know what I would have to do to earn it.

  “Teasing me in public,” he said, “will mean you get punished when we come home.” His eyes flashed in a way that made me think he very much hoped I would, in some way, tease him in public, maybe with a flirty look or a stray hand beneath a tablecloth.

  “Tell me,” he ordered. “Tell me what punishment you think you would deserve for the crime of teasing me in public?”

  “A…a spank, Sir.” My pussy hummed at the thought of bending over his knees, my bum high and open to his palm. Unable to do anything about the strikes he could rain down on me. Squirming and writhing would do no good once he had me secure.

  “Yes, absolutely.” He pulled his brows low and pointed at the top drawer of the dresser. “Pass me your hairbrush.”

  I gulped and reached into the drawer. My hairbrush was large and wooden. Paddle shaped. The hundreds of metal teeth on one side were strong and bordered on sharp.

  “Give it to me.”

  He held out his hand, and nervously I stepped up to him and placed it in his palm.

  He tested the weight of it, ran the tip of his finger over the teeth and down the long, smooth handle. He made a circle with his thumb and index finger and ran it up and down the handle the way he’d done to his cock the night before. “Perfect,” he said, smiling and looking up at me. “Absolutely perfect.”

  I swallowed, my legs like jelly and my nipples so hard they were beginning to ache. I just wanted him to get on with it.

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  “When you forget to do as you’re told, if you have a dirty mouth outside of this room or think you can make my lavDa hard for you in public, then this is what will happen.”

  He circled my waist and, quick as a flash, tipped me upside down over his knees. I gasped as the bedroom upended in my vision and I flailed my hands to the floor, searching for balance.

  “Look up,” he ordered, securing my legs behind my knees with one of his powerful thighs. “I want you to see what you look like when you are being disciplined. It will make you remember to keep your behaviour in check.”

  Scrabbling for purchase on his other leg, I stared into the mirror. My silken hair hung messily around my already rosy cheeks. My eyes were wide, wide with excitement and desire, humiliation and anticipation, and the naked flesh of my back and bum was pale against his dark trousers.

  He smoothed a hand over my rump, watching his own movements carefully as he rubbed a large circle over first one orb then the other. He slid down the cleft between my buttocks, over the pucker of my anus to my pussy. I whimpered as he stroked over my entrance then circled the ridges and folds surrounding it.

  “You want to be punished hard, don’t you?” he said. “I can tell.”

  Oh, what was the right answer to that?

  “Whatever you think, Sir,” I said in a small, squeaking voice.

  His eyes caught mine in the mirror, and he held up the brush he gripped in his other hand. “I think hard is the only way for wives to learn their place.”

  “Yes, Sir.” My stomach clenched, and I braced one arm on the floor, feeling sure the impact would come soon. Whether or not it would be the sharp teeth or the smooth, flat base of the brush, I didn’t know.

  He delved two fingers into my pussy then explored higher with them, feeding me with a wonderful, filling sensation. I clamped around his digits as they stroked over my G-spot.

  Suddenly I cried out. At the exact moment he’d given me such a sweet, internal treat, the brush had connected, flat side, hard and fast on my left buttock. Heat seared over my flesh as hot as if a real flame had caressed me.

  “Shh,” he said, pressing the brush between my shoulder
blades to keep my back from rising. “You will not shout, you will count. Ten strikes will always be the minimal punishment for disobedience. It will always be at least ten.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I managed.

  He brought the brush down again. The split second before it hit, a rush of air moved out of its way. The smack clapped around the room as the pain bloomed over my flesh.

  “Ah, ah, two,” I panted, trying hard not to arch my spine and unbalance myself.

  “No, that is one, we are starting from this spank,” he said. “The first was a practice.”

  Dropping my head down so I was staring at his long feet, I said, “One.”

  He wriggled his fingers in my pussy, stroking over the hot, wet flesh inside me. All the nerves in my pelvis were on fire, alive, as if the spank had drawn extra blood to the area and heightened the sensations.

  Again he brought the brush down, this time on the opposite buttock. I clamped around his fingers and became aware of the toned muscle on the thigh over which I was bent. Granite-hard tendon was exerting a strong, steady pressure on my clit.

  “Three,” I groaned, shoving my bum up for more at the same time as wriggling away from what I knew was coming.

  “You are turning such a pretty pink,” he said, smoothing over my stinging flesh. “Already.”

  The brush hit again.

  “Four,” I gasped, as my clit rubbed harder against his leg and delicious pain seared my skin.

  He spanked me again. With extra strength, this time.

  My whole body jerked, my spine arching and my toes curling. I yelped, then, “Oh, Sir, please, no more. I can’t take it.”

  “Count.”

  “F-five.”

  He rewarded me by beginning a stronger circular motion over my G-spot. I gasped and pressed down for more. The climb to orgasm was building fast, my skin feverish and prickling. No longer perturbed by my position over his knee, I squirmed shamelessly, wanting every feeling he could give me, his thigh on my clit, his fingers in my pussy and the sharp slap of the brush.

  “Six,” I squealed, jolting violently.

  That had been the spiked teeth, the nail-sharp sensation a hot flush over already burning skin.

  “Ah, yes, you may come, my wife, come to show me you understand your punishment.” He upped the speed of his wicked fingers and rained down yet another swift, hard blow.

  “Seven.” The word was a gasp, a panted whisper.

  “Come,” he growled.

  Three more smacks hit down.

  Eight. Nine. Ten.

  These were more rapid and harder than any of the previous. As soon as the tenth had hit, he pulled his fingers from my pussy and touched the tip of the brush handle to my entrance.

  “Oh, Sir, no, Sir,” I shouted, pressing my cheek against his leg. Surely he wouldn’t enter me with a hairbrush?

  He did.

  As my orgasm split me apart, the long, thick handle smoothed in, my copious natural lube easing its way. Exquisite sensations tore through me as it sank deep and massaged my G-spot. I was aware of my teeth nipping into the material of his trousers and the flesh beneath. He grunted but didn’t let up with his skilful penetration, rubbing my clit with his fingers now and drawing my wanton climax to a dizzying height with the use of the brush.

  My whole body pulsated over his knee, and I bowed my back and lifted my bum for more before shifting and writhing away from the overwhelming sensations. My breasts hung just over his thigh, and I tugged at my nipple with a free hand, adding to the painful pleasure ravaging me.

  “Oh, Siyàra,” he said. “You have learnt your lesson so well.”

  Expertly he brought me down from my high, stroking my clit and easing the brush in and out of my spasming pussy in smooth, gentle strokes.

  “Oh, Sir,” I gasped, staring down at the carpet, my vision blurred from screwing up my eyes so tight. “Thank you, Sir, for showing me my punishment.”

  In a move that appeared effortless, he lifted me up to face him, and the brush fell to the floor.

  “You sound so beautiful when you orgasm,” he said, his hands cupping my cheeks. “So grateful, so intense.”

  “It is intense,” I said, brushing my lips to his. “I am grateful.”

  His eyes smiled, though he said, “But this isn’t about your pleasure, is it?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “It is about mine. Now get on the bed because I wish to take my new wife at least twice before I sleep tonight.”

  Chapter Four

  Married life ticked along sweetly over the next few months. The only thing that marred my happiness was my guilt over continuing to keep Harita a secret from my husband. Of course, the situation did have one advantage, because when I recognised things Damon said when he was dominating me—masterful words Madan used to drive Harita wild—I found it ridiculously horny. It gave me added pleasure on top of the already dizzy heights of ecstasy to which he took me.

  To hear his deep, lusty voice utter words I’d written, or to have him orchestrate scenarios I’d dreamt up, was more erotic than I ever could have believed possible. And the fact he knew nothing about it was the icing on the cake. He obviously assumed I thought his imaginative games were all generated from his fantasies, when the truth was, they were mine. It was a game of double crossing of the sexiest kind. And that both excited and troubled me.

  Damon continually stated that our joining was solely about his pleasure. But they were hollow words. He always ensured I had maximum pleasure in our bedroom. Sometimes I thought I would pass out with ecstasy when he made me come over and over, barely allowing me to catch my breath between orgasms.

  In the evenings, members of both our families visited for elaborate meals that we enjoyed preparing together. Damon’s twin, San, was a regular visitor as were my sisters, all of whom were unmarried. On two occasions, Damon had inserted the love balls into my pussy then spent the meals giving me knowing looks as my cheeks flushed and I shifted on the seat. It had been hot, steamy fun afterwards because, of course, I had to be punished for wriggling and fidgeting.

  Once, when the men had retired outside for a smoke, my sisters tried to ask me about sex. But I made a zipping movement across my mouth and told them they would have to wait and find out for themselves. What would be the point of me telling them anything? The likelihood of them finding a husband with Damon’s particular kink was highly unlikely. Add in Harita’s power over him, and I knew it was impossible. We were unique.

  San was similar looking to Damon, because, of course, they were twins, though his face was a little longer and his nose had been broken when he’d fallen off a low bridge into a dry river as a kid. He talked a lot about the family business on his visits, but he was also interested in me and my work. He would sit for hours wanting to know about the ins and outs of the latest books I was editing.

  Despite being busy, and preoccupied every night, I managed to keep secretly writing The Unwholesome Adventures of Harita. Damon was often gone for long stretches with his work, and I found myself spending more and more time dreaming up her crazy antics as I was going about my chores. I began to think I was sex obsessed, getting horny thinking about a particularly juicy instruction Madan issued or a wild night of fantasy Harita enjoyed—which would likely be realised in my world once the magazine hit the shelves and Damon got his hands on it.

  One afternoon as the temperature outside soared, I sat with my fingertips hovering over the keyboard, and a truly sinful thing happened to episode 184.

  “You will do as instructed, Harita,” Madan ordered, his brows pulling low and his eyes flashing.

  “But…” I was nervous and excited all at the same time. The hotel room to which Madan had brought me was sumptuous and decadent, but what he was asking was depraved and dirty.

  “There is no ‘but’ about it. Talin is my friend, it is his birthday, and I order you to take off your clothes and show him your pussy.” Madan’s voice lowered. “That is my present to him.”

  Wit
h a nervous glance at Talin, I began to peel off my canary yellow sari. He licked his lips, which I’d noticed earlier were soft and sensuous and nearly always up-tilted in an easy-going smile.

  As my garments fell to the floor, leaving me standing in scarlet lace underwear, Madan moved nearer.

  “Remove your panties and lie on the bed, Janu.”

  I did as he asked, my heart fluttering and my breaths coming short and sharp as I lay down flat. Obeying Madan was my only choice, and, if he wanted me to bare my pussy to another man, that’s what I had to do. He was my dom, my master. I was required to serve his bidding.

  “Open your legs,” Madan instructed, as he adjusted himself within his own underwear.

  He was getting hard, I could tell.

  The blankets were satiny and smooth, but I barely noticed them as I parted my thighs and exposed the soft, damp folds of my pussy to the two men standing before me.

  “She is very beautiful,” Talin said, his eyes drinking me up.

  “She is not only beautiful, she also understands that she is mine to do with as I wish,” Madan said. “So if you want to touch her, dear friend, go ahead and sample the delight of her chut.”

  By the time I’d finished writing the entire scene and all three characters were hot, sweaty and sated, I was hovering on the point of a climax myself.

  In a reckless and daring move, I hit ‘send’.

  What had I done?

  Oh, blow to the consequences. If Damon read it and decided to share me with another man, then that was up to him. He could get the idea from any number of places. It didn’t have to be from The Unwholesome Adventures of Harita. I was hardly the creator of threesomes.

  Who was I kidding!

  Damon was well and truly hooked on the series. Only last week, he’d harnessed me to the bed and teased me with his mouth for a whole hour until I’d begged for release the way I would beg for my life. It was exactly what Madan had done to Harita the week before.