by Lee Savino
“No need to answer, girl.” I chuckled. “Your pussy did for you.”
I spanked her slowly at first, warming her up. Pausing to squeeze her perfect flesh. Her ass was a thing of beauty, smooth with a sweet little wobble. A few smacks, and her skin blushed pink. But I wanted a richer hue.
“Maybe this will be how we’ll start every morning,” I mused as I spanked her. Top of the right cheek, top of the left. Bottom of the right cheek, bottom of the left. A nice square, so she’d be pink all over. “Keep you tame. Keep you sweet.” I checked her pussy and danced my index finger around her clit. Her breath caught.
Then I went back to spanking her. I’d get her bottom nice and pink. And then I’d move on to claiming her.
My cock ached, pushing against my wife’s stomach. Disciplining my girl was hard work, but I was man enough to do it.
When her bottom was bright as the early morning's sky, I slid Isabelle off my lap and positioned her on her belly, with her head down and her ass propped up on a pillow. I spread her legs and laid a few more spanks on each cheek before gripping her bottom and peeling it apart to examine her fully.
“Joel?” She sounded curious, but lay docile, spread out on the bed.
“Be good for me now,” I murmured. I spread her cheeks a little wider and she whimpered, reflexively pressing her legs together.
My cock surged and a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. I kept her legs right where they were and, with a fingertip, spread her wetness from her pussy along the crack of her ass. When I reached her little hole, she flinched.
“Relax, girl,” I told her. “Be good and relax.” I waited until a sigh creaked out of her. “That’s it. I’m going to make this good for you.”
I circled around until I felt her muscles relaxing, and then I slid my finger in. She gasped as the first, then the second joint of my finger went through. Her little asshole clenched my finger tight. I felt dizzy.
“How does it feel?”
“O-okay,” she mumbled.
I checked her pussy with my free hand. Dripping. “Don’t lie to me, girl.” I moved my finger in and out a little. “I think it feels better than okay.”
She gave a little sigh.
“You like it don’t you? You like having my finger in your ass.” I slid in and out until her sphincter relaxed a little, and gradually, I added a second finger.
I could feel her tight muscle loosening, welcoming me in, but she stayed silent, her face hidden by the pillow. I kept finger-fucking her like that, preparing her small hole for my cock.
She started to pant and arch her back, and I knew it was time. When I slid out, she was even gaping a little, ready for me. Jesus. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to blow my load right here.
I reached into a drawer in the nightstand, and pulled out a tube of lube. I’d bought it while she was dress shopping yesterday, making plans to fuck her ass.
I squeezed out some lube and rubbed it up and down my aching cock. I would swear it had never been harder. I’d never been so turned on in my whole life as I was now, with my beautiful wife lying face down on my bed, legs spread wide, ready for me to claim her sweet ass for the first time.
I pressed my shaft against her drenched pussy and she made a sound of relief, expecting me to enter her like that.
But a wicked thought went through me: this morning I was going to claim her ass, and only her ass.
Instead, I touched the head of my cock to her asshole and pushed in. Half an inch, an inch maybe—I felt her tight ring opening to accept me.
“Joel…”
“It’s okay, little one. I’ve got you. Just relax.”
“I’ve never done this.” Her voice was hushed.
“I know. It’s okay, baby. You’re ready for me. I can feel it. I wouldn’t take you like this otherwise.” I’d make sure she enjoyed her first time, because I had every intention of taking her ass on a regular basis.
I scooted back and cupped her pussy. My dick was so hard it felt like it might split in two. But this was for Isabelle’s pleasure.
“Maybe one day, if you’re naughty, I’ll fuck your ass and won’t let you come.”
“Oh god.”
“But not today. You were so good for me, the way you took your punishment. I’m going to claim your virgin hole today, but I won’t do it until you beg me.”
I used my clean hand to drag two fingers alongside her clit, working her until her legs shook. I took her to the edge, and backed off. She gave a little groan.
“You ready to beg?” I didn’t let her answer, just stroked her some more. Her pink ass quivered. It looked so delicious, I dropped a kiss on the chastised flesh, rubbing my morning stubble against the sensitized skin.
“Oh… Joel…” Isabelle protested but her pussy dripped more juice.
“You’re so wet, little one.” I paused to lick my fingers clean. “So wet, and so sweet.” I went back to torturing her, rubbing her until her hips rocked, stopping before she climaxed.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Please, what?”
“Please fuck my ass.” She gave a little wriggle. “Please, Joel. I’m ready now.”
Desire surged in my veins. “Are you sure?” I swung into position behind her.
“Yes, I’m sure. Just, please… let me come.”
“You can come on my cock,” I told her. “I’ll make it good for you.”
I waited for her softly spoken, “Okay.” Then I pressed the tip of my cock to her tiny pucker, and started to slide into her.
I went slow, slow, as she alternately tensed and moaned. I made tiny thrusts back and forth, knowing the movement would be pleasurable for her.
She gave a little cry as the head of my cock popped through her tight ring.
“That’s it,” I told her. “That’s the hardest bit. Now you’re going to feel real good.”
The sensation of her dark, private place gripping my shaft was enough to tip me right over the edge. But I held back, kept easing myself into her, until finally I hit home. My cock was buried in her ass, my balls tight against her pussy.
“Feel good yet?” I asked her.
“Kind of,” she whimpered.
“Lift up.” I drew her up on her hands and knees and cupped my hand over her pussy. Christ, she was wetter than ever. When I stroked her clit, she moaned loudly.
I kept it up, stroking back and forth, back and forth, while she panted. Little by little, I began to slide my cock in and out of her ass. Eight, nine, ten strokes—and suddenly, she relaxed. I felt the tension leave her body, and she arched her back a little.
She wanted my cock there, in her forbidden place.
“Oh… god… I’m going to…” she cried out, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.
I thrust again and again. Her body trembled, and a second later, her clit spasmed under my hand, and I could swear I felt her ass spasming around my cock.
At last, I let go. My fingers bit into her hips as I fucked her harder and harder, riding her through her orgasm. My balls slapped her pussy, and my cock was buried deep inside her, hitting home with every stroke.
Blood rushed in my veins, and I ejaculated deep inside her perfect rear, her ass cheeks still glowing red from the punishment I’d given her.
I turned her onto her side and pulled her into my arms, and my cock stayed deep inside her, still hard for the longest time.
“You took my ass,” she whispered.
“I did, honey. Did you like it?”
“Yes,” she said in a tone of wonder.
“Good.” I growled. “There’ll be a lot more of that to come.”
Three hours later, we were on the road. It was a blazing hot summer day, the sky completely cloudless, and green and brown fields stretching to the horizon. A beautiful day for a road trip. Hopefully, this would lead to good things for both of us.
Isabelle looked tense in the passenger seat beside me. I knew how hard it was going to be for her to go back home, but I thought
it might bring her some peace. Hopefully, the happy memories of childhood would outweigh the tragic ones—at least for a while.
“We’re passing Hope,” she said suddenly.
“Yup. There’s only one highway that links the towns around here.” I glanced at her. “Why?”
“Oh, I was just wondering… I left some stuff at my apartment. Just a box full of my personal stuff, and I really want to get a hold of it. If it’s even still there.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
She sighed. “Because you would've insisted on going round to get it. And it was too dangerous.”
I flexed my jaw. “We’ll go now. I don’t want you to risk losing it forever.”
“I’ll just message my roommate,” she said. “Check whether the coast is clear.”
She read the message out when she’d composed it: “Hey Kelly. I’m going away for a few days, but just wanted to swing by and pick something up. You home now? Is everything good in the apartment?”
I shrugged. “Sounds fine.”
A few minutes later, Isabelle’s phone pinged:
Sure thing, hun. Catch you then. XX
“What’s she like?” I asked.
“She’s okay. As far as anyone who works at the strip club can be okay. I mean, she’s not two-faced or anything. Usually too busy getting high and being with her boyfriend to care about much else.”
“Okay, good.”
I took the turn-off for Hope, and drove to the apartment complex along the now-familiar roads.
When Isabelle opened her front door with her key, her roommate appeared in the doorway of one of the rooms. She was wearing sweatpants and a tank top, make-up smeared beneath her eyes. I realized with a jolt that she was one of the raunchiest strippers at the club, who folded herself up like a pretzel on stage. Thank God I’d gotten Isabelle out of there, I thought for the hundredth time.
“Well, hello, cowboy,” she drawled, looking me up and down as she leaned against the door frame.
I gave her a curt nod.
“How have things been at the club?” Isabelle asked.
The girl yawned, displaying crooked teeth. “Oh, same as ever. People were kind of surprised that you left.”
“Yeah, well, I had a family emergency,” Isabelle said.
The girl nodded vaguely. I noticed her pupils were unusually dilated. She was already high, and it wasn’t yet lunchtime.
“I’ll be in and out,” Isabelle said, already dashing into her room.
I followed her in.
“It’s just like I left it,” she said in relief. She grabbed a small suitcase from the closet and began stuffing all her possessions in. I was shocked that after all those years, she had so little. The last item was a small wooden box, which she handled reverently. I knew right away it was full of keepsakes from her family.
“I’m off now. Catch you later,” she called to her roommate, and hurtled out of the apartment like she couldn’t get out of there quickly enough. She marched all the way back to the truck as if she expected the thugs to jump out of the bushes at any moment.
“Are you okay?” I asked, once we were inside the truck.
“Can we please get the hell out of here?” she said between gritted teeth.
“Sure.” I drove right on the speed limit until we’d passed through the city limits of Hope.
Four hours later, I took the turn-off that led to Shelbrook, Isabelle’s hometown.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. It was more of a cry than a word.
My head snapped toward her. “Isabelle?”
“I-I’m okay. It’s just… it’s weird being back here.” Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright.
I frowned in concern. “Good weird?”
“Yeah.” She clapped her hands over her mouth, and her chest rose and fell rapidly. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed these familiar old things. Even the signpost to the town.”
She sniffed, and wiped away tears. I fought the urge to pull over and take her into my arms. But I sensed that they were positive tears. She was reminiscing.
She looked out of the window eagerly. “Oh, that’s the old library. Glad it’s still open… Oh—that’s the diner where Dad used to take us on Saturday mornings after ballet. Even though I was only allowed to eat the salads… Oh, that’s the field at the back of my elementary school.”
I warmed as she recounted all the familiar places, and was so happy that I got to experience her seeing them again with new eyes.
“Everything’s so much smaller than I remember it,” she said with a giggle. “When I was small, this was my whole world. I actually hated the idea that I’d have to leave it one day and move to a big city so I could be a ballet star. I told my mom and dad that I wanted to live right here all my life. My husband and I were going to move into the house next door to them.”
She fell silent again.
“We’re not so far away now,” I said carefully. “We can come back here anytime you want.”
“Really?” she asked with such endearing innocence, my chest warmed.
“Of course. We can even stay here for a while if you want.” I turned onto Main Street. “Okay, we’re in town. Where to now?”
“Oh… turn left here… then left again…”
I followed her, and soon we were in front of a sweeping colonial-style house. But it was all boarded up, with metal sheets tacked over the windows and the front door. There was an old children’s swing in the pretty, but overgrown, front yard.
She didn’t say anything, and I let her sit and look.
“This is where you were raised, isn’t it?” I said.
She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “B-but I don’t understand. I thought it would’ve been sold, but no one’s living here.”
“Do you want to take a closer look?”
She hesitated, then nodded. There was a low gate. She reached over and fiddled with something. “It used to get jammed,” she said. “Uh, that’s it.” At last, it swung open. It hadn’t been fixed in all those years.
An idea began to grow in my mind. We walked up the front path toward the front door. Isabelle skipped up the steps and pushed the door as if she expected it to swing open. Of course, it didn’t.
“We never used to lock our door during the day,” she commented. “Nobody did around here. It was a real safe town.”
“Looks like it was a happy family home,” I said.
“It was,” she murmured distractedly, and I sensed that memories were assailing her from all directions.
“Want to walk around the outside?”
“Yes.” With a burst of energy, she took my hand and led me, pointing out various things in the garden, sharing little anecdotes here and there, like the time she’d accidentally pushed her brother off the swing. The oak tree where her father had built them a treehouse.
“Well, he only got as far as the platform,” she told me. We looked up, and it was still there, as was a homemade-looking ladder. She gazed at it wistfully.
“Wanna go up?” I asked.
“No. It’s silly.”
“Of course it isn’t. Come on.”
She laughed as I hoisted her up the ladder.
“I used to come up here, even when I was sixteen,” she said. “I loved to get away from the world sometimes. Forget about ballet and all the restrictions in my life. Just lie here and look up at the treetops.”
“That’s such a nice image,” I told her. “Reminds me of how I used to go lie in the hay barn sometimes when Mom got on my case too much.”
She climbed down again, and we passed around the side of the house and into a huge backyard.
She made a sound of dismay. It was landscaped, full of trees and flower beds, but it had obviously run wild in the past few years, and the lawn was almost waist high.
I squeezed her hand. “Looks like nature’s reclaimed it.”
Her smile turned down at the corners. “Dad used to love working out here. It was his passi
on. He used to mow the lawn every Sunday, whether it needed it or not.”
We wandered around. She told me that the fruit trees had already blossomed this year. Apple, plums, and pears ripening on the branches.
“I hope no one saw us,” she said as we went back to the truck.
“I’m sure they wouldn’t begrudge you taking a trip down memory lane,” I said, still thinking.
“Okay, let’s go find the lawyer now,” she said.
We went up and down the main street a couple of times until she recognized it at last—a discreet door that led to an upstairs office.
“I’m Isabelle Stevens,” she explained to the receptionist, a kind-faced woman with tightly-curled gray hair, and oversized bifocals.
“My daddy used to be a client here—at least, until he died in an accident a few years ago. There may be a trust fund set up for me, or something—”
“Isabelle Stevens?” The receptionist stood up. “Oh, my dear, if you only knew how hard we’ve tried to find you.” She hurried to a door on the far side of the room and rapped on its glass panel.
A moment later, a white-haired man bounded out with an energy belying his years.
“Isabelle!” He took her hand in both of his, and shook it vigorously. “We were so worried about you. We were looking for you after you left foster care. It was like you’d disappeared off the face of the Earth. My dear, it’s so good to see you again.” He flapped a hand toward his office. “Come through, come through.”
“This is Joel, my… husband,” she said, and in that second’s gap, my heart gave a stupid lurch.
“It’s very good to meet you, sir.” The lawyer shook my hand as well. “I’m sure you’re taking good care of this young lady.”
“I sure am, sir,” I said, yanking my Stetson off my head. My mom would scold me for not doing it as soon as we walked into the office.
We were seated on two leather armchairs while the lawyer fiddled at his computer. When he next looked up, his eyes were brimming. He took off his glasses, and rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles.
“Isabelle, I’m so sorry about what happened to your family,” he said. “Your father was a good friend of mine, and I miss him very much.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly. I took her hand, seeing she was also on the verge of tears.