I clench down. I can’t help myself. A few spanks, a few touches, the pull of his ropes on my skin, the plug in my ass, and I’m all but gone. Most of all, hiswords.He’s not just playing with me, he’s in my head. That’s what I have no defense against.
And I don’t want one, either.
“Tight little Tink,” he murmurs into my ear, andmy whole body shudders.
Just like that. He always knows the right thing to say.
Theworstthing to say.
That’s Alex, right there: he’s the worst.
His finger slips from within me and he wipes it on my spanked cheek. His weight leaves the bed, then there’s a rustle of clothing.
He has to be getting naked, and while I desperately want the press of his body against mine, is he going to take my ass so soon? The plug’s only just gone in. I’m not ready.
I’ll never be ready; not for this.
“Alex… please…”
“Are you begging me, or is this a protest?” he asks casually. “The former I’ll accept; the latter gets a gag.”
I press my lips together and bury my face against my arm.
“Hmm,” he murmurs. “Thought so.”
Liquid drips onto my back. It’s warm, viscous, and oily, with a faint musky, floral hint. Then his hands spread it over me. Every inch of my skin, unhurried, thorough. His fingers run along my flanks, teasing the sides of my breasts. A light touch down my spine, all the way to the top of my ass, then lower to tease the plug, twisting it inside me. More oil, and he kneads it into my ass cheeks. Each upward stroke spreads me wide—my ass, my pussy, all of me exposed to him.
“Such a delicious little cunt,” he says. “Who owns it?”
I can’t bring myself to answer that.
His hand smacks down on my right cheek, driving my breath from me. “I asked you a question.”
Yes, but if I don’t answer, he might even up the spanks.
But the next blow lands on my left side, on my already bruised ass.
Fuck!
And ithurts. “You do!” I gasp through the sting, then let out a pathetic little keening that I can’t control. I’ve just admitted his ownership of me. Not evenallof me; just my pussy.
He owns the rest of me too. Heart, body and soul.
“That’s right,” he says quietly. “I do.” It’s a statement of fact, delivered with the same confidence with which he does everything else. “You’re mine, Tink. You’ll always be mine. There’s no escape, not from me. Accept it. Be my wife.”
I am his wife. We’remarried.
It went by in such a surreal blur that only now, in this moment, does it sink in.
He’s my husband, I’m his wife, and our wedding night isn’t a wedding night. It’s a wedding afternoon, while the guests are still somewhere here, probably listening to every spank, every moan.
I suppose it makes up for the lack of a virginal red stain. It’s a bit late for that.
“I’ve been thinking of this for weeks,” he says, tone turning light and conspiratorial. “Taking you for the first time, after we’re husband and wife.” His fingers pull on the plug, the insistent sensation making it hard to focus on his words. “But it was only thismorning that I decided to make it your ass.”
So it didn’t matterwhatI said; he was always going to do this.
Bastard.
