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Hopping off the stool, she leaned over facing him, her ass pointed toward a streak of moonlight that suddenly appeared through the boathouse window. Reggie moved to inspect her, while Jocelyn trembled feeling her husband’s hot hand run along her soft skin. He stopped where there were bruises, seeing the signs of the roughed skin he’d noticed in the photographs. A finger along the anal cleft he’d mastered after years of attentive discipline, he drove it deep until he could feel her puckering anus. Trained to give him access to the portal of his choice, Jocelyn parted her legs enough so there was no obstacle in the way of his exploration. But he withdrew his hand and backed off.
“Get up,” he ordered.
The sizzling nature of the command frightened her in all the places she was accustomed to fright. With a shower of prickly energy descending from her shoulders, her belly quaked and her sex spasmed in a place so deep she couldn’t remember when it was last engaged. He was rarely angry and he wasn’t at this moment; but instead, stern, severe and cold to the point of unfeeling. How that seemingly cruel state could arouse her had always been a mystery, but aroused she was. Standing before him a trickle of female juice escaped her vagina. Labia pulsing, the center of her sex aching, breasts anxious for the feel of his hands on her, that tear that had welled in her eye finally spilled down her cheek.
“You’re way out of character, love,” he said. “Taking your decisions from Alexandra’s playbook, perhaps?” he said referring to her abidingly sexual and perpetually guilt-ridden friend, who he’d once trained in submission.
“No, Reg, not this time. I’m desperate.”
“And desperation breeds lunacy?”
“It was rash, I admit.”
“Though the pictures were a nice touch. They didn’t leave anything out, I hope?”
“Oh, no!”
“Pretty premeditated to even think of them ahead of time—if it was as you say an obsession.”
“I had them taken for you.”
“And if I punish you now is that going to cure you of your woes?”
“I need you, Reggie, as dark as you want to be.”
“As vile as you deserve?”
“As much as that.”
“And that’s the cure?”
“Don’t make me sweat like this, please.”
He snickered as he often did when a woman tried to suggest what he should do. “I like watching you squirm, you should remember that, devious and cunning as I am.”
“My skin’s so hot, I’m wet between my legs and I feel the hunger in my mouth.”
He seemed amused, then bridged what distance there was between them and began running a finger about her lips. She parted them and that finger was inside where she sucked it like a tiny prick. She put her own hand on his crotch, which he pushed away.
“You purchased this for me to use on you?” He held up the slapper for her to see, leather holes and all. Running the cool surface along her cheek and against her mouth, the remembrance of its previous visit on her behind caused her to spasm again. Her face moved against the smooth leather as though it was a lover’s tender hand.
When Reggie pulled back one step, he bent his wife under his arm and held her tightly about the waist. Her short skirt raised once again, he brought the newly purchased slapper down on her behind with defiant and vigorous abandon … no building up the severity, no holding back because of her mournful state, no lessening the blows hearing the wild nature of her spirited cries. He worked her ass, seeing that even in the moonlight it was prone to blush crimson—the color of a righteous discipline. Jocelyn had picked an unmerciful implement. The inherent nature of the slapper was severe, but then she must have known that when she bought it. If he’d slouched in disciplining her the last few months, this was an indication that she required it grim to get over what personal anguish she was living day to day.
Seeing the crimson blush against the white of her back and thighs, he saw justice meted out, her spirit calmed and his own indignation appeased for her unthinking choice. He was sure that nothing but a harsh reprisal would do. Reggie suspected that the brute in the shop had only scratched the surface of his wife’s travail and the needed chastisement she required. It was rare to see his competent wife so battered by life. He’d made every effort to change her stubborn mind about her current troubles, so far nothing had worked. Perhaps this would.
“Ah, Reg, please no more,” the redhead cried, feeling the burn on her backside peak. Though she might have withstood more, there was another part of this session she wanted now. Certainly he’d oblige.
Another few tuneful smacks of the slapper and he slowed to a more erotic pace. Between smacks, he ran the leather over her distressed flesh. An unexpected slap and she bucked hard against his confining arm, then began a sensuous tango with her heated behind. This rhythmic dance made them hunger for the culmination.
“It’s been much too long since I’ve had your ass,” he whispered.
Laying her out over the stool, he moved in behind her for the assault. He found her tense but opening to him. Driving his swollen erection past the tight hole, he sensed her relinquish the last bit of fight she was prone to wage. And yielding to the stroke of his cock he massaged her deep within. That state of obedience to his absolute control over her was—in the instant—complete. Though she didn’t deserve her own orgasm, he nonetheless reached around to take her clitoris in his fingers. The manipulation required was brief. Only because he loved her as deeply as he knew how to love could he justify this breach of a master’s code and let her enjoy a proper climax.
“Ahhhh, yes,” she groaned happily. Such a pleasant wail it was.
Letting his cock respond to her squeezing inner muscles, he
grunted as he deposited his cum within her dark channel.
