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Edwin peppered her bottom with spoon marks, slowly increasing his pace and the force as her bottom began to twitch and heave up and down, her gasping breaths coming faster and harder. His cock felt like it might burst out of his breeches he was so aroused from seeing the crimson splotches which were blooming all over her arse, it was a good thing the garment had sturdy seams or he actually might have split one.
"Edwin, stop! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
TWHACK! THWACK!
"Edwin! You bastard, I said I’m sorry!" The plea and insult was accompanied by a loud sob.
He rested one hand heavily on her lower back, holding her in place as her legs began to kick and she squirmed and bucked against the counter top, filling in all of the ivory skin of her cheeks with a darkening red. Why had she insulted him, she wondered almost mournfully. Did she want him to spank her harder with the blasted spoon? The focused impacts were incredibly painful and yet Eleanor felt almost a lightening of her heart as they continued, as if the guilt over throwing something at Edwin was slowly dissipating, pushed out by the pain of her punishment. She was strangely aware of the heat of Edwin's hand against her back and the heaviness of his breathing, despite her own sobbing breaths and hot bottom.
"Two more," Edwin said, slowing to examine his handiwork. His wife was squirming relentlessly, unable to hold still, her bottom a patchwork of varying shades of pink. For a moment he was tempted to count and identify each shade... salmon, coral, magenta, fuchsia...
Examining the smooth back of the spoon and looking down at Eleanor's poor, punished bottom, Edwin was struck with sudden inspiration.
SMACK! SMACK!
She screamed bloody murder as the most incredible pain exploded through her body. The fire in her bottom was nothing, nothing compared to what rippled through her when Edwin landed the last two blows directly on her tiny anus. Although she'd occasionally had a birch lash at that tender spot, she'd never experienced a focused assault on the crinkled hole, and it more than burned, it stung like all fury.
With her legs kicking high in the air, her hands were clenched so hard around the edge of the counter that her fingertips tingled when she finally managed to relax them. The wooden spoon clattered to the floor as Edwin put both hands on her bottom, holding her in place and rubbing her abused cheeks.
“Shh, it’s okay, it’s over now,” he murmured comfortingly as Eleanor’s body shook with slowly subsiding sobs. When he slipped two fingers down to her quim, Eleanor moaned and shook her head as if to deny the evidence of her body. Edwin nearly groaned as he found her sopping folds, hot and swollen and soaking wet to the touch.
Why?
Eleanor didn’t know. She hated the reaction, it was humiliating and it only served to encourage her husband. While she hadn’t minded becoming aroused when he’d given her a rather pleasurable spanking in Paris, this situation was completely different. It was certainly nothing that had occurred when her father had disciplined her. But when it was her husband doling out punishment it didn’t seem to matter how much it hurt, her pussy creamed itself as if the burning of her skin somehow translated itself directly to the warmth at her core.
Perhaps it was just Edwin’s presence that made the difference. He was certainly more creative than her father had ever been, constantly changing the type of punishment and amount of strokes she received. And doing so with an erotic enthusiasm that couldn’t help but translate itself to her, especially when she saw his eyes darken with passion and his manhood swelling with need. She wanted him inside of her.
“God, Eleanor,” he said with a groan, pulling her up from the counter and flush against him, turning her to face him, his hands gripping her bottom hard as he plundered her mouth with his tongue. The back of her skirts were still rucked up and Eleanor cried out as his hands dug into her hot flesh, the stinging pain magnified by the kneading motions of his fingers. The hard ridge of his erection pressed against her body, nestling into the V of her legs as much as he could with her skirts in the way. He kissed her as if he was drowning and she was air itself, desperately, passionately, and she opened herself to him, inviting him into her mouth and body.
Her fingers felt practically numb from the time spent gripping the counter, the softness of Edwin’s coat strange against the pads of her fingers, his hard chest tense beneath it. When he pulled away her lips f
elt swollen from the force of his kisses and both of them were breathing hard.
“Edwin!” she screeched as he flipped her over his shoulder, pulling down her skirts to decently cover her bottom and legs. Her head hung down on one side, her legs on the other, one of his hands around her legs and the other wrapped upwards around her waist with his hand resting on one buttock. Even through the layers of her skirt he could feel the heat emanating from her red hot bottom.
“Quiet,” he growled, giving her a sharp smack on upturned cheeks that was hard enough to make her squeal again.
Eleanor covered her face with her hands, both mortified and somewhat excited as he paraded her like that out into the hallway, ordering the staff back into the kitchen before heading towards their bedroom. No one dared comment of course, but her face heated almost as red as her arse as she thought about what they must be saying once they were back in the safety of the kitchen, knowing that the master and mistress of the house would be busily ensconced in the bedroom.
She couldn’t bear to look up to see who else of their household might be watching as Edwin paraded her though the house on his shoulder.
“Edwin, set me down!”
His only response was another sharp slap against her rump that made her shift and bite her lip to muffle her squeal. Edwin was behaving like a complete barbarian! And yet… it made that hot aching need between her legs increase as if he’d put his mouth to it.
Chapter 4
The need to get his wife alone and naked had completely overridden any veneer of class or decorum that had been ingrained into him, awakening his most primitive instincts. It was only some small part of his brain that insisted he didn’t want anyone else walking in and seeing his wife dishabille that had him carrying her to their bedroom rather than taking her in the kitchen the way he wanted to. That and he found himself rather enjoying hauling Eleanor around over his shoulder; there was something wonderfully proprietary about it, almost as disturbingly arousing as his reaction to punishing her beautiful bottom.
When he finally put her down in their room, after kicking the door closed behind him, Eleanor’s face was flushed pink from embarrassment as well as the blood which had rushed to her head when she was upside down, her perfect hair was half undone with the pins falling out of it, and she looked alluringly disheveled despite her obvious humiliated outrage.
“Edwin how could you?” she cried out as he pressed her backwards until she was trapped between the bed and his thighs, their lower bodies almost fused together. Edwin kissed her jaw when she turned her lips away, his hands already behind her, undoing the buttons going down her back. Eleanor wriggled against him, trying to find a more comfortable position as her flaming backside was squashed against the hard frame of their bed, causing her hips to jerk forward as the hard bulge of his erection nestled against her soft belly.
“How could I what?” he asked, kissing his way down Eleanor’s neck. His wife let out a little moan as he scraped his teeth along a spot that he knew her to be particularly sensitive, her hands clutching at his jacket now rather than pushing at his chest. Feeling her resistance melt only inflamed him further, driving his need to claim and conquer her.
“Carry me like that through the house!” she practically wailed. The way she responded to him was humiliating, even when she should have been furious she could feel herself on fire for him. And not because of the smoldering state of her poor bottom.
Edwin laughed, tugging her dress away from her body, moving away far enough to push it down over her hips so that she was standing in nothing but her chemise and corset. All day she’d been without her drawers, he realized as his eyes roved over the glint of golden hair beneath the sheer fabric of her chemise, that small patch denoting where her womanhood was. It was enough to make a man’s blood boil, thinking about that lack of proper undergarments. Did she do such a think often?
