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“Say it.” He leaned so far forward that his chin skimmed the mattress, his eyes glued to the pistoning dildo, to her frantically rubbing fingers. “Say it.”
“You get it all,” she managed, arching into the sensation, and broke on a wild cry. The orgasm rushed through her, bright and razor sharp, the rhythmic pulses of her cunt drawing hard on the toy, fueled by the cannabis lube and the stinging embarrassment of knowing he was seeing every bit of it. She forced her eyes to stay open, watching him watch her, and the satisfaction and possession stamped on his expression made the spasms start anew.
When they finally faded, she slumped against the pillows, her hand going slack on the dildo and her fingers falling away from her clit. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her skin damp with sweat as she shuddered out the last of her pleasure with her eyes locked on her husband’s face.
His gaze lifted slowly from her pussy, skimming over her thighs, her breasts where the clamps still adorned her nipples—and now that she was coming down from the orgasm, they werereallystarting to hurt—to rest on her face. Her cheeks heated once again when she realized how she must look, her hair a wreck, and the light makeup she’d worn for brunch with James’ parents probably gone or ringed around her eyes. She lifted a hand instinctively to fuss at her hair, to try to restore it to its usual sleek order. She froze when he barked out, “No.”
Her hand hung in the air for a moment, hovering as though the message to lower it hadn’t quite made it from brain to muscle, then it dropped, and her face burned hotter.
Why was this sohumiliating? He’d seen her this way, a sweaty wreck from sex or a scene, too many times to count. So why wasthistime different?
A thought slipped into her mind, diaphanous and fleeting, gone before she could fully grasp it. Then James looked straight into her eyes and said, “Again,” and every other thought flew right out of her head after it.
She’d had three orgasms and was working desperately on the fourth when James flicked his gaze to the clock on the mantel to check the time. Nearly an hour had passed since he’d ordered her to masturbate, and he figured he’d just about pushed her to her limit.
His wife was a flushed and sweaty mess. Her hair, normally a sleek, dark cap, stuck out in all directions, snarled and matted. Her whole body was sheened with sweat, the smooth, olive-toned skin bright red and patchy in places, and her cheeks were streaked with the little bit of eye makeup she’d put on that morning.
He wondered fleetingly how she’d look right now if she’d done the heavy smokey eye she liked to wear for parties, and made a mental note to make sure that happened at some point in the near future.
But right now, he had other fish to fuck.
He’d made her reapply the cannabis lube about half an hour ago, despite her very real distress at the notion. She’d actually begged him not to make her do it, which just demonstrated how far gone she was. He loved it when she begged, and had rarely in all their years responded to it with anything resembling mercy, so the fact that she’d been moved to beg while knowing perfectly well it wouldn’t work was telling.
His poor wife was having a tough time of it, and it was only going to get worse, because as soon as she got herself off again, it was his turn.
He watched her fingers move over her clit, jerky and uncoordinated, while her other hand held the dildo planted deep. She wasn’t even attempting to fuck herself with it, but he’d decided to let that go, knowing that at this point her cunt was so sensitive that the penetration alone was probably enough to keep her on the razor’s edge.
Her pussy was a thing of beauty right now, swollen and red, the lips so puffy from the hammering dildo that they looked as though he’d been using a suction cup on them. Her clit was equally swollen, a bright red button at the top of her sex that he knew was causing her equal parts pain and pleasure. Pain, because it was so sensitive from the constant friction, and pleasure because she liked it when it hurt.
It was his favorite thing about playing with her. Or had been, until he’d seen how she reacted to the humiliation of masturbating in front of him.
She’d done it before, of course, but this was the first time he’d removed himself so completely from the scene, more director and observer than participant. A proportional punishment, he thought, for such a blatant disregard for one of their few fundamental rules. And since she had no doubt been expecting the spanking to be the end of it, it was a fitting way to remind her that he could—and would—administer those punishments according to his desires, not hers.
He loved that she loved being punished, or ‘funished’, really, since they both knew she was breaking the rules for fun, but he was still in charge.
Something she was being rather forcefully reminded of at the moment.
“Don’t stop,” he said, keeping his tone flat and his face passive. Not an easy feat, since his cock was so hard it hurt, and all he wanted to do was bury it inside her.
“I can’t,” she managed, her normally smooth voice a heavy rasp colored by exhaustion and pain. A strand of hair was stuck to her cheek, teasing the corner of her mouth as she stared at him with unfocused eyes ringed with what was left of her mascara.
“You will,” he replied, projecting unfeeling detachment for all he was worth. “If you ever want to be allowed to come again, you’ll come now.”
Her fingers stroked over her clit again and her body jerked. Her whimper of distress had his cock hardening even further in his jeans. “I can’t,” she moaned, utter despair in the guttural sound. “Please, Sir. Please.”
Every cell in his body was clamoring to stand up and rush to her, to lie down beside her and hold her close and whisper that she’d been such a good girl, so strong, so beautiful. Instead, he forced himself to sigh loudly, pushing disappointment and anger into the sound, and rose to his feet. “I should’ve known you’d need help,” he said with a hint of derision, watching her face carefully for any signs of emotional distress at the words.
All he saw was relief, so he walked around the side of the bed, close enough that he knew she wouldn’t be able to see him clearly without her glasses. He stripped, careful to keep his movements economical and unhurried—it wouldn’t do for her to think him too eager. He toed off his shoes, kicking them to the side then unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the loops, flicking his wrist to make the leatherwooshandsnapas it came free. She jerked at the sound, then again when he dropped the belt onto the bed, her eyes following it down before jerking back up, worry in their soft brown depths.
He kept the smile from his face with an effort and continued to efficiently strip. Sweater, then jeans, followed by socks and boxer briefs. He took off his watch last, when her eyes were glued to his straining cock, and when he laid it on the nightstand, palmed a bottle of lube—the regular kind—and a condom from the open drawer.
He climbed onto the bed, careful to keep the items in his hand hidden, and settled himself between her spread thighs.
He jerked his chin at the dildo still wedged in her cunt, her hand still wrapped around the base, tightly, as though it were an anchor. “Take it out.”
Her teeth sank deep into her lip and discomfort crossed her face as she obeyed. It was slick, both from her own arousal and the thick lube he’d directed her to use after orgasm number three, but her vagina was swollen and no doubt tender, the engorged lips clinging to the silicone shaft, and he knew if he fucked her pussy as hard as he wanted to, she’d likely be in some serious discomfort come morning.
It was good, then, that he had other options.
