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I knew with a little leap of my heart and a flip of my tummy that he had been observing my own expression, while I had my eyes closed. He had studied my face just as closely as he had inspected my naked shoulders, my demure breasts in my lacy bra, my bare belly, my slim hips… my polka-dot panties. He had seen the brat, I felt certain; he had seen that part of me come and go.
My husbandknewme.
My lips parted to draw in a gasping little breath at that thought and then, in what seemed a single complicated motion, Rick put his left hand behind my head, at the base of my skull just below my own hands submissively clasped there, and kissed me, while at the same time his right hand seized my whole pussy, through my panties, taking possession of me there in a way he hadn’t ever done, even with his hardness on our wedding night.
CHAPTER18
Mandy
I cried out into his mouth, feeling my knees go slack under me as my body responded with helpless need to my husband’s sexual dominance. His fingers pressed hard, all the way down there, where I seemed to tingle with a wantonness I had never known before in my life. The cry faded to a whimper, a submissive noise to punctuate the aggressive probing of Rick’s tongue inside my mouth, as I felt not merely wet butsoaking. My panties didn’t just have a wet spot, I realized—I had gushed into their gusset, so that I could actuallyhearthe wet sound my husband’s middle two fingers made as he moved them even further down.
He pushed the fabric of those innocent cotton briefs inward, into me, between my lips, in the place where I had felt such shame to have him enter with his manhood, such searing pain as he had claimed me on our wedding night. I hadn’t wanted it… I…
No. Youtoldyourself you didn’t want it.
I gasped as I understood, as I saw it. The brat and the good girl had joined forces that night: shame and defiance persuading me, insanely, that the thing I knew, deep down, I needed the most actually disgusted me. That the pain felt much worse than it actually did. That I had every right to make sure Rick didn’t renew his intimate attentions more often than was absolutely necessary.
I felt his long, strong fingers tug the soaking gusset of my panties aside. I cried out into his mouth again, my hips jerking uncontrollably. My knees could barely support me, and I felt certain I would simply fall down. Rick could sense that, though, I knew with a surge of gratitude; he moved the hand on the back of my neck downward to my back, and he kept me upright.
Absurdly, the brat inside me chose this moment to make her decision about when I should next defy my loving husband.
The day after tomorrow. He’s not going to whip me that hard, now, is he? Maybe even tomorrow, if this is what happens when I brat?
Rick broke the kiss, drawing his head back but still holding me in his huge hands, one on my back and one between my legs. I had closed my eyes again at some point, and I felt again that I mustn’t open them because of the degrading thing I would see, and yet I had to because the wicked voyeur in me needed to see the naughty girl get her just reward.
I opened my eyes. Rick had his own gaze fixed downward. A sob of need burst from my chest as I understood: he was looking at my pussy. My dominant husband, in the bright overhead lights of this gorgeous master bedroom, had his eyes fixed on his young bride’s barely tried pussy.
Then my whole body bucked, because Rick had replaced the pressure of his eyes with the probing caress of his fingers, and he had urged the tips of the middle two through the sparse blonde curls there and inside me. Firmly, so firmly… so arrogantly and possessively, taking me with that dominant, if faint, substitute for the hard penis I couldn’t help picturing in my wanton mind’s eye.
“Oh, God,” I whimpered. “Ricky… sir… I’m going to…”
I never had. I had felt certain I couldn’t. It hadn’t even seemed like a possibility, when Rick and I had cuddled in his bed, even when I had enjoyed his touch on my breasts and between my thighs. Now the feeling that something wonderful inside me had expanded so far that it must burst, and Ineededit to burst, left even the innocent good girl inside in no doubt as to what was about to happen.
But… again the good girl and the brat had joined forces. The good girl didn’t want to come for the first time without permission, and the brat didn’t want to give the husband who hadspankedme—who intended towhipme—the satisfaction. I fought the expansion, the release. I struggled against Rick’s hands, for all the world as if the climax that loomed so close would be a bad thing, rather than the extreme pleasure the observing part of me could see it would give.
And, truly, a thrill of fear went through me at the sheer amount of ecstasy my husband’s claiming fingers had brought down there, where I had felt so certain I didn’t want him at all except when I had no choice but to fulfill my conjugal duties. I felt like the pleasure might rip me apart, if I let Rick move his fingers that way inside my aching vagina.
But he growled a command then, and my body obeyed it, looking into his eyes and seeing my lord and master look straight back, piercing the terribly overcomplicated depths of my heart and soul.
“Come for me, you little brat,” Rick ordered, holding me in place and curling his fingertips up inside me to press at the spot that I hadn’t even known might be there.
I came. Somehow I knew that the way I climaxed was the kind of thing you heard naughty girls callcoming hard. It definitely felt very hard, despite how incredibly good it felt. The soreness in my backside… the way it made me feel so very submissive and under Rick’s control… the echo of his hungry growl and the promise it carried of what he would do to me next… above all the sheer presence of his hand between my legs and the arrogant thrusting of his fingers inside my pussy… it seemed hard even to have it all in my head without losing control of my body completely, without fainting dead away.
I cried out, over and over, because it went on and on. Somewhere, vaguely, the observer commented that far from being unable to climax, Rick seemed to be proving that I could come over and over—as long as my husband decided I should, anyway.
You little brat.I felt the heat come into my cheeks as the waves of pleasure seemed to ebb and flow without any end in sight. Rick’s fingers inside me, his thumb on my clit… they had taken hold of me… he had taken a little brat in hand, so literally that I felt completely helpless to resist him. My rebellion had flown away under his training, his discipline—despite the defiant voice in my head whispering through this storm of pleasure,I’ll brat again tomorrow… or maybe the day after.
Not just a little brat, though,the observer said, making my heart beat even more wildly.It’s much, much worse than that, isn’t it?
I looked into his eyes, wondering if my face showed him the filthy thoughts that part of me, the watching part, seemed to have in such mortifying abundance. My body bucked under his strong grip, yielding itself into his mastering hands, as I saw his eyes narrow and knew he must have seen my blush.
“Oh, God,” I moaned. “Sir… I’m… I’m not just…”
I couldn’t believe it—even the voyeur standing a few feet away, enjoying my terrible degradation couldn’t believe it. How could I tell him the wanton, dirty thought that had come into my head?
“What?” Rick asked. “What aren’t you just?”
I shook my head. My greedy pussy pressed itself into my husband’s claiming hand, though the pleasure had gained an edge of excess, even of discomfort. I wanted more of it, though, or, really, I wanted to demand more of it from Rick. I wanted to refuse to tell him the thought in my head, and I wanted to get him to give me more pleasure.
