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I had refused to say the filthy words in my head, the ones that would tell him how very right he was. Rick knew, though, what they were. He knew his bride, even if I pretended otherwise: he had married a bratty little slut, and he would whip her and fuck her just as he liked. She—I—needed to submit to my lord and master as much as he needed to guide me… to have me… toownme.
Panties down.From now on, when Rick told me to take off my panties, I would have to obey. If I didn’t…
My eyes went back to the belt, and the frozen moment of inaction came to an end. The force of Rick’s words and the sheer physicality of his body looming over mine made me strip the cotton tangle of my polka-dot panties down past my knees and step out of them. A little whimper emerged from my chest as I felt how exposed the awkward movement of undressing left me. I turned a little to try to keep Rick from seeingeverything—even the most shameful place of all, the tiny flower between my bottom cheeks.
Only at that moment, as I thought about that embarrassing little aperture, did I start to think about the most alarming thing Rick had said.In every way a woman can please her husband. Surely he hadn’t meant… that? Maybe he intended to ask me to use my mouth on him…
Ask?the observer wondered sarcastically.Hasn’t your husband made it clear that he’s not going toaskfor a blowjob? You’ll suck his penis or you’ll get the belt, from now on, you filthy little slut.
An electric shock of arousal jolted through my limbs. I bit my lip as I straightened up, turning back to Rick, hoping to scan his face for signs that he hadn’t meant his words the way it had just occurred to me he might have.
But he had begun to move around the corner of the bed to my right. For a moment I didn’t understand as I watched him reach for the pillows and take two of them from the head. My hands went to my chest and my lap to cover myself, wondering if I would be disciplined for hiding my private parts but unable to keep myself from the modest gesture.
Rick piled the pillows in the middle of the bed, on the left side. I pushed down a little sob of fear and shame as I realized why, at the same moment he looked up at me.
“Go ahead and lie down over the pillows,” he said, narrowing his eyes a little, clearly in response to seeing me with my hands over my breasts and pussy. “I’m going to tan your hide for lying to me.”
My face, as if it just hadn’t gotten the message that Rick had no intention of relenting, twisted into a final plea for mercy. I could feel my chin tremble cartoonishly with alarm.
“Please, sir,” I whispered. “Please… I’m sorry I… I lied?”
“Not as sorry as you’re going to be,” Rick said grimly, pointing to the pillows with his left hand as he raised the belt in his right.
I gave a cry of terror, hardly believing my husband had actually said those stereotypical words of old-fashioned discipline—and mortified by the hip-jerking spasm between my thighs at the sound of his dominance. I let my frightened body have its irrational way: I clambered onto the bed, conscious of my nakedness with every move and trying to crawl so as to keep my nipples, my pussy, and the valley between my bottom cheeks all as hidden as possible.
Absurd… so absurd,the observing part of me said.Do you really think you can somehow keep your modesty? Why do youwantto keep your modesty? With your husband, the man who has every right to see all of you, whenever he wants? When he’s just made it clear hewilllook at every part of you, and make you look at every part of him?
I didn’t know, but the observer had a ready answer.
You’re a filthy little slut, Mrs. Amanda Williams. You’repretendingto be trying to keep your modesty, because really you want to distract your husband with your needy little cunt.
I gasped at the terrible thought, which accompanied my last few hurried movements toward and over the piled pillows. With a sob I threw myself atop them, a hot blush spreading into my face at the way the soft but quite high heap raised my backside.
I felt his hand come down on my back, just above my tailbone, his big, open palm and his long fingers pressing firmly. I heard a little whimper come from my throat at the sensation, at its message of mastery and possession.
“Please,” I whispered—not to my husband, almost, but simply to the universe—without having any idea, in that moment, what I wanted.
Rick knew, though, even if part of me didn’t want it to be true. I felt him lay the horrible leather of his jeans belt across both cheeks of my bottom.
“Get ready, Dee,” he said sternly, and then he started to whip me.
CHAPTER21
Mandy
I screamed and cried from the very beginning. I had thought I might be the kind of brat who did everything in her power to stay strong when receiving the just reward of her misbehavior. I wasn’t.
I didn’t even know where I had gotten the notion that girls like that existed—wives who refused to let the tears flow when their beloved husbands punished them for disrespecting a loving man’s rightful authority and neglecting their marital duties. Maybe I had imagined it, based on movies about prisoners and that kind of thing—spies holding up under interrogation?
As soon as Rick started to bring the belt down across my bottom, I knew I wouldn’t be like that. My lord and master broke my resistance, if I had any left, with the first three or four lashes of his thick leather belt. He held me down over the pillows with his left hand and he whipped me hard and fast. He started with my bottom, and then he moved down to my thighs, making all too clear his intent to teach me a lesson I would never forget.
Make a proper start, a voice in my head said, the words somehow making their way through the haze of agony. Rick had decided to give us a new beginning, the beginning he clearly thought he should have made on our wedding night, or the next morning, when I had lied about how sore my pussy was.
A new storm of sobs burst from my throat at that thought… about how I had lied to my husband so many times. The terrible burning heat in my whole bare backside, the stripes of fire Rick laid across it, seemed to declare with each lash how defiant and bratty a bride I had been, how careless with my husband’s needs and feelings.
The observer, to my distress, seemed to have gone away. Something about the fiery pain of the whipping had brought me fully into my body again—though at the worst possible time. My bottom hurt somuch.
“Please,” I sobbed. “Please, sir… Ricky… I’m sorry.”
