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My whole body bucked. My husband’s fingers and thumb had gripped me, down there, at what felt like the paradoxical center of the burning agony Rick’s belt had made of my whole backside. My whole pussy, my clit and my sensitive inner lips and the needy hole of my vagina, all within the grasp of his fingers. And… his thumb…there.
He pressed firmly with the ball of his thumb, right on the little flower.
I let out a terrible moan that would certainly have told him he had married a bratty little slut even if he hadn’t drawn the words out of me with the flashing, fiery leather.
“All of this,” my husband growled. “All of it belongs to me.”
His thumb pushed even harder at the tiny ring of my anus. To my horror, my whole lower body spasmed as an irresistible wave of pleasure ripped through what felt like my entire nervous system. Again I pushed with my hips, feeling a new blush come to my face as I understood that my limbs were desperate to imitate the motions of sex—even though I had lain completely still under Rick on our wedding night.
Before you understood your bridegroom would master you as a man should master a bratty, slutty bride like you.
My bottom pressed against Rick’s possessing, claiming hand. The heat in my cheeks rose to furnace level as I felt the tight aperture of my little hole impaled on my husband’s invading thumb. He held my most intimate parts so firmly, so resolutely and yet so casually; something about the terrible frankness of that grip told me that the degrading pleasure it forced on me represented only a very small part of the point.
No: this had to do with possession, and Rick confirmed that idea. He bent over me, his mouth at my ear, and he squeezed my pussy, driving his thumb deeper in my bottom-hole, as he whispered:
“Do you understand, Amanda Williams?”
“Oh, God,” I moaned. “Yes… yes, sir.”
Amanda Williams. Mrs. Williams.And the old-fashioned way… the way I somehow felt sure would be in evidence tomorrow, at the country club…Mrs. Richard Williams.
I belonged to him: all of me, and most of all the most shameful part, the part in his hand.
Was the whipping over? Had Rick decided to show me mercy after all?
No,the observer said, as a wave of forced pleasure went through me, as his thumb’s shameful invasion of my bottom worked a little deeper into me as a reminder of my misdeeds.This isn’t mercy… it’s… guidance?
How could it be guidance? How could a man’s thumb up my ass represent leadership?
His other hand, the one he had used on my back to keep me in place during my whipping, took gentle hold of my throat. I heard a little wailing cry come from my chest at the half-alarming, half-arousing sensation. It seemed to complete his hands’ possession of me: my private parts, where Rick meant to take his pleasure, lay within his grasp, but with that grip on my throat I felt every bit of me had become the private property of my husband.
“Good girl,” Rick murmured into my ear. “Are you ready for your fucking?”
I bit my lip, suddenly terribly aware of my facedown posture over the pillows, my hands’ hold on the headboard, the softness of the comforter against my cheek. How could I say it? Neither the good girl nor the brat could say that… the good girl could never admit it and the brat never would.
But the slut…
“Yes, sir,” I sobbed.
“Say it, you little slut,” my husband growled. In those six syllables I seemed to hear so many things: his dominance, his resolve, and even more his growing confidence—the confidence I had just given him despite myself, that he had steered us onto the right track. Astonished, I understood that I had just heard inSay it, you little sluthow very much my husband loved me and how right we were for each other despite our rocky start.
Rocky start… until Rocky Falls.
I gave a sob from deep in my chest.
“Please fuck me, sir,” I moaned. “Please fuck my hot little cunt.”
CHAPTER22
Rick
For a moment the old me—the me of twenty-four hours earlier—seemed to get in the way of my grasping what my beautiful, demure bride had just said.
Mandy Garrison… Miss Amanda Garrison, my modest bride… said what?
My cock gave a leap against my thigh at the outrageous thought that I should pick the belt back up and whip her for the filthy thing she had just said. I wondered for an instant whether that might actually turn us both on even more; as this first truly serious punishment session had gone on I had begun to get much more comfortable with the idea of how hard I had gotten while I whipped my beautiful wife’s taut little bottom.
And how hot the dominant blood raged in my veins at the sight of her naked, cherry red backside over the pillows. I straightened up so I could have another look, letting go of Mandy’s throat and her private parts. My bratty slut moaned piteously at the removal of those mastering hands, and to my delight she moved her hips over the pillows in an unmistakable plea for her husband’s vigorous attention.
