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“Please what, Dee?” he asked me, his tone as gentle as his fingers. “Tell me what you need.”
I had known precisely what it had meant when I said it. I still knew that, but…
But I couldn’t say it: the good girl part of me couldn’t admit it and the brat part of me didn’t want to admit it. The voyeuristic observer didn’t want me to say it, because…
Because you need firm discipline, Amanda Williams. And you know you’re going to get it, when you’re over your husband’s knee.
I let the brat have her way. “Nothing,” I said. “This is… I mean, you can…”
I didn’t even get to sayforget itagain before Rick responded. His right hand rose from my backside. I thought he would spank me again, on that cheek, but instead I felt his fingers return, wet with what had to be his saliva. They didn’t go where I wanted them. They went where I didn’t want them instead—the tiny hole where he had made it much too clear he intended to take my final virginity tonight.
I cried out, and squirmed hard. Rick kept his left hand on my ass, still holding me shamefully open, while using the rest of that arm to hold me in place over his thigh, my chest against the mattress. I struggled under his restraint, feeling the thrilling way my husband’s superior strength communicated his dominance to my weaker muscles as they tensed against it. I probably could have wriggled my way out from under his arm, but my realization about all this being right, though, stopped me from really trying to get away. I didn’t have totellRick about that realization, though, did I?
Two wet fingers, on the little ring, rubbing firmly.
“Oh, God,” I sobbed. “Ricky… sir…”
One finger inside me, making circles, stretching me out. Training me. Preparing me.
“Please… I want to…”
Two fingers inside. It hurt a little, just a little, and it felt shamefully, darkly good.
“Oh, God… sir…”
A third finger, pressing in.
“Oh, no… oh, please… please can I… can I…”
“You were rude, weren’t you, Dee?” my husband asked me in a low, soothing voice. “Maybe she’s not as nice as you’d like her to be, but that’s not an excuse.”
I hadn’t really understood until that moment that old-fashioned discipline as practiced in Rocky Falls didn’t actually confine itself to the wholly traditional dimension of firm hands on bare bottoms, belts, and paddles. The essence ofold-fashioned, as far as our new home—for I couldn’t deny it anymore, could I?—was concerned, lay in an older husband caring for his younger wife.
Caring for her, and as an essential part of that care, disciplining her as he saw fit—in whatever way he saw fit, whether with his belt or with three fingers in her virginal anus.
“No, sir,” I sobbed, as he stretched my poor bottom-hole much too wide. “I was rude. I’m… I’m sorry.”
“Good girl,” Rick said very softly. “Now what do you want?”
The three fingers turned a little, pressed in further. I cried out. I had a desperate, shameful longing.
“Sir, may I please touch myself?” I begged, the words coming out in a breathless rush.
I could hear the smile in Rick’s reply.
“Yes, you may,” he said.
With a whimper of discomfort, I thrust my right hand under my hip and down between my thighs, where the lacy thong lay askew. I gasped as I touched the smoothness of my bared pussy for the first time, and then I cried out as my fingers found my aching clit. I bucked over Rick’s thigh, rubbing frantically, the pain from my husband’s training in my bottom transmuted into overwhelming arousal and ecstatic pleasure.
“Oh, God… oh… sir, may I… may I… please…”
It felt so close, unbelievably close.
“No,” Rick said. “I’m disciplining you. You’ll come with my cock in your ass, but not before.”
I felt my face scrunch up into a pout of abject disappointment. I slowed the rhythm of my fingers on my clit, then up and down my private lips, so wantonly exposed by my husband’s obscene rearrangement of my underwear.
Rick turned the fingers a little more. I sobbed with mingled discomfort despite the soothing effect of being allowed to play with myself while he trained me. The fingers pulled out a little.
