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We’re back in the SUV headed home when I realize belatedly that because I’m wearing a tux, I’ll have to borrow someone else’s belt.
“Wolfe, give me your belt.”
That statement has Sophie’s head whipping around from gazing out the dark window to facing me. She’s been nearly silent since our conversation with Julia Townsend, and barely even looked in my direction.
“Yes, sir,” my head guard says without hesitation from the passenger seat. He just unfastens the seatbelt, then unbuckles the belt to slide it through the loops. Folding it in half, he swivels around in his seat to hand it over to me.
“Thanks,” I tell him, not bothering to mention that he won’t be getting it back after I’m done with it. Now it’s my trophy. Possibly the final thread snapping on my marriage. A psychologist may even point out that I’m intentionally trying to ruin our unhappy union with this type of behavior. Despite knowing that, I’m not the least bit deterred thanks to my seething anger.
When we pull up to the front of the estate, one of the guards opens Sophie’s door. She climbs out of the SUV with me right behind her. I snatch up a handful of her thick curls in my fist to pull her feet to an abrupt stop.
“What…” she trails off when I halt her steps, dropping her clutch to the ground.
“You’re not going inside yet, princess.” Wrapping her long hair around my fist three times, I grab her waist with my other hand to shove her stumbling around in her heels to the front of the vehicle. When she’s facing the front bumper, I press her face down on the still-warm hood.
“Lochlan!” she shouts while trying to stand up straight again.
I lean over to whisper in her ear. “Oh, good, you do remember your husband’s name.”
Curving the front of my body around the back of hers, I let her feel how long and hard I already am in anticipation of her punishment, even if my dick won’t be getting any relief until I’m alone in the shower.
“What are you doing?” she asks, going completely still underneath me.
“Do you remember those licks I mentioned earlier?”
My wife’s body goes slack now, the fight completely leaving her so that her upper body is draped over the hood like a blanket. “The ones for saying Cole’s name?” she asks me quietly.
“Yes. And that makes six. Time to pay up.”
While my right hand continues to apply pressure to keep her head on the hood. I toss the belt down beside her, so my left hand can reach down to start hiking up the back of her long black dress. There’s more of the material than I expected. The only way to make it stay out of the way is to bunch it up and shove it under the front of her body I have pinned to the hood.
When Sophie lifts her face enough to turn her head from facing right, looking at the belt, to the left, I let her. She gasps at the sight of the guards who are quietly observing us. They’re gathered by the front entrance of the house, lined up facing us about twenty feet away. Hands clasped behind their backs, they’re all standing at attention, patiently waiting, as if the scene before them is all part of a day’s work.
It’s dark enough out here in the driveway that from the glow of the sidewalk lights they won’t see much of my wife’s body, just her long legs and the swell of her ass in profile as I finally reveal it. Mostly, they’re here to keep me from going too far. And with good reason. Seeing the black thong caressing the crack of her beautiful ass drowns out every thought in my head for a long moment.
It’s a pale, gorgeous, unmarked ass, but not for much longer.
I replace my right hand wrapped in her hair to wind it around my left so I can pick up the belt in my dominant hand. Then, I tell my wife, “You’re getting six licks of the belt for saying another man’s name to me, over and over again. And don’t worry, I’ll keep count for you.”
Unable to resist, I remove my index finger from the belt long enough to run it down the string separating her ass cheeks. “I love these panties by the way.” When I reach the crotch she squirms again, either trying to get away or wanting more. I don’t even know what to make about her dampness. Did they get wet for blondie? Assuming so, I haul the folded belt over my shoulder then bring it down hard, swatting her ass with it.
Sophie cries out even louder than the whap of leather slapping her flesh. The fact that her scream makes my dick harder is beyond fucked up.
“That’s one,” I tell her.
“Don’t you–” She tries to push herself up off the hood just as I land the second and third blow in quick succession, counting them aloud.
After the fourth lash, she sobs, “I hate you!” then turns her face away from the front of the house. If she was referring to me or the guards who refuse to help her, I’m not sure which. Probably both.
“Only two more to go. Unless…” I lean over her again to whisper in her ear and rub my dick on her ass. “Unless you’re going to cancel your tennis date with blondie, in which case, I’ll stop right now.”
I wait for her response, grinding my hardness against that lacy thong while she sniffles. I’m certain she’s had enough…
“No.”
“No?” I repeat, convinced I misheard her. She’s crying, sobbing even, and yet she won’t concede to stop the pain.
“You’re going to regret that decision,” I warn her.
