Chapter 9
Valerie
I sank to my knees on the plush rug, my heart hammering against my ribs. Chris moved to stand a few feet in front of me and began unbuttoning his shirt.
I couldn’t look away. Each button revealed more of his muscular chest, the defined planes of his stomach. When he shrugged the shirt off, I found myself staring at the breadth of his shoulders, the strength evident in every line of his body.
His hands moved to his belt. The buckle clinked. The leather slid free.
My breathing grew faster. I knew what was coming. Knew what I was about to see.
The button popped open. The zipper came down. Chris pushed his jeans and briefs down together, stepping out of them.
His cock jutted out from his body, fully erect. Even harder than last night, if that was possible. The head was dark and swollen, and I could see it pulsing slightly with his heartbeat.
Chris walked toward me and I tilted my head back to keep my eyes on his face, though I could see his cock in my peripheral vision, growing larger as he approached.
“Put your hands on your bottom,” he said.
“Wh-what?” I stammered. “Why?”
Chris lowered his chin, and a little whimper rose into my mouth just at the expression on his face. My lips parted, but for a moment no sound came out.
My husband waited. My eyes widened as I figured out my mistake, and a thrill of fear went through me that I might have earned myself another whipping.
“Why, sir?” I whispered.
Chris nodded, and a tiny smile played across his lips. To my horror, I felt a thrill of what I could only call submissive affection surge in my chest.
“Because I want you to,” he answered. “And that should always be enough for you, Valerie.”
I swallowed hard. A shiver went through my whole body. I reached back, my palms finding the raised welts from the switch. The position thrust my breasts forward, made me even more vulnerable.
“I also want you to remember what happened over that log earlier today,” Chris said. “Give your little butt a squeeze, to help you do that.”
Another swallow, this one even harder. I bit my lip as I obeyed, and I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes as the soreness sent a terribly ambiguous thrill through that part of my body. “Oh, God,” I whispered.
“Open your mouth.”
I obeyed instantly this time, my lips parting automatically, as if my hands on my backside had indeed made me hyperconscious of the marital discipline my husband had bestowed in the woods.
Chris stepped closer. Close enough that the head of his cock was just inches from my face.
I could smell him—that dark, musky scent I remembered from last night.
“Keep it open,” he instructed. “And remember—good girls who obey get rewarded. Naughty girls who resist get punished.”
Then he guided his cock to my lips.
The head pressed against my mouth and I whimpered, but I didn’t close my lips. Didn’t pull away. Chris pushed forward slowly, and I felt the thick shaft slide past my lips, over my tongue, filling my mouth impossibly full.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Good girl. Just hold it there for a moment. Get used to the feeling. It feels so nice to have my manhood there.”
I couldn’t breathe through my nose. Could barely think. My mouth was stretched around him, my jaw already aching from the size of him. Tears leaked from my eyes.
“I’m going to move now,” Chris said. “Keep your hands on your bottom. Don’t try to push me away.”
He began to pull back, then pushed forward again. Slowly at first, letting me adjust. The sensation was overwhelming—the weight of him on my tongue, the taste of him, the way he filled my mouth completely with each thrust.
“Use your tongue,” he instructed. “Move it against the underside of the penis.”
I tried to obey, swirling my tongue as best I could. Chris groaned, his hand coming to rest on the back of my head.
“That’s good, Valerie. That’s very good. My cock feels really good right now. Your mouth is like velvet.”
His praise sent a shameful jolt of pleasure through me. My pussy clenched and I felt wetness beginning to gather between my thighs.
Chris’s movements became faster. Harder. The head of his cock hit the back of my throat and I gagged, my eyes watering.
“Relax your throat,” he said, though his voice was husky now. “Breathe through your nose. You’ll learn to take it.”
He pushed deeper and I gagged again, my whole body jerking. But Chris held my head steady, his cock sliding further down my throat than I’d thought possible.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Could only feel him using my mouth, fucking my face with increasing brutality. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Drool leaked from the corners of my mouth.
“Almost there,” Chris grunted. “Get ready to swallow, Valerie. You’re going to swallow your husband’s seed for the first time.”
His thrusts became erratic. I felt his cock pulse in my mouth, and then hot, thick liquid was flooding my throat. I swallowed convulsively, trying not to choke, the taste bitter and overwhelming.
Chris groaned, his hand tightening in my hair as he emptied himself down my throat. When he finally pulled back, I gasped for air, coughing and crying.
He stepped back, his cock still semi-hard, glistening with my saliva. Then his hand was in my hair again, bending my face down to the floor.
I felt him move behind me. His hand reached between my legs from behind, finding my pussy and my bottom at the same time. His fingers slid through the wetness there—so much wetness, evidence of my arousal.
“Such a naughty girl,” he murmured. “Getting so wet from having your face fucked.”
His fingers found my clit and began moving in quick, firm circles. The sensation after everything that had happened was too intense. I cried out, my hips bucking against his hand.
“Come for me,” Chris commanded. “Come from being used like a wife should be used.”
The orgasm hit me like a wave, crashing through my body with such force that I screamed into the rug. My pussy clenched around nothing, my whole body shaking as pleasure rolled through me in overwhelming pulses.
When it ended, I collapsed completely, my face pressed to the floor, my body trembling with aftershocks.
Chris’s hand stroked gently down my back. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Such an innocent bride, learning to please your husband.”
I lay there, unable to move, tasting him in my mouth, feeling the evidence of my own need cooling on my thighs. Tomorrow he would fuck me, I felt certain. Tomorrow he would push that cock inside my pussy and make me his completely, whether I liked it or not.
But tonight he had shown me something that to the modest part of me seemed worse.
He had shown me that I could be trained.
That my body would respond no matter how much my mind protested.
That I was exactly the kind of naughty, submissive girl the New Modesty Authority’s biometric analysis had somehow identified.
I lay there on the floor for what felt like an eternity, my body still trembling, my mind a chaos of shame and confusion and that terrible, traitorous pleasure. Finally, Chris helped me to my feet, his hands gentle now.
“Go take a shower,” he said softly. “Take your time.”
I nodded mutely and stumbled toward the bathroom on shaking legs. When I closed the door behind me, I leaned against it for a moment, my eyes squeezed shut, trying to process everything that had just happened.
I had let him put his cock in my mouth. I had swallowed his seed. I had come from it—come from being used like that, from having my face fucked while I knelt naked with my hands on my welted bottom.
What kind of girl was I?
I turned on the shower, making the water as hot as I could stand, and stepped under the spray.
The heat stung the welts on my bottom and I gasped, reaching back to touch them.
They were raised and tender, little ridges of soreness that made me remember the switch cutting through the air, the sound it had made when it connected with my bare skin.
The memory sent a pulse of heat between my legs.
No. No, I couldn’t let myself think about that. About how it had felt to be punished. About the strange dark pleasure that had mixed with the pain.
But as I stood under the hot water, my hands moving over my body to wash away the evidence of what we’d done, I couldn’t stop the images from flooding my mind.
Chris bending me over that log. The way he’d looked at my bare bottom before bringing the switch down.
The hunger in his eyes when he’d made me shuffle back to the trail with my jeans around my knees.
And then tonight. Kneeling before him. Taking his cock into my mouth. The taste of him. The way he’d held my head and used me.
My hand drifted lower, between my legs, almost without my conscious permission. I touched myself there—just barely, just enough to feel the slickness, the shameful evidence of my arousal.
I had never really done this before: touched myself on purpose, seeking pleasure, in the full knowledge of what I was doing. Yesterday, in my bedroom—that had felt like an accident. This, here in the shower… it was so naughty. So wrong.
But my fingers kept moving, finding that sensitive spot Chris knew how to touch. A soft moan escaped my lips before I could stop it.
I thought about his hands on me. His cock in my mouth. The way he’d called me a good girl when I obeyed. The way my body had responded to his dominance, to his discipline, to his use of me.
My fingers moved faster, circling that spot, and I leaned against the shower wall for support. The pleasure was building, that familiar tension coiling tighter and tighter in my core.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I should ask permission. Chris had said wives had to ask permission before touching themselves. But he wouldn’t give me permission, would he? He’d… he’d whip me instead.
I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t make my hand obey. The pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming after everything that had happened.
Just as I felt myself approaching the edge, ready to tip over into orgasm, guilt crashed through me like ice water.
I jerked my hand away, gasping, my whole body trembling with unfulfilled need. Tears mixed with the shower water on my face.
I was so naughty. So terribly naughty. What was Chris doing to me? What was I becoming?
I finished washing quickly, mechanically, trying not to think about the ache between my legs or the way my body still craved release. When I turned off the water and stepped out, I dried myself with shaking hands.
My flannel nightgown lay folded on the counter where I’d left it earlier. I reached for it, grateful for the modest coverage it would provide, but before I could put it on, Chris’s voice came from the other side of the door.
“Valerie? Don’t put on your nightgown.”
I froze, the soft fabric clutched in my hands. “What?”
“You’re going to sleep naked tonight. You need to start getting used to your husband having access to your body whenever I want.”
My heart jumped into my throat. Sleep naked? All night? With nothing between his hands and my body?
“Chris—I mean, sir—please, I—”
“No arguments,” he said firmly. “Come to bed.”
I stood there for a long moment, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
My blonde hair hung damp around my shoulders.
My face was flushed. My nipples were hard from the cool air.
And when my eyes drifted lower, I could see the evidence of my arousal still glistening between my thighs, even after the shower.
I was so naughty. So shamefully, terribly naughty.
Trembling, I opened the bathroom door and walked into the bedroom. Chris was already in bed, the covers pulled back on my side. He watched me approach, his eyes traveling over my naked body with obvious appreciation.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “Come here, sweetheart.”
I climbed into bed beside him, hyperaware of every inch of my bare skin against the cool sheets. Chris pulled the covers over us and then his arm came around me, drawing me back against his chest.
I could feel everything. The heat of his body. The hard planes of his chest against my back. His arm across my waist. And lower, pressed against my bottom, I could feel his cock.
It was soft now, but as we lay there, I felt it begin to stir. To harden. To grow thick and rigid against my bare skin.
A whimper escaped my throat.
“Shh,” Chris murmured against my ear. “I’m keeping my word. I won’t fuck you tonight.”