Chapter 10
Chris
Valerie felt so wonderful in my arms that I didn’t want to fall asleep anytime soon. I let my hand drift down her side, feeling the soft curve of her waist, the flare of her hip. She tensed immediately, her breathing quickening.
“Chris—”
“Shh,” I murmured, my hand moving to rest on her thigh. “Just relax.”
My fingers traced lazy circles on her skin, moving gradually higher. When I reached the juncture of her thighs, I felt her legs clench together instinctively.
“Open,” I said quietly.
“Please don’t,” she whispered, but her voice was already thick with arousal. “I can’t—”
“Valerie.” I let steel enter my voice. “If I have to punish you to ensure I get my marital rights, I will. Do you want another session over my knee?”
A sob caught in her throat. “No, sir.”
“Then open your legs for your husband.”
Slowly, trembling, she obeyed. I slid my hand between her thighs and found her pussy already slick with need. She whimpered as my fingers made contact with the smooth, bare flesh of her outer lips’ sweet cleft.
“You’re going to be fucked in this position very soon,” I told her, my voice low in her ear as my fingers began to move gently through her wetness.
“I’ll have you lie just like this, on your side with your back against my chest. I’ll lift your top leg and hold it up while I push my cock inside you from behind. ”
“Chris—” Her voice broke on my name.
“You’ll be able to feel every inch of me sliding into your tight little pussy,” I continued, my fingers circling her clit with slow, deliberate strokes.
“And the beautiful thing about this position is that you can just relax. You don’t have to do anything except lie there and let your husband enjoy himself.
Let me use your body the way wives are meant to be used. ”
A sob of pure need escaped her. Her hips began moving against my hand, seeking more pressure, more friction.
“That’s it,” I murmured. “Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind is still fighting. You’re going to learn to love having my cock inside you. To crave it. To beg for it.”
My fingers moved faster now, applying more pressure. Valerie was panting, her whole body trembling in my arms.
“And it won’t just be your pussy,” I said, moving my fingertips lower and further in. “Eventually, I’m going to fuck you here too.”
My finger found the tight little pucker of her anus and pressed against it gently. She cried out, her body going rigid.
“In this same position,” I continued, keeping my finger pressed there while my other hand continued its work on her clit. “With you on your side, relaxed and open. I’ll push my cock into your bottom and you’ll take it because you’re my wife and that’s what wives do.”
“Oh, God,” she sobbed. “Oh, God, please—”
“Please what?” I pressed my finger more firmly against her anus, not penetrating but making her acutely aware of the pressure there. “Please stop? Or please let you come?”
“I need—” She was writhing now, desperate. “Please, I need—”
“Say it,” I commanded. “Ask permission properly.”
“Please, sir,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Please, may I come? Please, I’m begging you—”
“Not yet.” I kept my fingers moving on her clit, kept the pressure on her anus, bringing her right to the edge and holding her there. “First you’re going to tell me you understand. Tell me you understand that your pussy belongs to me. Your mouth belongs to me. Your bottom belongs to me.”
“I understand,” she sobbed. “It all belongs to you, sir, please—”
“And you’re going to let me fuck you wherever I want, whenever I want.”
“Yes, sir, yes, I promise, please—”
“Come,” I said simply, and pressed my finger just slightly inside her anus while the heel of my hand increased its pressure on her clit.
She seemed to come apart in my arms, her whole body convulsing, a wail tearing from her throat that she muffled against the pillow. I felt her pussy clenching rhythmically, felt her anus tighten around my fingertip, felt her entire being surrender to the pleasure I was giving her.
When the spasms finally subsided, she lay limp and trembling against me, soft sobs shaking her shoulders.
“Good girl,” I praised, withdrawing my hands and pulling her closer. “Such a good girl for your husband.”
I held her as she cried, stroking her hair, feeling my cock hard and demanding against her bottom. But I didn’t take her. Not tonight. Tomorrow, maybe… but I would train her as thoroughly as necessary to make sure I got my way when the time came.
For now, it was enough to feel her surrender. To know that her body was learning to crave my touch, my dominance, my control. The New Modesty Authority counselors had been right—Valerie was highly submissive, and with firm guidance, she would become exactly the wife I needed.
Eventually her tears subsided and her breathing evened out. I thought she might have fallen asleep, but then I heard her soft voice in the darkness.
“Chris?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Am I… am I very naughty? For… for liking what you do to me?”
The vulnerability in her question made my chest tighten. I pressed a kiss to her damp hair.
“No, baby. You’re exactly how a wife should be. Your body knows what it needs, even when your mind is scared. That’s not naughty—that’s natural.”
She was quiet for a long moment. Then, so softly I almost didn’t hear it: “Thank you, sir.”
* * *
Valerie
It took me a long time to fall asleep. My thoughts churned endlessly—fear and shame and that terrible dark excitement all tangled together until I couldn’t separate them.
Every time I started to drift off, I would become aware again of Chris’s cock pressed against me, or his hand on my hip, or the soreness in my bottom, and my pussy would clench with shameful need despite the shattering orgasm I’d just had.
Finally, exhausted, I slipped into sleep.
And again I dreamed.
In this dream, I stood on a stage. A massive stage in some kind of theater or auditorium, with rows and rows of seats stretching back into darkness. Every seat was filled. Hundreds of people—maybe thousands—all staring at me.
I looked down at myself and saw I was wearing the peach baby doll nightgown from last night, but nothing underneath at all. The sheer fabric left nothing to the imagination. Through it, everyone could see my breasts, my nipples, the smooth bare skin of my pussy.
I tried to cover myself with my hands, but my arms wouldn’t move. I looked down and saw that now I was standing in some kind of frame—a wooden apparatus that held my wrists and ankles in place, spreading me open for the audience to see.
Panic flooded through me. I struggled against the restraints, but they held firm.
Then he appeared.
Chris walked onto the stage from the wings, but again he wasn’t quite Chris.
He wore the same black leather mask from my dream on our wedding night—the one that covered the upper half of his face, leaving only his mouth and jaw visible.
He was completely naked, his muscular body on display for the audience, his cock already hard and jutting out from his body.
The audience applauded. Some of them cheered.
Chris approached me slowly, deliberately, his eyes visible through the mask—dark and hungry and full of that terrible dominance that made my pussy clench even in the dream.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, his voice amplified somehow so everyone could hear, “I’m going to fuck my wife now. Right here in front of all of you.”
“No,” I whimpered. “Please, Chris, not in front of everyone—”
“A husband decides who gets to look at his naked wife,” he continued, ignoring my protest. “A husband decides when and where and how to use her body. And I’ve decided that all of you get to watch while I claim what’s mine.”
The audience applauded again. I saw faces in the front rows—strangers, all of them staring at me with expressions ranging from curiosity to arousal to something that looked almost like pity.
Chris moved behind me, his hands gripping my hips. I felt the head of his cock pressing against my pussy, and I knew what was coming, knew he was about to push inside me in front of all these people.
“Please,” I sobbed. “Please don’t—”
But he was already pushing forward, his thick cock stretching me impossibly, filling me with a burning pain that made me scream.
The audience watched. Every single person watched as my husband fucked me on stage, his cock driving into me again and again while I cried and begged and—
And came.
In the dream, I came. My pussy clenched around his cock as pleasure crashed through me, and I screamed not just from pain but from the overwhelming intensity of the orgasm, and everyone saw, everyone knew what a naughty girl I was, how much I loved being used like this—
I woke with a gasp, my heart pounding, my body drenched in sweat.
It was still dark. Chris’s arm was still around me, his breathing deep and even. His cock was still pressed against my bottom, though it had softened somewhat during the night.
And between my legs, again, I was soaked.
Horror washed over me as I realized what had happened. I had come in my sleep. From a dream about being fucked in public. About being displayed and used and humiliated in front of an audience.
What is wrong with me?
I lay there in the darkness, Chris’s arm heavy across my waist, and felt tears slide down my cheeks. Tomorrow night he would surely fuck me for real. Would push his cock inside my virgin pussy and make me his wife in truth.
And part of me—that terrible, shameful part that I couldn’t seem to control—was desperate for it to happen.
I lay there for what seemed like an hour, sure I could never fall asleep, but then I was waking to Chris’s gentle hand on my shoulder. Sunlight streamed through the windows—it must have been later than my usual wake-up time.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. “I’ve got a surprise for you. Get dressed in something casual—jeans, and boots if you brought them.”
I blinked up at him, still groggy, my mind struggling to shift from the darkness of my dreams to this bright morning reality. “What kind of surprise?”
“You’ll see.” He kissed my forehead. “Trust me. You’re going to love it.”
Twenty minutes later, we were in the truck, heading down a winding mountain road. Chris wouldn’t tell me where we were going, just kept one hand on my knee and hummed along to the country station on the radio. The casual intimacy of it made my chest feel tight.
When he pulled into a gravel parking lot beside a weathered barn with ‘Mountain View Stables’ painted on the side, understanding dawned.
“Horseback riding?” I asked, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.
“All day trail ride,” Chris confirmed, grinning at my expression. “I booked it weeks ago. Thought you’d enjoy getting out and seeing the mountains.”
Warmth flooded through me. He’d planned this. Had thought about what I might like and arranged it in advance.
“I haven’t been riding since I was a teenager,” I said.
“It’ll come back to you.” He squeezed my hand. “Come on. Let’s get some breakfast first.”
The stable had a little dining area, rustic and charming—roughhewn wooden tables and benches, the smell of coffee and bacon filling the air.
We ate what the cook called his ‘famous cowboy breakfast’—scrambled eggs, thick-cut bacon, hash browns, and biscuits with gravy.
The food was simple but delicious, and I found myself actually hungry for the first time since our wedding night.
Our guide introduced himself as Joe—a weathered man in his fifties with sun-creased eyes and a slow, easy manner. He helped me mount a gentle mare named Daisy, adjusting my stirrups and giving me a few reminders about how to hold the reins.
“She’s a good girl,” Joe assured me. “Real steady. Just relax and let her do most of the work.”
The trail wound up into the mountains through stands of pine and aspen. The morning air was crisp and clean, scented with evergreen and wildflowers. Birds called from the trees. The rhythmic clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the packed dirt trail created a soothing cadence.
Chris rode beside me on a larger gelding, looking completely at ease in the saddle.
We talked about everything and nothing—childhood memories, favorite books, places we wanted to travel someday.
Joe occasionally pointed out landmarks or shared stories about the area, and Chris engaged with him easily, asking questions and laughing at the guide’s dry humor.
I found myself watching Chris more than the scenery. The way he sat so confidently on his horse. How his eyes crinkled when he smiled at something Joe said. The gentle patience in his voice when he checked to make sure I was doing okay.
This was my husband. This kind, thoughtful man who planned surprises and made easy conversation and looked at me like I was precious.
I love him, I realized with sudden, overwhelming clarity. Not just the dutiful love I thought I was supposed to feel as his wife, but something deeper and more consuming. I love him so much.