Chapter 19
Chris
I thought my cock might burst through the front of my work jeans.
I’d never been this hard in my entire life.
The sight of Valerie sprawled on our couch in that sheer white lingerie, her hand working between her legs under the lacy front of the tiny thong panties while she watched another woman getting disciplined on screen—it seemed like everything I’d been trying to coax out of her, and she’d done it herself. Had my wife finally embraced her needs?
My hands went to my belt, sliding the leather free from the loops with deliberate slowness. The sound made her freeze, her eyes going wide as she registered what I was doing.
“Chris—” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Sir, please—”
“Don’t move,” I commanded, my voice a little rougher than I’d intended.
But she did move. The fear in her eyes shifted to panic, and suddenly she was scrambling off the couch, trying to run. The coffee table tripped her up and she stumbled, but she kept going, making for the hallway.
I caught her before she made it three steps. My arm went around her waist, hauling her back against my chest. She was so small, so light—I lifted her easily despite her struggles.
“No! Please, Chris, don’t whip me! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please—”
“You lied to me,” I said, carrying her back to the couch. “You pretended you hadn’t made dinner. And you touched yourself without permission.”
“I’ll be good! Please, sir, I promise I’ll be good—”
I positioned her at the back of the couch, bending her over it so her lace-covered bottom was raised. The lingerie left almost nothing to the imagination—I could even see the damp evidence of her arousal darkening the white fabric of the gusset.
“Hands in front of you,” I ordered. “Hold onto the cushions and don’t let go. If you try to cover your butt you’ll get much more whipping.”
Her hands gripped the upholstery, her whole body trembling. On the television in front of us, Stacy’s cries filled the room as her husband claimed her pussy. I left it on. Valerie needed to hear it, needed to understand what was coming.
I doubled the belt in my hand and brought it down across her barely covered bottom.
The crack echoed through the room. Valerie yelped, her body jerking forward.
“That’s for lying about dinner,” I said.
Another stroke. Another cry.
“That’s for touching yourself without permission.”
I worked methodically, covering both cheeks with sharp, stinging blows.
The thong panties offered no protection—if anything, they seemed to make each lash more intense for Valerie, as if the thin strip between her butt cheeks reminded her how shamefully she had earned this lesson.
I could see the welts forming on her sweet bottom atop lingering bruises from her paddling the day before.
In my ears, my wife’s sobs mixed with Stacy’s on the television.
After ten strokes, I stopped. I had paddled her hard yesterday, and I knew that the belt wasn’t the most important consequence Valerie needed to receive—and I needed to give. She hung limp over the couch back, crying into the cushions.
I set the belt aside and placed my hand on her burning bottom. She flinched but didn’t pull away.
“I’ve been patient with you,” I said quietly. “I’ve given you time. But you clearly can’t handle the waiting anymore, can you?”
A sob was her only answer.
“Look at you,” I continued, my hand sliding down to cup her through the soaked panties. “You’re dripping wet. You arranged all of this—the lingerie, the video, pretending you hadn’t cooked dinner. You wanted me to catch you.”
“I’m sorry,” she gasped.
“No, you’re not.” I pressed against her clit through the fabric, making her whimper. “You wanted exactly this. You wanted me to lose control and finally take what’s mine.”
My other hand went to my jeans, unfastening them with quick, efficient movements. My cock sprang free, thick and rigid with need.
“It’s time, Valerie,” I said, positioning myself behind her. “Time for your first fucking. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
* * *
Valerie
On the screen, Stacy’s husband thrust into her vagina from behind, his hands gripping her hips.
Her cries filled our living room, raw and desperate.
I couldn’t look away even though I wanted to.
My whole body trembled as I felt Chris’s fingers hook into the thin fabric of my thong, pulling it aside.
The cool air hit my exposed pussy, making me gasp. I was so wet I could feel it on my inner thighs. Chris’s hand moved between my legs, his fingers exploring, testing.
“You’re as wet as a river, you little slut,” he murmured. “This pussy knows exactly what it needs.”
A whimper escaped my throat as his fingers circled the already slick entrance to my virgin sheath, spreading my wetness even further. I squeezed my eyes shut, my face burning with mortification. This was really happening. After all the waiting, all the fear, all the confusion—this was the moment.
The television went silent. I opened my eyes to see Chris had grabbed the remote and turned it off.
“You don’t need to watch Stacy anymore,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “You’re about to experience real submission for yourself.”
He stepped back, and I heard him moving around the couch. My heart raced as he came into view in front of me, standing where I could see him clearly. His hands went to his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Then his jeans, already unfastened, came down along with his briefs.
His cock jutted out, thick and rigid and terrifying. I’d seen it before, touched it before, even taken it in my mouth. But this time felt different. This time it would go inside… inside… inside me—that part of me. My hot, wet pussy. My naughty cunt.
“Get my cock ready,” he said, stepping closer. “Use your mouth like I taught you.”
I swallowed hard, then raised my head as Chris pushed his hips forward.
With a whimper, I opened my mouth and my lips parted around the head of his penis.
I heard him grunt softly as I took him in.
My tongue moved the way he’d trained me to move it, circling and stroking.
I tried to take him deeper, remembering how he liked it when I relaxed my throat.
His hand tangled in my hair, guiding my movements. “That’s it. Good girl. Get it nice and wet for your little cunt.”
The crude word, echoing my own fevered thoughts, made me clench down there. I moaned around his cock, the vibration making him growl with pleasure.
After what felt like both forever and no time at all, he pulled back. Saliva connected my lips to the head of his penis for a moment before breaking. I looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes.
“Reach back,” he ordered. “Spread those cheeks and present yourself for your husband.”
With a little cry of mortification I did as I was told.
The dart of pain I felt from the marks of my husband’s belt only made my pussy clench again with wanton need.
Heat flared in my face as I realized Chris must have seen the contraction that betrayed my arousal.
My whole body, laid helplessly over the couch back, trembled with anticipation and fear.
Behind me, I could sense Chris positioning himself, and I felt the heat of his body as he moved close.
Then I felt pressure, there, and I let out a sob from deep in my chest. The head of his cock pushed against the untried opening to my body. Not thrusting in yet, just resting there. Teasing me with the promise of what was coming.
“Please,” I heard myself whisper, the word sounding terribly ambiguous in my own ears.
“Please what?” Chris’s hand stroked down my back, over my welted bottom. “Tell me what you want, Valerie.”
His cock moved, sliding forward through my wetness to brush against my clit. The sensation made me gasp. Then back down, pressing at the still-innocent entrance again but not entering.
“I—” My voice broke. “I need—”
“Say it.” Another stroke upward, more pressure on my sensitive bundle of nerves. “Tell me you want your husband to fuck you.”
“Please,” I sobbed. “Please, sir, I want—”
He pressed harder against my opening, stretching me just slightly before pulling back. The denial made me whimper with need. My hips moved of their own accord, trying to push back against him.
“Not good enough.” His hand came down on my already sore bottom, making me cry out. “Dirty girls like you need to learn to use dirty words to ask for what they need, and get their husbands hard. Ask properly.”
My face burned hotter than it ever had. The words stuck in my throat, too shameful to speak. But my body ached with such desperate need that I couldn’t hold back anymore.
“Please, sir,” I gasped out, my voice shaking. “Fuck me in my cunt. Please fuck my little cunt with your big beautiful cock.”
The words had barely left my lips when I felt Chris’s hands tighten on my hips. I cried out as Chris thrust forward, ripping through my virginity and burying his manhood fully inside me in one hard stroke.
Pain and pleasure exploded through me. I screamed, my hands clutching desperately at my whipped bottom cheeks. He was so big… my husband’s cock was so big… stretching me impossibly wide, filling me so completely I couldn’t breathe.
“That’s it,” Chris growled, pulling back only to slam forward again. “Take it. Take your husband’s cock like a good little slut wife.”
He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust hard and deep. My virginity was gone—ripped away by his relentless claiming of my body. Tears streamed down my face, but beneath the pain something else began to build. A dark, intense pleasure that grew stronger with each brutal stroke.
His hands gripped my hips even harder, holding me in place as he fucked me. The sound of his lap slapping against my punished bottom filled the room, mixing with my sobs and his grunts of satisfaction. I felt like I was being punished with his cock, disciplined in the most intimate way possible.
“You’re mine now,” he said, his voice rough. “Completely mine. This cunt belongs to me.”
His words sent a jolt through me. My pussy clenched around him, and I heard him growl at the sensation. The pleasure was overwhelming everything else now, building and building until I thought I might shatter.
“Touch yourself,” Chris commanded. “Rub your clit while I fuck you.”
My right hand moved between my legs, finding that swollen, sensitive spot.
With my left hand I squeezed my whipped cheek on that side, full of shame but unable to help myself: I wanted, needed the reminder that my husband had had to punish me to ensure I served him properly with my body.
The moment my fingers made contact with my clit, I cried out.
The combination of his cock pounding into me and my own touch felt like too much.
“That’s it,” he urged. “Come on your husband’s cock. Show me what a dirty little slut you are.”
The orgasm crashed through me like a tsunami.
I wailed, my whole body convulsing with helpless pleasure.
My pussy clenched rhythmically around Chris’s cock, and I heard him grunt, “Fuck,” above me, elongating the word so that my cheeks flared anew as I understood that I had pleased the huge penis inside me.
His thrusts became erratic, harder. Then he slammed deep one final time, his fingers digging into my hips as he groaned. I felt him pulsing inside me, felt the hot flood of his release filling me.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. We stayed frozen in that position—him buried inside me, me bent over the couch, both of us breathing hard. My body trembled with aftershocks, my mind spinning with what had just happened.
I was no longer a virgin. I was truly his wife now, in every way. Chris had taken me, claimed me, made me his in the most primal way possible. I belonged to the man who had just fucked me, and had the right to fuck me again whenever he wanted.
I felt my brow crease, and I realized I had started to worry my lower lip between my teeth. To my dismay, I understood that I wanted him to do it again as soon as possible.