Chapter 21
Nate
My hesitant, panic-prone wife does the last thing I expect: she presents herself to me on all fours.
My cock throbs so hard it hurts, but I hold myself in check.
Grace is unsteady and uncertain, one knee on the pillow, one on the mattress.
I replay what I told her, the instructions I gave her without even a hope that she’d follow them: if you go on all fours—
She’s saying she wants me to come. Using her.
I’m floored.
“Grace,” I whisper, running a hand along her flank.
“Yes,” she shudders, “it’s your turn now.”
That makes me smile. Every turn is my turn, but Grace hasn’t figured that out. I’d be happy to stay hard and aching, going blue in the balls while I wait for the perfect moment. But my wife is offering herself to me, right here and now.
It’s clear that Grace expects me to pull out my cock and get to it.
I will, but not quite yet. First, I crawl forward, taking the position she offers, doggy-style though my clothes are in the way.
My chest slides against her back, the curve of her ass nestling into my crotch.
I tuck a strand of her tangled hair behind her ear.
“You want me to come, love?” She nods, and I hear her swallow hard, nerves clearly affecting her again. “Let’s get you ready for me.”
I press a kiss to her cheek, then grab a few more pillows. Grace gasps when I wrap a hand around her throat, but I only use it to balance her while I pile the pillows under her belly.
“Such a scaredy-Grace,” I whisper, putting her in the position I want. “You’re so pretty on all fours.”
I expect her to lash out half-heartedly, but she spreads her thighs a bit wider.
Working her ass has affected her more than I hoped for—more than I expected from someone so inexperienced in this type of pleasure.
Gently, I show Grace how to get comfortable with her chest and belly on the pillows, her head on the mattress, and her ass up.
“You,” I sit back to look at her, “are fucking perfect. Do you know that?”
“I’m not,” she whispers, tears in her voice. It’s a lot, after the intimacy she gave me, to position her like this, even more exposed.
But she offered, and I’m going to accept.
“You are perfect,” I say again, stroking the curve of her waist, “and I’m going to make sure you know it.”
I run my hands up to her ribs, cupping the side swells of her breasts, then down her waist to her ass. I take each cheek, spreading her open slowly. Grace whimpers, leaning away a bit.
“Shhh,” I murmur, “it’s okay, love. Can you relax for me like you did before?”
She nods, her breaths coming slow and hard.
When I spread her open this time, she winks at me, just a bit. I grin, loving the confirmation of all that work I did.
“You have no idea how beautiful this is.”
She answers with an almost soundless sigh. Following my basest, neediest urge, I lean forward, slipping my forefinger easily into her. Grace pushes up into my invasion with a wanton moan. I murmur approvingly, though she’s not wet as I want. Grinning to myself, I spit on her.
She gives a cry of surprise, but I’m already tucking my spit into her with the tip of my thumb.
“That’s right,” I say, watching her quiver, “I’m going to make this extra sloppy. And that’s exactly what I want, Grace. I want this ass to be sloppy and open so I can put my come inside it next. Do you want that, too?”
It’s more than she agreed to. I know it and so does she. I wait, my thumb stirring her, my free hand stroking my cock. She shifts, straining to look at me over her shoulder.
Tears run down her face and she is so beautiful that I have to pause. I’m tempted to stop. To apologise. To comfort her.
But then Grace—my Grace, who has to be persuaded into every piece of depravity—whispers.
“Yes.”
“I love you,” I say, unable to stop myself. “I fucking love you, Grace Hadley.”
Her answer is to bury her face against the mattress again.
I force my spit further inside, stroking my cock hard and fast until I’m a breath away from coming.
I’ve been half on this edge all evening—fuck, all day—and when I finally come, it’s right between the dimples on her lower back.
I do as I promised, using my thumb to slide come into her, filling her in the only way I can tonight.
“Some day,” I whisper, my voice low and fractured, “I’m going to fill every single one of your places. One after the other. I’ll make you so full that you’re dripping. Then I’ll do it again.”
“Okay,” she whispers, and I’m so surprised that I laugh.
“You want that, do you?” I press kisses down her spine. “And what does my girl want for herself, hm?”
Grace doesn’t answer. I keep my thumb moving, in and out, playing with her. My come is drying on the small of her back, and I feel the tacky texture when I rotate my hand, putting pressure around her tailbone.
“I think she wants to come again.” I pump my thumb faster, rotating it at the joint.
“I think she wants to come right here, in her ass. So that’s what I’m going to make you do, Grace.
I’m not going to touch your pussy, even though she’s a wet, gorgeous mess.
I’m not going to even breathe on your clit.
And you’re going to come anyway. Aren’t you? ”
She’s gasping, her breaths fast and deep as I put pressure where she needs it. I can’t feel the distinctive texture of her G-spot from here, but she can feel the careful strokes I’m making.
“You’re going to be so good for me now, aren’t you?” I murmur, going deeper, working her inner walls. “But you’re not always good, are you, Grace? Sometimes you pretend I don’t know what you need, when we both know I do. Isn’t that right?”
She doesn’t answer, clearly too far gone.
I spit again, not because she needs it, but because I fucking want to.
I slide my spit into the heat of her ass, to live alongside my come.
Then I push as far as I can, spread her open with my free hand, and pop my thumb out.
She wells with a mixture of semen and spit before closing back up.
Glorious.
“Fuck,” I growl, unable to help myself.
Grace sobs. The disadvantage of this position is that I can’t see her face, but I trust her submission to hold, even as a wicked thought occurs to me.
A way to increase the pressure, because she clearly needs a final push to orgasm.
I probe into her again, then stroke her ass cheek with my other hand.
“You were pretty bad tonight,” I continue. “Weren’t you?”
Her answer is a high, broken whine.
“Do you know what I do with a wife who’s been bad?” She shakes her head, hair tangling in the sheets. “Want to find out?”
“Okay.”
It's all I need to hear. I draw my free hand back, even as I deepen the penetration in her ass, then I bring my palm down with a smack. Grace breaks, her body seizing up, her ass constricting as I bring my palm down again, spanking her firmly as she comes apart.
“So perfect,” I whisper, listening as her screams get lost in the mattress, her entire body tense under the weight of my love.
Her orgasm ends as abruptly as it started. I remove myself promptly this time to lay my clean hand over her ass. The skin is pink, though it probably won’t bruise.
“We’ll count that as your apology for earlier.” I stroke her back, enjoying the vulnerable dips of her spine. “You stay just like that, Grace. I’ll wipe you down, then we’ll go and get you cleaned up properly in the bathroom. How are you feeling?”
She flinches at the question and I suppress a smile. Grace loved what we’ve done, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to admit to it.
Her innocence remains.
I finish with the towel, then take her shoulders, encouraging her to sit up.
She stares at the rumpled bedding, her eyes dull.
Sub drop, I realise, my jaw tensing. I should have focused on holding her after she came rather than tidying her up.
Now she’s recontextualising everything—and I can’t have that.
“Hey,” I whisper, sliding close. I grab the sheet and wrap it around her shoulders, concealing her from myself. The moment she’s covered, Grace lets herself lean to the side, her stiffness giving way. I put an arm around her. “Are you hurting, love?”
She shakes her head. She’s responsive, which is good, and she’s not crying, but that isn’t the clearest marker. So far, I’ve confirmed that both fear and anger make her hot, and that serious submission results in tears. I’ll have to learn more about her responses so I can prevent this type of drop.
“Do you feel bad about what we just did, Grace?”
She stiffens, and I have my answer. It’s tempting to ask what she needs, but that’s not what I want with my wife.
I don’t want scripted roles with dynamics set in stone, acted out until we’re both hollow.
I want our marriage to live and breathe, a contract we fulfill each time we come together, layering new clauses into our flesh with each new action, each satisfied urge.
For now, I’ve pushed my girl as far as she can go, and it’s time to take care of her.
I consider everything we’ve done, going over our consummation of the night before.
I recall her fascination with my shoulders, the way her body relaxed when I poised myself over her.
She needs that enveloping security—minus the sexual congress.
I reposition Grace onto her back, her body hidden by the sheet, then I cover her, my own body like a blanket, with just my knees and elbows keeping my weight from crushing her.
I resist the urge to force eye contact and put my face into the crook of her neck, breathing gently.
She smells like sweat and sex and, beneath that, like the soap I stock in the shower.
“You have me, Grace,” I say, reminding her of who she is and who she’s with. I kiss her cheek then draw back. Her eyes are glazed. “I’m here, and I love you. I love you sick and gasping. I love you quiet and weeping. And I love you dull and aching after you’ve given me more than I asked for.”
I settle a bit more of my weight on her, listening as she hums in either discomfort or acceptance. She still won’t meet my eyes.
“When I ask if you’re hurting,” I continue, “I need you to tell me. Not because we’ve done something wrong, but because we’ve done something right and it’s time to do more.
More loving, more care.” Her eyes finally find mine and I offer her the gentlest smile I’ve got.
“Every time I break you, I want to put you back together. Will you let me do that now?”
“I don’t—” she swallows, “I don’t deserve it.”
I tilt my head. “I’m the judge here, and my verdict will always be the same: You deserve love.”
She inhales, eyes sparking. There she is, my sharp little heart.
“Your love,” she whispers, “is poison.”
“Poison, eh?” I chuckle, stroking her hair. “Then you’re Mithridates, little girl, sipping me slowly, then begging for more.”
“Fuck you, Nate,” she whispers.
I hear the hitch in her voice. She’s present enough to fight with me, and that’s good. I get up and hold out my hand.
“Time for the bathroom, Grace.”
She glares, pulling the sheet up beneath her chin. “I’m staying right here.”
I let my smile drop. “Remember what I told you. My wife doesn’t get to sleep through evenings and into mornings. She doesn’t pretend away her bad days or cry herself to sleep after satisfying her scary desires. No—my wife gets up and lets herself be cared for.”
I pull her from the bed, not caring that she’s suddenly uncovered. Grace hisses, raising a hand as if to fend me off.
“You going to hit me, little girl?” I ask, using the new nickname deliberately. “Go on, then. Hit me. If you think I was rough on you before, you have no idea what I’ve got in store for you next.”
Next is aftercare no matter what.
But Grace doesn’t realise that. And she’s angry, almost beside herself. She takes a breath, then another.
“I’m—I’m done, okay?” Her voice is tight with forced calm. “I just want to sleep.”
“No.” I take her wrist again. “You want to throw a little-girl tantrum because you let your husband take you in ways you’re ashamed of.
And it’s not your fault. You’re all filled up with adrenaline and endorphins that have nowhere to go, and you’ve got all those submissive feelings turning into violence.
So,” I let my smile widen, “let’s see what you’ve got, Grace. Let’s see you smack the big bad wolf.”
For just a few seconds, I believe she’ll do it. In her eyes, I see the terrified knowledge that I’ve unleashed parts of her she’s neglected for so long they’ve turned monstrous. It’s all here, a shadowy landscape I can’t wait to explore with her.
Then Grace looks away, lets out a shaky breath, and takes a single step towards me.
“Excellent,” I murmur. “Is my gracious girl ready to be cared for? Or does she need more reminding of her place?”
Her brows draw down, and I know my phrasing caught her attention. Her place. She is learning. The next lesson will probably be even harsher; for tonight, I’m content.
Grace lets me lead her to the bathroom. I give her a minute to herself, remembering her specifications about privacy, and I’m almost absurdly pleased when she either forgets or decides not to bother locking the door. As a reward, I knock and listen for an answer before I enter.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, seeing that she’s wrapped herself in a towel, her hair cascading around her shoulders.
She gives me a carefully blank look. “What do you mean?”
“Your backside—how is it?”
“It’s… I don’t know.” She looks away, biting her lip.
“Well, what we want after anal play is for you to feel completely normal or, if we’ve pushed things a little harder, for you to feel a bit tender. Outright pain is not our goal. So, understanding that, how are you feeling, Grace?”
“A little sore, I guess. But only when I think about it.”
“That’s perfect,” I say, then I gesture to the tub. “Let’s get you into a nice warm bath.”
I can almost feel her warring with herself while I prepare the bath, but I ignore her.
I put some mineral salts in the water and light a lavender-scented candle on the windowsill.
Turning off the overhead lights, I offer Grace my hand.
She lets me help her into the tub, sighing as the water closes around her.
It’s a deep tub, big enough for two, but I let her have it to herself for now.
I leave the bathroom to set the bedroom to rights.
Grace was clean, as I figured she would be, but I’m already considering which items we'll need to assuage her anxieties around anal play.
Grabbing my phone, I put together an order from my favourite adult shop and hit the expedited shipping option, already smiling at the idea of presenting the brand new goodies to my blushing girl.
I can’t stop thinking of her submission tonight, her beautiful act of invitation. She was angelic. Gorgeous. Perfect. Speaking of whom…
I hear a splash from the bathroom, the sound of someone enjoying her well-deserved bath. I pretend it’s an invitation, and go join my wife.