“Ben!” she said, shocked. “What? Just because I…”
“Just because you said you would obey me the way a wife should obey her husband doesn’t mean you’re going to suck my cock? That’s where you’re wrong, Martha.”
Martha took a step back, evading that frightening pressure on her shoulders from her husband’s hands that tried to push her to her knees. She looked around the living room wildly.
Maybe she could suggest that they eat now, and Ben would forget about this part? She really did feel close to him right now, and she had stopped trying to persuade herself that she wanted to leave for Earth. The idea of facing the audit—even of going over the punishment horse in Central Park as a defiant example to the administration that a professional woman had resolved to do her best to uphold the law she had studied—made her feel like she and Ben could indeed move forward the way he said he wanted to do.
It might even help her practice. No, it definitely would help her practice. Think of the free advertising, she told herself with a sort of giddy inward giggle. Hire the lawyer whose bare bottom you saw paddled on worldwide video!
She looked at him, feeling the way he had without removing her bra taken her breasts out of the nylon cups and seized them, claimed them, so that now they felt disarranged and not even her own, under the blouse that he had raised and now had lowered. She felt the way he had pulled her coat back and down, to trap her arms so that now when she raised her hands defensively, to hold them up as if to ward off her husband’s advance, her elbows felt constrained.
She felt those dominant things he had done, and she felt her body responding to them, and to his handsome, patient face—still patient even as it assumed a severe air of authority that went along exquisitely with the way her nipples burned from his rough handling of her. To his muscular body; his arms that bulged in the Oxford shirt; the enormous hands that clasped one another in front of his midriff, as if the left were getting the right ready to…
“The only question,” Ben said calmly, somehow, even though it set Martha’s heart pounding in her chest, “is whether you’re going to suck my cock without me having to give you the belt, or whether I have to teach you a lesson about your wifely duties before you honor my right to use your mouth the same way I use you between your legs.”
The coarseness, the filthiness of the things her husband was saying tonight—the words she would never have expected might pass his lips and the way he spoke so… so brusquely of using her between her legs—made Martha’s face blaze hotter than the sun. But—no, she would not deny it anymore, she utterly refused to deny it—they made a different part of her blaze, too.
But she couldn’t just kneel before him—no, she couldn’t do that even if she did admit that between her thighs and in the nipples he had kissed and sucked and even bit, lightly, a moment before, the fire had sprung up again as it had on the night he had spanked her, forced her to climax over his lap, had her from behind, and made her touch herself. She shook her head once, feeling her eyes widen at the way Ben’s narrowed when he saw that she planned not to obey him, not to kneel before him and take a hard penis in her mouth the way Martha knew a wife in a traditional household must when told by her husband to do this shameful part of her duty.
She shook her head again. “No, Ben. I won’t do it. I’m not a traditional girl. I’m an attorney, and no matter what this decree says, how far it takes us back, I know you and I can negotiate something for ourselves. You’re going to have to give up on this idea of having me on my knees in front of you, letting you have your way, and on any other ideas you have about how we’re going to make love. I want to resolve things between us, and I want to be close to you again, but…”
Ben had reached for his belt buckle.
“Take off all your clothes and get over the arm of the couch, sweetheart,” he said quietly and gravely. “Sucking your husband’s cock is not optional for you. Neither is what I’m going to do some time very soon, when I fuck your bottom for the first time. I should have used your mouth and your anus a long time ago, but now we’re going to make up for lost time, so that we’re ready for the audit. It’s clear that I need to whip you first, though, to help you understand.”
He had the belt out of its loops, and he was doubling it and curling it around his fist, the buckle held in his palm. So that’s how a husband does it, Martha thought idly. That’s how he gets his belt ready to teach his wife the lesson she needs.
Then suddenly she realized what her thought meant: it meant that she had always wondered. She had always wondered what it would be like if Ben ever decided Martha needed a whipping. Even before the night in her parents’ living room, the night of the proposal, the night of the promise that had never come true, she had wanted to know what happened when a wife couldn’t obey her husband, because the thing he wanted was too shameful, even though a part of her wanted only to obey him, and to do and undergo what he wanted, the more shameful the better.
She had always wondered whether if Ben decided the time had come for her to kneel before him and learn to pleasure his hardness with her innocent, modest little mouth, and she said no even though she meant yes, he would take his belt and whip her with it, so that she had no choice at all.
Martha turned and ran from the living room, her coat still down around her upper arms and impeding her progress.
Ben caught her in the hallway. As she had neared their front door she had not even reached out for the door handle to open it, she realized as she felt him grab first the coat, then with his other hand her shoulder.
In the blink of an eye he had her right arm behind her, and he had turned her around so that he could frog-march her back into the living room. He said nothing, and she had not even been able to get a look at his face as he carried out her capture. She thought for a moment that he would put her over the arm of the couch and simply pick up the belt, which he had dropped on the coffee table, and begin to thrash her.
That would have been better than what he did.
He stopped her forward motion two feet from the couch, and he let go of her now unresisting arm.
“Do as I said, Martha,” he commanded, behind her. She heard the jingle of his belt buckle as he picked it up, and surely once more doubled it and wound it round his hand again. “Take off all your clothes, right now, and lay yourself down for your whipping. You need to learn obedience and respect, and I mean to teach them to you. You need to learn about pleasing your husband as he deserves, and there’s no better way to do that than the old-fashioned way, with a stout belt across your bare backside.”
“Please,” Martha pleaded. “Please, Ben, not all my clothes.”
“Sweetheart,” he said much more gently, though with the same degrading edge that Martha couldn’t deny any longer sent bolts of electric arousal to her pussy, “you need to learn that what you wear is my affair, especially when it comes to our time together at home, when I’ll want to use your mouth and your cunt and your bottom. I want you naked, and I want you to know that you’re naked because I told you to take all your clothes off. Later, after your whipping and after you suck my cock, you’ll wear the pretty panties I bought for you for our first anniversary. But that’s all you’ll be wearing for the rest of the night, and you can plan on me having you pull them aside so I can fuck you.”
His words seemed to cast a spell over her, as they went on and on, and Ben seemed to gain in confidence where humiliating his wife was concerned. He had said cunt, and he had said fuck again, and yet Martha had dropped her coat to the floor and had unbuttoned the neck of her blouse and lifted it over her head, had unhooked her bra and dropped it to the floor, had unzipped her skirt, had clumsily gotten out of her pantyhose and her beige nylon panties.
All with her back to Ben, but feeling his eyes burn her naked flesh even so.
All so that he could whip her not just on her bare bottom but in the nude.
In the nude. Martha’s face burned hot again as she remembered the stories college girls told about the way traditional men always carried out family discipline with the wife in the nude. A book had gone around, purporting to come from Eli Jacobs, one of the founders. The disciplinary manual of the properly ordered household.
“Lay yourself down, now, sweetheart,” Martha’s husband said. “It’s time for family discipline.”
A young wife must learn as soon as possible that her husband plans to be strict with her. Family discipline on the couple’s wedding night, and throughout the honeymoon, are a must, and an experienced husband will see the wisdom in accepting no nonsense from his bride, once the ceremony and reception are over, and instructing her to take all her clothes off for her first whipping. Thereafter, whenever possible, all family discipline should be given with the wife in the nude to emphasize her submission to her husband and to provide a convenient occasion for him to ease the arousal that punishing her will always cause for him.
He should accustom her very early to the ways of the flesh, which he will enforce upon her now that she is married. Even if he plans not to employ her mouth and anus as the most convenient method of contraception available, as they plan the growth of their family, he should not delay in introducing his wife to her duties with regard to taking his manhood in each of the three places where her husband may use her upon the marriage bed and even over the marriage bench, should he decide to employ that laudable old device.
When in an appendix the book had fully described that laudable old device, it had made Martha’s face grow hot. Somehow, though, she had thought of it nevertheless, as they chose the piece of furniture that would dominate their living room.
She took a step forward, looking at the red corduroy fabric of the couch she and Ben had bought together after returning from their honeymoon to their new home here in Concord. Even then, in the furniture store, she remembered with a start that she had thought of that stupid (as she forced herself to call it to herself and to her friends) family discipline book, and wondered whether Ben would ever put her over this very couch arm, in order to punish her. Their honeymoon had, she felt, been a disappointment to him, as it had been to her, though they had said to one another that their feelings of letdown just came from having to return to regular life after a stay in a tropical paradise. They made love every night, and Martha had gotten used to it, but she kept feeling that Ben held something back and she knew she couldn’t talk to him about it.
Then, over the five years since, she had decided that he had in fact held nothing back, really—it was just that there wasn’t as much there as she had supposed, and the night in her parents’ living room had created some kind of mirage in her mind. But when they bought this very couch—that day, so early on—she had wondered, and thought of the book.
Now at last she was in the nude, as the book recommended, her husband behind her, his belt wound around his hand. Now at last she felt the corduroy against her tummy, her thighs, even against her aching clitoris, just a little.
Martha trembled almost uncontrollably. When Ben had spanked her with his hand, she had been afraid, but not like this.
“Ben…” she pleaded. “Please be gentle. It’s my first time. I want to be good. I know that now.”
“Sweetheart,” Ben said, “you know I have to be strict with you. I think we’ve both realized that. I’m going to whip you very severely, so that you truly learn your lesson, and you know how seriously I take my responsibility to guide you and to care for you. So that you know how much I love you.”
Now at last, Ben’s left hand on her waist, holding her down, and his belt tapping against her little naked bottom.
So that you know how much I love you. It would never have made sense before tonight, but, now, everything from the night he proposed to the couch and the book to the marriage decree, to the night he had first spanked her, to the Gregory case, to the audit, to the way he had reclaimed her breasts after all these years… everything said, Yes, now I know Ben really loves me. He loves me enough to figure out what I need without me asking, and to give it to me, no matter how scared I am of it.
Ben tapped the belt against Martha’s sweet bottom, presented in all its pale roundness over the arm of the couch, ready for old-fashioned family discipline.
“Push this bottom up and out, sweetheart,” he said. “And spread your feet so I can see your cunt. We’re going to shave you there soon, by the way.”
Martha moaned, just as she had moaned over his lap just weeks before, though it seemed like forever, after the terrible morning that had succeeded the marvelous night.
“Please, Ben… don’t…”
“You’re going to call me sir from now on, just as they do in the traditional households. The auditor will like that, just as he’ll like seeing that I’ve shaved you between your legs.”
“Oh, God… Ben, I don’t think…”
Ben held the belt against his wife’s creamy backside, loving the way the contrast of dark leather and pink-and-white skin that still bore a bikini line from their vacation two months before made his cock swell—and loving even more the certainty that he had broken through the barrier between them at last.
“Don’t think, sweetheart. Just feel. Call me sir.”
Martha gave a little sob. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“Now do as I’ve said, sweetheart. Push your bottom out and spread your feet.”
“But… but the shaving… you can’t!”
“I can,” Ben said, and raised the belt, not frustrated but rather elated that he could feel himself getting better at disciplining the woman he loved. She needed the belt, now, and she would get it. He brought the doubled leather down hard, and Martha started, her hips weaving, as she let out a frightened little yelp of pain.
Ben whipped her again.
She cried out louder. “Sir! Please, not so hard!”
“I’ll whip you as hard as I like, Martha,” he said, hearing the new confidence in his own voice. “As hard as I decide you need, to learn your lesson. Now push. This. Out.” He brought the belt down hard across her cheeks with each word, holding her down firmly because her sweet naked body kept trying to squirm away.
Ben kept whipping her steadily, now. “Until you push your bottom out and spread your feet, sweetheart, so that I can see your cunt, your real punishment for not sucking my cock won’t begin.”
“Oh, God,” Martha sobbed. Then, as if something about the sheer dirtiness of the words with which Ben had cast this net around her forced her to obey him, she did arch her back to present her lovely bottom, now streaked with fiery red, as fully as she could for punishment, and she did shuffle her feet apart.
“There,” Ben said. “Good girl.” He looked closely at the pretty pout of Martha’s pussy, nestling in its tangle of brown hair. “Yes, we’ll definitely shave you. You’ll look and feel more submissive that way. We’ll do that Friday night, so that you’ll look tidy for your inspection.”
“Sir,” Martha moaned. Just that.
Ben began to whip her again, at a slow pace, and not quite as hard as he had at first. “Friday night is going to be very special for you, sweetheart,” he said.
“Why, sir?” Martha’s voice seemed to have a languor in it, as if she spoke from some altered state of consciousness. Her hips had stilled under his hand, and with each lash of the belt she merely gave a soft little cry.
Ben stopped the whipping. Martha’s bottom blazed red with the marks of it, and he felt sure they would linger for the eye of the auditor two days later.
“I’m going to strap you to an old-fashioned marriage bench, the way the founders used to do with their wives, and teach you how to show me what you need.”
“No, please, sir,” she wailed, but the same dreaminess seemed to infuse the sound of her voice.
Ben laid the belt, rolled up, atop her naked back. The sight got him nearly as hard as whipping her done. He put his hand on her right bottom-cheek and began to rub gently, to the sound of Martha’s soft whimpers. He bent down to speak into her ear, in a deep, quiet voice. “Are you ready to suck my cock, sweetheart?”
To his surprise, Martha started to scramble off the couch. Ben stepped back, unsure for a split-second whether she would try to flee again, but instead he found her kneeling before him, her eyes closed but her mouth wide open.
“Ask me,” he said, having a sudden notion of how best to guide her.
She shook her head slowly, eyes remaining closed and an adorable, desperate look appearing in the crinkling of her brow.
“Ask me, Martha. Ask me for the privilege of sucking my cock.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Oh, God. Sir… Ben, sir…”
“Do you want the belt again, sweetheart?”
Now she shook her head rapidly, and her eyes flew open to look up at him. “Please don’t make me ask you, sir. Please. Isn’t it… isn’t it enough that I’m on my knees?”
“No, it’s not,” Ben said simply. “Ask me.”
Then the words came out in a rush. “Please, sir, may I… may I s-suck it?”
Ben narrowed his eyes and spoke half playfully, half seriously, trying to show her that even if in the bedroom, tonight and from henceforth, he would treat her as his little slut, he wanted her to understand that her desires and her independence mattered more to him even than his own—for his freedom and his privileges depended on the happiness only Martha could give him: the incredible erotic pleasure of his dominance and her submission only formed the visible tree, showing forth above ground but concealing a root system of deep, abiding happiness that it seemed could now grow unchecked.
He spoke words that could be spoken only to the woman he loved with all his heart.
He said, “Suck what, you dirty little whore?”
Martha gasped, panted. “Your cock, sir. Please. Please let me suck your cock. I’ve wanted to suck it for so long. I’ve wanted you to thrust in, like the guidelines say. I’ve wanted to swallow your seed and show you how much I love you. I’ve wanted you to make me. Please make me. Make me suck it, now.”
Ben reached down and unfastened the button of his pants, unzipped the fly, dropped them and his briefs together. “Eyes on my cock, now, whore,” he said softly.
Another little gasp as her eyes traveled down from his face, and he watched her watch him stroke the hard length of his erection, get himself ready to make his wife do her shameful duty. He stepped forward until his cock, under the shirttails he held up in his left hand, hovered an inch from her face. Her lovely naked body trembled with every breath, her little breasts heaving up and down. Her open mouth panted, and some fear seemed palpable in her eyes, as if the closeness of a man’s penis to her face, or the smell, or the thought that she had become aroused when he called her a whore, or all of them together, had almost robbed her of the happiness Ben wanted to instill now. At the same time though he could tell also that that very fear had lit a blazing, if rather damp, fire in the tight little triangle of her dark private curls.
“Reach up and unbutton my shirt, please,” he said. Martha’s eyes darted up to his, widening at little as if at the much lighter tone he had just adopted. Ben smiled down at her. He hoped he would never get over the sheer arousal of having his wife on her knees, naked, in front of him.
“Yes, sir,” she said, and started on the bottom button. Her trembling fingers made a clumsy job of it, but Ben didn’t mind at all as he pumped his cock in his hand and looked down at Martha’s obedience to him, until he helped her by unbuttoning the last two buttons, saying, “Put your hands on the backs of my knees, to hold yourself up while I’m in your mouth, and open those lips nice and wide. Eyes down, now.”
Martha gave a little whimper and obeyed. Looking down on the marvelous sight and taking it very slowly, Ben put his left hand gently around her neck, in her hair, to cup the roundness of her head, while with his right he guided his cock into his wife’s mouth for the very first time.
“Good girl,” he said, nearly groaning at the pleasure her soft mouth gave him. Martha gasped around his cock, as if the words had sent a jolt of arousal to her pussy. “Oh, that feels so good. So nice to be where I belong.”
He put his right hand around her neck and began to thrust in and out gently. “That’s it,” he said softly. “That’s it. Make me come, now.”
Martha gagged, but the pleasure was so great that Ben had the greatest difficulty stopping his rhythm, and he kept thrusting. “You’ll get better, sweetheart,” he said, but, not wanting her to feel overwhelmed, he did pull out to give her some respite.
He had it in mind to teach her something different, too, though, so he said, “Now you’ll lick my balls,” and, still stroking his cock in his right hand while he stroked her cheek with his left, he lifted the shaft out of the way to present the wrinkly pouch to Martha’s mouth.
She shook her head slowly, but now Ben knew exactly what to say. “You have to, Martha. You’ll get the belt again otherwise. Kiss them first, then lick.”
Martha kissed, so tenderly it made Ben’s heart ache. She kissed again, and then her tongue peeped out uncertainly and she licked.
“Underneath, now,” Ben said. “That’s where it feels best.” He knew, too, that it must be where it smelled and tasted muskiest, and he said, as she hesitated, still nuzzling the front of his scrotum, where it joined the shaft of his cock, “You’ll have to get used to this, sweetheart. You should have done this on our wedding night, and it’s my fault you didn’t start learning then. But I’m prepared to train you, now, marriage decree or no marriage decree.”
At the word train Martha’s reluctance seemed to vanish, and like a little kitten with a saucer of milk she began to lick around and under, mewing softly as if at the way the shamefulness of the taste aroused her even further.
“Alright,” Ben said, as the intense pleasure of the feeling, the sight, and the idea of having his wife like this, her sweet, round bottom covered in the curling streaks of red his belt had made, to teach her that every part of her belonged to him, all mounted toward the climax he now no longer wanted to postpone. “Open your mouth again, Martha. I’m going to come down your throat.”
Another gasp, another whimper, and she complied, her head held again in his hands.
Now Ben fucked her face as he had always dreamt of doing, taking all the pleasure that was his by right, pushing in deep and feeling the head of his cock meet the back of Martha’s throat despite her gagging, until he felt the seed start to boil in his balls. “Here it comes, sweetheart,” he grunted, and then he held himself in while the ecstasy of orgasm ripped through his body and his cock shot his semen into his wife’s mouth, into her throat, down into her belly as she swallowed desperately, where she would remember as she fell asleep that just as her little bottom hurt from her whipping, she had, inside, her husband’s seed, because he had made her suck his cock and he had finished inside her mouth, and she had swallowed as a good wife should.
He held his cock in Martha’s mouth even as it was starting to soften, letting the aftershocks of his climax play out in his muscles. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he said. “You may look at me.”
Her eyes, which had remained obediently fixed on his cock and balls through the whole of this first performance of her marital duty, rose to his face. The sight of her still with his penis in her mouth enchanted him, and he couldn’t bear to part with it as he told her what would happen next.
“In a moment you’re going to get up and go to the bedroom and put on the lacy panties I gave you. I know they’re still in your lingerie drawer, because I checked the night I spanked you for the first time. Then you’re going to lie on the bed, on your back, and play with yourself while you wait for me. You may not lower your panties, and you may not come, Martha. You will not come until Friday. But I want you to learn to bring yourself almost to orgasm, without going over the edge, and I want those panties to be soaked in your cunt’s wetness. I’m going to take them to work in my pocket, tomorrow.”