Stormy Night Publications Publishers of BDSM and Kink Erotica
“Clear the table, then remove your clothes.” Blake pushed back his chair and rose.
Lysa’s hands remained glued to the surface of the table and she sat rigid, mouth ajar and eyes narrowing. She didn’t want to do this, as it went against everything she believed in. After all her tears, which had since dried upon her cheeks, she couldn’t dissuade him from carrying out his punishment. Each time she broached the subject over the meal, he’d dismissed it with a glare.
“It’s for the best, Lysa. Don’t argue with me.” He prodded his food with a fork.
“I’m not arguing,” she’d countered. The tomato in her fingers squished and juice squirted across her plate. “Damn,” she muttered, licking her hand.
“You acknowledged you disobeyed me. The best remedy is to have a clean slate.”
She had said those words, perhaps she’d spoken in haste. With each mouthful, the trauma of the constable’s brutality had diminished and she regretted her acquiescence to Blake and his summary declaration. Lysa, the young woman with her own opinions, regained centre stage. Her hands clenched on the table.
“Lysa. Up.” He hovered close by the table, drumming his fingers on it. “Do I have to take you over my knee again?”
The humiliation! She gritted her teeth and moved at the slowest pace possible. His doggedness remained, as did her resistance. The two personas grated against each other as she methodically tidied up the table and kitchen.
When it came to stripping, she tried to make herself as small as possible. He sat on the sofa tapping a foot, lips pressed together. What was he thinking? Did he enjoy the spectacle of watching her undress? Would he grin at her, like the ghastly constable?
“I want you to bend over.” Blake tapped the table. “You will not move from the position until I’ve finished paddling your bottom.” He turned his head to one side.
He couldn’t see her face, so she stuck her tongue out at him. A childish, useless display of petulance, but the silly gesture made her feel better.
The table, freshly cleaned, was cold. She lowered her belly onto its surface gradually, squashing her breasts under her. She expected him to come over and wallop her bottom with the paddle, but she heard no sound of movement. Her heart thrummed, almost vibrating the table with her rapid pulse. Her legs remained crushed together and she bent her knees slightly. Minutes seemed to tick away, or were they seconds lasting like minutes? The wait made her anxious, then she wondered if he intended to change his mind and rescind the punishment.
She waved her bottom in the air. An absent-minded gesture and immediately she wished she hadn’t draw attention to her naked rear.
“Are you provoking me?” he snapped from the other end of the room.
“No.” She cringed, screwing up her eyes.
“Looks that way to me. Do you think that trivialising this will make me change my mind?” His voice came closer, she could almost feel a shadow lying across her back.
“No, no,” she chirped. “I was… cooling my bum.” She stuttered. She pictured him standing over her, waving the paddle in his hand, ready to aim and strike.
“Spread your legs wider, so you are lying flat on the table.”
She complied, shuffling her feet apart.
“Wider.”
“Dammit,” she muttered. Her cleft parted, her sex was exposed.
He brushed his hand down her crevice, then circled his hand around each of her lobes. She wriggled.
“Keep still,” he barked. He repeated his stroking action. “I’ve paddled a few bottoms since I’ve arrived on this hell hole. Yours, by far, is the most attractive one.”
A mortifying bloom of heat rushed across her face. “Do you have to paddle my poor bottom?”
“Yes. Six times. You want proof I’m not the constable? I’m going to show you.”
She readied herself, gripped the edge of the table and held her breath.
The whoosh of air came before the blow. She heard a thwack and her pelvis rammed into the table edge. She waited—a second, a millisecond, she couldn’t tell—then blazing heat spread across both cheeks. The burning sensation grew, and before she could assimilate it, he struck again.
Tears came instantly. They pricked her eyes and she sobbed. Unlike his tantalising playful spanks, he didn’t hold back.
The third strike and she jumped up. He pushed her back down with a hand on the small of her back and left it there, holding her down. The fourth smack of the paddle came lower, on the crease between her thighs and buttocks, right where she sat. She yelped and knocked her forehead against the table. Breathe, breathe.
The fifth, she kicked a leg up as the pain ricocheted around her cheeks. She’d not looked back once to where Blake stood, but now she had to see for herself. Lifting her head, she glanced behind, over her shoulder. Was he grinning? Did he find amusement in spanking her with his mean paddle?
But when she looked closer she saw a determined, concentrated expression—furrows in his forehead, lips straight and unsmiling. He measured the distance to her bottom, angling the paddle as he completed a practice swing. She lowered her head, a small sigh of relief amongst the cry of pain. The final blow landed with an almighty whack.
He removed his hand. “I’m going to carry out an inspection now, Lysa.”
She stiffened. Now, why now?
“When did you last apply the bleaching agent?” he asked, separating her cheeks with his thumbs.
“Yesterday,” she gasped. The horrible stuff stung as usual.
“Looking very pink and lovely back here.” He slid his finger down her folds. “You’re wet.”
How could she be? Her bottom was on fire and the level of humiliation was close to unbearable. Why did this man, her husband, create a confusing mixture of emotions inside her scrambled mind? She lurched forward, trying to escape, as he poked a finger at her puckered anus.
“Hmmm,” he murmured. “I think you’re ready.”
“Ready? Mmm definitely,” she muttered, squirming about on the table, unable to deny her arousal any longer.
“For your anal training.”
Lysa jerked, twisting her body around. Blake stood between her legs, his hands working her gently, probing and teasing. She spied the bulge in his pants.
“Please, Blake, I don’t want one of those beastly plugs in there,” she whimpered.
He walked to the bedside and retrieved the box containing the plugs. He also collected two bottles and placed them on the table by her head. One contained lubricating gel, the other a cleanser. She wanted to knock them flying, but she stowed her trembling hands as he opened the box and removed a plug. Even with a tapered end, the shiny metal plug appeared oversized.
She forgot the furnace burning about her buttocks, another matter distracted her from the discomfort. She leapt up and backed away from the table, wagging a finger at him. Blake put the plug down and walked towards her, matching her paces. Lysa halted. It was pointless trying to run away, he’d already demonstrated he could pick her up and put her wherever he wanted.
His face held no malice, no anger. She hugged herself, chewing on her lip. A minute ago, she’d been ready to come, enjoying his wandering finger.
He cleared this throat. “I’m not going to do anything you can’t cope with, Lysa. You’re a strong, resilient woman. All I ask is to let me take pleasure in nurturing you, making the most of your potential.”
Potential! Meaning what, exactly? She knew what she was capable of doing—working as an engineer, not a sexpot. She shivered, not with cold, but the enduring legacy of the paddling. A hot bottom left the rest of her chilly. Or was it nerves? Did she see herself incapable of what he desired? When it came to pushing for what she wanted, she’d never fallen short. Did she want to fail at this?
Blake had crossed the distance between them and she didn’t move. She let him approach and with his tongue licking about his lips, his hands fidgeting at his sides, she had little choice but let him have her.
He smothered her face and neck with kisses, while his hands roamed about her body, concocting all manner of sensations from gentle caresses to delicate pinches. One of his hands found locks of her hair. Her scalp stung as he tilted her head backwards and nipped her neck with the edge of his teeth.
Below Blake targeted her mound, sliding his palm over it and slipping two fingers between her labia. “Don’t fight it, Lysa. You’re making me crazy. Can you not feel it?” He rocked his pelvis against her hips, nudging his pants covered erection into her navel.
She bunched her hands up by her chest, trying to create a protective layer between them. He ignored them and dipped his head down, licking his tongue around a nipple.
Blake didn’t chip away her resistance; he bludgeoned it as he plied a thumb about her clitoris. Her arms flopped to her sides and he held her tighter to his chest, burying his nose in her hair.
He shuffled his feet forward, propelling her backwards towards the bed. Yes, she sighed, he’d changed his mind. He turned and sat on the bed, twisting her body around as he moved. Before she could understand his intentions, he forced her head down and tipped her over his lap.
“What are you doing?” she exclaimed, her eyes springing open.
He pinched the back of her neck in a pincer grip and pushed her head down. “You’re still resisting. So, this is what is going to happen. I’m going to spank you until you do as you’re told, then I shall gently insert the smallest plug in your lovely arse hole, making sure you’re lush in your tight little pussy, then I shall fuck you. That is what is going on.”
“Spank me! I’ve not done anything wrong.” She tried to shove herself off his lap. “I’m not resisting. I’m… I’m… contemplating my situation and I don’t recall you can just shove something up my bottom without my consent.”
“Wrong. You did consent. The moment you married me.”
She scowled, flapping her legs up and down. “I don’t want to be spanked,” she whined. Her bottom throbbed from her paddling and the pulsating heat performed a duet with a heartbeats. What was happening to her? Unlike her first spanking, when he gave her no chance to resist him, she couldn’t decide whether to scratch him with her nails or lie on his lap and let him get on with it.
“Yes you do. This isn’t a punishment, but, if you don’t stop kicking, I will hold you down.”
Lysa stilled her legs and let out a long groan of defeat.
The flat of his hand landed on a cheek, a fiery patch of skin, and he reheated it instantly. However, it wasn’t a hard smack, if anything it seemed to be a firm kiss of his palm. She gasped and stifled a cry. She leant on her elbows and buried her face in her arms. “Just get on with it,” she mumbled.
Another slap struck the other cheek. “Not the right attitude, Lysa. I’ll keep going until you get the message.”
Message, what bloody message?
Another smack and she jolted forward on his lap. Every few seconds he spanked her again. A methodical, unhurried process, carefully crafted not to deliver too much pain. Blake paused and circled his hand around a buttock, stroking her skin without apply pressure. Her clitoris throbbed between her legs and she pushed back against his hand.
“Say it,” he murmured.
Lysa shook her head, she couldn’t, not yet.
He resumed his slaps, alternating between cheeks and he maintained a clockwork rhythm. She squirmed, grinding her hips into his thigh, sensing his hard cock nearby. She stretched out her arms, resting her head on one while her feet danced on her tiptoes. Precariously balanced, she was grateful when Blake looped an arm around her waist and anchored her to his lap.
Another round of spanking ended and he caressed her, slipping his fingers between her inner thighs, he took the liquid she leaked and smeared it around her buttocks. She clenched her hands into fists, biting back the desire to moan.
It was too much, she was too emotionally raw from the double spanking and she found his whole seduction enticing and liberating. Her ceaseless thoughts, always busy and loud in her head, quieted. He’d pressed the tip of his thumb against her anal bud and she wanted him to penetrate her, just as the doctor had done. Her resistance crumbled in a flash.
“All right,” she mewled. “Do it.”
He led her back to the table, but this time, before she bent over he positioned a pillow at one end. She nestled her hips on the soft fabric. Blake poured oil over the plug. The smooth metal shone brightly.
Lysa tried to quell her trembling legs. They’d turned to jelly and her bottom throbbed, the soreness concentrated at the apex of her bent buttocks. What had possessed her to allow this to happen? She didn’t know, but, she trusted Blake, that was all that mattered.
“Spread your cheeks for me.” He stood between her legs. She parted her buttocks with the tips of her fingers, battling the sense of shame, trying to focus on the moment and not her fears.
She giggled as the cold lubricant landed on the base of her spine and dribbled down, between her bottom cheeks. In contrast to her flaming cheeks, the lube iced her crevice. The tip of the cold plug touched her bud and she flinched. The tapered end seemed pointed, like a weapon and she cowered, struggling to keep position.
“Too cold,” she shrieked.
“Don’t fret.” Blake eased the plug up and down cleft, from anus to pussy, parting her labia as he went.
Her clit tingled, already energised by his spanking, the presence of the plug didn’t deter the electricity buzzing about her body. While he teased her sex, his other hand stroked her back with long caresses from the nape of her neck to her lower back. He petted her, speaking softly, reminding her to stay relaxed.
The plug pressed against her tight entrance. It had lost its iciness, warmed by her own juices. She couldn’t prevent her buttocks from clenching and her calves quaking. Whatever lingering reticence she possessed, Blake judged her ready. The tip entered and began its journey into the recesses of her back hole.
“Oh, oh,” she panted as her taut passage stretched. She felt pain. An uncomfortable sensation of muscles forced into a state of elasticity. But the discomfort slowly passed, replaced by a sense of fullness.
“There, done.” He took her wrists and lay her arms back on the table by her head.
Throughout the penetration, she kept her eyes shut. Bent over with legs splayed, she dared not move or disturb the plug. She heard the rustling of clothing and his bare feet pattering about the room. Her breathing increased in pace as she anticipated his next move.
A hard fuck with his pounding cock—how would she manage to cope?
Blake’s huge hands grasped her waist. Automatically, she raised her bottom higher, arching her back. It was how she always responded when he took her from behind. The head of his unyielding erection speared her, sliding into her wet pussy with ease. He didn’t thrust hard, nor did he hold back. Once buried deep, he lingered, rocking his hips and gyrating her.
“Feel it?” He asked.
She could. The metal, heavy and solid, moved in tandem with his jiggles. Having both holes stuffed proved to be an amazing sensation. A murmur of delight escaped her lips. He slid back and forth, toying with her and keeping her g-spot constantly stimulated.
When he reached under and rubbed her clitoris, she couldn’t contain her orgasm. “I’m coming,” she gasped.
“Come, then,” he urged, frigging her harder.
Her tender nub pulsated, triggering waves of intense contractions across her body, but especially around her anus. It produced its own incredible spasms and she hollered, hammering a fist on the table.
Collapsing down, her knees buckled.
Blake took his cue and picked up his speed. No more satisfying thrusts of pleasure, he hammered her hard. She jolted against the table, grateful for the cushioning protection of the pillow. The plug didn’t budge. She remained aware of its presence—how it bulged inside, demanding space. His cock tussled alongside it, and together, they tipped her over the edge of another incredible precipice.
The orgasm rippled on and she wailed as he shook her on and off his cock. As another ripped through her, he twisted the plug, wriggling it about, pushing her into a place of sensory overload.
He grunted with each thrust. He kept a tight grip on a hip, digging in his fingers, preventing her from falling off the table. She heard a pop—he’d removed the plug. Without pausing, he pushed it back in. No slow entry this time, he drove it in and she gasped. A second of sharp pain, then the return of exquisite fullness.
“Again,” she begged.
He fucked both of her holes and the plug simply shrank away to nothing in her mind. The last orgasm coincided with his own and he shot a load of cum into her pussy while wriggling the plug in her bottom hole.
“Good, well done,” he panted, dripping sweat over her back. He removed the plug one last time, then cleaned it.
Lysa flopped, her hands hanging off the edge of the table, her torso slowly sliding down the table. He snatched her up and lay her on the bed.
A multitude of pecking kisses covered her breasts and belly, as he showed his appreciation. “So, so, amazing,” he said between snatches.
She stroked his fuzzy head, petting him in the same way he had earlier. He seemed younger, as she fondled his smooth skin and rippling muscles, as if less burdened by responsibilities. She didn’t know his age but that didn’t matter; his body told her he was fit and healthy, and that was all she cared about.
He calmed, lifted himself above her and stared down, beaming a broad smile. “Thank you.”
“That is only the beginning though, isn’t it?”
His features hardened fractionally.
“It’s all right,” she added. “I’m expecting it. It won’t always be easy, but I accept it.”
“Good. Starting tomorrow, you wear that plug every day for twenty minutes. You insert it yourself with plenty of lube. I don’t want injuries. You’ll learn to accommodate it easily and then we can progress to the next size up.”
The anger, the resistance, didn’t return. The battle had been fought and he’d won her over to his side. He could have her anally—she’d enjoyed the experience. However, she couldn’t quite admit it to him, not yet.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked.
He smiled. “When I leave for work in the morning, I’m hard. Sleeping next to you… you’re a temptress. From now on, I want to wake you up so you can take me in your mouth, make sure I leave this pod with a smile on my face.”
“If that is what you’d like, sure,” she said. The early starts would be hard, but at least she could go back to sleep.
He cupped a hand about her breast. “Your bottom must be sore after those spankings. I’ll rub balm into it. Then, because touching you always makes me stiff, we’ll spend the rest of the day making love. What say you, wife?”
“Making love,” she repeated, her juices flowing freely again. “Yes. Let’s do that.”