“Why do you have one here? Why are you tying me to it?”
“That should be obvious.”
“But I haven’t done anything,” she said, straining at the bonds. Luckily, the hooks were too strong for someone her size to escape.
He rubbed her shoulders to soothe her. “As I said, there is a certain type of person who enjoys being overpowered, even abused for someone’s pleasure. I’m not that type of person, but I think you are.” He slid a hand over her bottom and up her trembling spine. “Are you still cold?” He pressed himself against her back and embraced her shivering body.
“I wish you would let me go.”
“You don’t. You’re so excited right now you can barely breathe.”
“It’s because I’m cold.”
“It’s because you’re aroused.” He reached beneath her and drove two fingers into her quim. She was wet as anything, as hot as the temple was cold. “Let’s do an experiment, shall we? I’m going to whip you, not because you’ve misbehaved, but so we can find out if you’re one of those people who is aroused by pain and bondage. Because I strongly suspect you are.”
“You can’t do this. You shouldn’t,” she said desperately.
“On the contrary, I think it’s time we settled this question once and for all.” He went to the chest in the corner for a true whip, a short, flicky devil of an implement that imparted a great deal more sting than a spanking, or even the birching he’d given her. Her eyes went wide as he turned.
“You’ll kill me with that!”
“Only in the most lovely sense, my little pervert.”
“I’m not a pervert.”
He sent the tip of the whip cracking at the back of one thigh. She sucked in a breath, making fists of her hands. It was all he could do not to fall on her right then…
* * * * *
The pain was a shock; it radiated out from the strike on her thigh to her breasts and belly, and yes, the throbbing center between her legs. She let out the breath she was holding, and thought she would die if he struck her again.
And he did.
And she didn’t die. No. She gripped her bindings and processed the thrill of it, and arched for more. It was exciting somehow, even though it hurt. Oh, she didn’t understand it. It was so troubling.
“There exists a perfect counterpart for those who enjoy pain,” said her husband, “and that is a person who enjoys dealing pain for someone else’s pleasure, as well as their own.” She shrieked as the whip caught her across her bottom. “As you may have guessed, I’m that sort of person.”
“It hurts,” she said, panting through the aftermath of pleasure.
“I know.”
He flicked her again and she danced on her toes, pulling at the stocking that held her fast, ruining it, probably. In that pulling and that struggle, she felt a lengthening of her body, an opening. A release of resistance, and a craving for worse pain if he would want it, as mad as it seemed. She always felt that way when he hurt her, that she ought not to take pleasure from it, and yet she did. He had called her a pervert in jest, but that was exactly what she was.
“I don’t want to be this way,” she said. Tears squeezed from beneath her lids as the whip’s bite stung her bottom, and sometimes her thighs. “I want to be like them. I want to be proper, the way you want.”
“You can be both.” She heard him toss the whip back onto the chest. “This is not about your struggle with me, Guinevere. This is about your struggle to accept yourself.”
She had felt cold before, but now she felt hot, feverish. Sore and endangered, and needful as ever. “No, it’s you who won’t accept me,” she cried.
“Is it?” When she turned, he was half undressed. His coat and waistcoat were thrown down next to the whip, and his shirt soon followed. He rummaged in a drawer. “I think I’ve been very accepting, considering what a complicated wife you’ve turned out to be.”
He returned with a small porcelain jar, and held it in one hand while he took down his breeches with the other.
“Are you going to release me?” she asked.
“Not yet. I’ve another experiment to do first.”
“I don’t want to be experimented on anymore.”
“And yet you shall be,” he said, stilling her straining hands. She could feel his cock against her bottom. She heard him take the cap off the porcelain vessel, but he was too close behind her to see. He parted her sore, whipped cheeks and caressed her intimately, smearing slickness against her arsehole. His broad chest trapped her so she couldn’t squirm away. He pressed his shaft against her, not where he normally did but...back there.
“No,” she cried, trying to escape him. “No, please. Don’t do that.”
His arm encircled her, forcing her to be still as his other hand poked the tip of his thick member into her clenching orifice.
“Shh. Let me try,” he said. “You might like it.”
The pain was not exciting or arousing like the other pain. It was dull and achy, and frightening. “Please, you’ll hurt me.”
“I won’t.” He tightened his embrace and pressed his cheek against hers. “Wait. Take the pain for now, just for a moment.” His voice rumbled as his long hair brushed her cheek. “Wait and see what happens.”
Gwen didn’t want to wait and see, because this was not the sort of hurting she liked. He worked his way inside her there easily enough—the aromatic oil accomplished that task—but it ached and stretched her awfully.
“Feel me inside you,” he said. “Feel me forcing you open, using you however I wish.”
She made a sound, a moan or cry. “It hurts.”
“Yes, but you like to be hurt. Let me have you this way. I’ll make it feel so good.”
His rough-edged words settled in her pussy, along with the force of his embrace, and the way he pinched and flicked her nipple as he held her tight. He eased his shaft all the way inside her, so his hips pressed against her aching bottom cheeks. “Does it still hurt?” he asked.
“Yes,” she sobbed, but it didn’t really, not as much as it had. She felt very full, and very scared, but it didn’t hurt in any unbearable way. He withdrew a little and pressed back in, and her quim pulsed in reaction. No, this couldn’t feel good. It shouldn’t feel good.
“I like hurting you,” he said, his cheek still pressed to hers. “I like the way you gasp and whine when I hurt you. I like the way you shudder. I like the way you get so very, very wet.” He stroked a hand across her center, then grasped her in a rough, squeezing way. She tensed around the thick intrusion in her bottom and moved her hips forward against his palm. She shuddered as he teased her and bit her earlobe.
“Yes, you like that,” he said. “I know. Desire and pain get all mixed up for you in a wonderful sort of way. Don’t fight it. Don’t try to hide these things you feel.”
/> She wasn’t hiding anything now. She was grinding her hips back against him, then thrusting forward against his hand, trying to make him touch her in just the right place. Sometimes he did, murmuring encouragement, and sometimes he just held her hips and drove in and out of her arse. There was nothing for her to do but submit.
“I thought you said this was for bad wives,” she said after an especially deep thrust.
“Sometimes it’s for bad wives. Sometimes it’s for confused, conflicted wives who need to be shown that it’s all right.”
“That what’s all right?”
“To like it when things hurt. Do you like being sodomized? Do you like being forced to take my cock in your arse?”
“No,” she said, because she didn’t want to like it.
“Tell the truth,” he said against her ear. “Now, of all times, tell me the truth. How does it feel to be tied up and whipped, and used in this appalling fashion?”
She couldn’t answer. Her arsehole clenched around him. He invaded her, stretched her, filled her so she couldn’t get away.
“I... I like it,” she admitted miserably. “I do like it. It feels frightening, and exciting.”
“It feels that way for me too.” He held her hips and took his pleasure with long strokes of possession. Her hands strained at her bonds, but now it was a different sort of straining. She was reaching for completion, about to lose her mind.
“I wish I could whip and bugger you at once,” he said, wrapping a hand about her neck. “You’d like that most of all.”
That hand at her neck, the firm squeeze made all the rising, molten need within her overflow. “Ohh,” she cried, alarmed by the sheer force of her climax. He was deep inside her, his body a cage around her as she constricted on him in ecstasy.
“Yes, that’s right.” His hand gripped her throat tighter. “I’ve got you. Let everything come.”
She shook in his implacable embrace, impaled, wrung out, and still the aftershocks lingered. He groaned and uttered an oath, and surged deep inside her once more as he found his own release. She didn’t want him to let her go. She couldn’t bear it if he did. She couldn’t bear to turn around and face him, and admit he was right about everything he said. Yes, she liked when he did cruel and shameful things to her.