She didn’t say anything. She knew her lips’ place was on his cock, bringing him the relaxing pleasure he deserved.
“You know I love you, Bunny. It almost makes me sad that I have to punish you.”
Her thighs quivered. The more she fell into her headspace of servitude, the more she liked the idea of her husband making an example out of her.
Ken checked his watch. “I still need to rinse off in the shower and get my ass to bed. I’ll have to punish you here. Stop touching yourself and get up.”
She obeyed, but only because she liked that tone in his voice. Ken knew how to speak to her. Even when he was about to go 180 on her naughty ass, he could keep his tone low and reasonable. Yet Lana could see it in his eye. The look of a Dom who had to take matters into his own hands.
“Let me see your body.”
Lana pulled open her robe, the sash dangling toward the floor as her breasts poked out and her blond pubic hairs called coyly to her husband. She may be not much younger than Ken, but she knew how to take care of herself. Years of careful eating – since she had to take into account the calories in alcohol – exercising, yoga, and endless trips to the dermatologist meant she still had smooth skin, perky tits, and only minimal stretch marks and cellulite. Some things could not be helped, after all.
Yet even with her imperfections, she still felt confident, especially in front of her husband. Ken never gave her the impression that he found her anything but 100% fuckable. My confidence isn’t entirely tied into that, but I won’t lie and say that it doesn’t make me feel good. Ken’s expression didn’t change now, but he looked her up and down, admiring a body he had touched and penetrated a hundred-thousand times.
He had fucked her, smacked her in the appropriate places, and come on almost every inch of her skin in the span of a dozen years. And yet he still looked at her as if he were excited to do it all over again.
“Turn around and bend over.”
Lana bristled. “Are you going to spank me, Kenneth?”
“Do you want me to spank you?”
She shrugged, indifferent. “Only if you believe I deserve it.”
“No. You won’t learn anything from a spanking right now.” Ken leaned forward, his erection between him and his wife as he caressed her hips. “You need me to punish you with something other than my hand.”
Lana glanced at his erection.
“Yes, Bunny. Now do as I say. Turn around and bend over for me.”
The carpeted mat was soft against her feet as she turned and braced her hands against her husband’s desk. He better make this good. Lana wanted to feel properly punished. If Ken knew what was good for him, he would make her feel like the most obedient, grateful submissive in the universe.
I hope so. I need it.
“Spread your legs.”
She eased them open, feeling the carpeted mat turn into the natural hardwood of the floor.
“Show me your cunt.”
Cunt. Lana loved that word. It was right up there with “bitch” in her favorite things to call herself and the parts of her body. Other women danced around the harsh vulgarities. To a point, she understood. They weren’t interested in reclaiming the terrible things men had called them for generations. Lana didn’t mind. She would do it. She would look her husband in the eye and tell him to call it her cunt, especially when he intended on taking it for his. God, hearing those harsh sounds fall from his lips and growl in his throat made Lana feel the right amount of belittled and controlled.
She pushed her hand between her legs and once again opened herself. This time, however, it was to her husband, her Dom.
“Is this satisfactory?” she asked with only a hint of sarcasm. Lana couldn’t help it. Sarcasm was her natural speed. “Or should I give you more?” She rubbed her clit, moaning, feeling her fingertips grow wetter the more she stimulated herself in front of Ken’s eyes.
“I want to hear you beg for it, Lana. Beg for your punishment.”
“Please…” She pressed her breasts against the desk, reveling in the coolness against her nipples. “Punish me with your cock, sir. I’ve been misbehaving.”
“What did you do?”
Lana sucked in her breath, gazing at a stack of papers awaiting her husband’s signature. “You know what I’ve done, sir.”