He ceased caressing her so she could remove his shirt. As she stared at his chest, he eased closer to her. The poor thing didn’t know what to do with her hands. “Unbutton my trousers now,” he said.
She met his eyes, because looking at his trousers seemed too much for her sensibilities. He’d gone rigid beneath the buff fabric, his cock a bulging, obscene outline. He smothered the impulse to laugh as her fingers skirted the obvious protuberance. Ignoring it would not make it go away. As she unbuttoned his falls, his cock emerged, quite in his wife’s face. Well, let her see what she did to him.
“Touch it,” he said in a low voice. “Stroke it with your hand.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Do it.” He took her hands and placed them on his length. “You know how to touch things.”
She gave in and moved her hands beneath his, with the softest, most teasing glide of her fingers. “It’s too big,” she whispered. “I don’t like it.”
“You are honest to a fault.” He huffed out a breath. “Stay where you are, crosspatch. Don’t move. I’m not finished with you, or this erotic punishment of yours.”
He went to the tray to fetch the vial of slick oil. He smoothed some onto his fingers, and over his straining member. “There,” he said. “You must rub it into me now.”
She stared at him, her small fingers clasped before her chest. Her upturned nipples taunted him. She was so much more lovely than she knew, so much more lovely than a prudish woman like her had a right to be.
“Why must I do that?” she asked.
“Because I’ve said so. Here.” He poured more oil into his hands and then onto hers, coating her fingers. The oil’s perfume was subtly exotic, flowery but musky, the scent rising between them. His balls ached, and his shaft was near to exploding. “Stroke me,” he insisted. “And don’t stop until I tell you to.”
As she anxiously handled his length, he put his hands back on her, sliding his fingers to her mons and lower. While the ginger continued to tingle in her arse, he fingered her quim, shoving a finger up inside her. She rose on her toes and tried to twist away. With a patient sigh, he put her hands back on his cock, showing her how to stimulate him. Whenever she stopped, he gave her a spank or two until she started again.
Meanwhile, he played between her pussy lips, trying to draw her attention to the pleasure within herself. She caressed his granite-hard shaft in fits and starts, but he gave her no respite from his own skilled touch. Soon, her hips rocked in conjunction with his movements. Her breath shortened, coming out in little gasps.
“Yes,” he said. “This is your penalty, if you won’t take your caning. You must show me how naughty you are.”
“I’m not naughty.” Her words were a plea, a whimper. She pressed her forehead into his chest as he redoubled his assault.
“You’re very naughty, I fear.”
She didn’t stroke him anymore, but he didn’t mind in the moment. He pinched one of her nipples, and was rewarded with a harried sigh, and another lovely jerk of her hips. He pinched it harder when she tried to squirm away. He could have lifted her onto his cock now. She could not have resisted, but he decided to play with her instead, to show her what he could do even if she wouldn’t let him bed her.
“Do you like that?” he asked. “Shall I continue?”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “You shouldn’t.”
Even as she said it, she bucked her mons against his hand. His middle finger slid over her center, wet and slick with her own juices in addition to the oil, and his other hand molested her without quarter, even pressing the ginger more deeply into her arse. She could barely stand, but he made her. This was a punishment of sorts, after all.
You see, he thought, drawing her ever closer to release. You see what I can make you do, little crosspatch? You see that you will be mine? You’ll be mine if I wish it.
Her trembling reached an apex. She let go of the bed and braced herself against his chest, moaning as his fingers pushed her over the edge. When she came off, it was as if she frightened herself. She hid her face, muffling cries of erotic agony against his chest. A lovely punishment, this. He thought so, if she did not. When she pulled away from him, her crisis ended, his cock still rose between them, straining even more.
“Stroke me now. Don’t stop.” He added more oil and forced her to move her hands along with him, their fingers tangling upon his shaft. He could see in her gaze that she thought his cock was great and imposing, some fearful, curious thing. Again, his carnal side wished to lift her and impale her immediately, to come inside her and spend his seed. But he wouldn’t. I will be inside you, he thought, but not until you welcome me. Not until you crave me. I won’t force myself in.