Let’s see what he does. The sting from the spanking had really begun to depart, and to my dismay its disappearance seemed to make me restless—and reckless.Let’s just see.
How could I somehow both think that bratty thought and feel the thrill of fear that it sent through me? I had begun to get it through my head that Rick wouldn’t hesitate any longer to punish me severely. Yet I apparently still thought it a good idea to defy him, or at least not to comply as readily as I knew he wished me to.
And how could I think the thought, feel the fear, and—thanks to the detached voyeur in me—also feel a jolt of need between my thighs, where my husband had pulled aside my panties and possessed me with his fingers, showing me just how much pleasure he had in store for an obedient wife. More, how could I feel that need even after all those climaxes?
My heart raced as a dangerous new thought floated up into my mind. I spoke it—the brat spoke it—before any reasonable part of me could hold it in.
“Which is it?” I asked, turning my head back over my shoulder to look at Rick. “Hands on my head or take off my underwear?”
The derisive tone in my words gave way instantly to a little cry of fear. I saw that he had finally undone his belt—that he had even begun to draw it out of the loops at his waist.
“Hands on your head,” he growled, and he stepped forward, doubling and winding the black leather around his right fist as he approached.
I tried to turn around, so that I could ward him off at least for a second. All my defiance seemed to turn to terror in an instant. Rick moved too quickly; he thrust his left hand into the waistband of my panties and pulled them upward, so he could keep my bottom in place in what felt like the most degrading way possible.
“Wait!” I yelled. “Ricky! Don’t!”
Suddenly it seemed as if the whole force of what it meant for a young bride to get the belt from her husband had at last reached me. I had long since lost count of the number of times, just in the past hour, I had gone through this crazy, somehow deeply necessary cycle, from yielding to defiance to fear to painful punishment, Still, I craved it—all of me… the brat, the good girl, the observer, the…
Oh, my God. The slut…That was the thing I couldn’t say, the ultimately degrading word Rick meant to whip out of me… and it led to more…
The slut… the whore… the greedy little…
I heard a whistling. I felt a puff of air.
Oh, no.
The sharp sound of the leather across my bottom, across the bare skin exposed by my husband pulling my panties painfully upward to keep me in place. Then, the pain. Just as with his hand, I had a moment’s surprise that the belt didn’t hurt more, and then Rick had whipped me again, the lash going across the first one. Between the building agony of the first fiery trail and the start of the pain from the second one, I knew it did—and itwould.
“I’m sorry! Sir… please…” I begged, trying to writhe away and feeling the utter degradation of having my movement confined by Rick’s hold on my panties. My husband’s action cut through my words, a third lash falling across my upper thighs even as I tried to apologize for sassing him. That one hurt a lot more, the pain much more immediate, than the leather’s bite across my bottom. “Oh, God… sir, I’ll…”
He stopped. He stepped back, leaving me cringing, my arms across my chest and my head turned back over my shoulder to look at him. The sting of tears in my eyes made my theatrical pout of protest feel even more dramatic. I gazed into Rick’s resolute face and without even meaning to, I composed my face into a mask of pretended innocence, as if my mean husband had just whipped me for no reason.
“Go ahead,” he said.
For a moment, I hesitated. I hadn’t actually said I would take off my underwear, had I? Could I tell him that I had meant to say I wouldneverstrip completely naked for him?
My right hand, unconsciously, had dropped from my chest and gone behind me, even as I had the wild thought. I chewed on my upper lip as my fingertips felt the soreness Rick’s belt had left. I watched his eyes travel down as he observed the little motion, and then rise again, to meet my own gaze, fixed on that handsome face, trying to gauge whether I had any leeway here.
Brat. Slut. Greedy little…The words seemed to play over and over in my mind, making my heart race. I saw Rick smile, very slightly, and the idea came to me suddenly that it gave him pleasure to watch me rub my bottom after a whipping. The terrible thought made me lower my eyes, steal a glance at the belt, still wound around Rick’s right hand.
I closed my eyes, and I felt myself reach both hands behind me to unhook my bra. The slut—she had done that. I kept looking at the belt. The belt didn’t give me any choice, whether I felt like the good girl or the brat or above all the observer, who seemed to take over once again.
That’s it,I said, watching myself remove my pink bra.Take it off, girl. You’re going to get the naked whipping you’ve been asking for, with your disrespect and your refusal to give your husband his rights.
My eyes rose from the terrible leather implement of my training, to look into Rick’s face, as I shrugged the bra off and dropped it onto the bed.
“Turn around,” he said, lowering his chin a little as if to tell me just how seriously he took this moment. “I want to see your breasts.”
I felt my face crumple, my brow creasing and my mouth twisting to the side as a wave of shame crashed through me. My cheeks burned like the sun, and I brought my arms back up, to hold them tight across my chest. I shook my head violently. The slut had vanished, and the good girl returned, at the idea of showing my bare chest to my husband.
“Dee,” Rick said. “You’re going to get used to showing yourself to me naked, or you’re going to find yourself back here over the pillows for a whipping much too often for either of us to be happy.”
A whimpery moan rose from my chest, and just like that the arousal surged—at the thought that my lord and master would bring me back here over and over, until he got his way. The slut, the shameless slut, came out again, and she turned me around. At the same time, somehow, the need between my thighs brought something of the brat to the front, too. I swallowed hard, and I did my best to put a mocking expression on my face, as if Rick were being childish.
I clenched my fists, and then I forced my arms down. For a moment I held my hands in front of my pussy, where I could feel that the gusset still lay askew, and the cleft of my private lips was still visible among the light curls. Then I moved them to my hips, because, the brat thought, who cares… he would just make me take my hands away from there as well.
Rick’s eyes moved downward to get their fill of my little B-cup breasts. A surge of blood rushed to my cheeks as my husband licked his lips at the sight, as if he had just promised himself the leisurely enjoyment of his bride’s sweet young tits.