The corridor is cold and draughty as we stand there, silently, hands on our heads, legs shoulder-width apart, waiting for the Headmaster. At least Matilda still has her nightie on, I think, spitefully. As soon as his study door opens he'll see my goosebumped skin, my nipples standing out like bullets, my nakedness exposed for his cold, searching eyes to devour. It's all her fault. Bloody Matilda. It's her fault we're standing here, waiting for Miss Dodds to explain just how much we need punishing. Just how much we deserve. Just why she's had to fetch him away from his quiet evening by the fire to deal with us.
Oh, he's going to be really furious.
I risk a glance to my right, but Matilda is looking straight ahead. Her stare is fixed, her breathing steady, but I can tell she's seething too. Her perfect record, ruined. At least it will give me some satisfaction to see - and hear - her get her first punishment. Sadly, I can't say the same for myself. I've been here far too often.
And then I remember what he said the last time, when I'd been caught giggling at prayers in Chapel. When he put me over his knee, right there in the nave, my pinafore up around my armpits and my knickers round my ankles, and spanked me with a hymn book. Each word punctuated by blow of the hard leather-bound volume on my tender bum:
"If...[SMACK]...I...[SMACK]...ever...[SMACK]...have...[SMACK]...to...[SMACK]...punish... [SMACK]...you...[SMACK]...again...[SMACK]...you'll...[SMACK]...NEVER...[SMACK]... forget...[SMACK]...it...[SMACK]...as...[SMACK]...long...[SMACK]...as...[SMACK]...you... [SMACK]...live!"
Oh no, this is going to be horrible.
*****
I don't mean to be bad. It's just that, sometimes, I get carried away. Like tonight. We were talking about the visiting speaker we'd had that evening, to give us our enrichment lecture. We often have visiting speakers to our college for young ladies, to help broaden our horizons and help us understand the wider world. Mr Roberts was a very clever man, a graduate from Oxford University, who edited a prestigious History publication. He gave us a lecture about working in publishing, the importance of studying hard, and how important it was for each of us to make sure we were being a "good girl" in college. There was something about the way he said "good girl" that made several of us shift in our seats. An arch of his eyebrow, the way he scanned the room, something inside him that sent a little frisson through the room. More than one of us had a little flutter inside us at the thought of this older man calling us his good girl, and I certainly felt it too when his eyes met mine.
He held my gaze, just a moment longer than was comfortable, and then, just for a moment before he looked away, he licked his lips. I know he was probably just moistening them so he could speak more clearly - he had been going for half an hour already - but in that moment I felt myself melt inside. I imagined that tongue moistening my lips...and not just in a French kiss. Oh, I feel so dirty admitting it! But I imagined his tongue pushing apart the lips of my most private place, flicking up over my special little button and giving me all those feelings that I'm told are so wrong but which feel so right! Oh, for an older, experienced man like him to sweep me up in his arms and do all the things that men do to girls, to me...oh, what I wouldn't give for him to teach me those things! To see his...his...his cock. His penis. His dick. Oh...to touch it. To feel it. To taste it...
As you can imagine, I didn't really take in much of the rest of the lecture. And there was only one topic of conversation when we were back in the dorm before lights out - who would be able to get work experience at the prestigious History journal so we could be Mr Roberts' personal assistant! We were giggling and talking about how we'd wear short skirts and unbutton our blouses so when we bent over he'd get an eyeful...and how he'd put his hand on the back of our legs and guide it upwards...and how he'd bend us over his desk to give us a good seeing to...lots of the girls were laughing, but I kept picturing his tongue moving over his lips, his hands and fingers flexing, and the shape of his hips. And I got that familiar tingle deep inside. We were all tucked up in bed, and my hand crept down under the covers, finding its way between my legs. Oh...I was already soaked! Without even really thinking about it, my fingers crept inside and I began to curl them up and down, that familiar motion building my excitement, my other hand joining in to move in circles over my little button, my eyes closing, thinking about him, his experience, his strength, his power, how he would just take me, use me, hurt me...
"Lucy? Are you WANKING?"
I froze. Matilda's voice was like a siren blaring through the dormitory. My eyes snapped open and I saw the other girls staring, hands clapped over their mouths. I saw Matilda, pointing at me...but looking at the doorway. I followed her gaze and there, framed in the corridor light, was our formidable Housemistress, Miss Dodds. White haired, ancient, steely-eyed and constantly angry, she used the crucifix she always wore like a talisman to root out immoral behaviour wherever it lurked. And now, staring at me, she had found it. Again.
In five short strides she was across the dormitory and ripped my coverlet back, revealing the sordid truth: my right hand with two fingers buried up to the knuckles in my sopping wet slit, my left hand frozen on my engorged button, the slick sheen of sticky juices clearly visible on my hands and my thighs. She may as well have been Medusa, for I was frozen like a statue, unable to move, blood pounding in my ears, a flush of mortification blooming up my neck and into my cheeks, the horror of my predicament exposed for all to see.
"Stand," she commanded. Like a marionette on strings, I obeyed. "Remove your nightgown," she hissed, her words forcing their way out through teeth gritted so hard they could have been used on icy roads. I obeyed, shivering naked under the gaze of my dorm mates. I dared not look up to see their looks of horror, of disappointment, of amusement, of disgust. I was so ashamed. But her next words made it even worse: "hands on your head. You dirty girl, you clearly can't be trusted to keep them off yourself, so they'll stay there until the Headmaster has seen you himself. Now go and stand in the corridor." And off I padded, my bare feet on the cold tile, naked and embarrassed beyond words, my hands clasped in my tousled red hair.
"And as for you, Matilda, your language is simply unacceptable. You are young ladies, not dockers! You will join Lucy in receiving the Headmaster's punishment."
I heard her start to protest, beginning to argue: "But Miss Dodds, she was..." before she sputtered into silence. I could have told her that arguing only made it worse, but Miss goody-two-shoes Matilda had never been in trouble before, never even had a late mark I'll bet. And now, thanks to her shouting the odds, I'm for it, so I'm secretly glad that she'll be getting a taste of what it feels like to be me. She deserves it, the nosy little...no, I'd better not. Even here.
*****
And so, we ended up here. Standing outside the Headmaster's office, awaiting his sentence. Miss Dodds had to go and fetch him from his quarters, where he was entertaining our guest lecturer. He was going to be fuming to have his evening spoiled! I imagined his face, darkening with fury as Miss Dodds explained what had happened. And when he heard it's me...oh my goodness. A little shudder ran through me.
And then, another thought occurred to me. Oh no...surely Miss Dodds wouldn't have told the whole story in front of his guest? In front of that intelligent, powerful man with the strong hands and the captivating eyes? Surely not. Surely she would have waited before telling him she'd found one of the senior girls...pleasuring herself...in a shared dormitory. What would he think? No. No. She wouldn't have. It would be too embarrassing.
And then, the study door creaked open.
I felt myself stiffen, and heard Matilda's breath catch next to me. Here it comes, I thought to myself.
"Come in," came the Headmaster's voice, dripping acid from every syllable. "Both of you."
Matilda led the way. I saw her trembling as I followed her. We kept our hands on our heads, as instructed. I felt the cold, tiled floor of the corridor give way to the soft, luxurious carpeting of the Headmaster's study. I took in the dark wood panelling, the shelves lined with heavy, leather-bound volumes. The huge Victorian desk, an expanse of wood with a leather-lined panel for writing, an ornate fountain pen lying next to a sheaf of thick papers. And there, behind the desk, was the Headmaster. In his seventies, surely, white haired, with tiny half-moon spectacles on his hooked nose, his ill-fitting brown suit cloaked in a black academic gown, the mortar board, as ever, atop his balding head. His cold, cold eyes boring into us both as we took our place in front of his desk. And, laid out in front of him, the tools of his trade: paddle. Tawse. Strap. Belt. Cane.
Oh no. We were for it now.
We took our places in front of him. Hands on our heads, legs a shoulder-width apart, eyes straight ahead. Matilda in her nightie, me as naked as the day I was born. His cold, old eyes travelled over us, assessing us, lingering on my boobs, the little tuft of hair covering my private place, the tell-tale glisten of moisture still between my thighs. Mortification crawled over my skin, flushing my neck and cheeks with the heat of embarrassment.
He cleared his throat.
"Sins of the flesh," he began, his thin, reedy voice filling the expectant room. "The evils of self-abuse. These will be the undoing of you young ladies." He paused, holding us both in his gaze. "You will never find a husband if you continue to treat your bodies with such contempt."
I could feel Matilda bristling beside me. I could tell she was desperate to protest, to tell him it wasn't her, it was me that had been...indulging myself. That she had merely pointed it out. That it was me that needed punishment, not her.
Wisely, she held her tongue.
"And Miss Dodds tells me that the language she heard shocked her to her core. To her core, I say! Such vocabulary, I cannot imagine where you learned such things. It brings our fine institution into disrepute. Dis-re-pute, I say!" He was working up a head of steam now. "You may be young women, fully grown, but we try to teach you self-respect. Dignity. Propriety. And what do we find instead? Filthy bodies, filthy minds. You are nothing but a pair of common slatterns. Sluts, I say. Sluts!"
***
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***
He rose from his chair, wheezing with the effort. Despite his age, he was a truly terrifying figure. The gown framed his elderly body, making him seem bigger, like a vampire or a ghoul or some awful Hallowe'en goblin, looming towards us with malicious intent.
"Matilda. Tell me. What was Lucy doing? Tell me Matilda. What was she doing?"
Matilda stuttered. She stammered. Her voice squeaked. "She was...she was..." She searched around, trying to find words that wouldn't get her into any more trouble. "She was...under the covers...with her hands...she was..."
"I want you to say the word, Matilda. Say the word that Miss Dodds heard you say. I can't believe that word crossed those pretty little lips of yours. I won't believe it until I hear it for myself. What did you say, Matilda? What was young Lucy doing?"
I felt Matilda steel herself. My flesh burned with humiliation as I heard the words come out of her mouth, barely more than a whisper: "she was wanking, Sir."
"Louder, Matilda. I couldn't quite hear you."
"She was wanking, Sir."
"I'm sorry, what was she doing?"
"Wanking Sir. Rubbing herself." At that moment, something broke inside Matilda. She had said the word "wanking" in front of the Headmaster: suddenly all bets were off. Her head snapped up, and she spoke as if she were giving a presentation to the fifth form girls. "She was talking about our guest speaker this evening, Sir, and how she'd love to do work experience for him. How she'd wear a short skirt and unbutton her blouse and bend over for him, so he'd feel her up. She was talking about his hands on her legs, and how she wanted him to bend her over his desk and fuck her Sir. How she wanted to feel his hard cock inside her, taking her, making her his, fucking her until she screamed. And she was wanking while she thought about it Sir: her slutty fingers were rubbing her dirty little cunt and I think she was about to cum all over the bed when Miss Dodds walked in." She paused for breath. "Sir."
The silence which followed was so thick you could cut a slice of it with a bread knife. The Headmaster's face was pale and still, his jaw set firmly; mine, on the other hand, was hanging open at what I'd just heard. All the blood had drained from my body. Straight-A Matilda had straight-up thrown me under the bus. I worked my jaw, trying to find something, anything to say, but the power of speech had deserted me. She had said all the words. I had none.
And then the Headmaster broke the silence. But he did not speak to me, or to Matilda. He turned, instead, towards the fireplace, and spoke to the shadows. "You see what I have to deal with? You appear to have caused quite the stir, my good man."
Oh no. No. No no no no no no no.
Oh yes. There he was. Mr Roberts, the handsome guest speaker, stepped out of the shadows. His eyes raked up and down my naked body. A smile played across his lips as his tongue snaked out again, licking across them, dwelling over it this time, lingering, savouring the moment. I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole. Every fibre of my body thrummed with the awfulness of my humiliation. Naked, exposed, standing in front of the man my dorm mate had just told I was fantasising about. I felt my skin goosebumping under his cool, appraising gaze, my nipples hardening so they stuck out in front of me. I couldn't see how it could get any worse.
But it could.
So much worse.
"Well, thank you for that detailed description, Matilda. It was most...enlightening. But clearly you need a lesson in appropriate use of language in front of your elders and betters." He reached for his tawse: a twin-ended, flexible leather strap that stung like mad and left your bottom flaming red. "Bend over the desk, my girl. That's it, right over. Hands flat on the surface. Yes, just like that." He arranged Matilda to his liking, bent at the waist, her body flat against the desk, then came round to the other side. Nudging with his foot, he spread her legs wider. Moving with precision, he lifted the hem of her nightie and tucked it up, exposing her white cotton panties, which he then eased down to her knees. Her tight, white bottom shone in the dim light of the study, completely unmarked: she had clearly never been spanked before.
And then he turned to me, leaving Matilda exposed on his desk.
"What did I say to you the last time I had cause to punish you, Lucy?"
The image of the hymn book crashing into my behind under the stained glass of the chapel crackled through my mind. I cleared my throat.
"You said I'd never forget it as long as I lived." I wanted my voice to sound strong, confident, defiant; instead it sounded weak, pathetic...and scared.
"And so it shall be. I am going to punish Matilda here with the tawse. I am going to strap her hard. She is going to count every stroke, and thank me for every one. How long her punishment goes on, is up to you." He paused, and looked at Mr Roberts, with half a smile playing across his lips. "You are going to show our guest here what you were doing in your dormitory. And you are going to describe to him all the things you imagined him doing to you in your sordid, disgusting imagination. I will keep strapping Matilda until you..." he paused, searching for the word. "Until you finish." He turned back to me. "And then, I will bend you over this desk, and you will receive the same number of strokes of the cane. A third from me. A third from our guest here. And the final third," he smiled, "from Matilda herself." He looked around the room, from Matilda, bent over the desk, to the guest, smiling by a big leather armchair, to me, naked, hands on my head, in the middle of the room. "Shall we begin?"
I stood, completely frozen, as the awfulness of the situation sank in. He was going to make me...to make me...touch myself...in front of him and Mr Roberts? And confess my fantasies in front of him? Until I...oh no. It was too awful. And...and a caning afterwards? The longer it took me to - oh, I can't even say it! - to cum, the longer I'm going to be caned for. It was fiendish. It was horrible. It was worse than I could ever have imagined.
The Headmaster flexed the tawse, and ran his wrinkled, liver-spotted hands over Mathilda's round, white buttocks. I could see her body, stiff with revulsion, every fibre of her being trying not to flinch away. He was addressing her, recapping his instructions whilst I stood, rooted to the spot in horror.
"You will feel the tawse strike you across the bottom, Matilda. Every stroke is designed to remind you of the importance of using appropriate, respectful language. As such, the only words that come out of your mouth must be to count the strokes, and to thank me politely for each one." He paused, his hand resting on her bottom, absent-mindedly caressing and squeezing her cheeks between his hoary old fingers. "You may, inadvertently, make some other sounds. This is to be expected. But no other words. Do you understand?"
Matilda inhaled, about to speak, but she realised the trap he had laid just in time, and nodded instead.
"Good girl. Let's begin." He turned, and flexed the tawse again. Turning to me, he seemed surprised that I was still standing there, my mouth agape, my eyes wide, trying to process what was expected of me. A slight smile played across his thin lips, under the white moustache. "You may take your hands off your head, girl." He chuckled. "You will need them."
With that, he drew back his arm, taking a slow practice swing to check his aim. Satisfied, he brought the tawse down violently across Matilda's bottom. I heard the leather whistle in the air, and the hearty THWACK as it made contact with her skin.
"AHHH! FFffffffffff..." Matilda breathed hard, swallowing down the word that had almost escaped involuntarily. I saw the red mark across her left cheek where the tawse had made contact, rising up against her white skin in an angry welt. "One." Her voice was strangled, coming through gritted teeth. "Thank you Sir."
I looked around the room, unable to make any decisions for myself about what to do next. I knew that every stroke of the tawse on Matilda's bottom was going to be matched by a stroke of the cane on mine. And that I had the power in my hands to make that number as small as possible. But to do so, I had to...I had to...
My eyes met those of the handsome guest lecturer, Mr Roberts. He was smiling, clearly enjoying the show very much. He gestured to the red leather armchair that he was standing next to, inviting me to take a seat. I felt my feet moving of their own accord, taking me across the plush carpet, and then I found myself settling into the rich chair looking up at him as he stood over me. It was as though I was in a trance.
THWACK!
The spell was broken by the second stroke landing across Matilda's bum.
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I am a loving, submissive slut wife to my husband. I call him Sir and he calls me whatever he wants.
My Sir has been out of town for work and he comes home tonight. I can't wait for him to return home because I am sure he will use me for his pleasure, which gives me pleasure too.
I've been his good slut wife in his absence. I am ALWAYS a good girl when he's out of town, mostly because I have to be. I have no choice in the matter really. Not anymore anyway.
We have a long standing rule that I'm only allowed to orgasm in his presence and then only after granted permission. So clearly I'm never allowed to orgasm when he is out of town. It wouldn't really matter if I wanted to orgasm now though because I am always locked up in my chastity belt when he's out of town. Yes, my needy pussy is locked away from my touch when he is away. He says it keeps me honest. And if I'm being truthful, he's right.
The chastity belt started becoming a thing about a year ago, as a result of my failure to be good when he was out of town. While I knew the rule that I was to abstain from touching myself when he wasn't around, I just got so fucking horny. I simply needed to orgasm!
The thing was he had been gone for an entire week already and I still had another week to go before he was back home again. And since being married he has trained me into needing sex all the time. (And before you ask, YES I agreed to being my husband's submissive slut wife. He gave me the choice before we were married and I readily agreed! So the first thing he did was to train me into being wet and ready for him all the time. I never deny him, unless I'm sick. That's the only denial allowable, which has to be declared up front and never when he's already trying to get inside me.)
So as a slut should be, I am wet more often than not. Kind of like Pavlov's dogs needing treats, since I am trained to need sex I am therefore always wet! Maybe now you can believe me when I tell you, I just couldn't help myself. After a week of not being touched, I needed it! My pussy was throbbing and achy. Besides, I didn't even think he'd know if I helped myself to some porn and rubbed one out. I mean seriously, how would he? And then I found out he DID know and I found out exactly HOW he knew too.
Upon his arrival home, I greeted him exactly how I always do. I was at the door waiting, naked, arms by my side, feet spread shoulder width apart. He used to have me on my knees and head facing downward. I'd be so excited to see him though I wouldn't ever stay that way long so he soon gave up on that and let me stand.
He walked in and he greeted me with the usual, "Hello my love." That was when I draped my arms around him and said, "Hello Sir. I'm glad you are home! I missed you so much!"
He asked, "Just how much?" and he reached down to touch my pussy where, of course, he found me wet. (Like I said already, I am ALWAYS wet and needy!)
"I missed you SO much Sir. Can I ride your cock to show you just how much?"
"No, you may NOT!"
"What? Why not? Sir, it's been a long time since you've had me. Don't you need me to love on you?"
"Well. I'm not too happy with you right now. Why don't you start by telling me," he paused for a dramatic moment, then said, "what is our rule about your orgasms?"
That's when I knew he knew. I didn't know how he knew yet but there was no doubt he knew. I dropped my head and said, "I'm sorry Sir. How do you know?"
"I had cameras installed awhile ago. I thought they'd be handy if our house was broken into, but I quickly found out there was another use too. I just never told you."
"I'm really sorry Sir."
"Too little, too late my lovely. But I suppose its not entirely your fault either. We have trained you into being my perfect submissive slut wife. So while I don't approve of your selfish act, I can see how you just couldn't help yourself too."
It was then that he put his hand to my chin and raised my head to force my eyes to greet his. He leaned in and kissed me then too. As he pulled back, he said, "It's okay. I know we need to get you some extra help Baby Girl. We will get that help for you soon enough so that in the future you'll be kept honest."
I didn't exactly know what that meant at the time, but I do now. That was when he got me a custom fitted Chastity Belt. It took awhile to arrive because it was indeed custom made to fit, but when it did, it became part of my norm every-single-time he is out of town and sometimes when he is in town too.
The belt fits snug and secure. There's no ability to touch myself when it's locked in place, which is why I hated it at first.
He would prepare for his trip and just before leaving he'd tell me, "Go get the belt ". This is when I'd beg him to not make me wear it. I promised all sorts of things, not the least of which was that I'd be a good girl. But none of that mattered.
He was undeterred, adamant and unrelenting. He would say, "You know you don't have the will power my sweet Slut girl. It's better if you just start accepting that you need this and give into it rather than fight it," which is when the belt would click into place, and Sir would secure it with the lock.
Sir always hides the key in our house before he leaves, in case I need it for some sort of emergency, where he'd then tell me where its located. In the beginning, I would be so desperate to get the belt off that I'd search the house in an attempt to find the key. I was never successful though.
Finally I gave into the belt and accepted it, the way he instructed me to from the get go. He wasn't ever going to change his mind and this was the new norm for me for sure. So I decided I may as well just get over myself and accept it. And accept it I did.
Now I must admit that I rather like it. It does indeed keep me honest. I no longer worry about trying to ensure I am his good girl when he's gone now because I have the comfort of knowing I can't touch myself at all. So now I've learned to just relax into my it and just know it's keeping me honest. Not to mention, I'm even more ready for my Sir when he gets back home again too. It's really a double win for us both now too!
That brings me back to today. Sir just walked in the door from another long work trip away from home. I just greeted him in my usual place at the back door wearing my usual home attire which is to say I have on nothing except of course, my Chastity Belt.
"Sir, I am so happy to see you. As always, I've missed you so much!"
"Were you a good girl, my love?"
"Yes Sir."
"So you wore no clothing when in our house? And you didn't touch yourself either?"
I rolled my eyes and said, "Yes. Of course Sir. But you already knew that, right??"
"Did you seriously just cope an attitude with me 30-seconds after I have just now arrived home?"
Naturally I immediately knew I shouldn't have answered him with an eye roll and a response like I did, but I guess the questions seemed so unnecessary.
He continued, "I am so disappointed slut. You know better than to talk to me that way and especially immediately after my arrival. You've not even been released from the belt yet!
"I'm sorry Sir. I made a bad choice for sure."
He let out a bit of a smirking laugh and said, "you can sure say that again! I guess now we will be leaving you in the belt for awhile longer, won't we?"
I hung my head and said, "I was so looking forward to you using my body Sir. I'm sorry you can't now".
"Oh I can and I will still use your body just not in the way either of us would have thought. Now I'll just take what's mine and you'll just have to take what you get. Go Assume the Position now and wait for me."
Ugh. Me and my big mouth get me into trouble every time. While I've come to like the belt on when my Sir is gone, I absolutely hate wearing it when he's home. For obvious reasons.
"Assume The Position" are my Sir's magic words that typically mean I'm to be disciplined, specifically spanked. When my behavior doesn't match what my Sir would expect from his good submissive wife, I am disciplined and that usually comes in the way of being spanked with the whip or the paddle or his belt. The Position is where I am on the bed, face down, pillow under my hips to raise my ass in the air, and arms underneath me and going down between my legs. My arms have to be out of the way so as to not prevent Sir from soanking me in any way. Lastly, I also have to set out all three of the whip, paddle, and belt right beside me. Whichever side of me that I set the punishment tools, I am required to turn my head to the opposite side so that I am unable to see or know which tool my Sir choses to use until I feel it across my ass with the first stroke.
How in the hell did I manage to fuck up in the very first minute he walked in the door? I can just be such a fucking stupid cunt sometimes. And so it was, that I Assumed the Position instead of enjoying some sexy fun times with my Sir.
I don't know how long I waited exactly, but it wasn't long really. Sir came in and started talking immediately.
"Why in God's name did you smart off to me Slut?"
"I'm sorry Sir."
SMACK! Fuck that hurt. Sir is definitely NOT going to mess around tonight! I could tell he chose the paddle and he swung with intention right from the start.
"I did not ask for an apology. I asked a question that deserves an answer."
"I thought the question about me not touching myself was unnecessary Sir. Clearly I have been good as I am still wearing my belt, even now as you deliver this punishment Sir."
"Well. At least you are now being honest. But does it really matter if my questions are unnecessary? Is that how you should have answered me?"
"No Sir."
"Finally. Now we are making progress. I can't brloeve THIS is what you made me cime home to. I'm sorely disappointed in you."
I said nothing. I knew he was right.
He continued, "let's get this over with so I can start to enjoy my time home. You'll count them out now as I will deliver 10 hard ones to your ass.... with the belt ON! And do NOT forget to thank me too!"
He wasn't kidding when he said hard ones. My ass was hurting so badly after just three, that after five I was crying. Then after eight I was sobbing and at ten I could barely get the words "Ten Sir, Thank you Sir." out of my mouth but I did manage it.
This is usually where Sir sits me up, hugs me tightly, and tells me all is forgiven. But that didnt happen tonight. Instead as I still was in The Position, he said, "All is forgiven. However, I am now going to use your body the way I promised I would so don't even think about moving."
I managed to say, "Yes Sir" and I laid perfectly still.
I heard the distinct sound of his pants coming down and hitting the floor. Then I felt the bed move as he climbed on. He said, "Spread your legs as wide open as you can now."
I didn't think he was going to mount me from behind with my belt on, but I guess that is his plan now. He's done this before but not too often either. I'm not too sure he likes the feeling of the belt between us.
I didn't respond with words, but instead just did as I was told.
I felt his legs between mine then. He laid his whole body down onto my back and whispered in my ear, "Are you my good slut wife?"
"Yes Sir."
"Will you let me use your body now Slut?"
"Yes Sir"
"Any way I want to?"
"Yes Sir. I want to please you and I offer my entire self to you always."
"Now you are being my Good Girl. I knew you'd give me anything I wanted to take, but I like it when you respond to my unnecessary questions with real answers. I'm going to give it to you in the ass now."
"Thank you Sir".
He then added, "I've decided to be nice since you took your punishment without complaints, so I've lubed my cock so I can slide in easier for you now too."
With that, I felt his hand go down to guide his cock into position so as to enter my ass. When he was in position, his hand moved up to push my hair to the side where he then kissed the back of my neck ever so softly, while asking, "Ready?"
This part is always the hardest. He always enters me the same way... fast and deep, in one swift move, but then he does hold himself there for me to relax into the fullness of it.
I said, "Yes Sir" and held my breathe in anticipation of it. And just as I expected, he pressed all the way to balls deep in one solid move. Despite having my chastity belt still on where he had to press through the anal hole, he is indeed still every bit inside me and I'm keenly aware of how full my ass is at that moment. As well, even knowing what to expect, it always takes my breath away. It always gives me goose bumps on my arms and legs, while making me feel as if I'm going to throw up for just a minute. So I just relax and take the minute of grace that my Sir affords me instead as he just held himself there and waited.
I know from experience to tell him when I've adjusted. So after I do indeed catch my breath, and have willed myself to relax, I say, "Thank you Sir. I'm ready now Sir."
That's when he said, "while I'm tired from traveling I know I need to orgasm right now. So while this isn't how I envisioned this going, I'm going to take what I need and am going to ride your ass hard. If you can orgasm this way, you may do so. But make no mistake, your pleasure simply isn't my concern tonight. If you can orgasm fine, but if not, oh well. Are you ready my love?"
"Yes Sir. Thank you Sir."
It was then that he lifted up onto his hands, off my back, and pulled his cock nearly all the way out of my ass, he held himself there for just a second longer than I expected, and then he began to deliver on his promise of riding my ass hard.
He slammed his cock all the way into my ass but this time instead of waiting for me to adjust, he began his assault by pulling right back out again. Then he started to press in and out, going faster and harder as he picked up speed. Over and over again, he was giving me everything he had. In and out. Fast and hard. I felt every last one of his beautiful cock's inches thrusting deep each and every time.
I heard him saying stuff that while talking to me was also just talking to himself too. He said stuff like, "I'm taking what is fucking mine!" and "This ass belongs to ME!" and "Take my cock all the way deep" and lastly, "This is what you get when you act like a stupid fucking bitch".
I loved it all. I was my husband's fuck doll and was finding my pleasure in serving him as the submissive slut wife I am! The more he rode my ass, the closer I got to orgasm. I could feel it rising up in my untouched and fully locked up pussy. I was surprised to be feeling such a terrific rise of my own orgasm bubbling up when my needy pussy was being so obviously neglected on purpose.
I was so enjoying the moment and willing my own orgasm to come forth when I felt my Sir's hand slap down on my still very tender ass. He hit my ass pretty hard causing my orgasm to fall away and back down just out of reach.
And that was when I heard him let out the words, "Fucking yesssss....". At that moment, he slammed into my ass for the last time and just held himself there. I felt his cock flex deep inside my ass and I knew he was filling my hole with his hot cum. I also knew I was not going to be getting my own orgasm tonight as I was not able to get my own release before he did.
A minute later he pulled out and rolled over to the side of me, where he pulled me to him. He said, "All really is forgiven my beautiful slut wife" when he then kissed my lips hard and full.
To which my only response was, "Thank You Sir."
As he moved me into a snuggled up cuddle, he whispered in my ear, "you aren't going to get the belt off tonight. I know you didn't orgasm and we can't allow you to sneak one on your own.. now can we?"
With that I simply said, "I know you know how to keep me honest Sir."
Then I heard his breath get deep. He was drifting off to sleep while I was left only to wonder, if only I hadn't smarted off, what could have been!
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