Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 73013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I bit my lip, feeling tears come into the corners of my eyes. I felt for the first time, really the near nakedness of my upper body, and the full embarrassment of having to show my breasts, in the lacy pink bra, to my husband.
Like a mirror of his own gesture, my hand went to the button of my jeans. My breath came raggedly through my nostrils. I looked beseechingly into Rick’s face.
“Please?” I said. “Can I… can I put on my nightgown, maybe?”
Rick shook his head impatiently. “No. Mandy, I’m your husband. You’ll undress for me when I tell you to. Now get those jeans down, or I’m going to take them down for you and whip you until you can’t sit down for a week.”
CHAPTER 17
Mandy
My fingers fumbled at the metal button. Suddenly I had a weird feeling of distance from myself—and I understood at the same time that I had felt it before. I felt as if someone had literally placed a strange new frame of mind around my brain, and I realized all at once that I had truly sensed the beginnings of it back on our wedding night—and that I might even have become aware of it long before that.
When, on that pizza night at Rick’s shared apartment, I had understood that he wanted to take me to his room and to get intimate, and I had said “Forget it.” I had, I remembered as I got the button on my jeans open, seemed to see myself from somewhere above, or behind, my head.
Then, on our wedding night, when I had gotten that glimpse of Rick’s naked body, silhouetted in the light from the bathroom, and I had seen his hard thing, jutting out from his lap. It had seemed to me that the girl in the honeymoon bed, waiting for her bridegroom to come and deflower her, wasn’t me, but some other young woman—a naughty one… a dirty girl who looked at men’s penises and wanted to touch herself between her legs when her pussy clenched at the shameful sight.
The distance had happened, I realized, for a longer time in the private room, over Rick’s knee. I had watched another Amanda Williams learn her lesson from her husband’s firm hand.
I had watched, and…
I had begun—the other girl had begun—to unzip my fly. I felt her hands pause as a new surge of blood rushed to my face.
I watched myself, just like I’m watching myself now. I watched, and I… I enjoyed it.
“Oh, no,” I whispered. I pulled the zipper the rest of the way down. I hooked my thumbs into the elastic waistband of my panties and started to tug them over my hips. The need to get all this over with grew urgent inside me.
I wouldn’t think about it anymore. I would watch it unfold if that was what my brain decided to do. I would never, ever tell Rick about any of these mortifying thoughts and feelings.
I needed to finish getting undressed as soon as I could; it seemed obviously less shameful just to take everything off than to have to strip slowly, and besides I didn’t even remember what panties I had thrown on that morning, though I felt certain they didn’t match my bra in the slightest.
“No, Dee,” I heard Rick’s voice say. I had focused my eyes on the blue carpet of the master bedroom, where I could see only a little of Rick’s loafers and his denim-covered calves. His voice carried such severity that I froze and raised my eyes to his to see the hunger there just as before, along with a narrow-eyed look of warning.
“What?” I breathed.
Now that I had become fully aware of the feeling of mental distance, it seemed to get much more intense. Whoever had said what had felt at the same time a thrill of fear and need go all the way through her, as she realized that her husband meant to get his way… in everything.
“Just the jeans,” he told me. “I want to have a good look at your panties.”
“Oh,” I said, the catch and the fall in my voice making it sound more like a sob than a fully formed word. “No… please…”
I saw the relentless expression on Rick’s face, and I knew it would do no good to plead any further. I knew it wouldn’t help at all to say the word on the tip of my tongue. The logical voice in my head told me not to say it. That rational part of me seemed to have lost a good deal of its strength, though. Had it fallen into the divide, as I had seemingly separated into the young bride receiving just punishment for misbehavior and the Mandy watching it happen? At any rate it couldn’t stop the word from coming out, the one that the bratty girl, humiliated and fearful, wanted to say.