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)
“You’re not getting out of this, Amanda Williams,” he said slowly but very sternly. “I’m going to stand you up, and you’re going to take off the rest of your clothes. From now on when I punish you at home, you’ll always be naked.”
CHAPTER 19
Rick
I watched Mandy’s face change from a slightly puzzled expression, as she obviously tried to figure out why I had kissed her so gently, to the look of mingled fear and defiance I had so quickly come to recognize and to appreciate. Not to love, or even really to like: my beautiful wife’s brattiness represented an issue I knew I had to deal with, rather than a quality I thought desirable in her.
I loved her, and I loved the fierce independence she had apparently kept hidden from herself for a very long time. Independence and defiance weren’t the same thing, though. Mandy and I couldn’t stay at the kind of loggerheads our honeymoon had seemed to bring us to, with her resisting me apparently just for the sake of feeling bratty and rebellious.
I could deal with the resistance, I knew now, after only a few hours as a New Modesty husband. I might even enjoy imposing the consequences of her rebellion, too, but the rebellion itself… I couldn’t help finding it exhausting, and a little frustrating.
No, a lot frustrating, I admitted to myself as I stood my wife up again, this time facing the bed with her back to me. I wanted to see the effect of her punishment so far. The satisfaction I got from seeing that her backside was still red from the spanking I had administered through her jeans made me aware of just how frustrating I had found her refusal to be honest—even more than her failure to obey me.
My cock leapt at the enticing sight of that taut little bottom in the adorable polka-dot panties that didn’t match her bra. The rosy hue of Mandy’s cheeks and upper thighs seemed to signify that I had begun to claim her truly as my bride, despite the strange and worrisome runaround she had given me from our wedding night until this reckoning in Rocky Falls.
“Hands on your head, Dee,” I told her. “Just like before.”
I almost decided to forget about the whipping, or at least to give her a suspended sentence when it came to the application of my belt across her bare backside. The idea of bending her over for her first proper fucking that very instant lit a fire in my veins that I found very hard to resist. Surely to pull her panties down to her knees and to plunge into that sweet pussy, riding my beautiful wife hard, using her tight little vagina for my pleasure, teaching her to give me my conjugal rights whenever I chose to fuck her… surely that would provide discipline enough, wouldn’t it?
But I sensed, somehow, just from looking at her back, at the tension in her shoulders as she sluggishly began to obey my command, that to fail to follow through on the whipping would represent a huge mistake. Maybe another girl would learn her lesson from her husband showing mercy and fucking her dominantly instead of actually disciplining her.
Not Mandy. Mandy needs to know her husband will use his belt, if he has to, to keep her in line.
If anything had proven that to me, it was that frustrating yet somehow wonderful moment when I knew my demure bride had had a dirty thought, and she had refused to speak it. I had seen in her eyes that she wanted to say it, too, but that she needed me to make her—that a part of her could never find fulfillment without her husband’s firm hand guiding her to obedience.
“I said, get those hands up,” I growled, starting to unfasten my jeans belt’s heavy silver buckle.
Mandy
For a moment, I told myself I had no idea why I had raised my arms so slowly and with such obvious reluctance. A split second later, though, I knew the reason, because the inmost part of me whispered a challenge.
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?