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Submissive Lust

A wife's punishment becomes her reward

I dressed in front of him just like I had so often before, and definitely more so since he told me how much he had loved watching my performance. Starting naked, after having dropped a towel from my body, I'd slowly and sensually slide my best lace knickers up my toned, slightly bent legs- my bum bent towards him, the asset of mine I knew he loved best amongst others. 

Then my bra, holding in place an already pert set of breasts that he never complained of being too small, as much as I had grown up fearing that they were.

I always dressed this way in front of him, and always in a way I'd never dress alone. 

Whilst wearing my knickers and bra, and occasionally some silky stockings that stopped shy of my thighs, I'd stand in front of the mirror and apply a 'come kiss me' shade of red lipstick to my lips, and the usual cosmetics to the eyes he'd often complimented. 

Then ever so occasionally, for no logical reason other than to obtain a reaction, I'd wiggle my bum for him. Just a little, and just enough for it to be noticed- without excessively enough for him to know for sure I'd done it purposely.

Sometimes, when I was dressing in this way, he'd pull me back to the bed and fuck me- his cock pushing past my knickers, which would remain on me long after he had cum and which I would feel erotically soak up his seeping cum from me when we were in the presence of ignorant others.

On other occasions, I'd catch him in the mirror stroking his cock as he studied me- with such an absence of embarrassment that it would actually make me blush. When nearing his end, he'd either beckon me over so that he could drain his balls in my greedy mouth, or he'd walk to me and stroke his cock inside the knickers that he'd ask me to open for him. Again, the black lace of them keeping me turned on through their stickiness when in the presence of ignorant others. 

The bedroom was his domain. He was the caveman and this was his cave. Few outside of our bedroom would possibly know how he dominated inside of it, save for a handful of ex lovers, and fewer still would ever realise how much I loved it.

Tonight we were going out for a nice dinner. I swear that the only thing he loved more than me was great food, and therefore there was no, at least so far, fucking me. There was no stroking. There was no cum. He just sat, silently, observing me- like a hunter studying it's prey.

When I finished by the mirror, I went to put on my dress and this was his cue to get clothed also- and it never ceased to amaze me how he still finished getting dressed at the same time as I had, some half an hour or so after I started.

I walked towards the bedroom door before being forced to stop to turn around and face him, wondering why he was still standing there, and still so silent.

'Ready'? I asked him, genuinely quizzing my husband of a few years.

Yet he still stood there, staring. His silence creating an awkwardness that I couldn't explain. Was there something wrong? Had I done something wrong? My mind raced through the events of the day in an attempt to answer my growing questions.

Without warning, his lifelessness ceased and he strode towards me with obvious intent. Two or three deliberate strides and he was with me, too quickly for me to really process what was happening. 

His hands had already rose to my neck before he'd properly reached me, and with a grip that always managed to somehow be so strong and yet so caressing, he pushed me to the wall which was situated just behind me. His body pressed against mine, and he pinned me so very still- like a shelf he was ready to nail to the wall. Like a way he had often nailed me to the wall before. 

He took his left hand from my neck and I felt it move roughly down my body, between my legs, back up my thighs and grab at the front of my recently placed underwear. He grabbed them tightly in his hand, and I felt him pull them forcibly - feeling the fabric being forced into my arse from behind, and lifted away from my cunt at the front.

His breathing was strange. Almost angry- breaths separated unnaturally apart, but each one almost perfectly timed. They were audible and deep.

This was new and not new. He often had whims of dominance that was both surprising and not surprising, different yet the same. Every time, every single time, I felt the same tinge of shame. Shame that I let him use me in this way, but mostly shame at just how wet I got when he did.

He sometimes treated me in a way that would be impossible to describe to any of my friends or family, without them being fearful that I was being abused. That I was in some sort of unhealthy relationship with a man who didn't respect me. 

But I wasn't, and he did.

After what seemed like an age of me being so suddenly accosted against the wall he moved his mouth to my ear and grunted, like the caveman he was: 'Who said you could wear knickers tonight?!' 

My eyes would have given away my arousal right there and then. It was sudden. Never before had I had to ask permission to wear knickers, never had I needed his permission to wear anything at all. But here he was, demanding who had given me permission  (with the clear implication being that only he could have), as if that had always been the way. That those had always been the rules. 

I immediately understood my role in our play.

I mumbled, desperate to somehow hide my delight, somehow trying to suppress the surge of adrenaline coursing throughout my body. 'No one'. Because no one had given me permission to wear sexy lace knickers. 

His voice took an even angrier tone at my admission, and he pressed his mouth right up against the lobe of my ear and quietly yelled at me, with even more aggression to his voice than before, 'Take them off!'

That was it. That's all he said. And whilst he still had his hands against my neck, holding me against the wall at that perfect pressure that drove me wild with submissive lust, I had to take my knickers off.

It was tricky, as I couldn't bend. I had to try and lift my legs, brushing them against him as he still held his body so close to mine, and bring my feet up close to my waist so that I could hook them over my heels- freeing them from me one leg at a time. 

Then he kissed me. Deeply. It was his way of saying, without words, that he loved me. But he wasn't going to say he loved me. Not tonight. Tonight, I knew, I was his- and he was going to use me like a fuck toy that he owned. 

He took his hands from my delicate throat and guided me, by my arse, down the stairs of our house.  His right hand hand found its way under my dress, lifting it as he did, and the palm of his hand was grabbing firmly at the cheek of his property. As we descended the stairs he was now, like the lover he was, walking side by side of me to the front door. 

I blushed as I opened it. I knew he wasn't going to remove his hand, and despite the relatively quiet area that we lived, I also know that if anyone saw us they could see exactly what he was doing. They would see exactly how little I was wearing under a relatively short, black dress. 

There was no one there, and my blushes were saved. He managed to guide me to the car, open the door, and place me inside the passenger seat with still no one else spying on us. At least I thought no one had- who knew if a neighbour just happened to be looking out of the window? It was dark, and I wouldn't have been able to see them if they were.

A sluttier part of me, always so well hidden from the world, hoped that they had.

Dinner was almost normal. He was his public self now. A few glasses of wine and a nice meal in a respectable establishment. He was his usual kind and courteous self- almost flirting with the male waiter, despite never a more heterosexual man having lived in existence.  

But throughout the whole of  the dinner I couldn't stop thinking forward to what it was I knew would be coming once we got back home, all of which meant that I could feel the wetness of my pussy dripping down my thighs as I stood up to walk out of the fancy French restaurant we had dined in. 

We drove home in silence that helped set a mightily erotic mood. If a friend had been in the car they would have called it awkward- the kind of atmosphere that some would suggest could be physically cut with a knife. It wasn't awkward for me though. It was arousing. It was very, very erotic. 

We got in the house and he immediately guided me into the front room of our humble dwelling. We were in the living quarters of our property- the scene of whatever was about to happen next.  

I saw that the curtains were open and went to close them, before my head got pulled back sharply. He had grabbed my long, girly hair and pulled me towards him. I almost screamed in shock, whilst with futility still reaching out for curtains that were destined to remain open.  

He swung me around his body and towards the sofa that was in front of us. With a fistful of my hair still in his hands, he pushed my head forwards and over the arm of the sofa. He lifted the hem of my dress above my arse, immediately after I felt him removing the belt of his jeans and releasing his cock from its trap. 

I felt it's already hardness as it sprung against my arse, his thick cock hitting my buttocks that he had been groping only a few hours before.

I turned around to talk to him but only got a fraction of a word out before he lifted my head by my hair and simultaneously ordered me to 'shut up'. When my head was up to near where his was, he once again aggressively whispered in my ear: 'Don't say a word. Don't say a fucking word.'

My pussy pulsed as he demanded my silence, the effect of which had squeezed out another drop of wetness from my tight, eager and soon to be fucked cunt. 

His hands once more forced my head downwards, and he took the tip of his cock to my- no no, sorry, his, HIS (I often forget that) - opening. He paused, momentarily. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was admiring my body. Admiring my submissiveness. Admiring at just how wet I was whilst he had, in reality, not touched a single erogenous zone on me.

His admiration ended as he thrust the entirety of his cock inside my body. All of it. My pussy, although as wet as it could have possibly been, was still shocked by its forceful entry and had to try and quickly stretch to accommodate him.

It couldn't stretch quickly enough to be entirely pleasurable, and my eyes watered at the pain he had inflicted on me. Pain which, in a manner that had no way had this effect on me before I had met him, made me want to cum so badly. My heightened sense of arousal and expectation already taking me to the brink of needing release. 

So much so, that I very nearly came on his cock in that one thrust. I almost hated the way he could affect me like this.

After holding his weapon inside me for just long enough for it to be uncomfortable, he removed it from my aching pussy before ramming it deeply back inside me again. I yelped this time, unable to hold back my voice this second time around. Firstly because of the continued pain, and secondly because of my deep need to cum.

But I wouldn't. I daren't. I knew what he'd do to me if I came to quickly. I knew how he'd punish me if I came before he told me I could.  

Once more he held himself inside of me, before once more, and with expert deliberation, removing his cock before slamming it back fully inside me. Again I yelped, and as I did he this time struck my arse with the open palm of his free hand- a non-vocal warning to remain quiet. 

I had to bite my lip and tense my body, forcing my silence upon me, forcing tears from my tightly squeezed- shut eye lids. 

Fuck, I loved him like this.  

Then he fucked me. No pauses inside me, just a pounding in and out to the steady beat of a drum that I could almost hear- although no doubt it was just the sound of his hips thrusting so hard into mine. 

I was going to cum. Fuck I was going to cum. I couldn't ask him if I could, as he said I couldn't speak. If I asked him if I could cum, I would have broken the rules and he would have punished me. If I cum before he gives me permission, I'd have broken the rules and he'd punish me.

I tried not to cum. I held it in. I would have cum thrusts ago but for my efforts in control. I concentrated hard, feeling the need building inside me. The pressure becoming too much. The walls of my pussy becoming too sensitive and too tight against his raging cock. 

I knew he could feel it- he was having to thrust harder into my cunt just to maintain the same rhythm- it was as if my pussy was trying hard to keep its invader out.

Fuck, I was going to cum. Fuck . Fuuuck. Shit. No. Please no. Fuck. Yes, god, yes.....and at that I was cumming, and all the built up pressure left me in one elongated moment of pure bliss as my cunt gushed against his throbbing dick. 

Shit. I'd done it now.  I'd cum without permission, and I remained silently bent over the sofa as I awaited my punishment. I knew the rules, and I knew of the consequences of breaking those rules.  

He took his dripping cock and placed it at the entrance of my - no no, sorry, his, HIS (I often forget that) - arsehole. I tried to turn round to view him in all his dominant glory, to show him with my eyes that I was ready for him, that I was willing for him to take me, but I'm not sure if he had registered me.  

Tears blurred my vision, and so I just turned my head back around and assumed my position- whilst biting down on the cushion that had fallen below my face as I had moved.  

There was no gentle stretching of my arse, or sympathetic allowing of my wrong hole to become accustomed or accommodated to his might shaft. This was not love making, this was punishment- and he punished me by once again thrusting his fantastic cock deep inside me . 

I cried out.  It hurt - it genuinely hurt....and I loved it. I craved it. I was aroused and ashamed and confused and desired and wanted to be filled- and all at the same time. 

I was experiencing a cocktail of emotions that he discarded with each thrust. My eyes almost in the back of my head, my screams muffled by the cushion I clamped down on so tightly just moments before.  

He was thrusting and grunting. Grunting and thrusting. His thrusts getting deeper and his grunts getting louder. I knew it was his turn to cum, and I would have turned round and pleaded him to, turned round and begged him to fill my arse with his thick, creamy seed, if it wasn't for the fact that I knew the rules. If it wasn't for the fact that I was irrelevantly unable to say a single coherent word in the heightened sense of pleasure he'd put me in. Both my body and mind equally with the gods.  

His thrusts were becoming erratic, no longer maintaining any sense of rhythm. I knew this meant we were at the end game. He was about to have his final act of dominance and I tried gripping his cock tightly with my arse- speeding up the arrival of his explosion. 

God I loved his cum.

He removed his hand from my hair, the one that had not moved since he pulled me away from our large bay windows  ( that still remained in full and open view of anyone who might pass), and he gripped both of my arse cheeks tightly with each one of his sexy, manly and controlling hands. 

His grunts were now growls- almost of pain, almost of pleasure.

Then he screamed. Not like I screamed, but just as arousing. I felt his cock twitching in my arse and I dreamily groaned as I knew he was depositing his present deep inside me. 

I let out a deep, satisfied moan on the pillow. Satisfaction at my reward, and satisfaction that I had once again managed to take him in all his dominating glory. 

He held his cock  inside of me, still without saying a word, until I eventually felt the blood flowing out of it and back into his body. His still twitching orgasm- inducer slowly softening inside of me. 

He tapped my bum, like the way sports stars greet each other after a goal is scored, as if he was congratulating me for a good game. Removing himself from me, he left the room and went to the kitchen to pour himself a scotch (at least, experience had told me that's what he did).

I'd still be in the position he'd left me in when  he'd return. Not because I was wanting a round two, and not because I could have handled another fuck like that- but because I just wasn't ready to move yet .

I was still smiling, still day dreaming, and still thinking about how much I love being his fuck toy. 

Fuck, I love it.

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