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)
“Oh, please,” I begged. “Please, sir.”
For the very first time, the observer me made the rest of me understand what that please meant. As if he could read my mind, Rick said, “Please what, Dee?”
I worked my lips between my teeth as the remaining independent sliver of my personality tried to hold in the knowledge, but my body’s desire seemed to break through that emotional barrier with ease.
“Please touch… please touch me…” My mouth twisted to the side. I couldn’t finish the naughty thought.
“Touch you where?” Rick asked, though I could hear in his voice that he knew very well.
“Down there,” I whispered. “Please?”
I opened my eyes, because I felt like I couldn’t live a second longer without seeing my husband’s face—none of me could… not the girl who couldn’t keep her body’s wicked desires from taking control, not the logical voice who needed to know how Rick had reacted, not the detached voyeur who paradoxically, wantonly hoped to see some kind of degrading disapproval in his eyes.
Most of all, not the brat. The brat wanted to make sure that by giving in to her so-called lord and master, letting him have his way because he had spanked her… and he had put his hands to his belt buckle to make her take off her clothes… and he meant to whip her bare bottom just as long as necessary to make his point… that by yielding to Rick because he had shown so firm a resolution to discipline the brat in me with dominance and with care, I hadn’t given up the chance—the right… the obligation, even—to brat again.
Maybe not tomorrow, but… well, I needed to see on his face, somehow, whether his expression said I should brat again the day after tomorrow, or I should wait another day after that.
Rick had drawn back from me a little, after breathing his last words into my ear. His piercing dark eyes were only three or four inches from mine when I opened my eyes, his big, unbearably handsome face right there in front of me. His eyes had narrowed slightly, and he had a tiny crease between his eyebrows.
I knew with a little leap of my heart and a flip of my tummy that he had been observing my own expression, while I had my eyes closed. He had studied my face just as closely as he had inspected my naked shoulders, my demure breasts in my lacy bra, my bare belly, my slim hips… my polka-dot panties. He had seen the brat, I felt certain; he had seen that part of me come and go.
My husband knew me.
My lips parted to draw in a gasping little breath at that thought and then, in what seemed a single complicated motion, Rick put his left hand behind my head, at the base of my skull just below my own hands submissively clasped there, and kissed me, while at the same time his right hand seized my whole pussy, through my panties, taking possession of me there in a way he hadn’t ever done, even with his hardness on our wedding night.
CHAPTER 18
Mandy
I cried out into his mouth, feeling my knees go slack under me as my body responded with helpless need to my husband’s sexual dominance. His fingers pressed hard, all the way down there, where I seemed to tingle with a wantonness I had never known before in my life. The cry faded to a whimper, a submissive noise to punctuate the aggressive probing of Rick’s tongue inside my mouth, as I felt not merely wet but soaking. My panties didn’t just have a wet spot, I realized—I had gushed into their gusset, so that I could actually hear the wet sound my husband’s middle two fingers made as he moved them even further down.
He pushed the fabric of those innocent cotton briefs inward, into me, between my lips, in the place where I had felt such shame to have him enter with his manhood, such searing pain as he had claimed me on our wedding night. I hadn’t wanted it… I…
No. You told yourself you didn’t want it.
I gasped as I understood, as I saw it. The brat and the good girl had joined forces that night: shame and defiance persuading me, insanely, that the thing I knew, deep down, I needed the most actually disgusted me. That the pain felt much worse than it actually did. That I had every right to make sure Rick didn’t renew his intimate attentions more often than was absolutely necessary.
I felt his long, strong fingers tug the soaking gusset of my panties aside. I cried out into his mouth again, my hips jerking uncontrollably. My knees could barely support me, and I felt certain I would simply fall down. Rick could sense that, though, I knew with a surge of gratitude; he moved the hand on the back of my neck downward to my back, and he kept me upright.