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Most people think that wedding-night sex should be simple and romantic, very traditional. But Will and I aren’t exactly a regular couple, and we couldn’t let our special night be anything less than perfect—perfectly kinky, that is.
Like other brides, I packed my overnight bag with white, lacy lingerie and pristine stockings, all brand-new and only for Will to see. And underneath the wedding-night lingerie were silk scarves—all black, in stark contrast to my ensemble—and a pair of silver handcuffs. As I mentioned, my husband and I aren’t exactly your run-of-the-mill couple.
As soon as we entered the honeymoon suite in the hotel that night, I had Will unzip my dress, and I ducked into the bathroom to quickly change into my lingerie while he stripped himself. My wedding-night outfit consisted of a garter belt and white stockings, and a white, ribbed corset. I pulled my hair down and let it cascade over my shoulders, checked my makeup in the mirror, and went back into the bedroom to join my husband. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with the silk ties in one hand and the handcuffs in the other, clearly ready to get down to business.
He stood up when he saw me, and I saw his dick twitch in his boxers. It was obvious my ensemble aroused him, and I smiled, glad I’d at least taken the traditional route in dressing up for our first night together as husband and wife. We shared a deep, passionate kiss, and I could tell how much he wanted me from that simple gesture. As I leaned into him, I felt his dick growing against my body, and I knew I’d be enjoying more than his kisses in a minute.
Will dropped the handcuffs on the bed and slipped his free hand between my legs, letting his fingers probe my pussy. I got wet fast, his ministrations bringing me quickly to an aroused state. As he fingered me, he guided me toward the bed, his body moving this way and that until I fell onto the mattress. I moved toward the middle of the bed and got on my back as soon as Will let me, and that’s when things went from average to explosive.
My husband locked the handcuffs around my wrists first, the chain between them looping around a slat in the headboard. The hard, cold metal felt incredible in contrast with the delicate garments I’d been wearing all day, and I couldn’t wait for him to start tying the silk scarves.
With my hands pulled up over my head, Will ran his hand down my body, teasing me as he moved to the foot of the bed, where he fastened each of my ankles to the bedposts. As he pulled the scarves tight around my limbs, I felt my entire body tingle, and my cunt began to throb. I could feel the wetness of my pussy as my juices began to dribble out of me, and I wondered if Will could see my arousal between my legs. Not that he needed to see my dripping pussy to know how turned on I was—my moans made it pretty obvious.
As soon as he’d secured my ankles to the bedposts, Will climbed onto the bed with me and started to crawl up my body. I wanted to grab him and pull him to me, force him to kiss me—to fuck me—but I couldn’t. The most I could do was writhe under his touch and beg for more, and I certainly did both.
“Please, Will, fuck me!” I begged. “I need to feel you inside me!”
But he wasn’t going to give me what I wanted so easily. Instead he straddled me, his boxers still on, and teased me. He traced lines over my corset with his fingertips, and he leaned in to place featherlight kisses on my face. I was breathing hard, my breasts heaving against my corset’s boning, and my pussy was practically gushing as I waited impatiently for my new husband to start fucking me.
I struggled against my bonds as I tried to get closer to Will—to no avail. He’d tied me up tight, and there was no way for me to gain the upper hand. But the struggle made the silk ties tighten around my ankles and the metal of the handcuffs press against my wrists, and feeling that resistance turned me on even more. There was no way for me to get my mind off of what was happening now. If Will didn’t take off his shorts and fuck me soon, I was going to go crazy.
Will lay on top of me, and I felt his hard shaft pressing against me through his boxers. I wanted him more than I ever had before, and he could feel it. He still wasn’t going to give in to my pleas for his cock, though, and instead I felt one of his fingers work its way between my wet folds. His digit thrust right up inside me, and my back arched as he pleasured my pussy. Each time he wiggled his finger, my body would respond, twisting this way and that to get more, and every movement caused my bonds to pull me back into place. It was an impossible struggle, but my heart pounded as it aroused me more and more.
By the time Will took off his shorts, I was already on the verge of an explosive orgasm. He slid easily into my wet cunt, and he finally started to fuck me. With each thrust, I was reminded of my bindings, and waves of pleasure washed over me every time I tried to move. Bending my knees pulled at the silky ankle bonds, and reaching for my husband made the metal cuffs tug at my wrists. Even the corset I wore seemed restrictive, and I relished the pressure it created.
My husband was still on top of me, thrusting deep into my waiting pussy, and I pumped my hips in time with his, needing to be closer to him. The more we moved against each other, the tighter the handcuffs and ankle ties seemed, and it felt delicious. I didn’t want the sensations to stop, and I worked myself into a frenzy of passion as I fucked Will enthusiastically.
I’d been on the edge ever since Will had climbed into bed with me, and finally I went over it, crying out happily as I climaxed. It was the most explosive orgasm of my life, and I bucked against my husband—and my bonds—as the feelings of ecstasy rushed through my body. Will came a minute later, thrusting into me one last time before filling me with his cream.
Even after he untied me and stripped me of my corset, I could still feel the lingering sensation of my bonds, and I loved it. I fell asleep with my husband’s arms wrapped around me, and I dreamed of all the kinky sex games we would play on our honeymoon. As far as I was concerned, it was the perfect start to our marriage.
—Ms. Jasmine K., Via Email
My husband, Dave, is infatuated with Vanna White. If there is one program that he will not miss, it is Wheel of Fortune. I know Vanna looks great, but I’m not chopped liver. At first, my husband’s obsession with the game-show hostess annoyed me, but it didn’t take me long to realize that his “crush” was harmless to our marriage. In fact, as I began to daydream, I realized that his interest in Vanna could actually improve our sex life. My devious mind began working overtime, and I decided to combine our multiple interests: Dave’s love of Vanna and our mutual interest in dominance and submission.
Dave is thirty-five and I’m thirty-nine. My body is great, and I get many compliments and longing glances from the men in our neighborhood. I fill out a bikini nicely with a shapely 36-29-34 body, and I’m proud to say that I look as hot as I did when Dave and I first met nearly fifteen years ago. Our sex life has been wonderful throughout our entire relationship, mainly because we both love to indulge in Dave’s favorite fetish: spanking. Early on in our courtship, he admitted to me how much he loved being paddled by a beautiful woman, and since I’d long had a desire to dominate men, his fetish perfectly dovetailed with my own.
As I mused about his infatuation with Vanna and how I could make it work to my advantage, I decided to devise my own special game, one that I’d call “Wheel of Misfortune.”
While Dave was on a business trip on the West Coast, I checked out a rummage sale at a local church. Among the items offered was a gambling wheel that had been used for fundraisers. It was perfect for what I had in mind. Barely able to contain my amusement, I purchased the wheel and lugged it home in our minivan. It sure would have been helpful to have Dave’s assistance, but that would have completely ruined the surprise!
Once home, I set up the wheel in the den. I taped over the existing numerals on it and added my own. The numbers ranged from 10 to 100, and I repeated the digits until every other space was filled. Underneath each number, I added photos of our different spanking implements that I had taken with my digital camera, such as a riding crop, a belt, a rectangular leather slapper, and a Ping-Pong paddle. In the remaining blank spaces, I pasted pictures of sex toys, including a blindfold, nipple clamps, and a butt plug.
In the ceiling in front of the wheel, I screwed two eyebolts into a crossbeam, so I could chain Dave’s cuffed wrists over his head. Being frugal, I made a spreader bar for his legs from a broomstick, two eyebolts, and two ankle cuffs, and it was easy to make an impromptu gag by wrapping a sock around a length of clothesline. I hid my toys away and covered the wheel with a sheet, barely able to wait until the big reveal.
In keeping with his infatuation, Dave called me from the airport and asked that I record Wheel of Fortune for him. His flight was going to be late, and the poor dear was worried that he was going to miss his show. I assured him I would, and I eagerly awaited his arrival.
Later that evening, Dave walked in the door with his suitcase. After a quick kiss, he was off to the television in the den to get his daily dose of Vanna. When he got there, he called out to me and asked what was under the sheet. I followed him into the den and told him that if he wanted to watch his show, he had to follow my directions. I snatched up the leather cuffs from their hiding place, and Dave observed me with a smile as I buckled them around his wrists, and suddenly he became much more interested in me than the television.
When both cuffs were fastened, I pulled his shirt off and strung him up to the crossbeam. He looked at me with a lustful grin as I removed his shoes, socks, pants, and briefs. Once he was completely naked, I attached the spreader bar to his ankles. By the time I’d finished securing his bonds, he had a huge erection. Knowing that Dave was secure and wouldn’t be going anywhere, I excused myself and went to our bedroom to slip into a vivid red evening gown and matching four-inch red high heels. I quickly styled my hair, applied my makeup, and confidently strode back into the den.
When I returned to my bound hubby, I removed the sheet to reveal the “Wheel of Misfortune,” and he gasped in surprise. Before he could ask any more questions, I announced that we were ready to play my game. I switched on the DVR and started to play that night’s show. After the first toss-up round, I paused the show and spun my wheel. It swirled around several times and landed on a space marked with a twenty-five and a belt. I administered twenty-five lashes to Dave’s ass, making him count each one out loud. He swayed in his bonds, rocking in time with each lick of the belt as his swollen cock danced in front of him. The belt was wide and it only marginally reddened his cheeks, and I know that for him, the whipping was over far too soon. I assured him that the night was still young—we still had the whole show to watch!
I pressed “play” on the remote, so we could watch the next round, after which I paused the show and spun my wheel again. Dave’s next treat was thirty-five whacks with a Ping-Pong paddle. In the middle of his paddling, Dave began to moan and futilely buck his hips, his hungry cock seeking some sort of contact. I told him that all of that noise was distracting me, so I stuffed my makeshift gag into his mouth and finished delivering the thirty-five swats. Now his ass had a little more color, and his cock was harder than I’d ever seen it. I could tell that Dave was enjoying my game.
The third round delivered a minor reprieve for my husband’s well-spanked cheeks because the wheel landed on the photo of a five-inch butt plug. I greased up the toy and slowly pushed it into his rectum, relishing his moans of delight. After a few moments of fucking his ass with the toy, I switched the DVR back on for the bonus round and asked Dave if he was ready. He nodded, his cheeks flushed and his cock still enticingly erect.
I told Dave if the contestant won, he would also get a prize: another spin of my wheel and a special treat. If the contestant lost, then Dave would have to wait an entire month before he was allowed to have an orgasm. Fortunately for my husband, the contestant won a car, and Dave moaned excitedly around his gag. My husband watched eagerly as I spun the wheel, which landed on fifty whacks with the leather slapper—his favorite toy. I slowly spaced out every swat, making sure to completely cover each of his cheeks and occasionally tap against the butt plug that was nestled in his tight back hole.
Halfway through his spanking, I slickened up my hand with lube and began to massage his balls and rock-hard cock, even though I was tempted to untie him and use his erection for myself. My pussy was aching for action; I was so aroused at the sight of him trussed up and at my mercy that my thighs were damp with the honey of my arousal.
As I continued to tease his dick, he moaned with ecstasy, and I administered the next twenty-five whacks while continuing to stroke him. When I reached the fiftieth whack, Dave shuddered and groaned. His cock twitched in my fist and spat out stream after stream of hot come.
After his release, I unfastened his bonds and ordered him to eat me to orgasm. As he lapped at my cunt, I explained he was allowed to watch Vanna any time he wanted, but on Friday night we were going to watch together and play “Wheel of Misfortune.” He happily agreed and proceeded to lick me to an earth-shattering climax as a show of his gratitude.
Since that evening, Dave has been strung up every Friday. Sometimes the wheel is merciful to him; sometimes it’s not—but either way, we both wind up winners.
—Ms. Ginger K., Virginia Beach, Virginia
I’m a strong-willed woman in charge of a crew of salespeople. I bring home a six-figure paycheck and the headaches that go with it. I want to get this information straight before I explain my erotic cravings. All day long, I boss people around. Not out of meanness, or any sadistic pleasure. My team reports to me, and I take the praise for jobs well done or suffer the brunt of the displeasure of my own bosses. I’m a tough chick—what you might call a hard-edged bitch—when I have to be, which is what being in charge takes sometimes.
That said, when I’m home, all I want is to release the reins. I want my man, Aaron, to take charge of me. To tell me what to do. To put me in my place. Fortunately, Aaron is more than up to that challenge.
On weekends, I like nothing more than to be Aaron’s love slave. I serve his every whim, his every need, and I even try to predict what he is going to want before he can formulate the idea himself. Usually, while Aaron lounges in bed, I make his favorite breakfast, which I deliver on a tray. This is our regular Saturday routine, and it gives me as much pleasure as it gives him.
But this weekend, I decided to do something unique. After cooking his breakfast, I stripped naked and tied on an apron that I had special ordered from a lingerie catalog. I kicked off my slippers and slid into a pair of acetate high heels, the type favored by strippers. Finally, clad in my little slut apron, high-heeled shoes, and nothing else, I strode down the hall.
Aaron sat up in bed as I entered the room. He was definitely expecting breakfast, but he wasn’t expecting me to look the way I did.
“Oh, baby,” he said as I set the tray down on the bedside table. “What’s gotten into you?”
I shrugged, feeling self-conscious. I thought Aaron would eat his breakfast and then maybe he would fuck me. Apparently, Aaron had different plans.
“Come here. Let me see you.”
I took a step closer to the bed and then turned in a circle for him. Aaron wolf-whistled. “I love the way your apron strings dangle between your ass cheeks,” he said. “And look at those fucking shoes.”
My face felt warm. He was inspecting me with the intensity with which I inspect the work by my team. Usually, I am on the other side of this sort of interaction. I think this is why I get so turned on being Aaron’s submissive. It is such a different sensation for me.
Breakfast forgotten, Aaron pulled me onto the bed with him so I was on his lap, face-to-face. He stroked my breasts and then bent to suck my nipples. I could feel how wet I was getting. Aaron felt it, too, since I had no panties on and was straddling his body. I was definitely creating a damp spot on the crotch of his navy pajama bottoms.
“What made you dress like this?” he whispered to me as he started to play with my clit.
“I saw the apron in a catalog,” I told him, “and I couldn’t resist.”
“And the shoes?”
I couldn’t explain the shoes. They’d called out to me. I could never wear shoes like that to work. I’d had to buy them for home.
“I want to fuck you from behind,” Aaron said, “so I can play with the ties on your apron.”
Quickly, I climbed into position on the bed. Aaron stripped and got behind me. At first, he gripped my hips and slid his cock between my pussy lips, not entering me, simply getting the head and the shaft nice and wet. While he fucked my split, he played with the ties on the apron, exactly as he’d described. He arranged the strings to fall between the cheeks of my ass. That tickled, and I jumped, but Aaron kept up what he was doing. Then he parted my ass cheeks and let the apron strings dangle right against my exposed hole. I began to tremble. I love when Aaron plays with my asshole. The extra stimulation always makes me come so much harder.
When I began mewling, desperate for some type of satisfaction, Aaron thrust his cock into my pussy, one hard, fast stroke, and then sealed his body to mine. My cunt muscles started to squeeze his dick helplessly. I wanted more. I wanted him to start pounding into me. Aaron would not.
Now he lifted the strings and just danced the tips over my asshole. I could feel my backdoor clenching and unclenching, as if winking at him. I was helpless. I think Aaron liked the way my pussy was tightening on his rod as well, because he continued to tease and torment me, not fucking me, simply playing with me.
The outfit seemed to really bring out a new side of Aaron.
“You like that,” he said, stating the obvious. I wanted to say, “Yes, but I need more. I need you to fuck me.” Yet I knew that if I tried to rush Aaron, he’d slow down further. He doesn’t give me what I want when I ask. He always makes me wait.
“Why do you like having your asshole played with?”
I was glad he was fucking me from behind so he could not see my face. Talking like this is always embarrassing for me. “It just feels naughty,” I said, hoping that was enough of a confession for him.
“It is naughty,” Aaron agreed, and he gently parted the cheeks of my ass, spreading me open. Things were going differently than I had expected. My dreams of simply being fucked in the apron were taking a turn toward anal. Aaron traced his thumb over my asshole, and then asked, “Where’s the lube?”
I pointed to the bedside table. He reached over me to pull out the drawer and grab the bottle. Quickly, he lubed up my backdoor, taking extra time to slip his pointer finger inside me and give me a little fucking with the tip. I groaned and pressed my face into the mattress, really raising my hips up for him. Aaron now started to thrust his cock in and out of my pussy. But I knew he wasn’t doing that to get me off. He was lubing up his cock with my copious juices.
Surprising me, Aaron pulled out and flipped me over. I was on my back, looking up at him, malleable as he hoisted my legs over his shoulders and parted my ass cheeks once more. We’d never had anal sex in this position before. I was flushed with heat, lust, and shame as he speared me with the head of his cock, grinding his way into my well-lubed asshole.
“Your shoes are so sexy,” Aaron said, moving my legs so he could admire my heels while he fucked me. “And that little apron. I want you to wear this outfit all weekend. Just the apron, heels, and nothing else.”
He was rocking in and out of me now, fucking my ass as hard and fast as he does my cunt. But he took pity on me and let one hand slip down to my clit, which he pinched and teased in rhythm to his thrusts. I realized I was holding my breath. I’d inhale, and then forget to exhale for several seconds. That gave way to a new breathing rhythm: panting. The pleasure was building—the sensation of having my ass filled and my clit stroked taking me higher and higher.
Aaron said, “I am going to fuck the daylights out of you this weekend. After this, we’re going to shower off, and then I’m going to 69 with you. And then I’m going to fuck you out on the deck. By Monday, you’re going to be lost in a haze of lust.”
I already was. I came as Aaron bucked hard and filled my ass with his load. And then I waited while he gently slid out of me, removed my shoes, and let me undo the apron. We went to the bathroom together to take a shower, and the whole time I thought of Aaron’s promises. I had tried to surprise him, but he’d turned the tables on me. Like any good dom will do.
—Ms. Abby M., Portsmouth, Virginia
My girlfriends and I take turns hosting monthly dinner parties, and last month it was my turn. Our dinners are pretty standard affairs except for one thing: We’re all dominatrices. That means that in addition to the six of us, there are also six submissives present for every dinner. They’re always put to work, serving and cleaning up and refilling drinks, and they’re always on their best behavior. If they’re not, they know that they’ll be in trouble with not only their own mistress, but the hostess as well.
Robert, my sub, has never gotten in trouble at another domme’s party. He knows that any mistake he makes will reflect poorly on me, so he’s always extra cautious when we’re out in public. The punishment he would receive if he ever embarrassed me in front of anyone, especially other dommes, would be severe. But when I had the ladies over for dinner the other night, Robert was less than the perfect servant.
It started while we were setting up and preparing dinner. I was in the kitchen, checking on the roast, when I heard something break in the dining room. Robert slunk back in to tell me about it a moment later, apologizing profusely for breaking one of my wineglasses. I explained that he’d be punished for it after the party, but if he were on his best behavior for the rest of the night, I would take that into consideration.
Ten minutes later, as I was in the bedroom putting the finishing touches on my outfit before my guests arrived, I heard a crash in the kitchen. When I got out there to see what was wrong, I saw a pot lying in the middle of the floor, all the vegetables scattered and mashed around it. Half my dinner was gone, and my guests were scheduled to arrive any minute. Robert was in hot water, and he knew it. He was crouched on the floor, cleaning up the mess, with his head bowed. If I had had time, I would have punished him then, but as I was reading him the riot act, the doorbell rang. While Robert stayed in the kitchen to finish cleaning, I went to get the door.
Things went well once the guests arrived, and there were no other incidents as we dined and chatted. The night was slowly coming to a close, with the women heading home with their subs, until there were only two of us left—four if you count Robert, and Lana’s slave, Steven. And that’s when it happened. Robert was clearing the coffee cups and dessert plates when he bumped into Steve, who was picking up his mistress’s purse so they could leave. The tray Robert was holding went flying, causing coffee to spill on the living-room carpet and a piece of cake to land next to my girlfriend, missing her lap by a hair.
Everything stopped at once. Mistress Lana straightened her skirt, stood, and led Steven from the room after saying a brusque good-night. Then it was just Robert and me.
“How could you?” I barked. “You’ve been nothing but trouble all day. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I’m sorry, Mistress,” Robert said from the floor, where he was trying to clean up the latest mess.
I told him to finish tidying the living room and then meet me in the bedroom for his punishment. I was mad, but I also knew that Robert hadn’t meant to do any harm. I actually wondered if he’d made a fool of himself on purpose to get me to punish him. It had been a while since our last session. While I waited for him, I started getting out all my implements, from crops and floggers to whips, paddles, and cuffs. Robert was about to get the most intense punishment of his life.
As soon as Robert entered the room, I had him strip out of the butler’s outfit I’d made him wear for the evening and had him lean against the wall with his arms and legs spread. I picked up my favorite flogger and walked behind him, then swung. The tails landed on his ass with a thud, and even though this was supposed to be punishment, I heard Robert moan with pleasure.
I delivered a dozen lashes with the flogger, each one stronger than the last, and each time the leather made contact with his ass, Robert would arch his back and moan softly. I know how much he enjoys his punishments, and even though they’re meant to teach him a lesson, I get as turned on as he does when I flog him. The more I struck his ass, the more aroused I became, and by the time I’d reached lash number twelve, my panties were soaked.
As much as I wanted to get myself off, I knew I had to continue the punishment so he would know how upset I was, and I replaced the flogger with one of my crops. I hit him more swiftly with the crop, landing dozens of strokes in a few moments. I struck him over and over, hitting his ass and thighs until his skin started to flush pink and I saw his dick standing ramrod straight. He was practically ready to explode, and I knew if I continued he might actually come without me laying a hand on his cock.
I moved Robert to the bed and fastened a belt around his waist, one that had two cuffs attached to it. I cuffed his wrists to his sides and pushed him down so he was lying on the bed. Then I hiked up my skirt, slid my panties off, and climbed onto the bed, settling over Robert’s face.
“You were a bad boy,” I told him, “but I’m willing to let you make it up to me. You will eat my pussy until I come, and if I think you’ve done it good enough, you may be rewarded.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Robert mumbled from between my thighs. And then he started to lick.
In addition to being a well-behaved submissive—most of the time—Robert is also an excellent pussy-eater, and he has never failed to bring me to climax with his tongue. I was still irritated by his clumsiness, but as soon as I felt his tongue brush against my pussy, I started to melt. He licked up and down my slit for a moment before moving to my clit. He circled the hard little bud several times, then flicked it with the tip of his tongue. It felt incredible, and I knew I’d be rewarding him at the end of the night no matter what.
Robert continued to lick my pussy, thrusting his tongue between my lips, until I forgot all about his earlier errors and could think only of getting off. I started to ride his tongue, and within a couple of minutes, I was coming. It was the fastest he’d ever made me climax, and I knew that the anger I’d felt when he’d stumbled in front of Mistress Lana had helped fuel my orgasm. It was an intense feeling, and it took several long minutes for me come back down to earth. When I did, I climbed off Robert’s face, pulled down my skirt, and looked at my dutiful submissive. His face was covered with my juice, and his dick was really hard.
I reached down to Robert’s dick and gripped it tight in my fist. “You were a bad boy today,” I said, repeating my earlier comment, “but you did a very good job of pleasing your mistress tonight, too. For that, I’m going to reward you.”
Robert smiled. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Don’t come until I tell you to,” I reminded him. He nodded.
I started to jerk his cock. His hips arched up to thrust into my palm as I stroked him, and I knew he would climax even faster than I had. I reminded him again not to come until I’d given him permission, and then I continued to pump his cock. As soon as I saw a drop of precome ooze out of the tip, I knew he was ready, and I jerked him off a little more forcefully. It took only six or seven strokes, and then I felt his dick start throbbing in my hand. He was going to come. I watched him for a moment as he tried to control his climax and wait for my go-ahead, and I savored the power I had over him. Then I told him he could come, and as he started to spurt, I removed my hand, getting out of the way of his shooting semen.
When he was done and had calmed down, I freed his hands and allowed him to clean himself up before sending him back to the kitchen to finish the party cleanup. He’d pleased me sexually, but that didn’t mean his work was done.
Our next dinner party is tomorrow night, and Robert is coming with me to Mistress Lana’s. I have a feeling he’s going to be extremely well-behaved this time, but if he’s not, I have the perfect whip picked out for his punishment…
—Ms. Joanna E., Tampa, Florida
I didn’t get my first erotic spanking until I turned thirty, but let me tell you, I’ve spent the past four years making up for lost time. I guess none of my previous boyfriends had been as adventurous as my now-husband, Maurice. We met at a rodeo, and he joked about roping me in. I went home with him that night, and he did wrap his leather belt around me, tugging me into his arms.
That night he made me fondle his cock through his pants, the hardness making me long to have it inside me. I moaned, giving myself away. “How badly do you want me to fuck you, Jeanette?” he asked.
“Very badly,” I said truthfully.
“Badly enough to take a spanking before you get my dick?” he asked.
“Yes, anything,” I replied, even though I didn’t know whether I would enjoy being spanked. There was something about the way he said it, though, that made me think I might like it. I trusted him not to cross the line and do something that I wouldn’t find a turn-on.
To his credit, Maurice paced himself—and me. He spread me across his lap while I was wearing nothing but a thong. Every time he spanked me, even the light slaps he used during the warm-up, made my underwear nestle deeper into the crack of my ass. “How does that feel, Jeanette?” he asked.
“Good,” I managed to say, even though the word was an understatement. I felt exposed and aroused all at once. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. The exhibitionist in me liked being on display. Even though the only person I was exhibiting my ass to was Maurice, the concept was still unusual in my naïve erotic experience.
And the sweet sting of his hand as it connected with my ass! I treasured the way his hand struck my cheek, completely covering it and making me feel so small. I’d always thought my butt was too flat, but Maurice showed me how sexy it could be. When he dipped his fingers under my thong and stroked my pussy, I knew I’d found my passion. I wanted to be spanked all the time!
“Harder,” I begged him when he resumed giving me light taps.
“Ask nicely, my pet,” he instructed. “And call me Master.”
“Please, Master, I’d like some harder swats. As hard as you want.” I had said the word “Master” because he requested it, but as soon as it left my lips, I knew that using it was for me as well. I was surrendering far more than my ass to him, and as he gave me those harder smacks I craved, I knew I would marry him if he asked. It wasn’t only the special sensation he was delivering, the way each smack let me feel his cock hardening beneath me and the way it made my pussy wet. It was that he had known what I needed even before I did.
That first spanking lasted more than an hour. I didn’t have any marks on me when he was done, to my disappointment, because he kept switching between hard and soft swats to keep me on edge. He told me later that I had to earn the right have stripes across my bottom.
These days, we like to go to our local BDSM group and show off our spanking skills. I beam with pride when Maurice praises my ass, especially when he shows it off to other people. We don’t play with others, but I’ve been a spanking demo bottom on occasion, and Maurice allows audience members to hand him items to spank me with.
Last night, I was blindfolded, so I had no idea what I was going to get hit with next. I think the first item used was a wooden paddle. Maurice warmed me up lightly with his hand, making me tremble. My hands were planted on the floor as my long, blonde hair tumbled down. “See how quickly her skin turns red? That’s one of the things I love about her ass,” he told the assembled crowd.
He asked them how many times he should spank me with the paddle. Someone called out “a hundred times,” but he settled on twenty. I had to count out each one, adding, “Thank you, Master!” after every swat. Even though I get off on calling him by his honorific, and do consider myself to be under his control when it comes to sex, I still blushed as I counted aloud. He didn’t steadily increase the force he used, but instead gave me twenty very hard smacks. Then he soothed me by rubbing his hand against my overheated skin.
“I think she deserves more than that, don’t you?” he asked the crowd. I turned my face toward the audience. I was sure if I could open my eyes, I’d see men there with erections straining their pants. Sometimes I fantasize about what it would be like to play with other people, but if that’s going to happen, it will be Maurice’s decision. Instead, to get through the next particularly challenging set of punishment, I pictured myself with a stranger’s cock in my mouth.
I could tell right away that Maurice was whipping me with a small flogger. At first, it felt pleasant, just a light thudding against my buttocks. Then he really threw his weight into it, and I squirmed, making him hold me tighter with his free hand. How well I behave during a spanking usually determines what kind of fucking we’ll do later. If I was very good, he’d screw me doggie-style, my favorite. If I moved around too much, I’d have to suck his cock, and maybe he’d finger-fuck me later (but since I love giving blowjobs, this isn’t really such a bad scenario). If I really wail and make noise, which can feel good to me sometimes, I know that my ass is going to take a pounding.
All of these are simply games we play, because truthfully, I love anything Maurice and I do together. I crave his cock inside me as much as I crave his hand on my ass, and he’s generous with both of them. By the time he was done using the flogger on me, my pussy was dripping wet. Maurice always likes to tease the crowd, and he made me stand up, then bend over and spread my legs to show everyone how wet I was. I thought that was the end and that we could go into a corner of the dungeon and fuck, but he had one more surprise in store for me.
“For our finale, I brought something I know my wife will appreciate,” said Maurice. He positioned me against the wall, and I stood there facing it with my hands over my head.
Then I heard the crack of his belt as it whizzed through the air before he struck it against my ass. The sting of leather on skin is one that always makes me shiver in delight. Even though I’ve taken his belt hundreds of times, that first lash took my breath away. He striped my ass with the belt again and again, until my nails were digging into the wall in an effort not to sink down to the floor in a puddle of arousal. I pressed my chest against the wall, grinding my nipples to give me added stimulation. The way Maurice wields his belt is almost enough to make me come all on its own.
Finally, when my ass was sufficiently whipped, he stopped, then bent down and kissed my buttocks. I smiled at his display of tenderness as the assembled crowd applauded. I thought Maurice would take off my blindfold then, but he didn’t. Instead, he shoved two fingers in my pussy and ordered me to walk to the dungeon, which was all the way across the room. He helped “steer” me, every step making my cunt contract around his digits. If I stumbled at all, his fingers plunged even deeper inside me. “You were so good up there, Jeanette. You made my cock so hard, and I think the whole audience wanted to fuck you. I almost felt bad to be gloating about what a hot wife I have.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, concentrating on walking.
“We’re almost there,” he said. “Don’t come yet—wait for my dick.”
The agony of holding off my orgasm was offset by the promise of a good, hard fuck. Soon we were against the cold wall, my body smashed against it as Maurice pressed against me. His cock was out of his jeans and inside my cunt in no time, that familiar stretching combined with the heat my buttocks still held making me cry out.
“Who’s my favorite spanking slut?” he asked. It was rhetorical, in that we both knew the answer, but I was expected to respond anyway, or he’d pull out midfuck, a lesson I’d learned early on.
“I am,” I said, and I was rewarded with his fingers pinching my nipples and then lightly tugging on them.
“And whose ass is this?” he asked, shifting so he could pinch my butt the way he’d done to my nipples.
“Yours, Master,” I said, meaning it fully. I love being his plaything, his toy to show off or spank or fuck whenever and however he wants. To me, being his sub and being his wife are intertwined.
“That’s right, baby,” he said, then slammed me against the wall, his face pressed to the back of my neck as he came inside my pussy. I rubbed my clit, setting off the orgasm that had been waiting for me the whole night.
The bonus of sessions like that is the opportunity to relive the moment in my mind when I look in the mirror later to see my ass, marked with the souvenirs of my spankings. Maurice has told me that he wants to take photos of my punished cheeks and submit them to an amateur porn site. He is always looking for ways to add to our spanking fun, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
—Ms. Jeanette D., Chicago, Illinois
Johnny’s had a thing for boots since we first got together. I know some men prefer high heels, the way they make a woman’s legs look longer and sexier with every single click-clacking step, but Johnny craves boots. He adores the way I look in any type of boot, from combat to thigh-high, but his favorites are the ones I wore last night.
“Oh, Dora,” he sighed as soon as he opened the door. I was standing in our hallway, naked except for fishnet stockings and boots. “Naughty” doesn’t even begin to describe this particular pair. They are, for want of a better word, stripper boots—glossy, patent leather with heels that make the perfect sound on a hardwood floor, and we have hardwood floors.
I stalked closer. Johnny’s blue eyes got that glazed look in them.
“Baby,” he said. “You love me.”
I do. How much do I love Johnny? Well, listen to this. These boots come in sixteen different colors, and I own all sixteen. Last night, I was wearing Johnny’s favorite color of the favorite boots—the cherry-red ones.
Excerpted from Letters to Penthouse XXXXV by Penthouse International Copyright © 2013 by Penthouse International. Excerpted by permission.
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