Delayed by Four Hours
My wife and I alternate between seemingly modern roles and a more traditional dynamic in our private life. She's a professor at a nearby liberal arts college, and I'm a doctor at a women's health clinic. To outsiders, we exhibit open-mindedness and advocacy for feminism and gender equality. However, our marital relationships veer towards a fetish for domination and submission.
Early into our courtship, we revealed our kinky inclinations, and it morphed into a radical version of traditional gender roles after wedlock. I impose numerous rules, do everything, and call the shots, and she thrives on being my submissive. She adores this lifestyle, asserting that academia demands so much cognitive energy that she enjoys turning off her brain and being my compliant mistress at home.
Each morning, my wife starts her day kneeling on the bed and fulfilling her duty by performing fellatio on me, and she caters to my whims while I work. On weekends, she dutifully cleans while I rest. Standing around the house in the nude, she offers me a tantalizing view of her curvy contours as she goes about her chores. Whenever I'm lounging in the living room, sheopts to serve as a makeshift footrest before attending my sexual needs in the evening. To punctuate these arrangements, I implemented guidelines: she must secure my authorization to go out in the evening and follow any curfew I establish.
She was well aware of the house rules but unexpectedly came home at 2 a.m. on the weekend of her sister's bachelorette party. Her sister, Kayla, escorted her back home. Upon entering the threshold, she apologized.
"I'm so sorry I'm..."
"I don't want to hear your reasons."
"But I..."
"Melissa, you've been drinking. I'm exhausted and want to go to sleep. We'll address this in the morning."
Her sister looked visibly uncomfortable witnessing her sister being reprimanded in this manner.
"Yes, Sir."
"Good girl. Thank Kayla for bringing you home."
She thanked her sister and trudged to her bedroom.
Even with my exhaustion and her inebriation, I upheld our nightly routine. My wife was expected to get undressed and wait for me in our bedroom, kneeling naked, eyes fixed on the floor, ready to obey my orders. When I entered, I noticed her reclining in a bedroom chair by the window in a state of relaxation. It appeared as if she was unaware of her transgressions and my disapproval.
"Is this how you're supposed to be found, slut?"
She realized she was in trouble and closed her lips.
"I'm not sure what you'd like me to say."
"Don't say anything."
"Yes, Sir."
"This is your second infraction. The first occurred when you disregarded the curfew." I paused intentionally, observing her anticipation of a reprimand. "Tonight, I don't want to focus on the reason for your lateness. For now, I'm adamant about the location of your submission. In the bedroom, there's a designated corner with a clear kneeling spot. Instead, you have been idling in this chair."
Melissa panicked.
"Excuse me, Dan, but I assumed..."
"Shut your mouth."
"I-I'm so sorry."
"Get up. Stand."
She rose, still on her feet, head lowered toward the floor, ready for my next instructions.
"On your knees."
My wife complied, presenting a more fitting display.
"Better, but late. May I remind you that the rules are clear? You are to be naked in that position."
She grasped the meaning and proceeded to undress.
"Now, which garment shall I cut?" I asked playfully and reached for an implement to cut anything that needed cutting.
"From you, Sir," she replied hesitantly.
I grabbed a pair of scissors folded into a pocket knife and put them against her face.
"Is this the dress you're referring to?"
She nodded grudgingly.
"From me, you say? What I drape over your nakedness is partly my prerogative, isn't it?"
She nodded once more, her submissiveness evident even though she was unaccustomed to receiving physical discipline; it was unheard before.
In other contexts, Melissa is a strong, independent woman, but, within our marriage, she surrenders to my authoritativeness and fervor. Everything is about control and entitlement. I have authority, and she complies. It's our game, our deal, that makes things run smoothly, and our roles not as black and white as in the text. There are restrictions too, but they don't stifle us. I feel like an alpha male, and she thrives on this dynamic that contrasts her image at work.
"Where did you obtain this garment?" I asked, still amused.
Her voice wavered.
"It was a present from you last Christmas."
"Huh, so my dress is your dress." I smiled, giving her a wink, and instructed her to devise a plan for retrieving my scissors.
Melissa remained silent but appeared annoyed. I didn't mind. Firmly grasping her neck, I kept her still while I cut the straps of her gown and ripped it down the middle. As directed, my wife was completely naked beneath the dress. I grabbed a piece of fabric from the gown and crammed it into her mouth before grabbing her chin and pulling her face towards mine.
"Tonight, my darling, I'll do what I do every night, which is to penetrate your holes for as long as I desire and as forcefully as I desire until I'm satiated. Then, the following day, we'll begin your punishment for your offences."
Her mouth filled with fabric, she could only gaze at me with big, solemn eyes and nod.
"Good girl," I stroked her delicate cheek gently under my fingers for a few moments. Even though her skin had recently been outside and was slightly cold, it was still soft and supple as usual. I released my hand and then slapped her face harshly. "Face down, on the bed."
Melissa hurriedly knelt and climbed onto the bed, adopting the wide-legged stance I had been anticipating. I seized the cuffs permanently attached to the four posts of the bed frame and meticulously secured them around her tiny wrists and ankles, limiting her movement on the luxurious velvet comforter. I positioned my index finger at the base of her neck and felt her tense in anticipation under my touch. I traced it down her back, then around her slender waist, curvy hips, and plump bottom until it settled between her thighs.
I commenced rubbing her clitoris with a finger. She groaned in delight.
"Interesting," I commented, "It sounds as though you're enjoying this." I dipped my finger into her vagina long enough to moisten it before returning to her clitoris and hastening my finger movements.
She tried to utter "Yes, Sir" through her gag as her moans became more audible.
I positioned two fingers between her legs and caressed her clitoris before applying pressure. She breathed deeply with agitation. Next, I slapped her clitoris with as much force as I've ever slapped it before.
She let out a short, muted scream. I grabbed her neck with both hands, forcing her to stare up at my face.
"A lusty little girl, are you not, Melissa?"
She murmured something that likely equated to "Yes, Sir" through her gag.
"You seem to rather enjoy having your clitoris at my fingertips?"
She nodded as vigorously as my grip allowed.
"It would make sense for an erotic woman who enjoys making love to her spouse to ensure she's home in time to serve him." I released her neck, went back to her vagina, and began spanking it rhythmically. She moaned a little--this time in pain--and began panting harder.
"It should come as no surprise that you won't be achieving any climaxes over the next few days," I said as I continued spanking her, "yet, for clarity, if you reach climax at all prior to completing your punishment, your punishment will be significantly lengthened and, dare I say, much more severe."
I unbuckled my belt, held it in one hand, took off my trousers, and joined her on the bed. I picked up some lube from the beside table, applied some to my palm, and started massaging her rectum with a wet finger.
"Happy little girls receive intercourse in their vaginas."
I inserted three fingers into her anus and began thrusting them.
"Unhappy bitches get used in the anus."
I added a fourth finger inside her while my opposite arm started marking her shoulders with my belt. If I hadn't already been aroused, the belt striking her and the red marks on her impeccable skin would've done the trick. "Although I previously stated that punishment commences tomorrow, honey," I murmured sweetly as I could tell she was attempting to suppress screams, "Clearly, this is simply for amusement." I struck her again, even harder.
I pushed my penis into her tight anus. She hates anal but does it for me. Nevertheless, we don't often engage in anal intercourse, a fact that worked nicely as she was still somewhat tight and it hurt her. Her gasping for air transformed into sporadic yelps. I tightened my grip on her waist for leverage as I thrust harder. With the alcohol, shame, and pain, she even began sobbing a little.
I'm sadistic enough that nothing thrills me more than a crying, powerless lady beneath me. I shifted my hand from her waist and leaned forward so that I could reach down and pinch her breasts and twist her nipples. She began to convulse with sobs between shouts. I released my climax inside her, lying flat on her body for a few moments before whispering, "You're not finished yet, slut."
I dismounted from her and undid her restrained limbs. I couldn't tell if she was following orders because she had learned her lesson or if she was too drained to do anything else, but she stayed put, submissive. I lifted her somewhat gently and turned her on her back. I perched atop her hips, positioning my erection over her torso, so her mouth eagerly faced my engorged member.
"Clean me off, sweetie."
Her eyes glimmered with devotion as she leaned forward, opened wide, and took my cock into her mouth.
I wore a visible smile, admiring her deep submissiveness. "We never planned on trying anal tonight, right? I must've forgotten to prepare that tight ass of yours beforehand, so there's probably a lot more than cum I'll ask you to clean, honey."
My wife halted briefly, catching her breath. She burned red with shyness and elation. "Whatever you deserve, Sir, it's not enough. Thanks for letting me clean off your cock!" She resumed with even more vigor, and I was staggered to recall that while I might come across as tough, she found the stern tone just as enjoyable — if not more — than I did.
Tomorrow's reprimand would promise plenty of fun.
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