Chapter 3

They stared back at me, black and blue, from the mirror, in the morning; so big that I could not fit them into a bra. I decided to go bra-less for the day, although that was not such a good idea; my nipples, made even more sensitive by the abuse they'd endured, rubbed against my shirt adding to my arousal the whole day.

I knew, that day, what it was to feel horny, nonstop. My pussy remained wet the whole day, a new squirt of juice sliding between my nether lips with every rub of my nipples, with every pain filled jiggle of my boobs.

All through the day, at my request, Richard kept the crop or the ruler handy. At random times he would use it on my buttocks or breasts. Since I wore a short bouncy cotton skirt and blouse, the strokes would not be as cruel as they would have, had I been nude, still they stung quite a bit. Sometimes I could not help but to try to protect my sore ass or boobies with my hands. Then, not only would I get a hard whack on my hands, but I would have to uncover the intended recipient of the stroke, breasts or ass, and receive two cuts of the crop or ruler on its proper target.

My pussy was dripping so much I had to put a towel under my bottom when sitting down, if I did not want to ruin the furniture's fabric.

By the evening, I could come, with just a breath of air hitting my clitoris. I could not take it anymore.

I knelt in front of him, undoing his pants and taking his semi-erect cock out of his shorts. Breathless, I sucked it into my mouth. He watched me, amazed at the slut his prim wife had become.

I felt him growing inside my mouth, his glans filling me, as I tried to devour his length. I gagged only once when the tip of his cock passed beyond my tonsils. I embraced his pelvis with my arms and impaled my throat with his throbbing member. I could not breathe, embedded on his tool, so I timed my breaths, with my bobs, feeling him thicker and longer with each successive entry. His heavy balls bounced against my chin and his pubic bone ground against my nose. I sucked and slurped all over his length, feeling the ridges of his veins with my tongue.

He pulled me off.

I, kneeling back on my heels, looked up at him.

"Let's do it now," he said.

Fear hit me, like a leaden ball in my guts. I stood up, pussy dripping slime, and preceded him to the basement.

On the coffee table, I draped my body, on my back. I began to shiver.

He fastened my arms to the legs of the table, and placed a tight belt around my waist.

I waited to see what he would do to hold my legs open. He had me bend my knees until he could tie each ankle to its thigh, and then he bent my thighs back, trussing me, like a turkey, with a long, thin leather strap that went from one knee, under the table, and up to the other. Once he was done, my pussy was completely exposed, and I was unable to protect it in any way. The cool air of the air conditioned room felt frigid against my wet labia. I licked my dry lips.

He approached me with a bottle of cold water and let me drink from it with a straw. It was not easy to drink, trussed up as I was, but I managed to, only choking once.

"Please gag me," I asked when I was done drinking.

"Not today," he brought the crop to my lips.

The leather slid over my soft lips sensuously. I kissed it, as if it were my husband's fingers. Indeed, that is what it was, an extension of his hands, or of his penis.

He kissed my lips with his own.

"Today, you will scream for me."

He stood, at the bottom of the table, his crop sliding, teasing, between my pussy lips. I felt the love oils seeping between the velvet curtains. I closed my eyes.

My pussy exploded. I screamed; the pain exploded out from the center of my being, radiating like the light of a thousand suns; it reached my brain in throbbing waves. I tried to breathe, to take in air, but my lungs would not obey, my mouth was open, but no air, or sound, moved in or out. I desperately fought for breath, until it reluctantly came, and I could scream again.

He waited for me to calm down, for the pain to turn into scorching heat, for my tears to reach the surface of the table, before striking again.

My body jumped up, straining against the bonds that held it fast; my mouth, open, shrieked, in vain, and my head tossed and banged against the table.

Yes, I screamed for him, I shrieked for him, I cried for him; until I was hoarse, until no sound came anymore out of my tortured throat, until I no longer pleaded for mercy.

He turned me around and, once more, sated his need in my ass and, once again, between my tears, I felt pride. We would do this again; I was sure. Many times.