Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Grace welcomes home her husband Thomas after he spends two months away from home. They’re both eager to remove the chastity belt she’s worn in his absence so that they can get reacquainted. 4k words, dark content rating.
Content warnings/tags: misogyny, including use of misogynist slurs during sex; eroticization of traditional gender roles; under-negotiated kink to the point of dubious consent; spanking; mild sanitary concerns (sex in a barn being actively used to house animals)
Grace is in the stable when her husband returns from his two months of travels.
She’s meant to be doing chores–feeding and watering the animals, checking the health of the pregnant ewes they’ve pulled in from the pasture, and so on–but, in truth, the isolation of the stable provides her with the leeway to…think.
And, under the pressure of two months of her husband’s absence, she has a great deal to think about.
Her husband’s hands, for example: heavy and broad, each one strong enough to take up and restrain both her wrists together when he chooses. His shoulders: hard and well-shaped from years of the hard work of tending their land and hauling wool and mutton to market.
His cock: thick and hot, able to so perfectly fill the aching emptiness in her core.
His cock, which brings life to her womb and brings meaning to their marriage, to her existence as his wife.
His cock, which he expects her to regard with something akin to worship.
At one time, Grace made some effort to conceal how closely her true feelings matched those expectations. She felt shamed and belittled by his ownership over her, and hoped to preserve some dignity by pretending at maintaining sovereignty over her mind, if not her body.
But he has always been able to see through her–or, perhaps, is just so sure of himself that the effect was the same–and she no longer bothers with the farce.
Grace does love her husband’s cock. She loves it single-mindedly, with greater devotion than she is willing or able to show to nearly any other aspect of their marriage. She loves it greatly, and–after two months in absence–she sorely misses it.
That is, perhaps, the most accurate description of what she is doing when her husband finds her: she is vividly, avidly missing his cock.
She’s leaned into the rails of the lambing pens, her eyes wandering unseeing over the placid ewes with their swollen bellies.
The rough scuff of the wooden fence-post against her thigh reminds her of strong, bruising fingers prying her legs apart. The throb in her core drives her fevered mind towards more and more frantic memories of past couplings. One of her hands knots in the front of her skirts, lingering near her sex, and her spine shudders with the strength of her desire. She can feel even the most minute twitch of her muscles, internal and external, as her body begs to be taken, to be used and filled in the way that a wife is meant to be.
Grace is so absorbed in her thoughts, in fact, that she doesn’t hear her husband approach, the drag of his boots and the creak of the floor lost somewhere in the susurrus of the animals chewing through their feed.
“Grace,” he says, low and gravelly and practically in her ear, and she jumps and whirls to face him.
“Thomas,” she gasps, the hand that had been tugging at her skirt going up to press at her neckline instead, so that she can feel the rabbit-quick beat of her heart under her palm. “You’re back early.”
“You left the children alone in the house,” he comments, stepping closer until he stands over her, backing her against the fence she’d been leaning into a moment earlier.
He’s a tall man, in proportion to his broadness, and she thinks at times that he looks like God had simply taken a regular man and made him a quarter again larger than he should have been. Or, to think on the old pagan tales, as if a giant had come down from the mountains and sired a son with a human. (His lucky mother, she must think, if the giant was as well-endowed as Thomas is.)
She had been impressed with his size the first time she saw him, even when she had been impressed by little else he had to offer; now, after years of marriage, his looming presence takes her breath away.
“Cilla is old enough to watch the others,” she says. Priscilla, their eldest at fourteen. “And someone needed to see to the animals.”
“That’s what I paid Eustace and John to do.” One of his broad hands comes up to cup her cheek, and then pushes back, his thick fingers carding through her hair. “Is that why you were waiting out here? Were you hoping that they would see to you, too?”
“Thomas,” she snaps, irritated by the question, even though it lacks the sting of accusation.
She knows it’s her husband’s way–not to suspect her of infidelity, in the way of a truly jealous man, but to simply assume that she tends towards it and that he must herd her away from it, in the way of a parent keeping a child’s fingers away from hot cookware. It is simultaneously reassuring, as she knows that bursa otele gelen eskort even if she ever were to stray, he wouldn’t be angry with her; he would only blame himself for not keeping a better eye on her. But there’s a shame in it, too, the idea that he thinks she’s too loose to account for herself as an adult, even if that’s simply how he sees all women.
And there’s also some extra sting in the comment, given the lengths he’s taken to ensure her faithfulness in his absence.
“You know they couldn’t, even if I wanted,” she hisses, and Thomas simply raises an eyebrow. “And they couldn’t see to the sheep, either. John’s father had a bad fall this past week, and–oh–“
She’s startled into a yelp as her husband’s hand tightens in her hair and his other hand tightens at her waist, and he turns her around, bending her forward over the fence.
“Hands on the rail,” he instructs her evenly, and she responds immediately, gripping the rough wood of the fence tightly with both hands. She moans as she feels her skirts go loose–he’s unlacing her, divesting her quickly and easily of the layers of cloth–and he tugs at her hair firmly in response. “Hush.”
“You left me for two months,” she mutters, then gasps as his hand meets skin, work-rough fingers brushing down the back of her buttocks and thigh with the same casual assessing touch he’d use to greet one of the horses. “With this accursed belt–“
His fingers ride back up her body and tug at the belt in question: a contraption of heavy leather and metal that clasps around her waist and over her sex, thoroughly guarding against encroachment from any wandering hands–including her own.
She shivers, her hips jolting just at the touch of his fingers against the sensitive skin, the dig of the leather into her hips. Her core pulses with pure, unfiltered need.
He hums. “Are you telling me, Grace, that you would have kept the fidelity of our marriage without help? That you have the strength to resist debasing yourself in my absence?”
“No,” she grits out between bared teeth, because there’s no point in lying; he wouldn’t believe her, anyway. She certainly would have touched herself dozens of times over by now if he had left her free to do so–and, to Thomas, that would have qualified as infidelity as equally as if she had let another man touch her.
“No,” he agrees evenly, and then releases his grip on her hair.
A moment later, that hand is down at the belt, too, and she feels as well as hears the quiet click of the lock on the belt unlatching.
Her breathing stutters as the hard leather goes loose around her waist and then the metal eases away from between her legs, leaving her most sensitive parts bare to the air for the first time in two months.
There’s no breeze in the barn, but the air stirs slightly just from the movements of Thomas behind her, making her skin prickle. She’s shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, absolutely feverish with anticipation.
Thomas takes a deep breath, his broad chest expanding against her back, and she knows he’s smelling her desperation on the air. She can smell herself, too, the rich scent of her wet body mixing with the earthy smell of the barn, and it makes her flush to know that she smells powerfully enough to challenge the animals that surround them, but it also makes her body throb with urgency.
“Please, Thomas,” she groans impatiently as he takes the time to hang the belt over the fence-post beside her. “I need you inside me, please–uh–” she sucks in a startled gasp of air as he grabs her by the hair again and pushes her forward, bending her over the fence firmly once more.
“I was only gone for two months,” he says, with less reprimand than resignation, as if she’s a horse with bad habits that he’s despaired of training out of her.
He may have only been gone for two months, but, in truth, it’s been closer to three that Grace has been awaiting satisfaction, since she hadn’t managed to finish at all in the several weeks before he left.
She opens her mouth to say as much, but before she can gather the words for it, he’s pressing a hand between her thighs, twisting a finger up into her cunny, and her mind washes away in a sweet mixture of pleasure and sharp need. All that passes from her lips is an obscenely loud cry.
“Can’t be quiet, can you?” he murmurs.
She shakes her head, heaving in air with a sob.
He swirls his finger inside of her a couple of times–she’s a little dismayed by how wet she is, how she can feel herself dripping down onto his hand, because it means he won’t touch the aching little button at the crown of her sex at all, not even to get her ready–and then pulls his hand free and clasps it firmly over her mouth.
“Mmh,” she grunts in surprise. She jerks her head back automatically, and he clicks at her like he’s gentling an animal until she settles again. His finger smears a trail of wet across her cheeks, the sharp scent of her own desire nearly oppressive now with elden ödeme alan escort his hand over her face, forcing her to breath through her nose, and she feels faint from it.
“Won’t have you scaring the animals,” he informs her evenly. “I can keep you quiet, if you can’t do it yourself.”
He lets go of her hair to use his other hand to unlace his breeches, and it takes much too long since he’s using his off-hand. She strains up onto her toes, her heartbeat thudding through every inch of her sex as she goes half-mad waiting for him to take her already, to just spear her on his cock, to fill her up–
The slick head of his staff finally, finally parts the lips of her sex, nudging against her core and stirring the heat inside her. “Mhh-hmmnn,” she whines into his hand desperately, her body clenching and fluttering to try and draw him in, and then he breaches her and she wheezes out a helpless keening noise through her nose.
She’s tightened up a bit after two months of going entirely untouched, but she’s so wet that the tightness provides no obstacle to her husband. He presses into her in long, smooth movements, spreading her open, stretching her with slow and inevitable pressure until she’s unbearably full, her entire body trembling and her eyes pressed so tightly shut that each movement of his hips sparks light behind her eyelids.
Grace pants messily into her husband’s hand. The drag of his thick, heavy cock through her sensitive folds is already driving her nearly mad with pleasure–but the stretch hurts just enough to take some of the edge off of the urgency of her arousal.
She had had some anticipation, some fantasy, that she would reach her peak this time as soon as he filled her, giving in to rapture and falling apart on the wondrous thickness of his member. It had seemed almost inevitable, with how thick the arousal has grown in her veins, how heavy her core feels with the tension of need.
But no; even when he fully plumbs the depths of her and begins to set about the business of taking her properly, pressing her into the fence with a hand at her hip to keep her still as he rocks in and out, the climax she’s been waiting for remains tantalizingly out of reach.
“Hnnn…” she whimpers, twisting her hips helplessly until she feels bruises forming where she’s pressed into the fence.
She wishes desperately that he would touch her breasts, tease her nipples, or–oh, God, does she wish for it–caress the sensitive, throbbing little nub at the top of her sex, to provide just a little more than the pleasure of his cock, but she knows she wishes in vain. That isn’t her husband’s way.
He’s quite firm in his belief that the only natural and healthy way for her to reach release is in his use of her, in the benediction of his cock sheathing within the hole that God has made in her for him to fill.
It makes no matter to him whether that means she’s only satisfied at irregular intervals, often going weeks or months at a time without. In fact, she suspects he prefers it that way–that he thinks it is her natural place, as a woman, as his wife, to be left wanting, writhing and burning for him more often than not.
He cares not, either, that it means her climaxes–when they occur–are unpredictable, sometimes taking her hard and leaving her a screaming, ecstatic mess, and other times spoiled by the angle or speed of his thrusts so that she’s left whimpering and oversensitive in the wake of her body’s weak, petulant convulsions. And she cannot find she disagrees with him so much, these days; the unsatisfying climaxes make her appreciate the good ones all the more, make her weak with gratitude when he fucks her into blissful surrender with his cock alone.
This one, though…if she can manage it, between the slow grind of his cock inside her, and the stinging ache of her under-used cunny…this will be one of the good ones, she’s sure of it. It was wise of him to cover her mouth. After nearly three months, she’ll–she’ll–
Thomas lets out a low groan of pleasure in her ear, and she moans and shudders in response, her sex convulsively tightening around him as he begins to rut into her with more purpose.
She wobbles on her ankles and arches her feet, squirming, her body mindlessly seeking some angle that she can use to hump her sensitive sex into some part of the fence, even though she knows such a thing wouldn’t be permitted even if she could make it happen. Each deep thrust drives a low grunt of desire from her mouth, muffled in his hand.
The sting is fading, and she feels astoundingly good, the pleasure washing through her in a steady flow, slowly carrying her closer and closer to the edge. Her grunting cries grow increasingly emphatic, both grateful and desperate in equal measure; her hands scrabble against the fence-rail where she’s been instructed to grip, and a splinter pierces her palm, but she barely feels it, because she’s so close, she’s nearly in distance of the most fantastic climax–
“Mmm,” eskort bursa Thomas groans again, pressing hard and deep into her, his thighs trembling and straining against hers.
She’s right on the edge, too out of her mind with impending pleasure to understand why he’s stopped moving–until she feels the hot, thick burst of him spilling inside her.
He fills her and fills her, breathing hard into her ear and occasionally letting out little gasps and grunts as his balls empty two month’s worth of seed. She hopes. She trusts, because she has to trust him, that he keeps his own word, and isn’t seeking his own satisfaction when he’s away from her.
Grace gasps and moans into his hand, her eyes rolling in her head as she feels his cock twitching, teasing her sensitive, pulsing insides, flirting with her own release dangling just beyond her reach.
She squirms and rolls her hips, trying to grind back against him, but he’s pinned her too well against the fence and there’s nowhere for her to go. She mouths helpless, silent pleas into the palm of his hand.
His cock finally quiets inside her. She squeezes around him–at first intentionally, trying to find the last bit of stimulation she needs for her own satisfaction; and then involuntarily, her body twitching and contracting in waves of pre-climactic pleasure, tormented by the firm pressure of his thick cock lodged unmoving inside her.
Oh, she needs to finish, she needs to finish. Oh, how can it be that she didn’t finish this time, after three months, and two months of it entirely untouched, how, how, how…
He uncouples from her smoothly, his cock slipping free as his hand leaves her mouth. She gasps and clutches at the fence to avoid reaching between her legs, even as her single-minded need makes her think that it would be almost worth the punishment. She can’t stop squirming, the toes of her shoes scraping through the hay underfoot.
“Please,” she gasps hoarsely. “Please, Thomas, oh, please, please, I’m so close…”
“Hmm,” he murmurs, and presses two fingers into her.
“Ah,” she gasps. “Ah, ah–ah–please–“
He works the fingers in and out of her in loose, casual movements, not going as deep as she knows he could reach, just moving enough to tease and to churn up the thick mix of filth inside her.
She arches her back, eyes rolling in her head, and hopes, even though he hasn’t gotten her off this way since the very early years of their marriage–when she had been younger and even more emotional, and had cried sometimes from the need eating her up, and he had capitulated with a great deal of condescension, frigging her to squealing climax while lecturing her on how she shouldn’t expect such leniency as a wife, how he expected her to show some restraint, decorum, patience.
She clutches at the fence, arches her back, and hopes with everything inside her, even knowing that he’ll consider it shameful and girlish of her to come on his fingers rather than his cock, like some untrained newlywed who hasn’t learned her place. She hopes, she hopes, she hopes.
It will be worth the embarrassment if he only lets her finish, she needs it so badly with every inch of her shuddering, sweating body.
“Whore,” Thomas comments. Not a reprimand, simply a statement.
Then he pulls his fingers free, leaving Grace gasping and desperate, shuddering as she’s tormented by the sensation of a thick wad of his seed mixed with her fluids sliding slowly out of her clutching sex.
He pulls her skirts further aside then and presses an arm down on her back, pinning her firmly to the fence, and she only has a second to prepare herself before his hand connects with her exposed backside with a loud crack.
She screams in surprise and struggles briefly, shocked by the sound as much as the sting; but there’s no point in trying to get away, and she quickly settles down into shuddering sobs as her husband delivers several more sharp, stinging spanks, until her rump is smarting and her cunny is absolutely burning, the fire in it only stoked all the higher by the violent sensation so close to where her body needs it.
“Thomas,” she begs, because he knows what spanking does to her. Once or twice, he’s even rewarded her for taking a particularly hard spanking by immediately coupling her after–those have been some of the brightest and most heavenly climaxes of her life, the sorts of memories that fuel her soul-deep dedication to her husband’s manhood, that make the long periods of privation more bearable.
But that won’t happen this time. She can’t even hope for it. He’s already satisfied himself, and this is purely a punishment for her slatternly behavior, for sneaking out to the barn to daydream; for her begging and whinging for satisfaction, behavior unbecoming of a woman her age.
Knowing that the inferno banking within her will go unaddressed, left to burn unchecked until whenever he next chooses to join with her, makes the spanking unbearable and shameful, even as her body writhes in dire pleasure from the sensations running through her.
She wails and sobs through the final blows, unable to calm herself. Each impact of her husband’s hand against her stinging skin echoes deep inside her core, making her sex throb and convulse and spill more sticky spend down the inside of her thighs, to the wooden floor underfoot.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32