At Her Husband's Command
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Authors: Harlem,Lily
Table of Contents
More Stormy Night Books by Lily Harlem
At Her Husband’s Command
By
Lily Harlem
Copyright © 2016 by Stormy Night Publications and Lily Harlem
Copyright © 2016 by Stormy Night Publications and Lily Harlem
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.
www.StormyNightPublications.com
Harlem, Lily
At Her Husband’s Command
Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
Images by 123RF/jakobradlgruber, Bigstock/Tverdokhlib, and 123RF/magenta10
This book is intended for
adults only
. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.
Chapter One
Ivor pounded his knuckles into the dough, his bones creating small indentations in the mixture as though it were flesh. On and on he kneaded, slapping, swirling, folding, and bashing.
Melody watched, fascinated. Adoring how the tendons beneath his skin contracted and flexed, and the way a snowstorm of flour dusted the dark hairs on his forearms.
Her master had beautiful arms. She could and often did spend hours studying them. Whether he was baking in their cottage kitchen, stringing beans in the garden, or grooming Nell, the mare he’d rescued from Snowdonia several years ago. The way he moved with grace and precision never failed to take her breath away.
She shifted on the leather stool she was sitting on but continued to polish their antique silverware; it had to be ready to lay the table with soon. She found herself wishing she were the slab of dough Ivor was lavishing such attention on. She longed for his hands on her flesh, making her pliant, manipulating her into the shape that suited him best. She wanted to surrender to his masculinity, allow him to determine how she should receive her pleasure today.
He looked up and caught her staring.
Melody pressed her lips together and averted her eyes. She knew she shouldn’t be daydreaming about sex, not when they had so much to do to prepare for their guests who would be arriving in a few short hours.
“I think you’re being a bad girl,” he said, his voice low and husky. He didn’t pause in his bread making.
“I’m doing exactly as you instructed me, Sir.”
“With your body, yes, but not with your mind.”
There was no answer to that. Melody had indeed been disobedient with her mind. Denying it would be futile and garner only a sterner punishment.
Ivor picked up the bread and dropped it into a loaf tin. After wiping his hands on a blue striped cloth, he then tucked the dough into a warm corner of their large farmhouse kitchen to proof.
Melody’s attention drifted to his arse. Today he wore old jeans. They were faded in all the right places and hung low on his hips. The back left pocket was missing, just the scars of the stitching remained. He had much nicer jeans, designer ones, but this pair was a favourite for weekends. Not that she was complaining. Ivor had the kind of arse all women, and many men, admired. High and pert with indents on the sides and the colour of pale coffee. His skin tone never changed, for unlike her he’d never been spanked, never had rouged hand marks claiming him or a cane slicing over his skin.
“Melody,” he said, turning and placing his hands on his hips.
“Yes, Sir.” She swallowed and a zing of pleasure flooded her body. She was in trouble again, this time for staring at him with desire in her eyes when they had no time for shenanigans.
“We have lots to do; the crab cakes are yet to be made and you have the table to set.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“So why are you giving me suggestive looks?” He raised his left eyebrow.
“I’m sorry… I just…”
“You just what?”
“I just was thinking how cleverly you made the bread, how you massaged and pressed and rubbed until it did exactly what you wanted it to.”
“And had a ridiculous thought, right?”
She nodded.
“Tell me.”
She hesitated. It was foolish to want to be a supple collection of ingredients, she knew that. And she wasn’t sure if she could articulate it.
He smiled. It was the kind of smile that sent a shiver up her spine and made every hair root on her scalp tingle.
“You want to be that bread,” he said. “Don’t you?”
“It’s silly.” She glanced away.
“Yes, it is.” He reached into the cupboard where they kept the serving trays and bowls. “Go and set the table.”
“Yes, Sir.” Melody scooted down from the stool and rushed into their dining room.
She loved Ivor so much. He was her everything. The man who made her life complete.
The dining room was a beautiful, long rectangular shape. Painted scarlet, it had a large inglenook fireplace that was primed with kindling and logs. The elegant bay window looked across their large front garden then down into the valley. Their home was private and secluded and their nearest neighbours were over a mile away.
It was their dream house. No nosy busybodies wanting to know what they were up to, why she was crying out, and wondering how she tolerated such treatment from her husband.
Treatment she adored because it was a symbol of their deep respect and understanding of each other. Okay, it wasn’t for everyone, but living this lifestyle put the icing on the cake of their marriage as far as Melody was concerned.
She smoothed a crease from the black satin tablecloth she’d carefully ironed earlier, and straightened the antique candelabra she’d set in the middle.
“Bend over.”
Her breath caught in her throat as a firm pressure was applied to the centre of her back.
She did as instructed, folding double until her breasts pressed on the tablecloth and the cool material rubbed her cheek.
So we have got time?
She smiled, but only briefly, because then she bit down on her bottom lip so he wouldn’t guess her feeling of triumph that she’d gotten to him.
“There is a time and a place for giving your master suggestive looks and allowing desire to fill your eyes,” Ivor said, dragging up her skirt and exposing her naked buttocks.
Cool air washed over her skin and a tremble attacked her pussy. Her heart rate picked up.
“And when we have our friends’ visit to prepare for, it is very inconvenient for you to make me think of reddening your arse and wanting to fuck you.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” She closed her eyes. She wasn’t sorry, not at all. If she’d been damp in the kitchen watching him knead the bread, now she was very definitely wet.
He stroked her buttocks, the small calluses on his palms scratching her flesh. “You’re marked from last night.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Was it too much?”
“No, of course not.”
“Good.” He delivered one hard slap to each buttock, the sound echoing around the room and clattering over the slate tiled floor. It was just the kind of noise they didn’t need neighbours hearing.
Melody barely flinched. Until the sting of his slaps layered into fire, she could handle it fine.
“You wanted to be the bread?” he asked, stepping away from her.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I did.”
“Open your eyes.”
She did as instructed. He was standing to the side of the table and held up the long wooden serving plank that the bread would be placed on later. It had a handle and a large flat rectangular surface the size of a small tray.
Her heart rate picked up. She’d been spanked with many implements over the years but this… this was new.
And scary.
“If you can’t sit down later, if you need to eat your meal standing, then that’s your own fault,” he said, rubbing his hand over the surface of his newest toy. “And you can explain to the guests that you flirted shamelessly with your master when you should have been preparing for their visit.”
Melody didn’t think her flirting had been particularly shameless, but if Ivor said it was, she’d go along with it. Arguing would be futile, plus the glint of excitement in his eyes thrilled her. His new spanking paddle had clearly got him really hot under the collar.
She risked a glance at his groin, just visible over the surface of the table. Sure enough, a long, thick bulge strained at his fly.
A groan escaped her throat. God, would he fuck her too? Now? Just a quick fast one after he’d reddened her buttocks to give them both some release and possibly a little stamina for later?
Later… a few sweet hours and then…
She didn’t have time to think about later because the air behind her whooshed in a cool breeze, then a crack of pain covered both of her arse cheeks.
She cried out and shifted up the table.
Fuck, that had hurt. The pain was deep and profound as well as sharp and mean.
Another hard whack.
She went up onto her tiptoes and clenched the tablecloth, gripping it in her fists.
“Mmm, very nice,” he said, caressing her arse. “A beautiful, broad band of redness.”
“Yes, Sir,” she murmured.
“I must use this more often.”
“Yes… ah…”
He’d hit again.
She harnessed the pain, the way she was adept at doing and allowed it to pool in her clit. Grinding against the table, she enjoyed the way the hard wood dragged against her body and crumpled the satin.
“Good girl,” he said. “That’s it. Make it feel good.”
She knew she was lucky. Ivor was a kind master who allowed her to find relief by rubbing herself as he spanked her. Whether it was the table, his leg, or the back of the sofa, it was permissible.
“More,” she gasped. “More, please.”
He gave it, hard and fast, another five paddles that had her skin raging as though live fire had raced over it.
She clenched her internal muscles, a drip of moisture oozed down her thigh, and she reached for her clit.
Crash.
The paddle had landed on the floor. Ivor was behind her, kicking her feet wider.
Melody moaned, knowing what was coming. Gazing lustfully at him as he’d made the bread had been the best thing she’d done all day.
His cock was there, searching for her entrance. Then he was pushing, shoving, burying deep.
He gripped her hair, yanking it into a rough ponytail. “I’m going to fucking fuck your red arse, you bad sub,” he said, his voice laced with tension.
“Yes, yes…” She arched her back, pushing her hips up and taking him deeper—so deep he nudged up against her cervix and his wiry pubic hair scratched over her tortured butt.
Again she groaned. She adored that deep dense sensation combined with his body further abusing her skin.
“Come quickly,” he ordered. “This wasn’t in our schedule.” He withdrew, pounded back in.
Melody’s feet were lifted from the floor. She was at his mercy. She was his. He could do with her as he pleased.
Her forearm was being squashed by her body but she didn’t care; she worked her clit, trying to keep a rhythm as he fucked her with increasing enthusiasm. His cock was thick and bloated; he wasn’t far from orgasming.
The air was bashed from her lungs, she snatched in breaths when she could and surrendered to his domination of her. Soon the pressure was spiralling out of control, the need for release all she could think of.
She stared out of the window, at the sun shining on the fields the same way it had minutes ago. The world carried on, nothing changed, but within her body a cataclysmic event was about to erupt.
“Come, come,” he shouted, dragging on her hair with one hand and gripping her hip with the other.
The tension uncurled, romping through her body and spreading bliss to every nerve ending. She was owned by him, her pleasure was his. What they had was so special and all she’d ever wanted and needed.
Her master came, flooding his release into her in several near-violent thrusts. He shouted her name, sent an unholy praise to God, and knocked her further up the table.
Melody melted into his grip. Adoring his moment of climax. The fact that it was she—his wife, lover, and submissive—who produced such gratification, gave her a wondrous feeling of power.
