Disciplinary Measures (2 page)

She moaned after a hard one seared her skin. Linc slipped his hand between her legs again, found her clit, and stroked. He plunged two fingers into her pussy, and even before his grunt of satisfaction, she knew she was in deep trouble. Moisture drenched her cunt.

Then he yanked her from his lap and hauled her onto her knees on the bed. Her breasts swung, the tips as hard as stones. They, like her pussy, knew what she had not: spanking aroused her in a bizarre way. He shoved her hand to her sex. “Make yourself come,” he growled and delivered an incentivizing smack to her ass.

She couldn’t believe it. He’d ordered her to come! Who did he think he was? But if his behavior seemed inappropriate, hers was incomprehensible. Her stomach fluttered, and her pussy released an excited surge of wetness. Their positions, his dominant one, her defenseless, almost submissive one, sent a burst of lust coursing through her. Her body had never hungered for him as much as it did in that moment.

While she masturbated, he spanked her. His breathing, heavy like a phone caller in the middle of the night; the crack of flesh hitting flesh; and her gasps provided a prurient sound track. Almost too wet, she had to move her fingers quickly and furiously to get good friction. The musk of her arousal filled her nose.

Every time he landed his hand on her ass, she flinched with pain, yet each
thwack
shoved her closer to orgasm. His slaps became harder, sharper. Linc and Gina played in tandem—he spanked; she raised her hips for the stinging kiss. “Oh God, oh God,” she moaned, her fingers flying over her burning clit. “I’m gonna come, Linc, oh my God.”

Linc scorched her ass with a whack that would have brought her to her knees if she hadn’t already been there. He prodded her entrance with the mushroom head of his cock and surged inside her, stretching, filling, demanding accommodation. She moaned and clenched as her pussy went into orgasmic shudders.

“That’s it, Gina. Come for me.” He gripped her hips and lifted her off the bed, plowing into her, fucking her with force and precision, driving her face into the mattress. She surrendered to his cock, his domination, the ecstasy. Moments later, with a hoarse cry, he came, spilling himself inside her.

Regina floated in a state of semiconsciousness, her senses booting up slowly, one at a time. Sound came first, their ragged breaths huffing in sync. She blinked, focusing on the rose pattern imprinting their sheets, the brightness of the midday sun streaming through the windows. She detected a hint of laundry detergent emanating from their bedding and the much stronger scent of cum and sweat. Lastly came the sensations: her arm growing numb, trapped at an awkward angle under her body; Linc’s fingers digging into her hips; his semihard cock plugging her pussy; and her ass radiating a level-two burn.

Chapter Two

“Whoa,” Linc said, amazement in his voice.

“Whoa,” she repeated, uncertain and confused. From the beginning, their marriage had been a partnership. He didn’t dictate to her, nor would she have let him. They discussed important issues and arrived at decisions together. One person, one vote. While he initiated sex more often than she did, they met in the bedroom as equals. There was nothing egalitarian about what had occurred.

He had controlled, demanded, and she had submitted. She’d had her reasons, but it disturbed her how exciting she’d found it.

Linc pulled out, surprising her when he lowered her to the bed so that her knees touched the mattress. She hadn’t been aware he’d still been holding her aloft like a wheelbarrow.

“Your ass is red like a cherry,” he said, and she bristled at the hint of pride that colored his tone, but then he massaged her bottom, stroking her skin, kneading the muscle underneath.

“Mm,” she said, wiggling. “I like that.”

“How did you like the spanking?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” She’d disliked the pain, yet something inside felt
satisfied.

“It made you wet. You came like a firecracker.”

“Yes,” she admitted, her face growing hot with discomfort. She shied away from examining why she had gotten off on being dominated. If she’d learned anything growing up in an alcoholic household, it was that some matters were best left alone. Put on a happy face. Act like you didn’t have a care in the world.

“Your pussy practically milked my cock.”

How could she forget this happened if he insisted on talking about it? She didn’t want to think about how her lust had sold her out, let alone discuss it. It embarrassed her that she still crouched in front of him, exposing everything. What occurred in the heat of passion was one thing; in the cooling aftermath, another. And now that her libido had been slaked, she had things to do. Like get that stuff out of the car before Linc stumbled upon it.

“God, you were tight.”

Enough already. She intended to scramble off the bed to get them moving, but her husband slipped a finger into her pussy. “Linc!” She gasped and twisted to get away, but he grabbed her hip.

“No,” he said and penetrated her with a second digit. “Stay here.” He probed deep, then withdrew. In. Out. Passion spent, her pussy had begun to tighten, and his fingers felt thick inside her, but the combined wetness of her cum and his slickened her passage. Why did the caress feel like a claim? And why did possession have her clenching, moving her hips?

“Good girl.” Approval rumbled in his voice. Her clit perked up at the sound, and her pussy dampened with fresh moisture.

He released her, and she sighed with relief and disappointment, but then Linc rimmed her puckered back entrance with a wet finger. Her breath caught in her throat. He’d never done that before. Shocked, she squeaked her objection.

“Shh, Gina. I just want to touch you.”

Just?
Before she could utter another sound, he’d wiggled his finger, lubricated by her juices, into her ass. A large man of six feet four, his body parts, including his hands, were proportionate to his size. She gasped at the pleasure, pain, and fullness as he breached and stretched her sphincter. His single digit felt hard, foreign, like she’d been impaled by a much larger object. “I’m only going to use my finger this time,” he said.

Only his finger? This time?
She went rigid.

“Relax, babe,” he said.

She squeezed her eyes shut as he reamed her most private passage. Being unable to see enhanced the sensations, the exotic pressure, the satisfying, painful stretch. Pleasure and humiliation formed an alliance.

As he whipped her emotions into a frenzy with a single finger, his other hand snaked over her hip and found her achy clit. It didn’t escape her notice—and, judging from his growl, his—that the bud was engorged.

He thrummed her clit while stirring riotous sensations in her ass. A part of her stood back and gaped in dismay as her body rocked in pursuit of dissolute satisfaction. She should resist, demand he explain himself, but how could she fight when surrender offered so much pleasure?

“Good girl, Gina. So good. That’s it, babe. Like that. Yes.” Inhibitions toppled under his hoarse exhortations.

Flames. Everywhere. Her clit burned under the torment of his fingers, which had become rougher, merciless in their caress. An army of biting ants marched across her tenderized ass. And inside her passage? Hellfire. Pressure and pain mingled into a conflagration of pleasure. Sensation coalesced into a ball of heat and exploded, shooting shards of ecstasy throughout her body.

“Oh God, oh God,
Linc
!” She dug her fingers into the mattress. “Stop. No, don’t stop. Can’t stand… Oh God.”

“I’ve got you.” His voice penetrated the red haze of rapture. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

She clung to his voice and collapsed, racked by shudders of bliss.

From the peak, she floated to awareness, becoming conscious that Linc had eased his finger from inside her, washed his hands in the bathroom, and now stroked her sweat-slickened back as she sprawled, panting into the pillow.

“What did you do to me?” she moaned.

He brushed damp hair away from her face. “Pleasured you, sweetheart. In the way you deserve.”

The aftermath of the spanking had been embarrassing enough, but this was worse. Much worse. God, she hoped he didn’t insist on talking about it. She’d never permitted any man to touch her there. Never wanted one to. It was embarrassing. How would she face him over the dinner table? He’d had his finger up her ass! And the way she’d screamed for him? Mortifying. She wished she could bury her face in the pillow and hide, but intuition predicted how that would play out: he’d rip it out of her hands. She had the uncomfortable feeling something had shifted in their marriage.

He touched her shoulder. “Do you want to take a shower?”

“You can go first,” she said. “I can’t move yet.” It wasn’t a total lie. Her bones did feel like jelly. And she needed solitude to reflect. Or not. What she’d permitted, the way she’d acted, was too perturbing to face. What had gotten into her? Into Linc? He’d never acted that way before. But mostly she needed him to go away so she could to get the stuff out of the car.

He chuckled. “Okay.” He slapped her butt cheek, and a sharp pain splintered across her tingling flesh, and she yelped. He laughed. “I like your ass in red.” He padded into the master bath and shut the door.

Regina reached back and rubbed her fevered bottom. Every nerve ending had been placed on alert. She contracted her external muscles, then her internal ones. A tiny bit sore there too. “Oh God,” she moaned into the pillow.

“I’m only going to use my finger this time.”
Like hell. She would not allow anything, not even a finger, to be inserted in her ass ever again.

She rolled onto her back with a groan. The pressure on her butt accentuated the soreness, but the sheets cooled her scorched skin. She heard the water turn on, signaling she had to get moving. Linc took quick showers.

She leaped off the bed and ran to the office to retrieve their clothing. She tossed Linc’s into the bedroom and, not bothering with underwear, tugged on her jeans, fastened enough buttons of her blouse to keep it closed, and dashed for the garage.

“Ow. Ow,” she muttered as the denim abraded her punished derriere.

She popped the trunk to find her purchases strewn about the interior, having been shaken from the bag on the drive home. She scooped the slinky cocktail dresses into the vellum sack imprinted with the name of Chic Chick, the boutique she’d allowed her mother to drag her to after lunch. She’d attempted to bow out, but they were getting along so well, and she didn’t want to be a spoilsport. Plus she wanted to prove to Linc she
could
enter a store and not buy something.

She’d almost done it, until her mother had spotted the 50 percent off cocktail dresses.
“Oh, honey, this would look beautiful on you,”
her mom had said and held up a flirty scarlet dress.
“This one too.”
She waved a slinky black number. Her mother all but pushed her into the fitting room with the dresses. Unfortunately, they looked even better on than they had on the hanger. A girl could never have too much black, and she didn’t have a red dress, so, unable to decide, she’d bought them both.

Pangs of buyer’s remorse might have prompted her to return the dresses, but since they were clearance items, she’d receive store credit only, which didn’t help her situation. Stuck with her purchases, she would have to devise a way to cover her ass when the bill came.

She slammed the trunk shut and hurried into the house. She cut the tags off the dresses, buried the tattletale bag in the bottom of the trash—making a mental note to take it out later—then rushed into the bedroom in time to hear the shower switch off. She extracted two padded satin hangers and sandwiched the dresses between two older items in her three-quarter share of the closet, then tore off her clothes.

When the door opened and steam rolled into the bedroom, she was hanging up her silk blouse.

“I expected to find you still sacked out,” Linc said, a towel tucked around his waist. He’d dried off, but a few droplets of water beaded on his shoulders. His brown hair, wet and combed, lay flat against his skull. His arms hung relaxed, drawing her gaze to his hands. His fingers could reach deep inside her body, but until this afternoon, only had penetrated her pussy. His hands themselves were broad and masculine, and she’d learned also today that they were capable of delivering pain or pleasure, and a disturbing mix of both.

“I didn’t want my blouse to wrinkle.” True enough. She averted her gaze from his eyes and his hands. She should have remained dressed; she didn’t like how vulnerable she felt standing there naked after what had happened.

“You’re not going to wear the clothes you had on before?”

She scrambled for an explanation. “Jeans would be too rough on my butt.” Another half-truth.

Her heart thumped when he strode toward her. She risked a glance at his face, then studied her toes. She needed to make an appointment for another deluxe pedicure.

“Hey,” he said and lifted her chin. Underneath his serious but gentle gaze, something smoldered. “Are you okay with…everything?”

Heat flooded her face. She did not doubt both sets of cheeks glowed crimson.

“I guess. I mean…um…uh…yeah,” she said to forestall a discussion. The only scenario more embarrassing than having a man stick his finger up your ass to make you come would be chatting about it afterward.

“You don’t sound sure.”

“Well, I was a little shocked.” She could admit that much.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I’m…not.”

“Tell the truth.”

“Okay, I
am
a little embarrassed,” she said, and he arched his eyebrows. “More than a little.” Regina sighed. She twirled her wrist dismissively. “I don’t know, I mean—” She let her hand fall. “How long have you wanted to…do that?”

“Spank your pretty bottom or ream your tight asshole?”

“Linc! My God!” She jerked away from him and yanked a robe off a hanger. That kind of language would not make her feel more comfortable about discussing it. Nor did she like his possessive tone.

“Since our last discussion about money,” he said.