He slapped the back of her thigh. “Don’t fight me or I’ll have to give youanother spanking. And I’m quite certain you don’t want that, do you?”
“No, sir,” she answered quickly.
“I didn’t think so.” He massaged the inside of her tight channel, working the oil into every tiny crevice, inside and out.
She moaned, holding perfectly still for him, her head held up, alert.
“Who does this little bottom belong to?” he asked sliding his thumb into the second knuckle.
“You, sir,” she yelped. “Ahhh…”
“Pleasure or pain, Daisy? Which do you prefer?” he asked as he pumped his thumb in and out of her hot orifice.
“Pleasure, sir,” she said. “Oh, please…”
He made circles with his thumb inside her arse, widening and stretching her tight hole to accommodate him.
“Oh, please,” she repeated, her voice rising in pitch.
He could wait no longer. Keeping his thumb embedded in her arse, he lifted her to her feet. “Back over the stack of blankets,” he directed.
She did not move, probably confused about how to do so with his thumb still intruding. He shoved his thumb deeper, using it to propel her forward.
She gasped, taking tiny, tight steps to the bed and stopping when she reached the side of it.
“Up,” he commanded, swinging his other hand to catch the back of her thigh.
She yelped and climbed up on the bed, crawling slowly forward to drape herself over the blankets.
“Good girl,” he praised, sliding his thumb out.
He washed his hands and scooped more butterfat from the dish, applying it liberally to his straining cock.
He crawled over her. “Naughty wives take it in their bottom holes,” he said, pressing the head of his cock against her tiny entrance. “Be a good girl and let me in or I’ll have to give you another spanking.”
“No,” she whimpered.
The lubrication and stretching worked their magic and her tight hole opened, allowing him to slowly push forward. He entered little by little, stopping and giving her time to adjust and watching closely for any panic or trauma on her part. “Reach down between your legs and touch your quim, Daisy.”
She obeyed, lifting her hips just enough to slip her hand down.
“I want you to tell me what it feels like.” When she didn’t answer, he prompted, “Tell me, Daisy.”
“It’s wet,” she whispered.
“Mmm, that’s just how it should be. What else do you feel?”
“It’s slippery.”
“I want you to stroke it, Daisy,” he said. “Find the places where it feelsthe best.”
He gave her a few moments to begin, then started to move in and out, gliding easily with the help of the butterfat.
Daisy moaned.
“Did you find a good place?”
“No… yes… I don’t know,” she said, her voice stretched thin by a wail.
