As if preparing for her its own punishment, she felt each spank in her bottom hole, the jiggling and jolts going straight to her most vulnerable orifice. By the time he paused and rubbed her heated flesh, she was panting.
“Who is the master of this house?” Barrett demanded.
“You are,” she said, her words sounding muffled in the bedcovers.
“That’s right. So who gives the orders?”
“You do,” she said, then gasped as the first stripe of the strop licked across her buttocks.
“What happens if my naughty wife doesn’t follow my orders?” He brought the strop down a second time.
“She—I—get spanked,” she choked out.
“That’s right,” he said. He struck her again. “And I do enjoy spankingyou.” He laid a fourth stripe below the first three. “But in this case,” he said, slapping the flexible leather across her burning bottom again. “I would have preferred you obey.”
“Sorry,” she wailed. And she already was. Pregnancy made her more sensitive and the strop hurt much worse than usual.
Barrett never stopped just because she apologized, or when she cried. He had his own criteria for deciding when she’d learned her lesson, and it was always long after she believed she’d reached that point. Indeed, he continued to strop her, tanning her backside with neat rows that ran from the middle of her buttocks to the backs of her thighs.
“Ow, Barrett, please!” she wailed, starting to scramble in panic.
He held her clamped tightly, still administering the leathering. “Who is your master?” he demanded again.
“You are!” she gasped in a rush. “You are my master.”
He continued spanking. “When I give you an order, what should you do?”
“Obey it! Obey it. Forgive me, my lord!”
She felt real tears threaten, her emotions always close to the surface since she’d been with child. What had begun as a fun spanking now had her genuinely remorseful.
As if Barrett knew, he stopped spanking and rubbed her tender flesh. “It seems you don’t take my discipline seriously,” he said.
“I do,” she sniffed.
He rubbed her back. “You’re a good, sweet wife and I know you’ll work hard to please me the next time I give you instructions, won’t you, Daisy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do I need to tell you what will happen to you if you don’t rest the next time I tell you to?”
“No,” she said. But then curiosity overcame her. “What will happen?”
“I will whip you at that moment. And then I will paddle you before bedtime. How do you think that will feel on an already sore bottom?”
She knew she must be blushing at his suggested punishment.
He rubbed her bottom. “Crawl up and lie on your stomach,” he said, his voice sounding rough.
She obeyed, a slow pulse beginning in her sex as she contemplated the next part of her punishment. Her husband arrived above her, naked, and covered her body like a blanket, his warmth cocooning her as he carefully held his weight off her. He kissed her neck and she pressed her bottom back, seeking more than the light touch of his cock between her legs.
He slid into her without requiring his hand to guide him and she groaned at the delicious pleasure. She’d been expecting her bottom hole punishment, so this reward came all the sweeter. He moved in and out, pressing his hips against her tender buttocks, shoving deeper, filling her completely.
She moaned at the exquisite pleasure of it. Her body had seemed ever-ready for sex since she’d been pregnant, and it seemed to be all she thought about. Their kitchen maid had told her if she craved lying with her husband during the pregnancy, it meant she carried a boy. She hoped so—the thought of a miniature Barrett running underfoot brought joy to her heart.
Barrett began to push more insistently, slamming into her on each upstroke.
She spread her legs farther and pushed back at him, her cries growing more excited.
