I took a step, then another. The jeans and panties hobbled my movement, forcing me to take tiny, shuffling steps. My bottom burned with every movement, the welts from the switch throbbing in time with my heartbeat. And between my legs, I could sense that shameful wetness that proved how much my body had responded to being punished.
I thought I might actually die of shame and arousal. The two feelings twisted together until I couldn’t separate them, couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
Chris walked behind me, close enough that I knew he was watching my bare bottom as I shuffled forward. Watching the way my cheeks moved with each awkward step. Probably seeing the wetness glistening on my thighs.
The walk back to the trail felt like it took forever. Every sound made me freeze in terror, certain someone was about to round the bend and see me like this. But we were alone in the forest, just me and my husband and my burning bottom and my shameful need.
When we finally reached the fork where the trails met, Chris allowed me to pull up my panties and jeans. My fingers shook so badly I could barely manage the button.
“Look at me,” he said quietly.
I raised my eyes to his, expecting to see anger or disappointment. But what I saw instead was something darker. Something hungry.
“I’m entitled to fuck you exactly as I please,” Chris said, his voice low and steady. “And I want you to remember that.”
My breath caught. The hunger in his eyes made my knees weak.
“But,” he continued, and I saw something soften slightly in his expression, “I understand you’re having trouble with the idea. So I’ve decided to train you in a more gradual way than a husband usually trains his bride.”
Relief and dread warred inside me.Trains…like a pet? And…more gradual? What did that mean?
“I’m going to begin by training your mouth,” he said. “Getting you used to serving a man’s penis. Tonight you’re going to thank me properly for disciplining you.”
My stomach dropped. Training my mouth? Serving his… his penis?
“What do you mean?” I whispered, though part of me already knew. Part of me understood exactly what he meant, even as my mind desperately tried to reject it.
“Keep walking,” Chris said, gesturing down the trail toward the resort. “After dinner you’ll have a wife-training session.”
I stumbled forward on trembling legs, my mind racing.Training my mouth. What else could that possibly mean except… except putting his cock in my mouth? The thought made me feel faint. That huge, thick thing I’d seen last night—he wanted me to let him put it in my mouth?
No. No, it had to mean something else. Maybe he just wanted me to kiss it again, like I’d done through his briefs last night. That had been embarrassing enough, but at least it was something I could endure.
But as we walked back through the forest, my bottom still burning from the switch, I couldn’t shake the image from my mind. Chris’s cock—hard and swollen and impossibly large—pushing past my lips. Into my mouth. Down my throat.
I tried to tell myself I was being ridiculous. That couldn’t be what he meant. It was too awful, too degrading. Surely husbands didn’t make their wives do such things.
But I remembered the brochure.Your husband will introduce you to your bedroom duties. You must be prepared for your husband to impose his will on your body in whatever way he chooses.
Whatever way he chooses.
By the time we reached the cabin, my heart was pounding so hard I thought I might be sick. Chris suggested we clean upand rest before dinner, and I nodded mutely, grateful for the reprieve.
The afternoon passed in a blur of anxiety. I showered, changed into a modest dress, tried to read a book but couldn’t focus on a single word. All I could think about was what awaited me after dinner.
Dinner itself seemed like torture. The resort restaurant was beautiful—rustic and charming, with a view of the mountains through floor-to-ceiling windows. The food was probably delicious, but I could barely taste it. I pushed the salmon around my plate while Chris ate with apparent calm, occasionally making pleasant conversation about the scenery or asking if I was enjoying my meal.
How could he be so normal when he knew what was coming? When he’d promised to train my mouth?
Finally—too soon—the meal was over. Chris paid the bill and stood, offering me his hand. I took it on shaking legs and let him lead me back to our cabin.
The door closed behind us with a soft click that sounded like a death knell.
“Take off all your clothes,” Chris said quietly.
My hands went to the buttons of my dress. They trembled so badly I could barely unfasten them. One by one, the buttons came free. I let the dress slide to the floor, then reached behind me to unhook my bra.
Chris watched me with that same hungry expression from the trail. When I was down to just my panties, I hesitated.
“Everything,” he reminded me.
I pushed them down and stepped out of them, standing completely naked before my husband. The cool air of the cabin made my nipples harden, made me acutely aware of every inch of exposed skin.
Chris circled behind me, and I heard his sharp intake of breath.
“Your bottom looks so sweet with those marks on it,” he murmured. “The welts from the switch are still nicely raised. Still red.”
His hand traced one of the lines and I gasped at the sting. But underneath the pain was that shameful heat again, building between my legs.
“Go kneel in the middle of the room,” Chris commanded. “You’re going to watch me undress.”
