“That’s good, Valerie. That’s very good. My cock feels really good right now. Your mouth is like velvet.”
His praise sent a shameful jolt of pleasure through me. My pussy clenched and I felt wetness beginning to gather between my thighs.
Chris’s movements became faster. Harder. The head of his cock hit the back of my throat and I gagged, my eyes watering.
“Relax your throat,” he said, though his voice was husky now. “Breathe through your nose. You’ll learn to take it.”
He pushed deeper and I gagged again, my whole body jerking. But Chris held my head steady, his cock sliding further down my throat than I’d thought possible.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Could only feel him using my mouth, fucking my face with increasing brutality. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Drool leaked from the corners of my mouth.
“Almost there,” Chris grunted. “Get ready to swallow, Valerie. You’re going to swallow your husband’s seed for the first time.”
His thrusts became erratic. I felt his cock pulse in my mouth, and then hot, thick liquid was flooding my throat. Iswallowed convulsively, trying not to choke, the taste bitter and overwhelming.
Chris groaned, his hand tightening in my hair as he emptied himself down my throat. When he finally pulled back, I gasped for air, coughing and crying.
He stepped back, his cock still semi-hard, glistening with my saliva. Then his hand was in my hair again, bending my face down to the floor.
I felt him move behind me. His hand reached between my legs from behind, finding my pussy and my bottom at the same time. His fingers slid through the wetness there—so much wetness, evidence of my arousal.
“Such a naughty girl,” he murmured. “Getting so wet from having your face fucked.”
His fingers found my clit and began moving in quick, firm circles. The sensation after everything that had happened was too intense. I cried out, my hips bucking against his hand.
“Come for me,” Chris commanded. “Come from being used like a wife should be used.”
The orgasm hit me like a wave, crashing through my body with such force that I screamed into the rug. My pussy clenched around nothing, my whole body shaking as pleasure rolled through me in overwhelming pulses.
When it ended, I collapsed completely, my face pressed to the floor, my body trembling with aftershocks.
Chris’s hand stroked gently down my back. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Such an innocent bride, learning to please your husband.”
I lay there, unable to move, tasting him in my mouth, feeling the evidence of my own need cooling on my thighs. Tomorrow he would fuck me, I felt certain. Tomorrow he would push that cock inside my pussy and make me his completely, whether I liked it or not.
But tonight he had shown me something that to the modest part of me seemed worse. He had shown me that I could be trained. That my body would respond no matter how much my mind protested. That I was exactly the kind of naughty, submissive girl the New Modesty Authority’s biometric analysis had somehow identified.
I lay there on the floor for what felt like an eternity, my body still trembling, my mind a chaos of shame and confusion and that terrible, traitorous pleasure. Finally, Chris helped me to my feet, his hands gentle now.
“Go take a shower,” he said softly. “Take your time.”
I nodded mutely and stumbled toward the bathroom on shaking legs. When I closed the door behind me, I leaned against it for a moment, my eyes squeezed shut, trying to process everything that had just happened.
I had let him put his cock in my mouth. I had swallowed his seed. I had come from it—come from being used like that, from having my face fucked while I knelt naked with my hands on my welted bottom.
What kind of girl was I?
I turned on the shower, making the water as hot as I could stand, and stepped under the spray. The heat stung the welts on my bottom and I gasped, reaching back to touch them. They were raised and tender, little ridges of soreness that made meremember the switch cutting through the air, the sound it had made when it connected with my bare skin.
The memory sent a pulse of heat between my legs.
No. No, I couldn’t let myself think about that. About how it had felt to be punished. About the strange dark pleasure that had mixed with the pain.
But as I stood under the hot water, my hands moving over my body to wash away the evidence of what we’d done, I couldn’t stop the images from flooding my mind. Chris bending me over that log. The way he’d looked at my bare bottom before bringing the switch down. The hunger in his eyes when he’d made me shuffle back to the trail with my jeans around my knees.
And then tonight. Kneeling before him. Taking his cock into my mouth. The taste of him. The way he’d held my head and used me.
My hand drifted lower, between my legs, almost without my conscious permission. I touched myself there—just barely, just enough to feel the slickness, the shameful evidence of my arousal.
