“Come,” I said simply, and pressed my finger just slightly inside her anus while the heel of my hand increased its pressure on her clit.
She seemed to come apart in my arms, her whole body convulsing, a wail tearing from her throat that she muffled against the pillow. I felt her pussy clenching rhythmically, felt her anus tighten around my fingertip, felt her entire being surrender to the pleasure I was giving her.
When the spasms finally subsided, she lay limp and trembling against me, soft sobs shaking her shoulders.
“Good girl,” I praised, withdrawing my hands and pulling her closer. “Such a good girl for your husband.”
I held her as she cried, stroking her hair, feeling my cock hard and demanding against her bottom. But I didn’t take her. Not tonight. Tomorrow, maybe… but I would train her as thoroughly as necessary to make sure I got my way when the time came.
For now, it was enough to feel her surrender. To know that her body was learning to crave my touch, my dominance, my control. The New Modesty Authority counselors had been right—Valerie was highly submissive, and with firm guidance, she would become exactly the wife I needed.
Eventually her tears subsided and her breathing evened out. I thought she might have fallen asleep, but then I heard her soft voice in the darkness.
“Chris?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Am I… am I very naughty? For… for liking what you do to me?”
The vulnerability in her question made my chest tighten. I pressed a kiss to her damp hair.
“No, baby. You’re exactly how a wife should be. Your body knows what it needs, even when your mind is scared. That’s not naughty—that’s natural.”
She was quiet for a long moment. Then, so softly I almost didn’t hear it: “Thank you, sir.”
* * *
Valerie
It took me a long time to fall asleep. My thoughts churned endlessly—fear and shame and that terrible dark excitement all tangled together until I couldn’t separate them. Every time I started to drift off, I would become aware again of Chris’s cock pressed against me, or his hand on my hip, or the soreness in my bottom, and my pussy would clench with shameful need despite the shattering orgasm I’d just had.
Finally, exhausted, I slipped into sleep.
And again I dreamed.
In this dream, I stood on a stage. A massive stage in some kind of theater or auditorium, with rows and rows of seats stretching back into darkness. Every seat was filled. Hundreds of people—maybe thousands—all staring at me.
I looked down at myself and saw I was wearing the peach baby doll nightgown from last night, but nothing underneath at all. The sheer fabric left nothing to the imagination. Through it,everyone could see my breasts, my nipples, the smooth bare skin of my pussy.
I tried to cover myself with my hands, but my arms wouldn’t move. I looked down and saw that now I was standing in some kind of frame—a wooden apparatus that held my wrists and ankles in place, spreading me open for the audience to see.
Panic flooded through me. I struggled against the restraints, but they held firm.
Then he appeared.
Chris walked onto the stage from the wings, but again he wasn’t quite Chris. He wore the same black leather mask from my dream on our wedding night—the one that covered the upper half of his face, leaving only his mouth and jaw visible. He was completely naked, his muscular body on display for the audience, his cock already hard and jutting out from his body.
The audience applauded. Some of them cheered.
Chris approached me slowly, deliberately, his eyes visible through the mask—dark and hungry and full of that terrible dominance that made my pussy clench even in the dream.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, his voice amplified somehow so everyone could hear, “I’m going to fuck my wife now. Right here in front of all of you.”
“No,” I whimpered. “Please, Chris, not in front of everyone?—”
“A husband decides who gets to look at his naked wife,” he continued, ignoring my protest. “A husband decides when and where and how to use her body. And I’ve decided that all of you get to watch while I claim what’s mine.”
The audience applauded again. I saw faces in the front rows—strangers, all of them staring at me with expressions ranging from curiosity to arousal to something that looked almost like pity.
