Another sob, but I obeyed. My eyes opened and found his. He stood at the foot of the bed, his attention fixed on my exposed body.
“Do you understand why I’m making you do this?” Chris asked, his voice quieter now but no less firm.
I shook my head, not trusting my voice.
“Because you need to learn that your body belongs to me,” he said. “Every part of it. Your mouth, your pussy, your bottom—all of it is mine to use and look at whenever I choose. And you’re going to learn to display yourself for me without resistance, no matter how embarrassing it feels to you.”
“I can’t,” I whispered. “Please, I can’t?—”
“You’re obeying right now, so obviously you can, naughty girl.” He moved closer, standing right beside the bed now. “This position—holding yourself open like this—is how you’re going to ask for permission from now on.”
My mind reeled. “What?”
“When you want to touch yourself,” Chris explained, his hand reaching out to trail along my inner thigh, making me gasp.“When you need to come. You’ll get into this position and ask me properly. Show me what you want. Beg me to let you have it.”
The image his words created was too much. Me, lying like this, holding myself open and begging for permission to touch my own body. It was obscene. Degrading.
And my pussy clenched hard at the thought.
“I can see that you understand,” Chris said, and I knew he’d seen my body’s response. “Your body knows what it needs, sweetheart. Your brain may fight it, but you’ll learn to accept what your husband gives you.”
His fingers moved higher, brushing against the damp fabric of my panties. I whimpered, my grip on my knees faltering.
“Keep holding,” he commanded. “Don’t let go.”
I tightened my grip, my arms already aching from the strain of holding my legs in this position. Chris’s fingers traced the edge of my panties, so close to where I was most sensitive but not quite touching.
“Today on that horse,” he said conversationally, as if we were discussing the weather instead of my arousal, “your body responded to stimulation. That’s natural. Normal, even.”
His finger slipped under the edge of my panties, touching bare skin. I gasped, my hips jerking involuntarily.
“But you lied to me about it,” he continued, his finger moving slowly, teasingly. “And that’s what needs to be addressed. Not the arousal itself, but the dishonesty.”
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I’m so sorry, I was just so ashamed?—”
“I know you were.” His voice softened slightly. “But you’re going to learn that there’s no shame in responding to your husband. In being aroused by my touch, my discipline, my control over you.”
His finger found my clit through the fabric and pressed gently. The sensation shot through me like lightning.
“You’re going to learn to be honest about what your body feels,” Chris said, circling that sensitive spot with maddening slowness. “Even when—especially when—it embarrasses you.”
I was panting now, my whole body trembling. The position left me completely vulnerable to his touch, unable to close my legs or pull away.
“And you’re going to learn to ask for what you need,” he continued. “To beg me properly when you want to come. To display yourself like this and plead for permission to touch yourself.”
“Please,” I whimpered, though I didn’t know what I was begging for anymore. For him to stop? To continue? To let me come?
“Not yet,” Chris said, pulling his hand away completely. “First you’re going to hold this position for ten minutes. Learn what it feels like to be completely exposed to your husband’s gaze. To have no privacy, no modesty, no way to hide.”
“Ten minutes?” The words came out as a wail. “I can’t?—”
“You can.” He moved to sit in the armchair beside the bed, his eyes never leaving my exposed body. “And you will. Because this is what wives do. They submit to their husbands’ inspection. They learn to be displayed however their husbands choose.”
My arms were already shaking. The position was becoming painful, my muscles burning from the strain. But worse thanthe physical discomfort was the mental anguish of being looked at like this. Of knowing Chris could see everything—my barely covered pussy, my bottom spread open by the position, the evidence of my arousal darkening the fabric of my panties.
“Look at me,” Chris commanded when I tried to close my eyes again. “Keep your eyes on mine while I look at you.”
I obeyed, tears streaming down my face. His gaze was intense, possessive, hungry. He looked at me the way a man looks at something he owns completely.
