“You know what comes next,” Jacob said, his hand moving between Grace’s raised cheeks. “Some gossips get their mouths washed out with soap, but in our household, wives who gossip get reminded of their place.”
His fingers worked at her most private opening, spreading the lubricant into the tiny pucker of her bottom hole. Grace whimpered into the bedding, her hands fisting the sheets.
Chris’s fingers found my nipple, pinching gently. The sensation shot straight to my core, where the terrible heat continued to build despite my mortification.
Jacob had his clothes off. My breathing had started to come in tiny puffs in and out of my nose as I saw his huge, hard penis and remembered how Chris had trained me to serve his even bigger one. Jacob climbed onto the bed. He positioned himself behind Grace, kneeling over her, straddling her thighs.
A mortifying close-up showed his cock, much larger than life, its plum-like head pressed against Grace’s anus. Then the rigid phallus pushed forward, and Grace’s cry filled the room.
“Please,” Grace sobbed. “Please, Jacob, I’m sorry?—”
“I know you are,” he said, his voice almost gentle as he began to move. “And this is how you learn to be better.”
I should have been revolted. I should have demanded Mark turn it off. But as the camera angle moved from Jacob’s penis in Grace’s bottom to a close-up of Grace’s face, turned to the side, I couldn’t stop watching—in her eyes I saw the pain, yes, but also something else. A kind of surrender that looked almost likerelief. As if some part of her needed this lewd form of correction, needed to be taken this way.
Mark’s hand left Megan’s breast and slid down her stomach, disappearing between her thighs. She made a small sound, her head falling back against the couch.
Chris’s hand followed suit, cupping me through the soaked lace of my panties. His fingers pressed against me, finding the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves that made me gasp.
“Watch,” Chris murmured in my ear. “Watch how Grace accepts what she needs.”
On screen, Jacob’s movements had become rhythmic, purposeful. Grace’s cries had shifted from protests to something else—small, breathy sounds that spoke of more than just pain.
“That’s it,” Jacob said. “Good girl. Take it all in this sweet little butt.”
Chris’s fingers worked against me, circling and pressing through the wet lace. Beside me, Megan’s breathing had become ragged, her hips moving slightly against Mark’s hand.
Grace’s husband gripped her hips harder, his own breathing growing labored. “Tell me what you are,” he commanded.
“I’m a little slut,” Grace gasped, to my shock. My pussy clenched on Chris’s probing fingers.
“And what do slutty wives need?”
“Discipline. Guidance. To be—” Her voice broke. “To be taken.”
The word sent a shock through me. Taken. That was what this was. What Grace needed. What Megan needed, judging by the way she was trembling beside me.
What I needed.Am I a slutty wife?
Chris’s fingers moved faster, and I felt myself climbing toward something inevitable. On screen, Grace’s whole body had gone taut, her cries reaching a crescendo. Jacob thrust deep and held there, his own growl of satisfaction mixing with her keening wail.
The pressure inside me built and built until I thought I might shatter. Beside me, Megan’s breathing had become desperate little pants.
Then Grace came, her whole body convulsing, and something inside me broke open. The orgasm crashed through me with terrifying intensity, pleasure and shame mixing until I couldn’t tell them apart. I heard Megan cry out at the same moment, both of us climaxing together while our husbands’ hands worked us through it.
When it finally subsided, I was sobbing against Chris’s chest, my body still trembling with aftershocks. On screen, Jacob was gently helping Grace up, murmuring praise and comfort.
“Good girl,” he was saying. “Such a good girl. You took your punishment beautifully.”
And Grace was smiling through her tears, clinging to him like he’d given her something precious instead of taking her in the most humiliating way possible.
Chris tilted my face up, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Do you understand now?” he asked softly. “Do you see that what you need isn’t wrong? That other wives struggle with the same desires?”
I knew how I had to answer. I couldn’t let myself in for more punishment. I knew I had to lie.
“Yes, sir,” I answered, trying to put a smile on my face.
Was that a lie, though?asked that voice inside me—the one I had no intention of listening to.
