At Her Husband's Command(3)

By: Lily Harlem

“Yes, yes…” She arched her back, pushing her hips up and taking him deeper—so deep he nudged up against her cervix and his wiry pubic hair scratched over her tortured butt.

Again she groaned. She adored that deep dense sensation combined with his body further abusing her skin.

“Come quickly,” he ordered. “This wasn’t in our schedule.” He withdrew, pounded back in.

Melody’s feet were lifted from the floor. She was at his mercy. She was his. He could do with her as he pleased.

Her forearm was being squashed by her body but she didn’t care; she worked her clit, trying to keep a rhythm as he fucked her with increasing enthusiasm. His cock was thick and bloated; he wasn’t far from orgasming.

The air was bashed from her lungs, she snatched in breaths when she could and surrendered to his domination of her. Soon the pressure was spiralling out of control, the need for release all she could think of.

She stared out of the window, at the sun shining on the fields the same way it had minutes ago. The world carried on, nothing changed, but within her body a cataclysmic event was about to erupt.

“Come, come,” he shouted, dragging on her hair with one hand and gripping her hip with the other.

The tension uncurled, romping through her body and spreading bliss to every nerve ending. She was owned by him, her pleasure was his. What they had was so special and all she’d ever wanted and needed.

Her master came, flooding his release into her in several near-violent thrusts. He shouted her name, sent an unholy praise to God, and knocked her further up the table.

Melody melted into his grip. Adoring his moment of climax. The fact that it was she—his wife, lover, and submissive—who produced such gratification, gave her a wondrous feeling of power.

“Oh, yeah, baby,” he said, folding over her, his chest touching her back. He released her hair and kissed her temple. “You’re so fucking bad but so fucking good.”

She suppressed a giggle as she panted for breath. She adored his post-coital murmurings. He stopped being the big bad dom and became a grateful puppy who just wanted to coil himself around her.

His weight was heavy but she didn’t complain. The tablecloth was creased beyond salvation and no doubt stained with their pleasure. It would have to be quickly washed.

They stayed like that for several minutes. Melody’s heart rate slowed and her breathing came under control.

Eventually he lifted up. “We have work to do,” he said, withdrawing. “More now than before, so step to it.”

He gave her arse one final swift slap.

The delicious sting reverberated through her and she could imagine the ripples travelling over her skin, slipping in tiny waves over her buttocks then being absorbed into her thighs.

But she didn’t enjoy the moment for more than a second. She had work to do. Soon their friends Kyle and Tia would be at the door and they were bringing new members of their club. Melody didn’t know their names yet, these new people, but she was looking forward to meeting them.

Everyone in the Kinton Kink Club was vetted thoroughly before being signed up. It also didn’t come cheap. The annual membership fee was purposefully high so people had to be serious about investing in their fondness for BDSM and spending time with fellow kinksters. If it was a passing spanking phase or mild curiosity, it just wasn’t worth their while.

She stood and gripped the table as a rush of giddiness trickled through her brain. She tingled all over, from the wooden paddle and from her orgasm. She hoped he’d use the paddle again.

“Bugger.” She frowned at the tablecloth. There was a tiny damp patch in the middle, where her face had been; she must have shed a tear without noticing. And at the edge, where she’d all but humped the wood as she’d worked her clit, there was a pearlescent smear and several deep creases.

It would need washing again but whether or not it would be dry in time for their dinner party, she wasn’t sure.

Quickly, she moved the candelabra from the centre then swiped the cloth off. Beneath it the surface was a rich nutty brown and highly polished. Perhaps tonight they’d just have it bare and set with the deep red place settings.

After smoothing her skirt over her naked behind, she rushed from the dining room and headed to the washing machine.

Ivor was in the kitchen with his back to her.

“Make sure you bring me the wooden serving board,” he said on hearing her fiddling with the dials on the washer.

“Yes, Sir.”

As soon as the first gush of water hit the tablecloth, she rushed to retrieve the wooden server.

“What would you like me to do with it?” she asked, holding it forward with both hands.

He took it, his attention on her. “This is a new toy.”

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