His Loving Guidance Page 8

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now tell me what happens after a punishment spanking?”

  Her eyes grew wide, and she pulled back to peer directly into his handsome face. “Corner time?” she asked hesitantly. He hadn’t made her stand in the corner in over two years.

  “That’s right. Corner time. I want you to put your nose in the corner and think about how to respectfully speak to your husband. You don’t shout orders. You don’t snap at me. If I’m spanking your bottom for my pleasure, then I expect you to take that spanking as best you can without any flippant comments. Do you understand?”

  She flushed. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He kissed her forehead and led her to the corner.

  *

  Marcus’s swollen, painfully erect cock pressed against his jeans, threatening to bust through the zipper. He watched as Stephie attempted to remain in place in the corner. She fidgeted the entire time, stepping from foot to foot and clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides, obviously desperate to rub her sore little tush. Upon closer inspection, he noticed moisture had trickled down her inner thighs, glistening on her skin like a beacon to his cock, which twitched and swelled harder at the sight.

  He glanced at the clock. Her fifteen minutes were up. Thank God.

  She gasped when he touched her shoulder and leaned into her body, holding her captive in the corner.

  “Have you learned your lesson, little girl?”

  “Yes, sir.” Desperation laced her tone, and her shoulders moved heavily in tune with her deep, shuddering breaths.

  Keeping one hand on her shoulder, he brought his other hand between her thighs. Slick arousal. Lots of it. His fingers glided easily into her inner core, and her hips shifted back as she moaned.

  “What’s all this?” he asked, swirling deeper into her wetness.

  Her only response was a groan. Her head fell back, exposing the hollow of her neck. Nipping at her smooth flesh, he trailed kisses from her shoulder to her neck, and up to her ear, where he sank his teeth into her soft lobe. Her hips bucked in rhythm with his thrusting fingers, and she placed her hands flat on the wall for support.

  “I think I should be touching you here instead,” he said, moving his attentions to her back hole. He pushed one finger inside, knuckle deep. “Naughty girls get fucked in the ass, don’t they, Stephie?”

  She whined and twisted around to meet his gaze, beseeching him with her wide, pretty blue eyes to show her some mercy. “Please,” she begged. “I promise I’ll be good. Please fuck my pussy instead. I-I just want you to fuck my pussy. Hard, sir.”

  A growl ripped from Marcus’s throat, and he pushed his finger deeper, all the while holding her pleading gaze. “Maybe I should bend your naughty behind over the bed and shove my big, hard cock in your ass, Stephie. Teach you a lesson.”

  Her tightness clamped down on his finger as she shook her head. He grinned and began thrusting into her bottom hole, loving the innocence that crept over her features as she continued to beg. Even after five years of marriage, she still played the part of an anal virgin every time he touched her there. She’d confessed once that the innocent act turned her on.

  Marcus’s clothing suddenly felt restrictive and suffocating, and he released his hold on Stephie and backed up, ordering her to face him. Slowly, she turned around with her head bowed. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and her nipples had hardened into perfect dark pink peaks.

  “If you’re a very good girl and get into position on the bed, on your hands and knees with your bottom thrust up high, without rubbing your punished bottom in the process, I’ll fuck your pussy instead of your ass. If I see you rub that bottom once though, I’m fucking you in the ass hard, young lady.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Relief shone in her eyes, and she scurried into position on the bed. Once she’d settled in with her bottom raised and her legs spread wide, he began to strip off his clothing.

  This was a game they used to play, and it had been so long he’d nearly forgotten the rules. If she wanted him to fuck her ass, she’d intentionally rub her bottom. Today, however, her hands hadn’t gone near her backside, and he wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t fucked her ass in weeks, nor had he plugged her recently. His little wife needed training, and his blood heated at the task before him. But not now. He’d go crazy if he didn’t sink his cock between her slick folds.

  Marcus sat on the bed and swiped two fingers through her moisture, drawing the wetness lower to spread it over her engorged clit. Her pussy was shaved smooth and he easily found her delicate nub. She squirmed and writhed against his hand, her hips jerking when he flicked over the hood of her clit, rubbing her most sensitive spot. Leaning forward, he blew lightly on her pussy and circled more moisture over her clit.

  “Please, Marcus, you’re driving me crazy. I can’t—”

  Smack! He stung her bottom with a warning slap and brought his body overtop hers. “Do you need to stand in the corner again?” He fisted a hand in her hair and spoke directly into her ear.

  “No, sir. I’m sorry.” Her body relaxed underneath his, and he basked in her surrender.

  Once he secured her promise to remain in position, he returned his attentions to her pussy. He traced her bare, slick folds with his tongue, holding her thighs apart as he did so to keep her spread wide. The heady scent of her arousal filled his senses, so intoxicating, and he lapped at her clit while she whimpered and shuddered, pushing her close to orgasm only to lessen his ministrations just before she reached that precious peak. He rose up on his knees, gripping her hips as he teased her wet heat with his cock, running the tip of his length through her dripping moisture, until a sheen of sweat covered her body.

  As he continued to torment Stephie, he admired her red, chastised bottom. His heart leapt to see her so well-punished yet unharmed at the same time. He’d done it. He’d finally given her the spanking she kept asking for, and he’d been too afraid to administer. He had planned the whole ordeal, of course, but she didn’t need to know that. Earlier, he’d purposefully swatted the same spot on her backside over and over again, hoping for an impertinent response. Fortunately, she’d supplied one.

  “I’m still trying to decide which hole I’m going to fuck you in.” He pushed his cock head to her entrance, but didn’t thrust inside, all the while pressing two fingers against her sphincter.

  Rising up on her forearms, she peered at him from over her shoulder. Those pleading eyes again. His cock jerked in his hand, as if siding with Stephie. Pussy.

  His anticipation culminated into a frenzied need. He couldn’t wait a moment longer. He drove into her pussy, thrusting balls-deep in one quick movement.

  “Pussy it is,” he said, withdrawing partially only to slam back into her tightness.

  Chapter Three

  The days flew by and the art exhibit in New York approached. After finally making headway in the domestic discipline side of their relationship, Stephie didn’t want to hinder this progress and kept silent on the matter, though the trip she longed to take was never far from her mind. It would be so easy to pack a bag, drive five hours north, spend the evening at the exhibit and the night at her sister’s apartment, and then drive home the following day. So easy. Yet so difficult. Marcus obviously hadn’t changed his mind or he would’ve broached the subject.

  Dammit. A little part of her conspired to leave after he left for work on Wednesday. He had a full schedule of classes to teach, the first one beginning at eight in the morning, so she could get an early start. Did she dare? She’d never done anything so naughty. So against the rules. Sure, she didn’t agree with his decision, but in the past when she’d disagreed with Marcus, she’d still respected his decisions and tried to abide by them.

  She’d placed her trust in him and she loved him, but that didn’t mean submitting to his authority was always easy.

  On Monday, two days before the exhibit, she called Darla to make arrangements
to stay at her apartment. Just in case Marcus changed his mind, she told herself. Except that wasn’t the exact truth. The truth was, she still felt suffocated under his overprotective thumb. She needed to get out of the house and back in her element, and she didn’t want Marcus to cancel his classes to babysit her.

  Freedom dangled in front of her like a piece of forbidden fruit. If she reached out to grasp it and tear it from the vine, what would happen? She wondered how Marcus would react to her disobedience. She wasn’t trying to earn a punishment spanking. Not this time. She simply wanted to prove she could manage on her own. Her paintings would sell even if she wasn’t present for the exhibit, but she enjoyed the functions and rubbing elbows with those who appreciated her artwork. It gave her purpose when she worked in her studio, knowing people enjoyed and respected her creativity.

  “Of course you can stay the night,” Darla said, gushing with enthusiasm. “In fact, you can stay longer if you’d like. Other than work during the daytime, my schedule is free.”

  “Thanks, sis, but I’ll just be staying the night.” Stephie ended the phone call and glanced at the clock in her studio.

  Four in the afternoon. Marcus would be home at six-thirty. She rushed to their bedroom and pulled her long-neglected suitcase from the back of the closet. She threw it open on the bed and hurried to pack for her possible trip. Guilt ate at her, gnawing at her harder with each item of clothing she tossed into the suitcase. Ignoring the clenching of her stomach, she zipped it up and carried it to her car, placing it in the trunk.

  There. It was done. All she had to do was figure out if she intended to follow through with her plan or not.

  To go to New York or not to go. To disobey Marcus or not to. To take a chance or not to.

  To take a chance. Yes, she had to. She had to prove she wasn’t delicate. She was a survivor, and she was capable of driving five measly hours and finding her way home the next day, happy and unharmed. If he spanked her for it, so be it. But she hoped her illicit adventure up north would open his eyes and make him realize she could handle her own affairs. Before her illness, she’d never asked for permission to leave town for a day or two. A few days or a whole week, yes, but a small trip relating to her business – never.

  Wednesday morning arrived. She awoke to the beeping of Marcus’s alarm clock. Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, spilling across the comforter. He smashed a hand against the clock, silencing it, and snuggled up against her body underneath the warmth of the covers, spooning her from behind. Stiffness poked at her bottom, and she smiled to herself. He’d been insatiable since the punishment spanking last Saturday. The intimacy between them had rekindled, stronger than ever.

  She frowned. The actions she planned to take this morning would disrupt this honeymoon period. She wavered for a moment, then pressed her lips together as her determination returned. She could do this. She would. The consequences awaited her in a few days, and she’d face them head on. She’d face Marcus. She only hoped he understood her reasons for leaving and prayed his disappointment wasn’t too great.

  A firm squeeze to her backside jerked her from her thoughts. Marcus yanked her panties down and sank into her wetness. She arched her back and thrust her bottom back, allowing him deeper penetration. His cock filled her, and desire whirled through her in delicious waves of pleasure. His teeth sank into her shoulder and she moaned.

  He used her body. He grabbed her hips and pumped into her, growling with a fierceness that shook her insides. Reveling in each rough touch, each slam of his cock into her pussy, she met him thrust for thrust.

  “Touch your clit, sweetheart. I want to feel your tight little pussy clamping down on my cock while you come.”

  His naughty words thrilled her. Propelled her to the edge of oblivion before her fingers even reached her throbbing clit. A few swirls over the engorged nub and she was writhing, clamping down on his thick member while he rode out his own release. She felt his cock convulse as his hot seed filled her up, and her nipples tightened and tingled as she came hard, whimpering his name as the orgasm crashed upon her, pulling her under and draining the energy from her limbs.

  “Mmm,” she murmured, already sleepy again. Except she couldn’t fall back asleep. Not today. To keep up with appearances though, she needed to tap into her acting skills. Luckily feigning sleep wasn’t so hard.

  Marcus chuckled and withdrew his cock from her pussy. He patted her bottom playfully and kissed her cheek. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll give you a call later.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you later,” she said, inflecting as much dreaminess into her voice as she could manage.

  He kissed her again and headed for the shower.

  Twenty minutes later, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and said good-bye. She maintained her deep, slow breathing and kept her eyes pressed firmly shut. She remained in bed, quiet, as she listened to him venture down to the kitchen, heard the slam of the front door a short while later, and finally the revving of his car engine and the crunch of tires over gravel.

  She hopped out of bed and sprang to the window, catching sight of his car disappearing down the long drive. The trees swallowed it up.

  Marcus was gone. The vine holding the forbidden fruit lowered directly in front of her face. She wavered again, but only for a second, before reaching out to pluck it. She showered, dressed, grabbed a mug of coffee for the road, and rushed out the door.

  Her heart raced as she approached town, but she navigated around the small college where Marcus taught to decrease her chance of running into him. Sometimes when the weather was nice, he took his classes outside. Her heart finally slowed down after crossing the bridge leading out of town. The highway appeared a few miles later, and she merged into it with resolve thrumming through her.

  *

  Marcus frowned at his phone. He’d called Stephie ten times now, texted her, and left messages. One on her cell phone and another on the house phone. Where the hell was she? He pushed the worry down, or tried to at least. Maybe she was blasting music in her studio and couldn’t hear the phone. That had happened a few times before. Except she’d never missed ten calls in a row.

  Christ. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the clock in his office. His next class started in forty minutes. He had just enough time to race home and look for her, then race back to campus. If he was late, his students would leave after fifteen minutes. The ever popular fifteen-minute rule.

  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair again.

  He grabbed his keys and locked up his office. The drive home felt like five years, especially when he called Stephie a few more times only to get her voicemail. Again and again. Hi, this is Stephie. Thanks for calling. Please leave a message after the beep.

  Madness would consume him if he had to listen to that message one more time.

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel and he pressed the accelerator to the floor, racing around the turns in the winding country roads. He’d paddle her good for this, he decided. He’d told her to expect his call, and he typically called every day around lunchtime, so it wasn’t as if she shouldn’t anticipate his call.

  Worry gripped him when the house came into sight. Her car was missing from the driveway. Sick with concern, he ran into the house calling her name, just in case.

  Silence.

  The bed was made, the kitchen spotless. The blinds in her studio were drawn, evidence that she hadn’t worked at all today. Unless…

  The air rushed from his chest. It was Wednesday. The day of the art exhibit in New York. Marcus bolted to her closet and flung it open, searching for her bags. Of course, she had so many different suitcases in varying sizes, he couldn’t tell if one was missing. He made a mental note to take inventory of them later, lest she go missing again.

  Another call to voicemail made his blood boil and he staggered on the edge of madness, but a second later the worry returned and helped rein in his emotions, calming him enough to think rationally. What if some
thing had happened? He vacillated between anger and concern as he considered his options. After canceling his classes for the rest of the day, he called Darla’s work, only to be told she’d taken a personal day. Darla didn’t answer her cell phone or apartment phone, either.

  Fuck.

  He snooped around on a desk in Stephie’s studio until he found all the information he needed. The time and location of the exhibit. He couldn’t imagine where else she’d gone. Her cell phone battery couldn’t have died: she kept a car charger on hand. If she didn’t answer, it was because she chose to ignore his calls.

  After grabbing his keys, he locked up the house and raced to his car. Please let her be okay. Please let be safe.

  Just to be sure she’d left town, he circled around her favorite spots – an Italian restaurant where she often met a friend for lunch, her hair salon, and the local art gallery. He didn’t spot her car, so he drove out of town and merged onto the highway.

  His heart grew heavier with each mile, and his anger and frustration mingled with his profound worry. After the blissful week they’d spent, he couldn’t believe she’d turn around and disobey him so gravely. He’d offered to take off work and drive her to New York. She’d refused, and she hadn’t brought the topic up again, so he’d assumed she no longer wished to go.

  Dammit, he should’ve known better. He should’ve double-checked with her. His knuckles turned white under the tight grip he maintained on the steering wheel. He glanced down at his pained hands and lessened his grip. Staring at the road ahead, he wondered how long ago she’d left the house. Perhaps he’d catch her on the highway.

  As it happened, he had no such luck. Mile after mile, he still hadn’t spotted her car. Bright purple, it stood out like a sore thumb. No way had he missed it. He’d even scoured rest stops looking for her, but she’d obviously gotten an early start. She might even be in New York already, perhaps lunching with her sister.