"Hey, honey. God, it's fucking pouring out there."

Derek closed front door behind him with a practiced nudge of his right foot. He paused in a bowlegged hunch, holding his arms away from his body as the rain dripped off his jacket and jeans and puddled on the wood floor. Trying to stay as still as possible, he deposited his umbrella into the canister by the door, then carefully slid off his coat and hung it on the door knob. He kicked off his shoes and guided them with one wet-socked toe toward the rack on the wall.

The front door to their small two-story house opened into into a moderately sized living room where sat Derek's wife, Carol. Dressed in a gray sweatsuit with her hair pulled back in a messy knot, she was sprawled on the sectional couch, clearly engrossed in whatever was on TV. Derek couldn't see the front of the 50-inch flatscreen from his position by the door, but as his ears acclimated to the relative quiet from the roar of the rain outside, he picked up the familiar voices of Kris Jenner and Khloe Kardashian, narrating their opulent mundanities.

Oddly, Carol had yet to look up at or acknowledge her husband. He watched her watch TV, studying her as he shook his legs to detach the wet fabric from his skin. He was sure any second she would glance up, surprised by his presence, and offer her usual warm greeting. But she hardly moved, even as the program cut to commercial. What the hell? Was she ignoring him? Was she mad at him? Was it something he said — or maybe didn't say — in their last conversation?

He ran that discussion over in his head while he peeled off his socks. It had been while he was at work, a few hours before. He'd told her about an argument he'd had with his coworker, a real barnburner over some paperwork errors that stalled their project at a very inopportune moment. Derek had been pretty steamed, but Carol had been a much-needed sympathetic ear. He fast-forwarded the mental tape a bit: She'd told him about her new workout, and he'd said he was thinking of making a Thai chicken dish for dinner and asked her to take the meat out to defrost, blah blah blah. Just a normal, friendly conversation between husband and wife.

And there was no forgotten birthday or anniversary; he'd always been on top of those. No cancelled dinner date with her parents or friends. No reason at all for her to be cross enough to ignore him when he came home soaked to the bone.

Then he realized that she was just completely zombified by the TV. Just utterly sucked in and oblivious to the outside world. She had always been one of those people who are easily distracted by TV, but almost impossible to distract from it. And she loved this shallow reality crap. He could understand the appeal, he supposed, but deep down he was disappointed that she was susceptible to its mind-numbing charms.

"Hey, honey." More pointedly this time, but still no response.

Derek rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen. He took one of his tumblers from the cupboard, the retro-chic kind he'd wanted ever since he watched "Mad Men," and pulled a bottle of Canadian Club from the collection of liquor bottles on the counter. A nice whiskey on the rocks always helped him wipe the slate clean after a long day.

He returned the ice tray to the freezer after retrieving his regular two-cube allotment when he noticed a pack of chicken thighs piled among the rest of the frozen food. Tonight's dinner, still frozen solid. He checked the fridge — maybe they had two packs and he'd forgotten? Nope, nothing thawing in there. Goddamnit, Carol.

The ice cracked as he filled the glass over the halfway mark. Higher than usual. He knew it wasn't a big deal on its own; they could just defrost the chicken in the microwave or order out. It's just another meal. Not worth getting worked up about.

But then again, there was the principle of the thing. He'd told her to defrost it. There was no mistaking that. His eyes instinctively flicked over to the stove, which since the cast-iron pan incident of the week before had become a symbol to him of the ways Carol frustrated him. The empty-headedness, the naiveté, the carelessness. It was why he'd decided that he was going to take charge of their relationship; she would answer to him at all times. He looked at the backyard door, where he'd mouth-fucked her into submission, where he'd hoped the lesson would take.

For a few days, it seemed that it had. Carol had been eager to act on his instructions, and the few times she'd hesitated to respond to his commands, she'd immediately apologized, sometimes tearfully. He'd been carefully monitoring her for signs of resentment or irritation, which would spoil the whole endeavor, but for the most part, her demeanor had been cheerful. And when it wasn't, she was at least accepting of her submission. She even told him over dinner a few nights ago that the she'd realized how much she was taking for granted in her comfortable life.

He hadn't instituted too much in the way of elaborate rules for her submission, at least not yet. He was focused more on general obedience. There were a few times here and there when she'd forgotten some assigned task or dawdled in response to a command. That had irked him, and he told her so, but he hadn't had to truly discipline her. He could tell she was making a genuine effort to obey, which was really all he was asking for. Plus, their sex life had been amazing. Obedience in the bedroom agreed with Carol.

But now, as he looked around the kitchen, he saw a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. And hadn't clothes been strewn about the TV room, a pile of unfolded laundry on the couch next to her? What the hell was Carol doing all day while he was at work? And to come home to her looking sloppy and too entranced by the TV to greet him? Sure, these were all small things, but together, this was something he should nip in the bud. From the other room, he could hear the Kardashians again flipping to commercial. He took a healthy sip of whiskey.

"Carol, come in here!" He wasn't that angry, but she wouldn't have known that from his volume and tone. He needed to shake her from her stupor.

The TV snapped off in the middle of a pitch for some kind of toothpaste ("Smile proudly!"). He heard quick footsteps, and in an instant Carol appeared in the kitchen doorway. She paused there long enough for Derek to notice a red crease across one cheek — from the edge of the pillow she'd been lying on for hours, no doubt — then he gestured to the floor in front of him. She hurried into the room and knelt at his feet, her sweatpants protecting her legs from the cold tile. Her fingers got to work on his belt buckle and zipper, and in a moment his jeans and boxers were around his thighs and his slowly hardening cock was in her mouth.

It was just as he'd taught her, and Derek was pleased, but the show of obedience and the warm lips working up and down his shaft weren't enough to distract him.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

Carol didn't stop sucking his cock to answer — that was well done, at least — she only looked up at him, eyes round with apology and apprehension. Her expression, such as it was wrapped around his erection, was confused.

Derek sighed. As if to compensate for his evident disappointment, Carol redoubled her cocksucking; she started gagging as she forced him deep into her throat. One hand caressed his balls, lubricated by the viscous saliva migrating down his shaft.

"I'm not even trying to teach you a lesson here," he said, more exasperated than angry. "Just like, what the hell? I get home after a long day, drenched to the bone, and this is what I come back to? Dinner still frozen, the house a mess, you looking sloppy and too fucking distracted to acknowledge me?"

Carol was so busy servicing him that she didn't even look up. He let himself enjoy her wet, hot mouth for a moment before continuing.

"This is basic husband and wife shit. You think I like going to work and dealing with those assholes day after day? I mean hell, you heard me bitch about it already today. I was really looking forward to coming home to my beautiful wife, cooking a nice dinner, having a relaxing night."

He was perhaps laying it on a bit thick, but laying out the facts made him realize that he was legitimately upset. Plus, he'd found that these kinds of emotional stakes had the most lasting effect on Carol's training. He flexed his cock in her mouth, feeling precum ooze out of the tip into her throat.

"I don't think I'm asking for too much here. I just want my wife to greet me when I get home from work."

Carol continued to bob on his prick. In fact, he was beginning to think that she was somehow still ignoring him. She had not made eye contact once since his first question. Anger flared in his chest. He grabbed her by the knot in her blond hair and yanked her head back to see into her eyes.

"Are you listening to me?!"

Carol's face was flushed bright red, her cheeks wet with tears. She had no make-up to run, but her eyes were ringed with red. Her lips, still wrapped around the head of his cock, trembled; her chest heaved with silent sobs. Like a Dali clock, the look of frustration melted off Derek's face, replaced with furrowed brows and pursed lips of concern. His grip in her hair relaxed and became a stroking hand, and he eased her off her knees into a sitting position.

His cock must have been serving as a kind of cork, because the second it popped from her mouth, Carol's crying became audible. It wasn't the desperate weeping of the grieving or terrified — no deep, gasping breaths or despairing moans — just the quiet sobbing of a woman who'd let down her man.

"D-d-derek, I'm s-so sorry," she said, putting a hand to her hitching chest. She sniffed back her runny nose. "You're completely right. I can't believe I've been so s-selfish and rude. I feel so awful." Another wave of sobs crested.

Derek appreciated the heartfelt apology, registering and choosing to ignore that she hadn't called him "Sir." Still, as much as he hated to see her so distraught, this was no time to back down. There's no way she would respect his authority if she knew that his will could be bent with a few tears. He didn't say anything, leaving her to fill the silence.

"I feel so awful," she said again. After another sniff, she took a deep breath and seemed to collect herself. "I can't believe I let you down so badly. You deserve so much better."

"Thank you, honey," Derek said. "I love you."

His cock, still ramrod straight, stuck out at such an angle that it partially obscured his view of Carol's face while she wiped the corners of her eyes with the fingertips of both hands.

"And I know that your apology is sincere," he continued. "But we both know how forgetful you can be, even about important lessons. So I think we need a punishment that will ensure that you remember this one."

Carol must have known she would never get off that easy, because she looked him right in the eyes and said, "I agree, Sir.""Good. Clothes off."

She didn't bother unzipping her gray hoodie before shimmying it over her head. Her large breasts dropped into view as her sports bra joined the hoodie in a pile on the floor. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of her matching gray sweatpants and yanked them, along with her pink thong, around her hips, scooting her butt off the ground for a moment as she worked the clothing off. She rose to her knees and tugged her socks off by the toes, leaving her totally nude. She looked up at him, doing her best to appear innocent and nervous, which she knew he couldn't resist.

Derek, who'd kicked his pants and boxers off while Carol was undressing, tried to hold back a smile. Even though she sometimes frustrated him, he still thought she was incredibly sexy. Per his specification, she kept her pussy completely shaved — they'd even discussed getting laser hair removal to make it permanent. He couldn't get enough of her hairless pubic mound, especially from this high angle where it curved out of sight, its perfect blankness belying the intricate folds beyond. But he couldn't give in to his eager cock. Not yet.

"Good girl. Now, on your knees, into the corner." He pointed behind her to the only corner of the kitchen not occupied by cabinets, the table or the fridge. Carol obeyed without hesitation, spinning on her knees and crawling away from him. Free from having to keep up appearances of stoic dominance, Derek watched the sway of her round ass with bemused pleasure, but he kept his voice as flat and firm as marble.

"Head down, ass up." Again, she obeyed instantly, dropping forward to the tile so her head was touching the baseboards of both walls. Her pretty blond hair had almost entirely escaped its knot and was splayed out on the floor.

"Spread your legs. Wider."

With her ass arched up in the air and her knees just over shoulder-width apart, Carol's asshole and pussy were completely exposed to the kitchen. Derek stroked his cock as his eyes feasted on the image. Now it was time to bring the lesson home.

"So here's what we're going to do. From now on, you should treat being at home as your job. That means you'll have work to do. You'll still have plenty of time to watch TV, but your chores better be done. When I come home, the house should be spotless. Dishes done, laundry folded, all that stuff. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir." Muffled by the wall, but clear enough.

"And you keep working out, that's good, but make sure you finish early enough so you can greet me at the door looking presentable. That means showered with hair, makeup, nails, clothes — no more of this sweatpants and hoodie crap. You decide what to wear; I'm not picky and you know what I like. But you just look good when I walk through that door. Does that sound fair?"

"Yes, Sir."

This feeling of power combined with the erotic vista before him was so arousing that Derek realized he was already dangerously close to cumming. His right hand dropped to his side and he took a silent breath before continuing.

"Good girl. I'll be letting you know what I'm coming home, and I expect you to be waiting by the door."

"Yes, Sir."

"OK, good." His voice lost some of that implacable firmness. "I'm glad we're on the same page here. I'm not trying to install cameras and spy on you and shit like that. I just need you to hold up your end of the deal."

Derek paused for a moment. It was time to discuss something he was actually a little nervous about. He had never spanked his wife, at least not with the intention to inflict pain. He wasn't a violent person and he was reluctant to hurt her, but he knew that if this arrangement was going to work, the threat of a real spanking at least had to exist on the horizon. But he also knew that he wouldn't feel right making that choice for both of them. She had to agree.

"Listen, turn around. Look at me."

Carol glanced at him quizzically as she rose to her knees and turned toward him. Her breasts had red circles from where they'd been pressed against the floor.

"Now, you know that I've given you a lot of chances to get this all right. I know I can ask a lot of you, and I try to allow for that. But eventually we're going to have to ratchet up the discipline. The next time you fuck up, it's going to have to hurt."

Carol nodded. Her cheeks still glistened with the remnants of her tears. "Yes, Sir. I understand"

"OK. You know that's not who I am, the spanking and pain. But honestly the way this —" Derek waved both hands to indicate the new parameters of their relationship — "this whole thing has gone has really worked for us, I think. I'm happier. Are you?"

Carol answered slowly, choosing her words carefully. "It's ... definitely taken some getting used to. But overall, I think that yeah, I am happier. As much as it hurts when I disappoint you, I feel amazing knowing that I'm making you happy ... Sir," she added hastily.

"I'm going to need to spank you if you fuck up too much," he said. "It's going to hurt."

"You know best, Sir," Carol said with a mischievous grin, and she leaned forward to take his cock into her mouth. His shaft was again encased in moist warmth, only this time her blowjob had lost its frantic gagging quality; it was all tender softness. She ran his length over her silky tongue as he slid deep into her throat. He felt the tip of her nose tickle the small tuft of his pubic hair. Derek reached for her hair again, twisting it into a knot for leverage as he took the reins and worked her head back and forth.

But he wasn't ready to cum just yet. After a minute or so of loving oral service, he pulled her off him. He nodded toward the floor behind her and grunted, "Bend over."

In an instant, he was staring at her ass and pussy again. He joined her on the floor, kneeling behind her to line up his throbbing erection with her opening. His cock was slick with saliva and he slid into her to the hilt in one motion. His eyes rolled back in his head — no blowjob can compete with wet pussy — and Carol moaned loudly. He started to rock his hips, moving his cock just centimeters at first, then gradually picking up speed until he was pounding her, both of his hands was full of ass cheek.

"Oh my god ... oh god ... oh fuck ... fuck me." Each inward thrust forced another exhortation from his beautiful obedient wife. Her arms reached forward and her fingers gripped the floor as she braced herself against his welcome onslaught.

Derek's saliva glands activated as he gazed at her tantalizing pink asshole below him. Without thinking, he stuck his right middle finger into his mouth and removed it fully coated with his slobber. With his hips still furiously fucking, Carol's asshole was a moving target, but once he made contact, the wet finger slid in to the first finger joint with ease.

"Ahhh, ohhh," was the wordless response. They'd experimented with anal, but it wasn't a regular part of their sexual repertoire. In their old life, any assplay would only occur after lengthy cajoling on Derek's part and an extensive cleansing ritual for Carol. Now, Derek didn't spare a thought for such niceties. If wanted to finger his wife's ass while he fucked her brains out on the kitchen floor, he wasn't going to ask twice — or once.

Derek let the motion of his body dictate the pace of his anal advancement. With each thrust of his thick cock into Carol's pussy, his finger slid forward. One particularly boisterous surge was enough to force her tight ring around his large knuckle. He was simultaneously aware of the sensation of Carol's velvety folds around his cock and the thicker, tighter walls of her ass clinging to his finger. It was heaven. He started matching his fingering to his fucking, pulling out until his nail was almost showing before sliding down to the knuckle.

"Fuhhh, uhh, unggg." Derek wished he could see the look on Carol's face as he utterly dominated her holes.

He was grunting now, and breathing hard. Sweat started to prickle around his hairline. He knew he couldn't last long after such an intense buildup, and sure enough, a swirl of pre-orgasm energy was churning in his groin. He let it build unchecked, quickening his pace to match the spiraling sensation within him. He lived in ecstasy as the edge approached. He pounded Carol with the relentless fervor of the possessed, pressing his finger against the interior walls of her ass for leverage as he forced himself inside her again and again.

Finally, he came. Grunting with animalistic abandon, Derek emptied himself inside her womb, needing dozens of pumps before he could be sure he'd given her every drop. Carol's ass was bone white on the cheek where his fingers had dug into her flesh. He released his grip but kept his cock fully inside her, the taut skin of his scrotum grazing her hairless labia. He paused there, still but for the now-gentle anal probing.
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Pub: 29 Dec 2020 10:01 UTC
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