I was not very experienced sexually when I married at 29. A couple of girls in college, and the sex was, evidently, rather vanilla. It wasn't that I wasn't interested in a more varied or unusual sex life, it's just that I have always been rather withdrawn, living my life in my mind.
Which is what first attracted me to Liz.
She, too, was quiet, well-read, interesting. And attractive. She had been an All-American swimmer in college. She was 5'10" with strong shoulders, full breasts, narrow hips and long, long legs. She wore her black hair very short, in a severe cut that seemed to put most people off. She did not defer to men. In fact, most men at our work were intimidated by her looks and her intellect. We were thrown together on a long research project and hit it off immediately, though our relationship was strictly professional, then friendly until finally, after one late night, we ended up in bed.
Again, the sex was fairly vanilla, though enjoyable. We were engaged shortly after and married.
After two years of marriage, things changed. It started when I made a banking error, forgetting to transfer funds, which caused a check to bounce, much to Liz's embarrassment. We had had only a handful of brief arguments in our marriage, never even a raised voice. But when she returned from redeeming the check at a small boutique run by an acquaintance, she was clearly livid. She didn't shout, but there was real steel in her voice.
"How dare you humiliate me in this fashion," she said. "Your mistake, but I am the one made to suffer."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I would have gone to collect the check for you."
"You weren't home, and I wasn't about to leave the store waiting. Why should you get off Scott free?"
"I suppose I shouldn't."
"No," she said. "You shouldn't." Suddenly, a sort of cloud seemed to cover her face. She looked darker somehow, fiercer.
"Stand up," she said. I stood. "Remove your belt and give it to me," she said. I did. "Now lower your trousers and your briefs to your ankles and bend over the couch."
I was shocked. "Surely you don't mean to spank me?" I said.
"That is exactly what I mean to do. You have humiliated me, now I shall humiliate you. Drop your pants and bend over the couch."
It was almost like being possessed. A hand moved to the front of my khakis, and they were around my ankles before I even knew it was my hand. Before I could even think clearly, my pants and briefs were around my ankles and I was bent double over the back of our sofa.
The first blow of the belt was a burning shock, and the several that followed seemed to light a fire across my buttocks. Yet, in spite of the pain, I also felt my cock swelling against the leather of the coach. And I felt a raging anticipation, a sense of delicious wickedness, that never had accompanied any previous sexual act. This is what I had always wanted and had missed.
There was a pause in the blows across my back and I heard a rustling sound. I started to rise.
"Stay where you are," Liz hissed. I did. The rustling stopped, and then I heard the swish of the belt, louder than before, and felt a tremendous thwack across the chapped skin of my ass. And another. And another. My cock pushed into the leather of the sofa like a steel rod.
"Stand up," she said.
I did.
"Turn," she said.
I did. The rustling sound had been Liz stripping off her clothes. She stood naked before me, a light dew of moisture crowning the short hairs of her neatly trimmed bush.
"Kneel," she said.
I did. She walked to me, then stood with her legs astride me and grabbed my head, simultaneously pulling it into her vagina while violently thrusting her hips forward into my face. The impact actually split my lip. I opened my mouth to her womanhood while she furiously humped my face, pinning my head against the back of the sofa. My ass burned. I could taste the blood from my lip mixed with her juices. I could feel her fingernails digging into my scalp and nearly pulling off my ears as she pulled me harder and harder into her. I came onto the carpet without even touching myself, just as she roared into a seemingly endless orgasm.
When she was done, she released me and I collapsed to the floor. She tapped her toe next to the stream of semen on the floor.
"Lick up your mess," she said.
I rose to all fours, then lowered my head and lapped the cooling, salty liquid off the floor.
I felt her foot press down on the back of my neck.
"This isn't over," she said. "I was humiliated in front of others, you in the privacy of our home. You're working from home tomorrow."
Her tone indicated that it wasn't a question. I attempted to nod my ascent against the force of her foot.
"I will arrange a delivery for you at noon exactly. Follow its instructions exactly."
Again I attempted to nod.
"Good," she said. "Now, since you seem to so enjoy lapping up semen, I shall go collect more for you. When I return, you may lap it out of me."
She slipped back into her shoes and pulled on her raincoat, not even putting on another stitch. Two hours later, she returned home. She threw off her coat and shoved me to the floor, then pulled my head up onto an Ottoman. She sat roughly down on my face, filling my nose with the scent of other men and their cum. I lapped for what seemed hours, through three of her orgasms and two of my own. We showered and went to bed. Liz drifting off immediately and me wondering what tomorrow's delivery would bring.
Liz left early, dressed in a plain black pants suit. I threw on some old jeans and a T-shirt and tried to concentrate on some market research in our home office, but my mind constantly drifted to the delivery coming at noon.
At 12:00 exactly, the doorbell rang. It was Ricard, a young black man who handled local deliveries for our company. Ricard stood 6'2" and had the body of a NFL linebacker.
"Ricard," I said.
