Late Home

I was very angry. Quite angry. Angry enough to have rung the police to see if they knew where she was. They had found her, and were bringing her home. She had been at a party which I had expressly told her I did not want her to attend, and she knew what would happen now that she was being brought home, in disgrace, by the police.

Waiting by the door, the clock had just crept past 1am when there was a knock. I opened it, to see my love, tears dampening her cheeks and making her mascara blotchy, flanked by two police officers whom I thanked.

I stepped aside and she walked in, not saying a word, but simply walked by me, and into the main room of our home. I told the police what they needed to hear and they left. I then closed the door and walked into the living room, where she was standing, facing the window, hands clasped in front of her, sobbing quietly.

"You know what has to happen now, don't you?" I asked, walking up behind her and putting my hands on her shoulders. She turned and buried her face in my chest, her hands balled up into tiny fists as she cried out her apology and begged to be let off.

I lifted her tear-stained face with two fingers, and kissed her full, wet lips. "You know I can't let you off, dear. This is the third time you've gone to a party that I didn't want you to attend. Now go into our bedroom, and bring me what you want to feel."

She sniffed, then nodded her head, and walked into the back of the house. I stood in the living room, breathing deeply, trying to calm myself down so that I wouldn't let my anger flow into my actions. Then with her quiet steps, she returned, holding a leather belt that I had gotten made in Penang some years ago. It was sturdy leather, 4mm thick, and 30mm wide, well over 2 meters long, with holes all along it's length. I knew how much this would hurt, but it was her choice. It always had been.

"All right, darling, over the chair." I said as I took the belt from her limp hands. She walked over to the recliner that I usually sat in, and bent herself over the back, elevating her bottom until it was the highest point of her, with her hands resting on the arms of the chair, and her feet flat on the floor.

I stepped beside her, and lifted her party dress clear, then slipping my fingers into the elastic, slid her panties down and clear, until they lay in a crumpled pool over her bare feet.

I ran my hands across her smooth, coffee-coloured bottom, feeling the soft warmth and vibrancy of it, pressing into the flesh to feel how firm her buttocks were, then I lightly slapped it, and she jumped. That was the signal for her to prepare. I stepped back as she shifted position to make her as comfortable as possible. I lifted the strap and brought it down across her backside with a light crack. She jumped and yelped, but didn't move. I gave her another stroke, this time a bit harder. Another cry, but no jumping this time. I then began to methodically strap her backside, from top to bottom, waiting about ten seconds between each hit to see the welt begin to rise. I finished after about 12 hits, and stood watching her.

She was crying openly, sobbing her heart out, and her bottom was quite red, with visible lines showing where the belt had hit, and thin welts showing where the lashes had crossed over. But she knew it wasn't over yet, and she was right. I walked up to her, and put my hand on the small of her back as I coiled the belt into a much smaller, but more painful lash.

"Are you ready, dear?" I asked

After a few more sobs, she nodded, her beautiful black hair rolling in waves with the motion of her head. I lifted my arm and laid the belt down another twenty times, giving her backside a very good covering of welts. I finally dropped the belt when I felt she had been disciplined enough and just held her down, crying, for another minute or so, then I shifted my hand and pulled her to a standing position.

She threw her arms around me and just collapsed, crying into my shirt as I picked her up and carried her into our bedroom. I laid her on her side on the bed and left her to go into the den. I poured two glasses of whiskey, downed one, then carried the other into the bedroom where I made her drink it.

She coughed a bit, but the drink soon calmed her down, and I helped her to stand so that I could undress her. I unzipped and removed her party dress, then unclasped her bra and put it with the dress. She stood in front of me, totally naked, cheeks damp with tears, her eyes very bright. I pushed her a step backwards so that I could gaze upon her disciplined and submissive body. Since I had married the girl, she had given herself totally to me, never refusing any of my desires or wants, going along with any idea I could imagine, always eager, and always ready to try something new.

I let my gaze drop from her oval face, slanted eyes, upturned nose and full lips, to her graceful neck, gently swelling breasts with their small but hard nipples, to the soft bellybutton, then down, to the smooth bareness of her vulva, which she waxed every week, because she knew I liked her to be hairless. I let my hand rest on her hip and gently turned her around so that I could see the damage done to her smooth bottom. The red angry marks were a stark contrast to the rest of her coffee-coloured skin. I stood, and pressed on her upper back, so that she bent over, resting her hands on her knees and pushing her bottom out as she kept her legs straight. My other hand rubbed her sore backside, feeling the heat radiating from the flesh, then my fingers slipped beneath her bottom to caress her vulva from behind, and she let out a long groan of pent-up frustration.

I continued rubbing her, slipping one, then two fingers inside her to feel her moistness and the tightness of my love's insides. She continued to groan softly, moving her hips in a circular motion to try and speed up my actions, trying to distract me from the last stage of her punishment. But she had to learn, I knew that, and she would soon remember what happened to a naughty wife who disobeyed her husband and stayed out all night to party with the girls.

I slipped my fingers from her vulva and up a bit, until one rested on the rosebud of her anus. I rubbed it, hearing her groan in embarrassment. She liked anal sex, but it embarrassed her greatly whenever I would touch her, or even refer to her ass in any type of discussion. I pressed with my slick finger, and it slipped past her anal muscle, into the warm dampness of her anus. I pushed until my finger was in her up to the knuckle, then I slipped it out and she felt my erect cockhead pressed against her buttocks.

Standing close behind her, I slid my hands under her to cup both breasts, and pulled her into a standing position as I fell back onto the bed, pulling her with me. She gasped as her sore bottom hit my crotch, but I then rolled her onto her side, and she drew her legs into a fetal position, holding her buttocks apart with one hand so I could have access to her rear entrance.

I rolled over and returned with a jar of lubricant which I used on my cock, to make it very slick, and also worked a good-sized dollop into her anal passage. Gripping her hip with one hand, I maneuvered myself into position, and pressed into her back passage with a single, smooth motion. She groaned as my entire cock slid into her and my groin pressed against her welted backside. I began to rock back and forth, slowly fucking her back into my good graces. She rocked in time with my thrusts, letting me take her as I wanted, as I needed, as she needed to be taken to feel she had been forgiven.

I thrust into her solidly, feeling the familiar surge in my groin and then pushed deeply into her as I came. I gasped into her hair and wrapped my arms around her as my cock surged, sending spurt after spurt of semen deep into her moist insides.

I held her tightly to me as we both fell asleep, comforted in the knowledge that she was now forgiven and that I still loved her.