My Wifes Peeping Tom Pt 3

Author's Note: I felt Brooke should tell part of her own story. Part 3 explains some events that happened in parts 1 and 2 from her perspective. It also covers her next step in her adventure.

I was mortified on New Year's day when my husband brought up my drunken confessions from the previous evening. My peeping Tom fantasy had always been my most embarrassing kink, and I'd kept it hidden from everyone for nearly twenty years. Frankly, I intended to take knowledge of that particular depravity to my grave.

That said, I felt so loved and understood when Ethan patiently listened as I tried to explain my most shameful desire. Even better, my husband didn't become jealous. Though he's an intelligent man, I honestly didn't expect him to understand that my fantasy wasn't necessarily a desire for other men so much as a compulsion to have a certain experience.

When he suggested incorporating my fantasy into our sex life, I found myself adoring Ethan even more. I just wish I'd come clean years earlier. I wasted so much time hiding my true self from the love of my life.

At first, I had doubts about my husband's idea of him peeping on me, but it turned out to be more erotic than I anticipated. My fantasy had always revolved around a stranger watching me in my most intimate moments, but revealing my utmost carnal self to the man with whom I'd spend the rest of my life turned out to be sexy as all get out. A stranger would've been a fleeting experience, but my exposure was so much more consequential when I'd have to face my peeper across the dinner table for the next forty or fifty years.

With my husband's nonjudgemental acceptance of my most shameful kink, we grew closer than ever, and I felt compelled to reveal even more of my hidden self to him. I'd never allowed Ethan to see me play with myself, but on that first Thursday evening, I got out my vibrator and set it on the table by the family room window as soon as he drove off for his poker game. Unfortunately, planning to let my husband see me masturbate aroused me so much that I couldn't wait, and I ended up using the toy twenty minutes after he left.

I climaxed far too soon in the evening, and I returned the toy to its hiding place long before Ethan returned. I figured I'd save it for the following week. As it turned out, after a few hours of edging myself with my fingers while I watched the dirtiest porn I could find, I ended up climaxing again, so my husband got to see me masturbate anyway.

It all became even more intense when Ethan caught my neighbor Anton peeping on me. Literally living out my fantasy set my libido into overdrive, and when my husband didn't seem upset about it, I figured we'd let it ride. I secretly began doing things specifically for Anton's enjoyment, but my husband saw right through me.

I got home from work one Friday and felt like playing. I put on a mesh nightie usually reserved for date nights. It felt so sexy as I waited for my husband to come home and find me cooking in such a slutty outfit, and I hoped Anton might show up for a peek as well.

Though he kissed me deeply as soon as he walked in the door, Ethan didn't even mention my completely sheer lingerie. I admit to being a little upset at his seemingly tepid reaction. My feelings on the matter completely reversed when my husband came back from changing out of his work clothes.

I trembled with sexual energy as Ethan walked into the kitchen wearing his best suit and tie. I had no idea he'd seen some of the videos I prefer where a well-dressed man dominates a naked woman, but I immediately imagined myself as my husband's plaything. I tried to appear reluctant when he imposed several new rules on me, but in my mind I jumped on board even before he fully established our new Dom/sub sexual relationship.

When Ethan unilaterally assumed the role of master, it excited me even more than my peeping neighbor had. I'd always wanted my husband to be more aggressive in the bedroom, but I had no idea how to ask for it without betraying my fellow feminists by admitting I wanted to submit to a man. I also didn't want him to think that I'd be submissive in all things because I still wished to be an equal in everything but sex.

Fortunately, I had nothing to worry about in that area. From that weekend on, I spent every evening of the week in skimpy lingerie either sitting at my husband's feet or occasionally lying on the couch with my lips wrapped around his cock while he watched TV. Our whole dynamic changed, and most nights I couldn't wait to get home from work and change into my "sub" clothes.

No matter what Ethan made me do, pretty much every night ended with his face buried in my pussy as he rewarded me for being such a 'good girl'. We now had sex a once or twice a week instead of just once a month, but most evenings my husband left me spent and panting at his feet as he settled down on the couch still fully dressed in his suit and tie. My newfound hyper libido made me feel like a teenager again, except I wasn't sexually active when I was young.

Nonetheless, when it came to making decisions about finances, social plans, and other issues, Ethan treated me no differently than before. In fact, he seemed more amenable to some house remodeling that I'd wanted to do for a long time. We're a true team, and our new erotic games didn't disrupt that.

Keeping our sex life separate from the rest of our relationship proved vital to our marriage. After a few weeks with him in charge, my husband spanked me when I argued with him over some silly thing he told me to do. That clearly wouldn't work when we disagreed about bills or other nonsexual issues. My first spanking came as quite a shock, but I survived, and it led to all sorts of new and interesting interactions between us. I came to view Ethan punishing me as just another aspect of our new Dom/sub relationship.

It's not like Ethan wanted to abuse me. He'd seen enough violence in the war to last him a lifetime, and I don't think he even

liked

slapping my bare bottom. My husband just understood my need to be dominated sexually, and letting me get away with sassing him during 'sexy time' would ruin the whole Dom/sub dynamic that provided us so many opportunities to try new things.

On that fateful Friday evening, I don't even remember what I refused to do or why it seemed like a deal breaker. I do recall Ethan saying "Final warning", and then I remember him interrupting my next argument by tearing my G-string from my body. He did it so violently that one of the side strings snapped, and the other became so stretched out that the scrap of sheer polyester slid freely down my leg to the kitchen floor.

Then my husband spun me around and yanked my nightie top up over my head without pulling it from my arms. Forcing it down behind me, Ethan managed to trap my elbows behind my back, leaving me helpless to resist him. Before I knew it, he'd sat down on a kitchen chair with me sprawled across his lap.

Dazed and confused, I struggled to escape, but my husband easily held me with one arm across my back. I heard the wet smack of his hand striking my bottom before I felt it. I yelped in shock, but I stopped fighting.

I tried to crane my neck to look up at my husband, but the second sharp slap caused me to wince. I still attempted to get my arms free from my nightie, but I'd ceased squirming. The third time Ethans's palm landed on my bottom, the room became blurry as tears welled up in my eyes.

Something inside me broke at that moment, but not in a bad way. My will to resist drained from me completely, and I went limp before the next blow left my buttock jiggling. A thick tear rolled down my cheek and plopped on the hardwood floor below me, but it wasn't from sadness or anger.

Actually, I couldn't keep up with all the emotions swirling around inside my head. Even as my subconscious raced to keep up with what I felt, a serenity descended over me that merely confused my addled brain even more. Despite the very real pain, I found acceptance for my situation before the twentieth and final smack on my buttocks.

Though he'd never spanked anyone before, my husband expertly spread the slapping around. He never struck the same place twice, and he managed not to bruise me even though my entire bottom burned from my punishment. As Ethan rested his hand on my leg with his fingers between my thighs, my only real concern was that he might try to enter my sex.

I wasn't sure I could endure the embarrassment of my husband finding my pussy sopping wet after my spanking. I knew that if Ethan tried, his fingers would slide in without resistance. I wavered between my desire not to be found out and my fervent need to be penetrated.

"Get your dildos and vibrator," my husband ordered softly, unknowingly letting me off the hook.

I slid off his lap and stood up on wobbly knees. Crossing the family room, I urgently spun the dial on the padlock that kept my toybox locked. It didn't occur to me until later that my neighbor Anton might be watching.

That was the first evening in weeks that didn't end with Ethan eating my pussy. Instead, he made me use all three toys at once just as he had the second time we knew our neighbor had peeped on me. Two hours later, he pulled the toys from my limp body and carried me to our bedroom.

Saturday morning, I bundled up to do a little winter pruning of the bushes and trees in our back yard. After I'd finished and changed into a little white nightie, I walked into our family room to find my clearly upset husband staring out the back window. Ethan lectured me about not letting his tools get rusty and ordered me to retrieve the pruner I'd carelessly left propped against our back fence.

I began heading to the mudroom to retrieve my coat and boots, but Ethan grabbed my upper arm and pulled me to the sliding glass door in the kitchen. Opening it, he simply pushed me outside without another word. He slammed the door behind me and folded his arms in front of his chest expectantly.

Going out in the backyard in my nightie on a sunny afternoon scared the Hell out of me because our neighbors could easily see over our privacy fence if they happened to look out their upstairs windows. However, the main thing on my mind as I took in my husband's stern expression was my spanking the night before.

At that moment, I experienced the strangest sensation of leaving my body, and my consciousness seemed to hover above as I watched myself turn around and face the back yard. Stepping off the bristly mud mat onto the freezing patio tiles, a shiver ran up my back. The frigid wind whipped the fringe of my little white babydoll top as I frantically scanned the windows of the two story homes on the other side of our back fence.

This turned my peeping Tom fantasy on its head. Crossing our large yard wearing practically nothing, I couldn't claim to be unaware of my exposure or act the victim like I could in the safety of my family room. To my surprise, blatantly demonstrating a lack of concern over my neighbors seeing me turned out to be a hot experience.

Of course, that was the only hot thing in that backyard. My bare feet sank into the ankle deep snow as I left the patio, and my nipples grew hard and sensitive in reaction to the three degree air. By the time I reached the fence, I trembled visibly from cold, excitement, and terror.

After picking up the pruner, I trudged back to the house. I guess I should've run, but I feared tripping and falling in the snow. With the wind now in my face, the open front of my little nightie blew open, and the sheer material billowed straight out from my body, leaving me basically naked below my breasts since the tiny G-string concealed almost nothing.

I might've become angry about being forced out into the cold, but then I saw my husband staring out at me. Even through the glass, I could see the intensely hungry expression on his face, and this reverse voyeur experience ramped up my arousal to the point that I stopped noticing the cold. I saw him reach down and adjust himself, and I knew I was in for a good time when I went back inside.

As I reentered the house, Ethan gave me a huge hug. Dropping the pruner on the floor, I luxuriated in the warmth of his embrace. Before I knew it, my husband had me on the dining room table with my legs in the air, his warm hands on my raw nipples, and his hot mouth on my chilled pussy.

I climaxed three times before he finally relented. Ethan left me gasping on the table as he used a rag to wipe the snow from the pruner and put it away in the garage. I never could've predicted that my frosty little trip outside could be so sexually stimulating, and it began to dawn on me how being uncomfortable might actually enhance a sexual experience rather than detract from it.

While I'd argued and struggled against being spanked that first time, my husband somehow sensed what I needed before I did. My stubborn pride and the prudish ideas about decorum that I'd inherited from my parents often prevented me from doing things that, deep down, I wanted to do. The implied threat of punishment now allowed my subconscious to surrender and do them anyway.

I didn't predict this odd aspect of the Dom/sub relationship. If I was 'forced' to do something, then I didn't have to feel responsible for it and could just enjoy it. Ethan used controlled corporal punishment to free me, not to oppress.

A good example of this occurred when the owner of the company where I work lost his mother to cancer right after my little backyard stroll. He had to travel to Iowa to make the arrangements and attend the funeral. Wednesday afternoon, my supervisor Laura told me that Mr. Jefferies' needed to see me in his office.

Apologizing for the extremely late notice, he asked me to house sit for him and take care of his two dogs over a four day weekend in exchange for a little overtime pay. Not only was it flattering that Mr. Jefferies trusted me with this, but I'd always had a little crush on the powerful widower and felt compelled to please him. The plan was for me to drive him to the airport and then spend the weekend at his place.

Mr. Jefferies seemed so distraught that I agreed to help him without even checking with my husband. Ethan wasn't thrilled when I explained everything over dinner that evening. I'd completely forgotten that we had plans to attend a reunion for his special forces unit in Chicago with all the wives attending.

My husband reluctantly agreed that I had to follow through with my promise to Mr. Jeffries, but he hated the idea of being the odd man out with his friends. I also think he planned on showing me off since I'm younger and thinner than the other wives. Ethan tried to hide it, but I could tell I'd really upset him.

On Thursday, my husband skipped his weekly poker game since we'd be separated all weekend. He and I spent a nice evening at home, but a tension remained just beneath the surface because Ethan remained unhappy about me bailing on his trip without discussing it with him first. At some point, I provoked an argument just to bring things to a head.

Our spat had nothing to do with the weekend. Ethan told me to do something, and I simply refused to do it. This fit right into our Dom/sub dynamic, and it led to the inevitable spanking. To my husband's credit, my punishment was no more severe than when he wasn't mad at me.

After my spanking, the tension between us simply faded away. I'm not sure if his anger had been sated or if my punishment had served as a distraction, but any conflict over the weekend completely evaporated. We even made love in bed that night instead of him roughly fucking me from behind on the family room floor.

The next morning, I got up late since I didn't need to go into the office. Mr. Jefferies picked me up in his Mercedes at ten and drove us to the airport so I wouldn't have to use my own gas. After he unloaded his luggage and rolled it into the terminal, I drove his car back to my house.

To my surprise, Ethan waited for me in the kitchen. Before I woke up that morning, he'd gone into work for a few hours, and I thought he'd leave for Chicago from his office since he had a long drive ahead of him. My husband pulled me in for quite a nice kiss as soon I walked in the door.

"Wow! Hello," I said when he finally let me come up for air. "Are you trying to make me regret not going with you this weekend?"

"No," my husband replied with casual grin. Then his expression turned serious and his voice deepened, "Take off your clothes."

Adrenaline immediately shot through my veins. He'd been using that 'master' voice for over a month, and I found it increasingly difficult to argue with. I wasn't really on a schedule, so I pulled my hoodie over my head. In about fifteen seconds, I stood in my kitchen wearing nothing but my wedding ring and a ponytail band.

"Come with me," Ethan ordered before turning around and leading me to our bedroom. As I entered the room, I saw a cute pink sweater and a black skirt lying on the bed. The tags for the brand new clothes lay on my nightstand with my scissors. "Get dressed."

I didn't even hesitate. Picking up the skirt, I pulled it on and saw that it left about three inches of my thigh showing while standing. When I turned back toward the bed, I noticed that the pleated skirt playfully floated away from my legs.

The pale pink sweater clung to my body like a second skin. The sleeves just barely reached my wrists and the bottom hem didn't quite make it to the waistband of the skirt. My nipples had grown puffy from the chill in the house, and they now stood out proudly as they pushed up the incredibly soft, fuzzy material. I then noticed the white knee socks lying on my pillow.

I sat down and pulled the socks on, immediately feeling warmer now that my calves were covered. Ethan handed me a pair of Mary Janes, and I slipped them on as well. My new outfit had a vaguely schoolgirl feel except the black shoes sported three inch heels and the skirt wasn't plaid.

"So what are we doing?" I asked, tilting my head and lowering my chin so I could look up at my husband shyly.

"Well, I'm heading to Chicago, and you're going to your boss' house."

"What?" I asked, completely confused. I assumed we were going to have a little fun before we took off for our separate weekends. "Then why am I wearing this?"

"Those are the only clothes you're taking with you this weekend," my husband declared, his voice deepening again. Ethan's baritone had it's normal effect on me, but his words did nothing to alleviate my confusion.

"But why? We won't even be together."

"That doesn't mean I don't expect you to be a good girl for me."

"I don't understand."

In a flash, Ethan moved forward and pushed me hard enough that I fell onto my back on the bed. Kneeling between my legs, he raised up the skirt and kissed the inside of my thigh. My sex clenched, and I trembled despite no longer feeling chilled.

My husband took his time. He slowly worked his way up my thighs with kisses, and then he licked to either side of my sex just to tease me. My hips came up off the bed when Ethan kissed my shaved pelvic bone, but his mouth backed away until I settled back down.

"Who's in charge?" my husband asked before blowing gently on my labia.

"You are," I groaned, wrapping my knee sock clad calves around his shoulders to pull him towards me. Ethan rewarded me for my correct answer by lightly licking my hood with the tip of his tongue. He didn't touch my clit, but the feel of him

ever

so close drove me wild.

"What are you going to do for me?" my husband asked, and I already knew the answer since we'd done this a lot over the past month.

"I'll do whatever you tell me," I panted, and Ethan pressed the flat of his tongue on my sex and slowly worked his way from bottom to top. I squirmed uncontrollably, causing my husband to again pull away. Whimpering, I forced my butt back down onto the mattress, but my legs maintained their death grip on his shoulders.