People have requested a prequel to A Dutiful Wife, and I decided that you were all right, so here it is. This story looks at the beginning of Grace's marriage, as she struggles to come to terms with Thomas' particular definition of fidelity and the restrictive expectations he has for her. When, in a desperate bid for relief from her frustrations, she disobeys him and touches herself one night after he's gone to bed, the consequences are severe...3.5k words, dark content rating.
Content warnings/tags: misogyny, including use of misogynist slurs during sex; eroticization of traditional gender roles and religiously-motivated control of women's bodies; dubious consent; spanking; humiliation; careless use.
Grace lay in bed, watching the dim moon-cast shadows dance across ceiling, and told herself to sleep.
Just sleep. It shouldn't be so difficult.
After two months of marriage, she'd become used to the warm, softly-snoring presence of Thomas in the bed beside her, the feeling of his seed dripping out of her used sex and growing sticky between her thighs after a thorough bedtime fuck.
She'd learned, too, how to sleep through the burning, unsatisfied need that he left in her as well.
But tonight...
Before marriage, Grace had been accustomed to entertaining herself--when she had the time and the privacy--with a quick rub between her legs. She had thought herself quite good at bringing her body pleasure, and had never anticipated that a man would add very much to the equation.
She had had no way to anticipate Thomas.
His fingers, rough-skinned and firm in their grip and yet so gentle with the more tender parts of her anatomy. His hands, big enough to easily move her around and hold her down as he saw fit.
His cock, large enough to terrify her on their wedding night.
And she had been afraid--but only until he had seduced her into accepting him. He'd used calm reassurances and gentle touches to draw out a hunger in her like she'd never felt before. He had found every sensitive spot on her body that night, methodically teasing her until she was begging for consummation.
Then he had brought her to screaming satisfaction over and over, his thick cock lodged so deep inside her that she could practically feel it in her lungs whenever she took a breath, his fingers strumming over that tender nub at the crown of her sex incessantly until she was near incoherent with how many times she'd peaked.
But, as he'd explained later, that treatment had only been in consideration of her virginity. To teach her to crave her husband's attention, rather than to fear it.
Since that night, any pleasurable touch with his fingers was brief and intentional, only enough to get her wet and ready to accept his cock. No matter how she shook and moaned and begged, he would not touch her while he coupled with her, nor would he allow her to touch herself. He had made it very clear that he expected her to seek pleasure only through the purity of the marriage bed--which, to him, meant that she should climax solely from his cock, or else not at all.
Not at all was the typical result.
In the months since the debauched pleasure of their wedding night, Grace has only managed to get anywhere near satisfaction a few times. More than once, her impending climax had been spoiled for her as the abrupt spasming of her body had accidentally dislodged Thomas from inside her, stealing away her pleasure at the critical moment and leaving her trembling and weeping in his arms.
Even that had not been a major concern for him. Though he consoled her, it was not enough to convince him that he should touch her more, that he should allow her to touch herself.
It was a childish indulgence, he told her; not fitting behavior for a woman, for a wife.
It infuriated Grace. She had never discussed matters like this with her family, and it certainly wasn't talked about in church, but she couldn't believe that every married couple in their community felt this way--that pleasure and satisfaction should only be found in the act of coupling; that any pleasure sought alone was an act of infidelity, and that a woman's peak was only natural and Godly if she reached it from penetration alone.
Although, perhaps, it would explain the sour dispositions of certain other women in the community, if they did live under similar restrictions.
Regardless. Thomas was adamant, and Grace had found no way to defy him.
Oh, she had tried. She'd stolen bits of privacy, used all manner of excuses to be alone. But Thomas seemed to have some sort of God-given talent for coming across her just as she found a moment to herself; he'd interrupted her just before she'd slid a hand up her skirts too many times for her to count now--and interrupted her after she'd started a very memorable three times.
Each of those three incidents had resulted in a disciplinary spanking.
And the spankings...God, just thinking of them made her situation even more urgent. His broad hand, impacting her buttocks with a breath-taking firmness, lighting a fire there that spread so quickly to her cunny...
It was a special kind of torment, having just enough time to herself to get started--and then being interrupted with a firm spanking and not being allowed to finish herself after. Being sent sternly back to her housework with her rear smarting and her sex throbbing, feeling as if just a single careless touch to her crotch might set her off.
Left to burn with need until their next evening coupling, by which point her passions inevitably would have cooled to the point that she was once again unable to achieve more than a ruin from the sweet, frustrating pleasure of Thomas inside her.
And, as if that weren't bad enough, after the last time Thomas had caught her with a hand up her skirts, he had shown her the device. It was a leather and metal girdle, with straps to adjust to her size and locking buckles; a shield to cover her cunny, to keep her hands away, which he had threatened to lock it onto her body if she couldn't learn to keep their marriage vows as he understood them.
It was becoming intolerable.
It was three weeks, now, since she'd last reached her peak, and that had been a distinctly unsatisfying event, a pathetic and weak trembling that had begun only after Thomas had finished in her, leaving her shaking and hungry as he slid out. He had held her wrists down easily as she struggled, fighting to reach down and rub her trembling sex, too stunned by his refusal and her own monumental disappointment to even beg.
Now, Grace felt frighteningly close to a spontaneous repeat of the experience.
Her cunny throbbed and fluttered, even as she lay in bed, trying to force herself to sleep. It remembered the pleasure of being fucked, and it demanded to know why that pleasure had stopped before it had been brought to completion.
