"Well now," he said, and he patted me on the head, "I'm glad we got that straightened out. Now grab those ankles so we can finish your punishment and start to have some fun."
The sudden rush, deep in my belly, was mostly fear but there was a hint of something else too. As my fingers wrapped around my ankles and I assumed that terribly awkward position I realized it was excitement. In one of the great
non sequiturs
in the history of irrelevant thoughts I remembered something from a long-ago class in some psychology, maybe Human Growth and Development. The line from my notes, and I could almost see them written in my mind's eye, was, "Any attention is better than no attention." I realized that this, as painful and demeaning as it was, was better than the casual indifference of my husband.
"Now Judy," he said, and in a second irrelevancy I realized I no longer minded the shortening of my name, "you've been a good girl and I'm feeling generous so we won't restart the count at one. But I am going to round up to fifty."
When I didn't say anything to that his fingers were suddenly in my hair, twisting and hurting.
"I think the phrase your weak mind is seeking is 'thank you, Daniel,'" he said.
"Thank you, Daniel," I said, my voice bubbly in this position as my nose ran and I was drooling along with my tears.
"Thank you, Master," I added and felt a rush of excitement in my belly at that bit of surrender.
"Good girl," he said, patting my ass, making me flinch, "The count is 37 he said."
"Yes, sir," I said and again the submission suggested in the honorific gave me a tingle between my legs.
The crack of the belt across my ass tore a scream from my throat as I buried my face in the pillow, wet with my tears and snot and drool, and my feet kicked involuntarily.
My body was shuddering. My ass was on fire. No, My ass was being flayed, alcohol poured on it and then salt rubbed in. I struggled to draw in a breath and finally managed, "Thirty-Seven. Please, Master, may I have another."
My bladder control failed at 44 and my orgasm took me at 48.
I was still cumming when the belt cracked for 49 and I screamed, unable to bend forward and muffle it in the pillow until he grabbed my hair and pushed my face down.
He jerked my head back and I managed "Forty-nine. Please, Master, may I have another."
The fiftieth and final stroke was the hardest, almost knocking me over until my face in the pillow kept me from falling.
"Fifty," I managed.
"Damn, girl," he said, "you look so good like that. Spread your cheeks, I feel like packing some fudge."
I giggled and could hear the hysteria there as I realized what he meant. But I was beyond any resistance. I reached around and spread my cheeks.
"Oh, yeah," he said, snapping his fingers and walking to my little clutch purse. He dumped the contents onto the desk and picked out my cell phone.
He dropped the cell phone on the bed and said, using that casual, conversational tone, "Once I get started, Judy, call your husband and let him know you won't be home tonight."
My breath caught and I moaned but I knew that I was far beyond saying "no" to anything.
David and I had experimented with anal sex and if I'm being honest, I enjoyed it, but that had always been with plenty of foreplay and lubrication. I knew this would be different and I moved my fingers deeper into my
gluteal cleft
until they touched the circle of my anus and I opened myself, wanting to make it as easy for him, well, for me too, as I could.
And my mind was racing, trying to come up with something to tell David because the thought of saying "no" to Daniel didn't even occur to me.
I felt the hardness of his cock, and that's how I thought of it, his "cock," not something more, well, gentile like his "erection," touching my fingertips and then the sensitive circle of my asshole. I took a deep breath and tried to relax as I felt the pressure building.
There was a sudden pain as he entered me, stretching me but not really any worse than when I was constipated. Then there was the sharper pain as my hemorrhoids were abused and the lingering pain as the lack of any lubrication irritated and abraided sensitive tissue.
I couldn't stop the cry that escaped as his full length entered me.
"Tell me how much you like it, Judy," he said.
I groaned and managed, "I love it."
"That wasn't very convincing," he said as he pulled almost all of the way out and then slammed back in hard enough to force me to catch myself with my face in the pillow that caught my screams earlier.
"I LOVE IT!" I screamed into the pillow.
"That's better," he said, pulling me back by my hips so I could stand again.
"Now," he said, grunting as he thrust into me again, "you may release your ankles to make your call."
"Oh, God," I moaned.
He laughed. "No, Judy, oh Daniel," and he slammed into me again, "Now make the fucking call."
My fingers were trembling so badly that I had trouble pushing the little button on the side of the phone to turn the display on. When I managed that task I had the strangely bizarre thought that "that was a task worthy of Hercules." Then I giggled, and there was no question about some hysteria there, when the follow-on thought came, clearly, almost as if I could hear my voice saying, "That was a bizarre thought."
While I was managing to get my cell phone turned on and struggling to avoid all-out hysteria, Daniel's rhythm had settled into a pattern. He would pull out almost all the way and then thrust in, hard and fast, but without the brutality of those first couple of shoves. The burning pain of abrasion of tender tissue was easing and I didn't want to think of what was lubricating me.
I managed to open my "contacts," find, "hubby," and press the little green icon to make the call.
"Judith?" he said by way of answering. His tone told me he was busy at work doing whatever Vice-Presidents of Seven Boring Things do. We didn't talk about his job much ever.
"Hey," I said, trying very hard for casual, "I hope you don't have any plans for tonight."
"Huh?" he said and then, "Uh, no."
"Good," I said, managing to cover the grunt with a cough as Daniel thrust again, forcing me to push against the mattress to keep my balance, "Arlene won a spa day at Copper Mountain and wants me to go along with her so I won't be home tonight. I'm not sure about tomorrow yet."
"Sure," he said instantly and I think his lack of care in that instant sealed my fate.
