Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159420 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 797(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
“You dancin’ your fuck-me hips in the air, humpin’ it like you want somethin’ else to rub up against,” he goes on, his voice rough, and since he did come out of the dark, I know it worked, but of course I can’t really say anything right now. So all I do is moan and give him my best innocent eyes. His chest shudders with a scoff as he continues, “Or that. Those big fuckin’ eyes, so bright they make me see stars every time I look into them. Tellin’ me you’re just a good little virgin who never saw a cock before, let alone had one rut between your legs and pump you full of cum.”
I moan again. This time, it’s louder and completely genuine because if he doesn’t stop talking like that, I’ll come. And he’ll be mad because this is supposed to be a punishment and I’m supposed to obey him right now.
He comes to stand before me, running his eyes up and down my flushed, sweaty form. “If I wanted you to talk, I wouldn’t have gagged your princess mouth that sings like an angel but sucks me off like a cum-hungry slut, now would I? So you’re gonna stop bein’ a brat, baitin’ me, tryna top me from bottom, and you’re gonna listen like the good little wife you are, yeah?”
I swallow. He’s right. I should stop being a brat and be his good little wife because I did break his rule. So I look him in the eyes and nod, contrite. His nostrils flare at my obedience and he moves. He goes around me, taking me in with his hard and hungry eyes and coming to stand behind me, close. So close that I feel his chest, the muscles on it, the fine hairs, grazing my spine. I feel the heat of his cock, the fat and wet head, brushing against the small of my back. I even feel his knuckles sliding along my skin every time he takes a stroke, telling me he’s still playing with himself.
My head falls back on his shoulder as I whimper, imagining that visual—one of my favorites; he does that a lot especially in the mornings when I’m still sleeping and he’s awake, watching me as he jerks himself off, painting me with his cum—and he grabs my throat with his other hand, his mouth at my ear, “You know why I’m doin’ this to you, don’t you?”
I nod, my eyes drifting closed.
“It’s ’cause you’re impatient,” he goes on, squeezing my throat.
I nod again, to agree.
“You’re greedy.”
I whimper.
“Hungry,” he keeps going and flexes his fingers against my throat as his cock drips pre-cum on my skin, on the crack of my ass. “It’s ’cause you’ve got my ring on your finger and my name tattooed on your throat like a goddamn necklace for all the world to see, and you still think you can play with your cunt without me around.” He presses his thumb on the tattoo of his name on my throat, a small script that he did himself a few months ago after I kept houndin’ him about it, as he says, “You still think you can flick your little clit and stick your fingers inside your tight little hole that belongs to me, to your husband. Especially when he told you not to. I said that to you, do you remember that?”
I nod again, my vision going foggy. Yes, he did say that to me. He called to tell me when he’d be home and to be ready for him. Sometimes he does that. He tells me how he wants me, where he wants me. Sometimes he tells me to keep myself ready for him, which means I do get to play with myself so I’m all wet and horny by the time he gets home. Other times he tells me to not touch myself at all so I’m even wetter and hornier when he puts his hands on me. But as much as I love both, as much as I love obeying him and being his good little wife, today I really got impatient and he caught me, red-handed.
And brought me out here, to our barn, and tied me up to the ceiling.
“I did,” he goes on, his voice still low and rough, almost hypnotic. “Didn’t I? I told you to wait. Instead, I come home from a hard day of ridin’ and travelin’, and I find my little wife on our bed, naked and spread-eagled, her back arched and her juicy tits shakin’, her little fingers workin’ her pussy like the disobedient slut she is.” His fingers cut off my air for a second or two, making my entire body sing with the lack of air and too much shame before he mutters, “If I knew what a hungry slut you’d turn out to be, I would’ve tattooed my name on your cunt instead of your neck. So every time you touched it, you’d know not to. Because it’s mine, isn’t it? My property, my territory.”