Again I nod with frantic gratitude, the insults as arousing as everything else.
Long years of miserably desperate fantasies are finally being realized! Easily reading my manic transport, Gretchen snorts her contempt again. She backs up, reclaiming her makeshift paddle. Then taking position kneeling beside me she tosses back all that glamorous hair and glares, clearly marshalling endless depths of righteous outrage at being duped into marrying a d**k-less loser, a cringing impotent submissive.
“Here we go then, b***h. Time to teach you what it costs to defraud this goddess!”
***
Given the staidness of Mrs. Vanilla, I had been dreaming of and praying for just a simple, even unenthusiastic open-handed pants-on spanking. Instead heavenly Gretchen sets herself and begins to beat my bare, utterly unprotected ass with that length of oak just as hard as her good right arm can manage.
Clearly that isn’t hard enough. Seeing that I’m gasping in masochistic ecstasy rather than from any physical distress, that I’m truly in the damned’s paradise having my twisted craving finally being so spectacularly sated, she begins using both hands, swinging that spoon like a power-hitter in a baseball game. Still I continue to hump my pillow, alternately lifting my ass to maximize the impact and then burying my burning b***r deeper with each searing surge of sensation, all while writhing erotically and gag-bleating my bottomless need.
Perhaps predictably, my obvious enjoyment only incenses Gretchen.
Bringing up further reserves of adrenaline she begins padding me so hard that at last she has me weeping and screaming and biting deeply into the soggy wad of my underwear, all while wrenching wildly at my implacably sexy silken tethers. Indeed with the last stroke ‘to grow on’ my flushed and panting wife hits me so hard that the spoon handle breaks, sending the paddle half whickering across the room.
Sobbing freely yet still writhing with wild arousal, my heart newly bursting with worshipful fealty toward my fearsomely majestic Supreme Being, I suddenly yelp with the keenest of pain-glee. She’s just used that badly splintered handle to viciously poke my deeply contused gluteus.
“Damn, boy! Once again I have to admit: that was actually fabulously gratifying. Look how black and blue and many shades of purple you are! I even almost had an orgasm on that last killer clout. Though thanks to that it looks as though I now need to buy you a tangible present after all. Perhaps a cricket bat, or even better, a canoe paddle. We’ll drill the blade full of holes and cut the handle down a bit, and the next time I won’t have to stop disciplining you until I do come. And here I went and already bought a treat for myself, a scandalously sinful s*x toy excused only by your inability to otherwise satisfy me.
“Ah, well. At least I’m fired-up enough to experiment with hate-f*****g you now. Something tells me that climbing on top, slapping and choking and crushing you with the most abusive kind of coitus really will be more rewarding than lying around all regretful while trying to endure your useless and pathetic attempts to impregnate me. Funny how I never even considered the idea before.”
And how unforgivable of me not to suggest it on our so terribly disastrous wedding night! Still as wildly eager as I am for the promised abusive man-ravishing, by the time Gretchen unties my ankles, orders me to roll over onto my extensively damaged ass and ties them back up just as securely, I’ve suddenly conceived of a different redemptive expedient. This is something else I’ve been too timid to yet suggest. The submissive frisson involved is so tantalizing though that I just have to bleat pleadingly into my briefs for my deity’s heed. Bless her benevolence again! Gretchen stretches her stocking free far enough to pull the wad of underwear from my mouth.
“You have something to say to me, sissy? It better be f*****g important!”
“Please my gorgeous Goddess Gretchen! I know it’s criminally tardy to offer this too. I was afraid your uptight upbringing would forbid it. But the fact is, my tongue is considerably thicker than my d**k. And it’s far more reliable. It won’t inconveniently quit on us.
“If you would choose to sit on my face first, I would be honored beyond all euphoria to service your sacred font of femininity to as many orgasms as you can manage. At the very least I could lick your entrance all wet and ready, you know, for more easily mounting me.”
Gretchen laughs nastily, sneering down her patrician nose at this.
“Oh, like I might actually feel an insertion this time? Give me a break, pico-p***s. Still, I believe you’re correct. I would have slapped your face swollen for offering to eat me out before. But why not? I’m going to be slapping you silly anyways. And you’ve already got me breaking any number of cultural rules and taboos.
“All right pig. Disgusting, germ-spreading oral activity it will be. Let me see what you can do, cunt-sucker. I’ll give you the length of time it takes me to smoke a cigarette. Then I’m going to punishment-f**k my sinning husband like Jesus himself would weep to see!”
Gretchen unhooks and drops her bra.
Oh, the gloriously morphing, limitlessly alluring shapes those usually precisely symmetrical breasts take as she leans down to extract a cigarette from her pack, to bring it to her naturally plump, ruddy lips and light it up! I could sing a million paeans to the appeal of her n*****s alone, so big and red, succulent as fresh ripe strawberries… Look how the naturally projecting aureoles just thrust forth their stiff, thimble-size tips! But then my sneering spouse turns her shapely back on me, deliberately facing away. Now wearing only her high heels, her jewelry and that sexy black half-slip, she backs up, swings astride me, lifts the rear of her slip and sits down atop my face – all in the exact manner she settles daily onto the toilet seat. With my nose now buried right in her anus, it’s hard not to notice those associations. I don’t let them deter me however. Indeed the idea of being turned into my goddess’ lowly commode, forced to live off her rejected excreta, adds an additional sick frisson as I begin frantically obeying her order to “Now eat up, piglet!”
Unfortunately it’s more than a bit shadowy under that slip. And our positioning makes it impossible to see what I’m doing anyway. Finding the fabled c******s under these conditions is hopeless. Still I tongue Gretchen’s slit and lips with more than manic diligence. Clearly my inept efforts are no more compelling than my c**k has been however. Bored already, I feel my deity tap ashes (and a painfully glowing coal!) into the cup of my belly-button. Then she begins using that cigarette to singe off the sparse hairs sprouting around my own pinkish little n*****s.
Fresh agony galvanizes me. Each touch of fire to those erogenous buds, each fresh ash/coal deposited in my navel spurs me to lap more urgently away, to push inside and poke rhythmically to the very limits of my speed and reach. Not once is it lost on me that each of those dropped coals means there’s that much less left of that cigarette, and thus my shrinking cunnilingual window. When I begin to feel my time is running out without having elicited a single sigh or erotic cry, desperation compels me to shift my head back a bit, so that instead I can lick and probe at her most luscious holy asshole. I might never get another chance…
Too bad. I’ve barely begun when celestial Goddess Gretchen rears furiously heavenward.
“You disgusting f**k!” An enraged deity whirls to condemn me. “What is wrong with you? I’ve never been so repelled by another creature in my life! You will never kiss me again, piglet! Open your mouth now and stick out that bacteria-infested tongue! I need to seriously sterilize it!”
When I comply Gretchen grinds her cigarette out right in the center of my most densely packed bed of taste buds. Tears streaming, choking back screaming while struggling not to puke, I feel my hard-on straining harder than ever before as my spittle-spraying deity shrieks at me.
“Putrid pig! Maybe that’ll teach you to keep to your proper place!” Dropping that stubbed smoke in my mouth she clamps an implacable hand after. “Eat that butt, disgusting ass-licker.”
Somehow I chew and choke that stinky filter down, my flaming tongue complaining of every gritty bit. Rather than be placated though, my goddess only grows more condemnatory.
“Look at you! I’ve never seen your teensy weenie sticking up so stiffly! You enjoyed auditioning to be my new ashtray, didn’t you, b***h?”
“Absolutely, Goddess,” I croak out. “Please use me so at every opportunity.”
“Very well. If you insist. Right now however I’m going to give Mister Useless one more try.
“I want and deserve offspring and I want and deserve orgasms, lots of both. And you damn well better provide me all that I feel I’m entitled to! Otherwise this kind of vengeful-harpy hate-f*****g will barely be the beginning of what you’ll suffer as my husband!”
***
One could only hope!
From the beginning the experience is so deliriously exhilarating I can’t really think but only wallow and respond. Still hiding herself under that slip, Gretchen straddles me and mounts my puny appendage – blithely taking me as forthrightly as though anything other than the missionary position hadn’t always been anathema to her. The feral aggression she then unleashes astounds nearly as much as it arouses me despite so many freshly made threats.
Seizing me between my neck and up-stretched arms she leans in and sinks all ten fingernails deep into the meat of my trapezius. Crushing my bruised butt into the pillow considerately set up to elevate it for her, Goddess Gretchen bears down and rides me with the fury of the most psycho sadist-r****t. Lunging punishingly against my restrained body, again spraying me with spittle as she shrieks the most eviscerating epithets, she reacts to Mr. Measly briefly if repeatedly slipping free by each time punching me square in the mouth, hard enough to bloody my lips.
Nor is that the limit of her battery. Back in manic rhythm again, my supposedly devout spouse seizes me not by the gouged and bleeding trapezius this time but right by the neck itself. Slender but powerful fingers cinch like ligatures about my throat; crossed thumbs press my Adam’s apple back into my trachea.
Pitiless in her divine judgment, raging with unreleased estrus, my gorgeous wife begins to puppy-shake and hostilely throttle me as she f***s me out of my forever-loving mind. And just as she’d also threatened, Gretchen only stops choking me to rear back and deliver slap after slap after head-rocking, cheek-swelling, roundhouse loud-cracking face-blackening smack!
Oh how the pain, terror, and victim-thrill fire my locomotive-out-of-control motor!
In all of my dreams of Gretchen agreeing to ride me, I’d always imagined how fabulously those matchless breasts would look dangling just inches above my face.
Divine wineskins elongated by gravity and gravid with their bounty… How they would dance and slap together, jiggle and jounce and even fling drips of sweat from the tips of their n*****s… Oh what a holy show, and how could anyone not ejaculate just watching that? It hadn’t occurred to me that I’d be too busy seeing stars, or only an ominously encroaching darkness as I was periodically choked ever more senseless.
No matter however. Every blow, every snarl, every squeezing increase of rhythmic constriction crushing in on my windpipe; every least, last bit of contemptuous abuse only enflames me further. Aroused about to bursting, watching my receding deity rage at me through a narrowing tunnel of dimming awareness, feeling my eyeballs and blistered tongue now protruding through a heavily-congested face, I’m at last wracked by a climax that feels more like a neuromuscular overload, a whole-body-and-mind-excessive-pleasure-convulsion.
Aksara