Instructed to Play. Various
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up. He gripped the buckle, folded the leather length back once, then raised the tanning instrument, glaring at Mary’s brazen ass, his cock straining.
‘Amy plunged her dong into my ass, and Alisha speared hers into my pussy. I almost burst with feeling, with passion – a huge black dildo stuffing my bum, another one stuffing my pussy. I slurped wildly on Karen’s slit, Amy pumping my chute, Alisha my cunt.’
Joe cracked the belt across Mary’s buttocks, whipping the woman. She shrieked, jolted shuddering onto her toes, her bum cheeks seared with the white stripe laid down by the black leather. Joe slashed her again, and again, and again, the belt streaking through the air, striking Mary’s bottom with flailing impact, shattering husband and wife.
‘Amy fucked me up the ass, Alisha fucked my pussy, the girls pumped full-length into my burning holes with their tremendous dongs. Meanwhile Lindsay sucked on my nipples and squeezed my boobs. And I hung onto Karen’s rippling bum cheeks and lapped her dripping cunt like a madwoman. I could hardly comprehend what was happening, what I was feeling, my emotions so wickedly wanton.’
Joe lashed Mary with his belt, blasting red and white stripes all over her ass, raising welts of stung, steaming flesh and then crushing them flat again. He was covered in sweat, gasping for breath, his cock jumping with every flogging blow, pre-come still flinging out of his slit. It went on and on and on, Mary’s fingernails breaking on the stone mantle, body bouncing brutally to the savage song of the improvised whip.
Until, finally, Joe threw the heated belt aside and crowded right in behind his quivering wife. He plunged his cock into her molten pussy.
Mary moaned, gasped, ‘Everybody in the church was watching us. Karen screamed, pulling on her nipples, her bum cheeks quivering in my hands, her pussy drenching my face. I lapped her slit, drinking in all I could, giving the gushing bride the best wedding gift of all. And then I was gifted with joy, too.’
Joe grabbed on to Mary’s breasts, slamming his cock back and forth in her pussy. He thumped against his wife’s blistered buttocks, pounding in the pleasure pussy and bum, plumbing the depths of both their sexualities with his cock.
‘Amy and Alisha frantically plugged my anus and pussy, Lindsay biting into my nipples, almost tearing them off. I was sent heavenward. Oh, Joe! I came so hard and so –’
She spasmed, jumping in her husband’s arms, on the end of his wildly churning cock. He jerked with his own searing orgasm, jetting inside her. The pair shuddered and squirted in front of the roaring blaze, joined in holy brimstone ecstasy of pussy and cock.
* * *
As a born-again Christian, Mary was only too glad to confess her sins. As a former adult actress with over 200 pornos under her belt, she had committed many such sins. Getting fucked by a minister in front of his flock with a follow-up group facial; lezzing it up with a bride and her bridesmaids in front of their wedding guests; these were but two of the scorching scenarios she had participated in on film.
She had only to wait for her bum to partially heal, before she’d ‘confess’ more such ‘fantasies’ to her righteously loving husband. So he could dish out her penance of perverse punishment, the pleasure of which they would both share in.
She looked at herself in the steamy bathroom mirror. Naked, she screwed up her eyes and surveyed the image. Turning left and right she looked at her tummy and her bottom and sighed. She saw curves everywhere.
‘Can that ever be a good thing?’ she wondered out loud.
Turning her face to the left and the right she pinned her hair up, trying to see beyond her own perceptions, how another would see her.
The bath was hot. She eased slowly in, the heat reminding her of ofuro, the Japanese baths of a lifetime ago. Indeed she sat for some minutes with the gentle formality of a Japanese lady before she gave up and eased back and down into the water.
The water was soft pink and petals rested on the smooth surface. She skimmed a finger to push the petals, to form a queue, she thought. She wanted to see order in the chaos. Breathing in the scent of jasmine and clary sage she allowed herself to relax and reflect.
* * *
The day started out so well. The scent of autumn cutting through the frayed ends of summer met her as she left the house for work. She wore a scarf and a light jumper, a combination that pleased her. It reminded her of childhood walks and crunchy leaves, of firelight, laughter and burnished reds and golds. She was doused in optimism until she looked in her post box and read the printing on the outside of a letter. A slow nausea crept over her as she slipped a finger along the crease and opened the envelope.
It was a fine notice – a fine of hundreds of pounds for not renewing her car tax, which she had had the money to pay but had not. What made her flood with guilt was that she had sworn to him, with wide and believable eyes, that she had paid it. She had even persuaded herself that she had done so. It had just been one of those dull little jobs that she did not want to do; spending money on a stupid piece of paper seemed such a waste. She had ignored it at first and then lied to make herself seem more efficient and then, when she remembered it in the dead of night, she just hoped somehow that she could ignore it and be let off.
When she was a child her father used to lend her money all the time and not once had she to repay it. It seemed so unfair to have to learn now that the world was not her benevolent father. Therein lay the problem, and it had led to this horrid, officious, formal telling-off, with barbs on.
She knew the issue would not be the money. If she needed that amount for something there would be no problem. The problem was the needless expense and the twenty-something different lies she had told to cover it up. Just moments before, she had felt so good, so on top of it all, but the letter made her feel fed up and useless. She felt stupid and that was so much worse than being in trouble.
All day she kept up the rhetoric of petty recrimination. The sustained and personal attack left her sad and strained by the end of the day and so when her beloved rang to suggest dinner she felt humbled by his offer and his ability to love such a fool and a failure.
She drove home and allowed a plan to gather, like birds flocking on telephone wires to await the flight from winter. She had made a mistake, she reasoned, and more than that she had chosen to lie, which was a blow to their relationship and was disapproved of by both of them. Except that his disapproval led to her being upended over his lap and dealt with in ways that made sitting a horrid experience and embarrassed her for days after. She simply would not tell him what had happened.
Her reasons were simple, considerate and mostly about him. He would be tired after a long day and would not wish to have another problem to deal with. A loving girlfriend meets her beloved with cheerful countenance. She had beaten herself up all day in ways that he would never dream of and so had paid for all her wrongdoing. She felt rubbish and unhappy and he wanted her to be happy, so that was what she should be.
She lay in the bath trying to reconcile her self-recrimination with an intention of feeling good and confident and in control.
The water had gone tepid while she was lost in her reverie, and she shook herself and then smoothed soap over her buffed skin to bring a delicate scent to every pore, disguising the turmoil just beneath the surface. She needed to reinvent herself, for him, for both of them.
The theatre of lotions and potions, their scent and the motion of application convinced her that it was possible to transform herself from total stuff-up and useless failure to fabulous lady, with only lotions and potions and creams and some terribly expensive underwear for her tools.
Towel-dried, she picked up her most treasured body lotion (price, a girl secret) and as she slicked it all over she did indeed feel different. She breathed in a scent