Confessions of a Kinky Wife. Justine Elyot
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‘This is a very de luxe number, isn’t it?’
‘Do you like it? I just thought it would look really good on you.’
Suddenly I was desperate that he didn’t guess my true intention. I wanted to turn back that tide, ignore my stupid repressed fantasies and live with what I had.
‘It looks vintage,’ he said.
God, he had uncoiled it and was letting it slide around his palm, then he pulled it taut between his hands and I nearly doubled over with arousal.
Surely he must see the effect this had on me? Instant wetness, so much so that I worried about leaving a damp patch on the chair.
‘It’s pretty sexy,’ I said.
He gave me a crooked smile. ‘You think?’
Waiter-with-chronic-bad-timing appeared to take our order and the sexual vibe lowered to a simmer, but it was nonetheless there all the way through the three courses, especially since the belt lay on the white tablecloth for all to see.
I imagined that everyone knew what it was really for.
Everyone knew that it had been left there, in my line of sight, to remind me what awaited me after the meal. They were all aware that, once the last mouthful of dessert had been swallowed, I was going to be escorted out through the kitchen to the back yard, bent over a barrel with my dress up and knickers down and strapped long and hard by my elegantly besuited husband.
What for? I tried to make up a reason, but I was fatally distracted by my own lust and the growing excitement in the pit of my stomach. It made for an uncomfortable eating experience, but three courses were a challenge for me anyway, so I picked and pecked at my food.
‘Aren’t you going to eat that?’
Dan, his appetite as reliably healthy as always, plucked a tuile biscuit from my plate and bit into it.
Some of the other diners had left the restaurant now, and we had a little more latitude for un-eavesdropped conversation.
I stroked the edge of the belt with one finger and said, ‘Do you really like it?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’ve wanted to get you one just like it for ages.’
He just held his smile, expectant, waiting for me to elaborate.
‘I think it would feel nice,’ I said hesitantly. Oh shit, now it was coming out. Could I take that back?
‘Feel nice?’ he said.
I stared down at the melted ice cream on my plate, too mortified to continue.
‘You’ve gone bright red,’ he said, but his smile slowly widened. ‘OK, I think it’s time to get the bill and get the hell out of here. Things just got interesting.’
The restaurant was a short distance from our flat by the harbour. Dan walked me back with one hand around my elbow, the new belt wrapped around his other set of knuckles. Damn, it looked good there. Man and belt in living harmony. I was wildly optimistic as we headed into the lift and, as was our tradition, snogged all the way up to the third floor.
We tipped ourselves out and fumbled the key in the lock and somehow didn’t collapse on the hall floor. Instead we made a kissing, grabbing, lunging progress into the living room and managed to stay upright all the way over to the sofa.
He pinned me to it and I felt that soft leather brush my wrist.
‘So, then, Pip,’ he said, his wide white grin inches from mine. ‘Tell me what you meant when you said my belt would feel nice. Because, as far as I’m aware, belts are meant to keep trousers up. How could that make you feel nice? Hmm?’
‘I just thought … you know … it’s so soft and it smells so good …’
‘Don’t. I know what you thought.’
‘Do you?’
My heart jumped high, sealing up my throat so I could barely breathe.
‘Fancy a bit of slap and tickle, do we?’
I giggled, writhing happily underneath him. Yes! This could happen. This was starting to happen.
‘Maybe more slap than tickle,’ I whispered.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Do I have to sign a consent form?’
‘Story of my life. Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. But no. I think in this case a verbal agreement holds good. Go on then. Turn over.’
He let go of my wrists and knelt up, watching me flip myself on to my stomach. My face rested against a velvet cushion, handy if I needed anything to yell into. We didn’t want to disturb the neighbours, after all.
I felt the tickly swish of my skirt being raised. It was a shame I had to imagine the look on his face as he uncovered lacy briefs and matching suspenders and stockings, but I’d seen it often enough before and at least I got to hear his low sigh of pleasure.
Rather than any sharp and sudden smack, the next physical contact was his lips on the low curve of my bottom, kissing their way over every inch of the flesh my knickers weren’t protecting. This kindled an amazing tingle, flooding my pussy and making my skin super-sensitive until I began to rather dread what I’d asked for.
Could I take it back and just carry on with this instead?
His fingers slipped inside the lacy elastic of my knickers, then down the suspender straps, pulling them out and letting them snap back so that I squealed.
‘Thought you’d like that,’ he said, his hands between my thighs now, pulling them apart. ‘Since you’re into pain these days.’
‘It’s not that I’m into pain,’ I said, my voice muffled by the cushion.
‘No? What then?’
‘Just … the whole idea turns me on, that’s all.’
‘The whole idea?’
‘Yeah. Being, I dunno, taken in hand. Dominated.’
‘Oh, so it’s a headspace thing.’
‘Totally.’
‘And I’m in charge, am I?’
‘If you want to be.’
‘So what if I just want to order you to get on your knees and suck me off?’
I huffed. I hoped he wasn’t going to miss the point now.
‘If you want to do that, do it. But it’s about both of us getting what we want, not just one of us.’
‘Right. And what you want is a good, sound spanking, is it?’
Oh, just hearing the words, spoken by him in his ‘arresting officer’ voice, could have got me off then and there.
‘Mmm, oh, God, yeah.’
‘Well,’ he said, his fingertips grazing the crotch of my knickers, stroking it up and down, up and down until my hips were undulating in sympathetic rhythm. ‘I’m not sure what you’ve done to deserve it. Apart from buy me a lovely anniversary present and give me three terrific years of marriage but … let’s say that you’re in trouble for having a bum that stops traffic.’
I snorted and tried to kick my legs but, as he was kneeling on them, that didn’t make much difference.
‘Oh, yes, you stand accused of conducting your arse without due care and attention, so that everyone on the public highway was distracted by it. How do you plead?’
‘Guilty,’ I proclaimed, steeling myself for the first blow.
It was much lighter than I anticipated, a little exploratory slap, so flimsy and weak-wristed I twisted my neck and frowned at him.
‘That’s