She Gets To Be The Bread
In At Her Husband’s Command by Lily Harlem, Melody and her masterful husband are preparing for a kinky dinner party when she gets distracted from their kitchen prep work by watching his strong hands knead the bread dough and imagining herself in its place. When he catches her ogling him, their preparations get delayed somewhat:
She smoothed a crease from the black satin tablecloth she’d carefully ironed earlier, and straightened the antique candelabra she’d set in the middle.
“Bend over.”
Her breath caught in her throat as a firm pressure was applied to the centre of her back.
She did as instructed, folding double until her breasts pressed on the tablecloth and the cool material rubbed her cheek.
So we have got time?
She smiled, but only briefly, because then she bit down on her bottom lip so he wouldn’t guess her feeling of triumph that she’d gotten to him.
“There is a time and a place for giving your master suggestive looks and allowing desire to fill your eyes,” Ivor said, dragging up her skirt and exposing her naked buttocks.
Cool air washed over her skin and a tremble attacked her pussy. Her heart rate picked up.
“And when we have our friends’ visit to prepare for, it is very inconvenient for you to make me think of reddening your arse and wanting to fuck you.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” She closed her eyes. She wasn’t sorry, not at all. If she’d been damp in the kitchen watching him knead the bread, now she was very definitely wet.
He stroked her buttocks, the small calluses on his palms scratching her flesh. “You’re marked from last night.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Was it too much?”
“No, of course not.”
“Good.” He delivered one hard slap to each buttock, the sound echoing around the room and clattering over the slate tiled floor. It was just the kind of noise they didn’t need neighbours hearing.
Melody barely flinched. Until the sting of his slaps layered into fire, she could handle it fine.
“You wanted to be the bread?” he asked, stepping away from her.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I did.”
“Open your eyes.”
She did as instructed. He was standing to the side of the table and held up the long wooden serving plank that the bread would be placed on later. It had a handle and a large flat rectangular surface the size of a small tray.
Her heart rate picked up. She’d been spanked with many implements over the years but this… this was new.
And scary.
“If you can’t sit down later, if you need to eat your meal standing, then that’s your own fault,” he said, rubbing his hand over the surface of his newest toy. “And you can explain to the guests that you flirted shamelessly with your master when you should have been preparing for their visit.”
Melody didn’t think her flirting had been particularly shameless, but if Ivor said it was, she’d go along with it. Arguing would be futile, plus the glint of excitement in his eyes thrilled her. His new spanking paddle had clearly got him really hot under the collar.
She risked a glance at his groin, just visible over the surface of the table. Sure enough, a long, thick bulge strained at his fly.
A groan escaped her throat. God, would he fuck her too? Now? Just a quick fast one after he’d reddened her buttocks to give them both some release and possibly a little stamina for later?
Later… a few sweet hours and then…
She didn’t have time to think about later because the air behind her whooshed in a cool breeze, then a crack of pain covered both of her arse cheeks.
She cried out and shifted up the table.
Fuck, that had hurt. The pain was deep and profound as well as sharp and mean.
Another hard whack.
She went up onto her tiptoes and clenched the tablecloth, gripping it in her fists.
“Mmm, very nice,” he said, caressing her arse. “A beautiful, broad band of redness.”
“Yes, Sir,” she murmured.
“I must use this more often.”
“Yes… ah…”
He’d hit again.
She harnessed the pain, the way she was adept at doing and allowed it to pool in her clit. Grinding against the table, she enjoyed the way the hard wood dragged against her body and crumpled the satin.
“Good girl,” he said. “That’s it. Make it feel good.”
She knew she was lucky. Ivor was a kind master who allowed her to find relief by rubbing herself as he spanked her. Whether it was the table, his leg, or the back of the sofa, it was permissible.
“More,” she gasped. “More, please.”
He gave it, hard and fast, another five paddles that had her skin raging as though live fire had raced over it.
She clenched her internal muscles, a drip of moisture oozed down her thigh, and she reached for her clit.
Crash.
The paddle had landed on the floor. Ivor was behind her, kicking her feet wider.
Melody moaned, knowing what was coming. Gazing lustfully at him as he’d made the bread had been the best thing she’d done all day.
His cock was there, searching for her entrance. Then he was pushing, shoving, burying deep.
He gripped her hair, yanking it into a rough ponytail. “I’m going to fucking fuck your red arse, you bad sub,” he said, his voice laced with tension.
“Yes, yes…” She arched her back, pushing her hips up and taking him deeper—so deep he nudged up against her cervix and his wiry pubic hair scratched over her tortured butt.
Again she groaned. She adored that deep dense sensation combined with his body further abusing her skin.
“Come quickly,” he ordered. “This wasn’t in our schedule.” He withdrew, pounded back in.
Melody’s feet were lifted from the floor. She was at his mercy. She was his. He could do with her as he pleased.
Her forearm was being squashed by her body but she didn’t care; she worked her clit, trying to keep a rhythm as he fucked her with increasing enthusiasm. His cock was thick and bloated; he wasn’t far from orgasming.
The air was bashed from her lungs, she snatched in breaths when she could and surrendered to his domination of her. Soon the pressure was spiralling out of control, the need for release all she could think of.
She stared out of the window, at the sun shining on the fields the same way it had minutes ago. The world carried on, nothing changed, but within her body a cataclysmic event was about to erupt.
“Come, come,” he shouted, dragging on her hair with one hand and gripping her hip with the other.
The tension uncurled, romping through her body and spreading bliss to every nerve ending. She was owned by him, her pleasure was his. What they had was so special and all she’d ever wanted and needed.
Her master came, flooding his release into her in several near-violent thrusts. He shouted her name, sent an unholy praise to God, and knocked her further up the table.
Melody melted into his grip. Adoring his moment of climax. The fact that it was she—his wife, lover, and submissive—who produced such gratification, gave her a wondrous feeling of power.
“Oh, yeah, baby,” he said, folding over her, his chest touching her back. He released her hair and kissed her temple. “You’re so fucking bad but so fucking good.”
She suppressed a giggle as she panted for breath. She adored his post-coital murmurings. He stopped being the big bad dom and became a grateful puppy who just wanted to coil himself around her.
His weight was heavy but she didn’t complain. The tablecloth was creased beyond salvation and no doubt stained with their pleasure. It would have to be quickly washed.
They stayed like that for several minutes. Melody’s heart rate slowed and her breathing came under control.
Eventually he lifted up. “We have work to do,” he said, withdrawing. “More now than before, so step to it.”
He gave her arse one final swift slap.
The delicious sting reverberated through her and she could imagine the ripples travelling over her skin, slipping in tiny waves over her buttocks then being absorbed into her thighs.
But she didn’t enjoy the moment for more than a second. She had work to do.
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