Zelda sashayed beyond the door way in a skin tight dress - a pattern of wild exotic birds strewn across the bodice and the skirt. It would appear the birds could talk when she moved, their likenesses so vivid. She wore a pink Orlon sweater at her shoulders, but it did nothing to hide the plunging neckline that ended at the cleavage of her generous breasts. At her husband’s side, she nuzzled next to him and stroked his hair, while Mitchell reached his hand around to fondle her bottom tenderly.
“Oh, my, are you getting horny?” she purred.
“Perhaps I should be,” he said, remaining guarded in his reply. “But I imagine you must be satiated after screwing Bobby Beaumont.”
She jerked. Zelda was never one to disguise the truth. She rarely even tried to lie.
“He’s a good fuck?” Mitch went on asking, as he looked up at her slightly contorted face.
“Honey, what makes you think I’d fuck that brute, when I have you?” she sing-songed her only refrain.
“You were joyriding with him, darling. Right down the interstate. When State troupers call me to restrain my wife, I find the business unpleasant. When did you start fucking him again?” Mitch’s eyes quit dancing deviously, as he began to let the hard darts fly.
“Screwing him honey? We was just out for a little ride in the country,” she purred.
“And . . “
“Mitchell, honey, I was missing you, gone so many days. There’s nothin, between Bobby and me. Such a scamp.”
“You want it hard or you want it long and slow,” Mitch asked her.
“I always want to fuck you long and slow, but if you want it hard, I suppose . . .”
“I’m talking about your punishment, Zelda darling.”
She feigned a worried expression as if she didn’t expect him to be upset.
Mitchell suddenly jerked out of his chair, and stared down at his unfaithful wife. Her problem was, she reeked sex from her tousled bottle-blonde curls, to her full pouty lips and glorious figure. The two were just inches apart, Mitch towering over the five foot two brat. She heaved her chest at him, so he might have bent down and buried his face in the treasure there. But he was too piqued with her for sex. A scowl on his face turned into a snicker, as he placed his heavy palm on her right ass cheek, and thought of reddening it with the sharp smack of a leather belt.
“You’re coming with me, tramp,” he said as he picked up her featherweight body, and flung it over his shoulder.
“What you are doing!” she blared, and she kicked her legs.
“Going to blister your ass, my darling, blister your ass.”
“Dammit, nooo!” she shrieked.
He laughed nastily, carrying her up the stairs to the bedroom, stopping long enough at a closet where he kept his supply of corrective tools. The first one he laid his hands on was a two foot leather strap. The feel of it in the palm of his hand was instantly exhilarating. As long as his negligent wife was screwing Bobby Beaumont, it was his right to whip her ass, and he’d relish every second. He didn’t mind how she fought, how much she screamed and beat her fist against his muscled back. He was laughing inside the whole way.
In the bedroom, Mitchell grabbed for a length of rope from the closet, set her on her feet, and while still controlling her wriggling body, he tied her wrists together so they’d be out of his way.
“You really must like this, darling,” he chortled delighted. Lassoing the headboard with the long end of the rope, he had her tied taut with her backside bending over the end of the high old-fashioned bed. Her tight dress had already ridden up above her rear mounds, pink white flesh coming into view a splendid sight. Tugging her dress so it was completely out of the way, Mitch stood back and admired the exquisite target.
“Darlin’, please. I’m so sorry. I really am,” she pleaded for mercy.
“Didn’t even wear panties for him, Zelda,” Mitch replied, noting how her two orbs appeared with no obstructions between them and his leather strap. He loved the look of her tied up this way, the plump cheeks, the shapely thighs and svelte legs down to her tiny feet that were squeezed into a pair of four inch high pumps.
“I never wear panties, darling,” she purred, as if that was some reasonable excuse for her immodesty.
“And a good thing that is,” Mitch laughed as the first smack of the leather strap connected with her bottom.
“Yeow!” she howled.
The leather landed hard on Zelda’s wiggling posterior. She always hollered enough to wake the dead. But she was experienced enough with her husband’s brand of justice to know if she waged an all out mutiny, Mitch might lock her in her bedroom for a week. Worse yet, he wouldn’t make love to her, and that she couldn’t bear.
“Good god, you’re going to mark me for good!” she blared unhappily, as the strap stuck her again. “You bloody, sonafa . . . Yeeeeeeeaw!”
Mitchell Coe was beyond listening to his wife’s protests. He was much too taken with the sight of her creamy flesh turning red and blotched and as angry looking as Zelda’s high-spirited wails.
“You’ll regret it, you friggin’ animal!” she roared once more, just as she was recouping from a smack so painful that it made her struggling body go limp. Mitch followed the harsh strike with another and another yet, before he finally paused again.
“Maybe someday, my darlin’ Zelda, you’ll learn,” he purred to her sweetly. The amusement on his face was sublime. “Until then, your misbahavin’ ass is mine.” He leveled another angry smack, and listened to another of her creative wails. She was such a conniving genius, acting as if she didn’t love every minute of her agony.
“Good Gawd, Mitchell,” she finally found her civil tongue, hoping a little sweet talk might end her torment. “I’m sorry, I really am.”
He smacked her again, though this one was not so vicious as the others.
“Please, darlin’, no more,” she whimpered softly, as Mitchell began to slow his pace.
As her husband eased the blows, she began to sway her bottom lewdly. The fire-hot cheeks moved for him like a languid feline seducing her mate. The display never ceased to grab Mitch in the groin. And feeling the erotic wave, he tempered the ferocity of the whipping even more, so Zelda’s protests faded into rich laments. Her pussy was rubbing against the wooden foot-board of the bed right at her crotch. And the sparse but steady smacks of the leather became much like the rhythm of an erection thrusting its way inside.
Seeing his wife’s overt arousal, Mitchell dropped the strap. Attacking her distressed behind, his zealous hands mauled her punished cheeks. Then he poked himself inside her soppy home. She was screaming again, but that was only because of the climax ripping through her. She bucked against his groin and thrashed about as much as she could. Her eager inner muscles milked his come from him, until Mitchell’s roar joined hers in a savage celebration of their lust.
Pulling out of her, he wiped himself on her fading red bottom. Then after restoring proper order to his attire, he left her still tied over the end of the bed. She’d remain there as long as it suited his fancy to let her go. It might be hours, might even be nearly a day. Though by the time he returned to her, she’d have crawled up on the bed and fallen asleep.
As it turned out, he came to her at midnight, finding her lying amid her rumpled covers, looking soft and rounded like a luscious crumb-cake. With her even breathing, her body rose and fell in insignificant ways, breathing life into her tired limbs and provocative chest. At rest, she was a peaceful one, almost like a child. She’d never really grown up despite the years. Perhaps he loved her for it, though it could aggravate him too. She had a hard time keeping promises. She had no real understanding of commitment. But she always came back to Mitch with an open heart, and willingly accepted the consequences of her bad behavior. The games she played with him were as transparent as her unmarked pink-white skin. For attention she always did the riotous and stretched her boundaries to extravagant limits, and in the end, thrilled to the grand finales when he reigned her in with his dictatorial command.
“You look so pretty sleeping here,” he said running his fingers through the scattered blonde curls.
“Humm, you joining me?” she purred to him, hardly rising from her slumber.
“I will later,” he cooed sweetly. From the glimmering lamp light he could see her marked behind, a satisfying sight to him.
“I promise, I’ll behave myself,” she murmured. Her loins were hot, having half-awakened in a swampy stupor.
“I know you will,” he assured her. He leaned down and kissed her lips lightly, then moved off the bed. He untied her hands so he could remove the jungle-bird dress that was pulled down at the top and up at the bottom and bunched up twisted around her waist. Naked entirely, she might have welcomed him with opened legs, except that was not on Mitch’s mind. Instead, he moved her under the covers and tucked them in around her. An innocent peck at the cheek followed, before he left her for the night.
(c) Oleg Sizonenko, www.artnude.net