What She Wants
Cassie was dressed to please him, skirt just above the knees, flat sandals, frilly
tank top, cotton bra, no panties.
He took her in his arms asking her right away if she was naked under the skirt.
“Yes, baby,” she whispered, feeling his cock harden against her.
He was wearing his fatigues. He was home from the war and in just a few minutes they
would be home playing all the games they both loved.
“You been a good girl?” He gripped her bottom possessively.
“I tried, Sir,” she rasped. There were thing to confess. Her heart beat excitedly,
anticipating the punishment she would get.
“Take my bag,” he said.
“Yes, Sir.” It was heavy. A few heads turned to see her carrying the large duffel,
but that was their way, subjugation and obedience, sexy dominance all the way.
“Let me suck you,” she said as they got in the car.
He slapped her hands away.
“Let’s hear you beg, beautiful.” His hand formed a tight knot in her hair, the curls
lustrous black. Fifteen months he had been gone and she hadn’t cut it once.
“Please, Sir, may I suck your cock?”
“You think you deserve it?”
Cassie whimpered, trapped by the question.
Captain Dale Royce laughed. “Use your teeth,” he commanded.
Cassie worked the zipper, feverish. It took her a while to work his cock free, tall
and proud and more than ready.
Using her tongue and lips she began to worshipfully suck. One hand on the wheel, the
other stroking her hair, he told her about the treats he had in store.
“I have a few surprises in that bag, baby. Some things Arabs use on their women. I’ve
got a couple of new games, too. You’ll feel like a slave, baby, I promise you that.”
Cassie bobbed her head, wordlessly pleading for him to come.
He gifted her with a deep groan followed by powerful spurts out the end of his
engorged cock.
Cassie drank his emission humbly and gratefully. Starry eyed, she put away his
manhood for him afterward.
“You hungry, baby? Why don’t you cook us some eggs,” he said, kissing her as they
pulled into the driveway.
Cassie practically floated into the house.
“Forget something?” His hand was on her upper arm like steel. She flushed red.
“Sorry, Sir.” One of his rules. It had been so long.
As his slave-wife, Cassie was required to strip naked every time she entered the
house.
He waited till she had slipped off her sandals and pulled off the tank top before
stepping in. Removing both of her full breasts from the white cotton cups he took hold of
her lush, pink nipples.
Her eyes brightened, her limbs went slack, his. It was one of his favorite methods of
control and discipline, not to mention humiliation on account of the way it made her react
against her will.
Expertly, between thumb and forefinger, he manipulated the rubbery nubs all the while
studying her reactions. “You’re a slut, aren’t you, baby? An attitudinal,
under-disciplined little slut.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Dale pinched harder, testing.
When she raised her hands to free herself from his grip he barked an order. “Down,
girl.”
She dropped her arms. The disobedience had been reflex on her part, but he would deal
with it nonetheless.
One by one he slapped her breasts with light glancing blows, hot and erotic.
She stood at attention.
He lifted her chin, forcing eye contact. “There’s something in my bag, go get it,
you’ll know it when you see it.”
Cassie moved quickly, bare foot, half naked to where he’d tossed the duffel bag in
the living room.
She returned with the camel whip.
He snatched it from her. “Why did you bring this?”
“I deserve it,” she said without hesitation.
“Deserve what?”
“A beating on my insolent ass.”
Dale frowned. “Anywhere else?”
“My breasts, my thighs, my pussy, anywhere you choose.”
One by one he flicked her nipples, checking her passivity.
Cassie took it like a good slut.
“Strip,” he ordered.
Off came the skirt and the bra. His wife’s soft breasts and belly and cunt were the
most incredible sight for sore eyes.
He took hold of her sex, cupping it with his hand. “You know how much I dreamed of
this, don’t you?”
“No, Sir,” she said. Her thighs parted, accommodating, obedient.
“Coy little cunt,” he snarled. “Of course you know. I suffered like a son of a bitch
without you and now you will suffer, too.”
A smile slithered across her face, disappearing instantly.
“That’s right, gloat. A man owns something and he can’t have it, that’s funny to a
woman like you?”
“No, Sir.”
“I own you, tell me I do.”
“You own me, Sir.”
“What was that? I didn’t catch it.”
“You own me, Sir,” she spoke up.
“Hands behind your head. Legs apart.”
She assumed the stance, total surrender.
“Wider.”
Cassie complied, sliding her feet further apart awkwardly.
It was Dale’s turn to gloat. He took his time, playing with her labia, running his
fingers along the swollen ridges.
“Eyes open,” he commanded, working her to fever pitch, his finger over her clitoris.
Her deep blue eyes were moved with need and love.
“Any idea how much it hurts to get beat with a camel whip?”
“No, Sir.”
“Shall I use it on you before or after we eat?”
“I—I don’t know, Sir.”
“Good answer.” He bent to suckle her breast.
Cassie arched her back, moaning.
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