Although technically my husband Jeremy is my boss, I'm the one usually calling the shots at our small wedding consultant service. Once we're behind closed doors, however, there's no question over who wears the pants in our relationship. Jeremy isn't afraid to turn me over his knees and teach me a lesson when I deserve it. Fortunately, I can't get enough of his discipline! Adults only!
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Saturday afternoon was the Styer vow renewals and reception. As we ran through our checklists and ran errands to pick up the final touches for the decorations and reception table I couldn’t stop thinking about the night before and lying over Jeremy’s lap. There was a current of sexual tension already between us as we stopped by the florists to check the flower arrangements and verify the delivery time. When I leaned over the work table to sniff a bouquet of roses Jeremy was standing right behind me, so I overextended to be sure my ass rubbed up against his crotch, then pushed back into him until I could feel his cock stiffen against me. The florist was in her office getting us a copy of the invoices so I wiggled against him as I commented on how heady the roses smelled.
He grabbed my hips and pulled me still against his crotch, his thick cock nestled between my butt cheeks through my thin dress fabric. I was pinned between him and the table, and he pushed himself harder against me.
“Feeling naughty again today?” He whispered in my ear, put an arm on my shoulder blades, pushing me forward slightly over the table.
“Should I bend you over this table right here and spank you? What do you think? Would anyone see?”
My womb clenched instantly at his words, and my pussy was tingling again. Why was this so hot? Was it the idea of the spanking or was it that no-nonsense tone Jeremy used when he talked about spanking me? I knew some people got off on dirty talk, being called a bitch or a slut, but really, “naughty” was doing it for me. Something about the way the word rolled off his tongue, and the way he insinuated that naughty girls would be punished. It felt kind of like the '50s version of dirty talk.
He bent me further over the table, leaning over my back as he did so and stepping backward so that his cock and then his hips were no longer in contact with my ass. He rubbed a hand across my butt cheek, and then gave it a slap. It wasn’t hard, and it wasn’t loud, muffled by a couple of layers of fabric between his hand and my skin, and I looked over my shoulder at him and grinned. He slapped again, harder this time, in the same spot and I squirmed a little, but continued to smile at him, wondering what the chances were we’d get caught and finding that very exciting.
About Riley Temple
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Published June 6, 2012
by Evelyn Wren Erotica.
Erotica, Literature & Fiction.