A bit harder than most. Male dominant, female submissive

“Seriously, where does this all come from?” he asked, trying to figure out if the object he just picked up from the floor might be a toy or a broken off piece from another toy.

“Well, you see, when a mommy toy and a daddy toy love one another very much, and we stop looking,” she replied, snarkily.

“…and after generations of inbreeding,” he interrupted, throwing the *something* into the trash bin. “There’s no chance they’re going to miss whatever the fuck that is.”

“There’s no chance they’re going to miss ANY of this shit, but they’re out of the house because, if they see us getting rid of things, we’re getting rid of their ALL TIME FAVORITE TOYS!” she said, before sitting down. “I am tired.”

“Yes, these days, I’m just always, always tired,” he agreed, sitting down next to her.

He placed his arm around her shoulder & she nuzzled into him. “You know, I’ve been naughty lately…” she informed her husband.

“Did you have ice cream for dinner again last night?”

“Listen, I need a release. And I need you to deliver it. I’ve been crying far too fucking much lately without anything fun to remember. I want, twenty years from now, when I get so frustrated at technology that I start to tear up – well, I want to think of something that will replace those tears of frustration with a wave of lust. And I want that right now.”

And with that, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and walked her to the sofa, bending her body, at the hips, over the back of the couch. Holding her hair with his left hand, he used his right hand and smacked her ass with firm, deliberate spanks, alternating between her ass cheeks, until she started to wriggle.

In fact, it looked like she was enjoying things far too much. He released her hair, walked directly behind her, and yanked on her yoga pants, pulling them & her underwear down about her ankles. For a few seconds he sat & stared, admiring the pink outline of his hand upon her bottom, tracing the spot between “angry” and “fully unmarked” with his fingertips.

“Ok, stand up and grab your ankles,” he ordered, rummaging through the kids’ art supplies. She stepped back from the sofa to an open area of the floor, and bent down, wrapping a hand around each of her ankles.

“I see the yoga has been paying dividends,” he stated, pulling out a wooden school ruler and placing the flat end against her left butt cheek. “Stay still, we don’t want you falling,” he ordered, pressing the ruler firmly into her ass, before pulling it back.

And then he struck, hard, against, her left ass cheek. She yelped and almost fell over. The combination of such an intense impact, combined with the skin’s tautness from the prone position left her off guard. But she did not fall.

The curious thing about those wooden rulers is they have this thin, metal strip along one edge, to allow for a straighter line when using the ruler for underlining. As he pulled the ruler back from her butt cheek, an angry red, rectangular welt started to raise, immediately, and he bisected this welt with this strip, leaving a truly angry, maroon line just at the “sit spot” on her left butt cheek.

And then he did the same with her right cheek. It was the third ruler swat, just at the line between leg & butt, across both cheeks, that left her sobbing.

But she did not fall. He traced a tear from her chin to her eye, bringing it to his lips and tasting it. As the next tear fell, he collected it in his fingertip and brought it to her lips. She sucked his finger as if it were her favorite food.

Then he went back to her ass with the ruler. Right cheek. Another scratch. Left cheek. Another scratch. Across both cheeks. The next swat, he didn’t even hear over her wails. The scratch *nearly* drew blood. And then the ruler shattered with the next.

She whimpered, clutching her ankles hard, as he threw out the implement in the trash. He walked up behind her & squeezed both ass cheeks in his hands. She winced as she sobbed while her squeezed & separated her ass cheeks. She had never felt so…examined.

“Come on, stand up,” he said, standing next to her. And as she started to rise, her balance faltered. “Whoa there,” he said, holding her, supporting her full body weight as she faltered ever-so-slightly. She melted into his embrace, and his right hand found her chin and pointed it toward his face. They kissed.

He bit her lower lip.

Her balance faltered, again.

“I need some more supplies,” he said, once he ensured she was stable on her feet. He crouched down & picked up two fistfuls of Lego bricks. “Why don’t you have a seat?” he asked, throwing the bricks onto one of the kid’s desk chairs.

“You’re diabolical,” she said, sighing, and seating her bare ass directly onto the pile of her children’s preferred architectural medium as her pants remained about her ankles.

He walked downstairs as the she breathed deeply, trying to welcome the pain and ache of the beating as it was amplified by the blocks.

While he was quick to work his way down the steps, he was deliberate in his return, knowing she heard each of his footsteps. Surprisingly, though, he stopped in the master bedroom before returning to the…well, what do you call it? The kids’ toy room? Classroom? Art room? The grand mess of the house?

“You’re wearing far too much clothing,” he said to her, placing two bottles of water & a roll of saran wrap on the kids’ desk. And with that, he walked over to her, kneeling onto her lap, pressing her ass deeper into the Lego bricks, and peeled her sweater off. Then, he stood, walked behind the chair, unfastened her bra, and removed it.

Then he walked around to her front, knelt down, and removed her pants & underwear from about her ankles.

“Ok, you can stand up – why don’t you go stand in the corner?,” and she did just as instructed.

With her nose in the corner of the room, her face away from him, as if she was a naughty schoolgirl on display, he lightly swatted her ass several times, trying to jiggle the Legos that had embedded themselves in her battered bottom free.

After a few dozen (relatively) light spankings – each of which drawing a wince – he gave up and started picked out some of the smaller, more-embedded blocks from her sit-upon.

“Ok, now we’re really gonna have some fun,” he said, picking up the Saran wrap. “Turn around,” and she stood, nude before him. He wrapped the plastic wrap about her shoulders and then over her chest, securing her arms to her side. From her shoulders to her hips, she was encased in layer after layer of plastic wrap.

“Go on, try to break free,” he said to her, and she made a show of trying to free herself. He took off his belt.

“I said,” he said, smacking her ass with the belt, “to try to get yourself free.”

And with that, she struggled. She tried. And she could not free herself.

“Good,” he said, grabbing a pair of scissors from the kids’ craft supplies. And he sliced down, between her breasts, peeling the plastic back, tugging at her nipples to “free the girls” for him.

He located a ball of yarn and used the scissors to cut two, two-foot lengths, tying one to each of the water bottles at the cap. Then he rummaged through the school supplies, picking out two large binder clips. She inhaled through her teeth, thinking she knew for what they’d be used. But he tied the unencumbered end of each of the lengths of yarn to the clips & she looked at him, curiously.

Then he walked over to her and positioned her as things started, her legs up against the back of the sofa, her front bent over the couch.

And he attached a binder clip to her right nipple before releasing the water bottle tethered to it. She wailed in a combination of shock and surprise as her tit was drawn to the floor. Then he did the same to her left breast.

“Fuck, ow,” she hissed between her teeth as the belt found the back her her thighs. She jumped, leading the water bottles to jump and tug even tighter before swaying, tugging even tighter about her nipples. Which lead to more swearing.

He was giddy as she sobbed and wailed. While he struck the backs of her thighs again & again with his belt, she managed to keep her motion in control after that first swat.

At least, she managed to keep her motion in control until he introduced the belt to her already battered ass with an especially firm strapping blow, at which point she collapsed into the couch. Her left breast freed itself of the binder clip as she made contact with the back of the couch, which introduced a new wave of pain on its own. He pulled on the water bottle and freed her right nipple, making her to cry out yet again.

And for the next minute or so, he simply let her sob.

“I think it’s time to move to the bedroom,” he whispered in her ear, and she nodded her head, looking at him with tear-filled eyes before trying to walk. He stood next to her, placed an arm under her knees, and swept her up, carrying her down the hallway to their bedroom, where he placed her upon the bed.

Walked to the bedside table, he picked up a set of chopsticks and two rubber bands. He secured both chopsticks together with one rubber band before tugging her left, already sore nipple between two fingers and threading her nipple between the open end of the two bamboo skewers. With the other rubber band, he secured that open end before forcing each end of the rubber band closer to her areola, until he, simply could not make the improvised contraption any tighter.

She let out a sigh and asked “let me guess, the other one?”

“You know I like things to be equal between all those that I love,” he responded, and secured her right nipple in the same way.

He straddled her hips. She squirmed in the bed, the tips of her breasts aching and he started to twist the contraption about her left nipple in a counter-clockwise fashion. She let out a wail of discomfort and tried to get up, but the saran wrap about her led her to, simply, flop about like a fish out of water. When he couldn’t twist any more, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thumbtack. Holding the twisted nipple in his makeshift contraption with his left hand, he gave quick jabs to her nipple with the thumbtack with his right hand.

She writhed. He tortured, seemingly unbothered by the sounds coming from her mouth.

And then he released the contraption, only to repeat the torture to her right breast. Only this time, as she writhed as he poked her nipple, one of the bamboo rods snapped, freeing her nipple. The sudden release making her scream out in pain again as blood rushed into her nipple. He pressed into her right nipple with an index finger as if her nipple was a button marked “DO NOT PRESS” and he couldn’t help himself.

And he yanked that contraption off her left nipple because, dammit, he had to press THAT button as well. And he pressed straight into each nipple as she writhed under his weight.

He got up from about her waist, took the rubber bands off the unbroken nipple contraption, pinched her right nipple between the fingers of his left hand and pulled straight up. Using the chopstick as a cane, he smacked the underside of her right breast five. Six. Seven times. Until tears were welling in her eyes yet again and angry red lines marked the normally pristine flesh.

She looked at her own left breast, prepared for a similar onslaught, when he placed her feet on the bed, making two triangles between her hips, knees, and feet. And then he dove between her legs, his hands wrapped around her thighs.

Using the weight of his head & the strength of his neck and jaw, he pressed the base of his tongue against her clit, and she gasped, as he licked to the tip of his tongue. Repeating again and again and again until he started to feel tiny tremors from her core, when he started teasing and flitting her clitoris with just the tip of his tongue. Her breathing quickened. He placed the base of his tongue back at her clit, pressed with all of his might, and she moaned and shrieked and gasped and came, her body rocking uncontrollably in her plastic cocoon.

But the onset of her orgasm did not change his behavior — if anything, he attacked her sex with a new fervor, holding her thighs even closer to him. He ate her out until she started squeezing his head with her thighs and the noises coming from her mouth changing from gasps of pleasure to pleading for a break.

He heeded her begging and broke contact between his face and her sex, admiring her panting form.

She looked at him and he started to move his hands back to her breasts. She gasped, not knowing what to expect, and he grabbed the ragged ends of the saran wrap, pulling.

She found herself freed, and immediately started shivering – her body wet from being covered in sweat suddenly introduced to the cool air of the bedroom. He wrapped his arms around her, and she embraced him.

“You’re the one wearing far too many clothes right now” she whispered in his ear and started pulling off his tee-shirt.

“I guess you’re right,” he said, allowing her to take off his shirt. He stood, unbuttoned his fly, and forced his pants down. Naked, he, once again, straddled her hips. She went to pull him toward her, but he grabbed her wrists from the attempted embrace.

And then he forced her hands down to her sides and knelt upon them with each of his knees.

They locked eyes and he started to jerk his cock. New tears started to well in her eyes. “But my pussy. My mouth. My ass! Please, use me!” But he pleasured himself in front of her, simply jerking himself off, relishing her frustration. She closed her eyes, trying to blink the tears away.

He started to growl and they locked eyes once again. He ejaculated, leaving a trail from her sternum to her chin.

After catching his breath for a minute, he bent over her “you’re filthy,” he said before standing and starting the shower.

She joined him in the hot water, and he massaged shampoo about her hair. He ran his fingers all over her, tracing angry welts with soapy suds. She traced her fingers down his torso. She let out a growl, herself, as she stroked his cock with a slippery, sudsy hand & felt his organ responding to the touch.

“Oh, we’ll find another chance,” he said, before kissing her. He rinsed the shampoo out of her hair and they held each other, trailing each other’s fingertips over each other’s bodies until the hot water started to wane.

He turned off the water, stepped out of the shower, and grabbed a towel. As she stepped out of the shower, herself, he started to dry her. She took over when he started to try to dry her hair “appreciated, honey,” she said, “but this part I just know better.”

“Understood,” he said, “now go lie down,” he said, grabbing her hairbrush.

She winced, but obeyed, lying face down on the bed, shaking her ass at him. But he used the hairbrush for it’s original purpose, brushing her still-damp hair. Within minutes, she was snoring. She slept until morning.

And for the next week, as he was at the office, every time she sat down, or adjusted her bra, she sent him a simple two word text: “Fuck you.”

And every night that week, she followed through on that promise.