Farewell My Innocent

Chapter One-2

Preston and I honeymooned at the beach, in a small house where the water came up almost to the door, and there was a little boat docked in the tiny bay. I watched the sun rise over the water at dawn after a night of s*x, and slept all morning.

The second night of our honeymoon, Preston tied my hands above me with rope after I refused to keep them off his delicious muscles.

“I want to touch you, darlin’” I purred so sweetly in his ear, I was sure he would let me play with him just as he played with me.

“Not until I tell you to,” he answered my complaint, taking my wrists and tying each one with a scarf he found in my suitcase.

“Why not now?” I wondered.

“You are a s****l novice, love. It’s my job as your husband to teach you about love and lust.”

“And you’re highly experienced, I presume?”

He grinned. “I am a Yankee, is that not explanation enough for a good little, Southern girl?”

Oh, my! I thought to myself, “How many women…” I started to ask the question burning in my thoughts.

He shook his head and frowned, placing his finger over his lips, “Shush.”

“All the women before you are just shadows in the background, my love. They mean nothing now that I have you.”

I trusted such sincerity; his words were seamless comfort for a scared young wife. I looked down at my undulating body, stretched out on the bed, legs spread wide, thinking that I must be whorishly inviting. “And do all new husbands teach their wives this way?” I considered aloud. “Tying them to bedposts?”

“I have no idea,” he quipped as he moved on, tying off my right ankle. “But I imagine that new husbands teach their wives the kind of s****l practices that they prefer.”

So many questions filled my brain that I could hardly pay attention to my body’s excited response. “Why do you like me like this?”

He snickered as he stood back admiring his work. Seeing his new wife bound to the four corners of the metal bed frame, I could tell he was aroused. “Everything in you vibrates, darling. Your being roars from the containment. You arouse me, Stacia,” he climbed beside me and kissed my lips.

My arms naturally struggled to be free, but there was no way out of the bondage, except for Preston to untie me. I was at his mercy, my hips moving in wild abandon, just as they would move against his hips so wildly when we danced.

“Touch me, Preston,” I begged.

His stare was magnetic. I couldn’t take my eyes from him as his gaze darkened and he backed off the bed. “In time,” he answered.

A shadow seemed to fall over his face and yet the late afternoon sun was still streaming through the window. In the haze of dust that filled the beam, his body glimmered, curiously. He stood before me with just his pants on. The muscles in his bare chest rippled beneath his skin as he moved, even slightly. I invited him to me with all the alluring expressions I’d used on him before, but he wasn’t moving. Instead, reaching to his side, he took something from his bag on the floor, then rose to his full height again and approached me like a phantom out of that afternoon stupor of sun and humid air. My eyes shot open wide in horror seeing the thin shaft of a riding crop clutched in one fist. He held the handle firmly, letting the other end rest inside the palm of his other hand, while tapping it in that palm as if he were carefully considering his next move. The very end of the riding crop was a tassel of tiny leather thongs tied together in a knot. I imagined how the bite of them would sting against the flank of a horse, but I never imagined that my husband would be using anything like this on me. Even as Preston snapped the crop against my thigh, I was innocent of his intentions. But the truth unveiled, I shrieked, cringing in fear. “What are you doing?”

“Teaching you pleasure,” he replied, looking at me longingly, lovingly.

“No, sir, I can’t imagine this could be pleasure,” I declared. And yet, my body crudely warmed where the leather tassel had struck my skin.

“Isn’t it?” he countered my adamant claim.

He was sounding so nice… but why? And why was he doing these strange things to me? My mind flooded with peculiar pictures. They must have been from my dreams, from nightmares I don’t recall.

“Relax, darling. There’s nothing to be afraid of and much to be gained.”

“No!” I spit out sharply, while my hands and legs jerked frantically.

“Yes, Tacy, darling,” he spoke firmly. “You are my wife, my consort, my mistress, my property, here to do with as I wish. You have only to obey me as you promised me forever.”

“But this can’t be natural, Preston, darling!”

“It is for me, and it will be for you. You’ll learn. Trust me, my Southern belle, I’ll have you craving such attention from the fibers of your soul.”

“No, sir. I think not.”

“Hush, darling,” he dangled the tassel over my thighs, then jiggled it between them until he pranced the tip about my inner lips and the swollen bud that was sure to be peeking from inside them. I could sense my own body’s betrayal, as each tormented unwanted undulation brought s****l pleasure.

“But why?” I sought some answer.

“Because it pleases me to have you bound, contained, at my mercy… and a little afraid.”

Was this the man I married? I searched my thoughts to find an answer and found nothing there but question marks.

He began to lightly flick me again, “Relax,” then a little harder as my flesh jumped beneath each strike. None hurt, not yet, but I could not relax as he demanded. Instead, I felt a sudden wave of s****l need rise up in my belly. No! This could not be happening to me. How could this be pleasure? The strikes came harder and faster. I looked down to see tiny red marks scattered over my flesh, everywhere he hit: my thighs, my belly and even my breasts. I was at the brink of climax almost grabbing for that horrible tassel end and its stinging strikes. I whimpered under my breath and closed my eyes. That very moment, Preston jiggled his tortuous crop at my love bud. I was gone. Pleasure poured through my body like rain inside a forest. I could feel myself screaming, but I couldn’t hear a thing. Moments after, Preston fell against me with his full weight, making love to me, his erection sunk deep into my sopping wet channel. My v****a squeezed him like vise grips, coming a second and then a third time. When he moved in me, more spasms of joy rent my tattered frame. But I couldn’t get enough. I begged for satisfaction that I wouldn’t receive with my hands and feet still bound. The right to touch my husband at the moment of climax had been denied me. My dear Preston was quite right, my desire fed on my frustration, again and again and again.

Somewhere in this melee, he came too. But I can’t recall when… only that the sound of his grunting voice rose and fell. Pulling off of me, I was left still bound and exhausted.

I thought he was asleep. I even dozed for a time. But then my restlessness supplanted any peace.

“Preston, darling,” I whispered softly. “My wrists ache so, I think I tightened the scarves when I came… my circulation.”

He woke from a dreamy sleep and wordlessly untied me. Then, until late in the evening, we slept without saying another word. I suppose he figured he proved his point. But I was too stunned to think about what just happened and thankful that my mind willingly took a vacation from contemplating these strange s****l acts from which my husband—and I—derived such pleasure.

My honeymoon was one bizarre and glorious erotic feat after another. Preston loved to tie my hands behind my back and feed me dinner. I’d open my mouth like a baby bird, begging with my tongue for nourishment, all the while my hot p***y twitched and jerked like a beached fish. Before I could finish my meal, I was creaming the chair, my p***y climaxing against the seat. I was hot as a w***e. Our third day, Preston bound me to the doorposts of the bedroom, and flicked me from behind, using all his sensuous and despicable tools to arouse my insatiable flesh—flesh taught, schooled and trained to enjoy terror and sensation. He spread my rear cheeks apart and fingered the tight little hole. Thankfully, the little thing wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t open, and thwarted every effort Preston made to breach it.

“Don’t resist, honey, you’re going to love what happens here.”

“No, Preston, I’m sure I won’t!” I declared emphatically.

All my protests were to no avail, Preston had the upper hand. I was wise not to fight him. But still, a lady has her dignity to preserve, and three days into my marriage I had little left. When I tried to twist away from him, he smacked my bottom with his palm attacking my rebellion.

“This could hurt if you don’t behave for me, honey.” His fingers at my anus were insistent little rods, doing their best to prove all my objections meaningless. The tight bud gave a little, then closed again. Preston smacked my behind again, then forced his fingers further. Seemed he’d learned a new trick… every time he spanked my ass, my rear door opened a little more—totally against my will. I had no control and hated every minute of the humiliating ordeal. But once he had his probing fingers sufficiently inside the dirty place, he left them there and began to play with my nasty p***y, bringing me swiftly to a crashing orgasm that made me war against the bonds, both feet and hands, and finally slump almost in a faint after the spasms slowly diminished into nothing.

I was scared to death that he would impale that hole with his stiff p***s. Instead, he untied my feet so he could use my p***y from behind, while holding me in his arms. I was still bound at the wrists and each jolt of his hard, pointed erection yanked the ropes tighter until my hands were purple. I came again as he came in me, again proving the value of these indecent acts for wild s****l release.

Preston kindly rubbed my wrists when he released me, and let me lay on the bed to rest. I suspected that he had more games to play, more evidence of my slutty character to parade before my eyes. I wasn’t wrong.

As I lay sleeping, dreaming in the bed, that languid afternoon passing slowly by, Preston was in the living room of the cottage waiting for me to revive. I finally heard his voice remove me from my lethargy, “Tacy, honey, I need you now. Come to me.” His was like a voice from far away, distinct but so unexpected that I distrusted its existence. “Come here, darlin’,” he tried again. “Crawl to me.”

I heard what he wanted, but I could not take him literally. What woman crawls to a man on hands and knees?

Pulling myself from the sticky sheets, I ambled to the door, leaning on the doorframe, writhing my belly and mound unthinkingly against the wood, while my eyes communicated my lusty thoughts.

“No, Tacy, darling, on your knees. Crawl to me.”

I blushed. The first blush in some time—I was becoming used to his twisted games.

“Sweetheart,” I started my protest but didn’t finish.

“Do as you’re told and get on your knees.” His voice was a little deeper and that made me take notice. This was a serious request, and despite my reluctance, my perpetually horny body obeyed him—likely saving my hide a punishment I wouldn’t have liked. (I only know that now. At the time, I had no idea how he’d treat me if I blatantly refused him.)

The hardwood floor was torture for my bony knees. But I made my way across the small room like a feline in heat, getting into the act of this humbling statement of subservience. Reaching his knees I waited for my next instruction. Preston parted his thighs wide, and motioned with the nod of his head for what he wanted. “Use your teeth.”

I could smell the musty, manly fragrance of his crotch as my face descended to his pants, and I rooted around for the zipper. Finally finding the little clasp, I bit down on it with my front teeth, feeling the muscle under his pants throb. It gave off a blast of heat. I knew the randy thing was waiting, poised to jump out at me. Preston finished the job, since I couldn’t figure out how to extract his full erection from its hiding place with my teeth alone.