33. Wife's POV [Part 2]

NOTE: This fictional story features only adult characters (18+) and portrays consensual interactions throughout.

He placed his one hand on my chest. No hesitation. Just kept it there, like he’d done it a hundred times before.

My body twitched at the contact, a jolt rushing down my cunt. I sucked in a sharp breath, my nails digging hard into the wall behind me. I still didn’t look at him. My head was tilted, eyes fixed stubbornly to the side.

But I could feel him. Every inch of his palm. The heat. The quiet pressure.

He started moving his index finger slowly, like he was writing something on my tit, maybe his name? He continued it with some teasing circles around my nipple. Not hurried. Not forceful. Just slow enough to drive me insane.

And then—he pressed. One finger pushing right into the center, on my nipple. Like he wanted to see just how deep he could go. “Hmmm, so delicious. You like this, don’t you?" he whispered.

I gasped, my lips quivering, but nothing came out

He knew I wouldn’t answer. He didn’t need one.

His hand slid down again, gripping the edge of my top. And then, slowly, he began lifting it. Inch by inch. Exposing me. My breath stuck somewhere, pussy dripping hard at his bold advances. I didn’t stop him. I couldn't.
Because… I wanted this. I had no excuse left.

He shoved the top inside my mouth. Telling me to hold them, while he shamelessly feels me up. And guess what I did?

I held it with my mouth, teeth digged in to make sure it doesn't fall, while he does whatever he wants to do.

His hand reached the bra, he gripped it tight and pushed it upward in one rough move. The strap bit into my shoulders. My breasts spilled out, bare and hard and shamefully horny.

He smiled as he looked at them. At me.

Like this was what he expected.

Like I was exactly what he thought I’d become.

I just stood there, shaking, exposed, and wanting more.

He started giving light slaps on both of them one, then second, then third.

Slap. Slap.

Not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to make me shake… to make my breath stutter… to make me moan. A weak whimper escaped from my closed mouth. It was getting hard to stand still as my knees started getting weak.

He continued slapping them—one after the other. Again. And again. Until I could feel the sting, my skin heating up, my tits starting to turn a light red. I bit my lip, body twitching with each smack.

My head leaned back, eyes drifting up to the ceiling, lips parted. I couldn’t think anymore. I wasn’t looking at him —just feeling.
My eyes glazed over, drowning in the mess of pleasure he was pulling out of me.
God… he really was ruining me. And I was letting him.

Then he leaned in. His face close. Too close. I could feel his breath hitting my bare nipple, warm and slow, like he was savoring the moment before he touched me again.

And then he kissed it. Just a small peck. Like he was leaving his mark on them. Stamping them with his lips.

God.

It was dirty. So, so dirty. Even though he was very gentle, it still felt so humiliating and degrading. The way he was treating them with love and hate. He was doing everything right, as if he knew my body like a back of his hand.

His lips opened slowly, and he pulled my nipple into his mouth. Wet. Hot. His tongue rolled around it, circling, teasing, flicking my nipple with his tongue, until I thought I’d lose my mind. Then he started pulling—sucking it in like he wanted milk out of it, like he was trying to drink something from me that wasn’t there.

I let out a loud moan. “Ahhh… fuck…” It just slipped out of me. I couldn't hold it in anymore.

My top slipped down over his head, covering him for a second and I quickly and pathetically blurted out, “Sorry.”

God… really?

He was sucking on my tits, playing with my body as he liked, and I apologized?
How embarassing is that?
Why??
Was I worried I interrupted his rhythm? That maybe I ruined his moment?
Maybe.
But that wasn’t even the worst part.
The truth is, I said it because I didn’t want him to stop.
I didn’t want to ruin whatever twisted thing he was doing to me.
I should’ve at least pretended to resist.
But instead, I said sorry.
Worried that I ruined his momentum.
God, I really am slipping, aren't I?

His other hand was busy, pulling and pinching my other nipple, rough and hard, like he wanted to keep both of them occupied.

I kept my legs still from falling down. I held my top up with my other hand, not to stop him—never to stop him—but to make sure he had full access, to make sure nothing got in the way.

I was trembling, biting my lips, breathless, my whole body reacting on its own.

And he hadn't even fucked me yet.

He bit down—just a little. Just enough to send that sharp jolt through my chest. A mix of pain and pleasure that made my back arch instantly.

My hand flew to his head, fingers curling tight into his hair. Not to stop him. Not even close. I just needed to hold on to something, anything, because the feeling was too much. Too raw. Too good.

His mouth stayed there, warm and wet, his teeth gently grazing as his tongue flicked slow circles around the swollen bud, lapping at it like he wanted to taste everything I was feeling. Every pulse, every twitch, every shiver.

Then he paused, his breath hot and damp against my sensitive skin, and tilted his head just enough to meet my eyes. That smirk on his lips, that wicked glint in his eyes—it said everything.

“You lost both the rounds yesterday, didn’t you?” he murmured.

His voice was slow, teasing, like a punishment. Like he was enjoying making me remember how pathetically I had given in. Like he wanted to make me say it. Own it. Feel it.

My nipple was still in his mouth, warm and wet, waiting—for an answer I couldn’t give. My lips parted, breath shallow, but no words came out. Just soft, helpless gasps. He didn’t wait.

He grabbed the other tit, pulled it harder, bringing it close to his mouth. And then—God—he sucked both at once, his hands pressing my tits together, his lips switching, dragging, devouring. I whimpered, fingers tangling harder into his hair, holding on like I’d fall apart if I let go.

“Aahnn... ahhhn…” I was moaning breathlessly. My voice was barely mine anymore, heavy with heat, with need. My body squirmed, cunt twitching, breath ragged.

“You know there was a punishment too,” he muttered against my skin, the vibration running straight through me. He paused for few seconds, looking at my helpless condition “I hope you haven’t forgotten that.” His voice turned sharp, edged with irritation.

I blinked, trying to speak, to say anything, but I was too far gone—shaking under his mouth, his grip, his words.

“When I ask something, you better answer,” he said, voice low now. Warning. Command.

And then he bit down—harder this time. On both nipples, at once.

A strangled cry broke from my throat. Hnnnngggggg. My back arched off the wall, my hands clutched his hair tighter, as that sweet burst of pain shot through me, dragged pleasure right behind it like a leash.

I couldn’t think. Couldn’t hide it. I was already turned into his plaything.

o-ok... ok... I-I’ll... rep...ly… I breathed out, my voice weak, barely holding together. My chest was heaving, heart thudding. He lifted his head up and pressed his fingers against my jaw, tilting my face up toward him. His gaze was sharp, intense, making my insides twist with nervous heat.

“So,” he said, his tone low and slow, “are you ready to be punished?”

Pun…ish…? The word sounded strange in my ears. I wasn’t sure what he meant. But I could feel it, deep in my stomach, that whatever he had planned—it would overwhelm me. Twist me in ways I couldn’t even name. And... I am going to like it.

I swallowed hard. “Y-yes…” I whispered, almost ashamed by how quickly the answer left my lips. “I.. I want to... be punished…”

A glint of satisfaction lit up his face. That smile. That cruel, pleased smile. Like I’d just said exactly what he was hoping to hear.

He turned and walked away, disappearing into one of the rooms, leaving me standing there, legs shaking and body throbbing with warmth. The second he was out of sight, my knees gave out. I slowly dropped to the floor, trembling, breathing hard, trying to pull myself together but failing miserably.

My nipples were all wet and sloppy. He had made a mess out of my tits. My chest felt warm, sensitive, like it remembered everything his mouth and hands had done. I hugged myself lightly, the cool air brushing against the wet skin he’d left behind. Every breath felt heavy.

And yet… I waited. Kneeling on the floor, heart racing, unsure what he would bring… but knowing whatever it was, I had already accepted it.