Domestic Discipline Addict Ch. 12

Chapter Twelve

It really is amazing how quickly something that would have seemed unbelievable a week ago became the, as they say, "new normal."

I met with a City Administrator about the progress of the city's comprehensive plan. Then with a small business man seeking SBA financing. Lunch with the Economic Development Representative from the Economic Development Administration. The afternoon spent working on a grant application.

Just a day in the life. Well, the "other" life I suppose.

When I got home, returning to what I thought of as my "real" life, my bride was a vision in femininity.

She greeted me at the door with a kiss and an embrace, her belly, noticeably round now, pressed against me and I found myself instantly erect.

She was dressed in a tight T-shirt the held her breasts bound and had rolled up over he belly. Her short shorts were unzipped, emphasizing how her belly was filling out.

She had dinner ready and we ate quietly. Arlene is a good cook, remember, that recipe finding app has been a real money maker, and tonight's lasagna was up to her standards.

We spent the quietest evening we had lately, binge watching Game of Thrones until 10:00, then a quick peek at the news to see what tomorrow's weather might hold, and then to bed.

I brushed my teeth, peed, and went back into the bedroom.

She was sitting on the bed, her back propped against two pillows, looking positively beatific as the breast pump worked on her right tit.

She smiled and said, "God David, take a picture, it lasts longer,"

I chuckled and crawled into bed, latching on to her left breast like a hungry baby..

As I nursed and she pumped she slowly guided my hand down, across the roundess of her belly and lower.

She pressed my fingertip gently against her clitoral hood and held me there.

I gently, slowly masturbated her. Feeling her little love bud harden under my fingertip and drawing a soft gasp when I probed under the hood to find the center of her pleasure.

When she came it was gentle as well. Just a short intake of breath and a sudden tension in her body and then a slow flow of thick, warm release, filling my hand.

I rubbed it into her belly like skin lotion making her giggle and whisper, "gonna take care of my stretch marks?"

I pulled off of her nipple long enough to smooth some of her nectar onto her nipple and whisper, "Stretch marks are sexy," before latching back on, enjoying her taste and scent.

I brought her to orgasm three more times, amazed at how different this was from others, before she used her finger to break my latch on her nipple and turned off the pump.

"Lay back baby," she said, and took me in her hand.

The hand job was slow and easy, and absolutely exquisite.

When I came, that was slow and wonderful too.

Not hard pumps this time, more a gentle flowing until there was a big puddle of thick, white semen on my belly.

When I was done she rolled up until she was on her knees, pulled her hair back, and rubbed her cheeks and forehead into the puddle she had created.

While I watched she smoothed my semen into her skin.

She smiled.

"I read this is a good face cream," she said, "and I thought I'd try it."

Then she kissed me softly, snuggled against me, and went almost instantly to sleep.

I held her lightly, my hand caressing the roundness of her belly and lightly touching her hard nipples, and then drifted off myself.

The next morning my alarm clock was a hand rather than a mouth, but the result was the same.

I was smiling as I showered.

By Thursday morning we had settled into a pattern. She would wake me with her mouth or her hand or her boobs or her pussy, send me to work smiling.

Thursday, though, a new twist was added.

She had me in her hand when suddenly her eyes got big and she rolled off the bed.

"Come with me baby," she said over her shoulder as she ran to the bathroom.

I followed her and she was already on her knees in front of the toilet.

"Hold my hair, honey, please," she said so I grabbed it as if I was making a ponytail.

"Now, fuck me, baby," she said as she retched the first time.

The thing is, she was oddly sexy in that position, back bowed, head down, hands on the bowl, and if my eyes weren't deceiving me, a bit more padded than she had been.

But I was naked and erect so I did as she asked.

Arlene always has good muscle control but when she retched again she tightened up so much it was almost painful.

"YES," she gasped and I thrust again.

She came and threw up and came again in short order.

The morning sickness lasted several minutes and I finished as she was gasping for air.

I rubbed her back while she laid her cheek on the porcelain.

She was moaning softly and covered with a sheen of sweat.

I wanted her again but apparently, Vivian's magic potion had worn off and I didn't get hard again.

So I kissed her lightly on the ass and stepped into the shower.

I got a brief scalding and then chilling as she washed her face and brushed her teeth, yelling "THAT is going to cost you," and hearing giggles in response.

In the kitchen she was naked, as I was getting used to seeing her, her belly seeming a bit more prominent this morning and, as she moved around in the sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window, a faint tracery of stretch marks across her belly and trailing around her hips.

"What?" she said when she caught me staring.

I crooked my finger in a summons.

She did a quick flip of the omelet and came to me.

"What?" she said with a smile.

"You are more gorgeous every day," I said, tracing the stretch marks across her belly with my fingertip.

"Well," she said, giggling and stepping back, "I'm glad you approve because it's too late to change it now."

She served my breakfast and as we ate I said, "You have an appointment at His Eyes Only at 11:00."

"Oh?" she said, "you like me smooth?"

"I do," I said, "and I'll show you how much at 7:22 this evening."

She looked at me under downcast lashes.

"It frightens me, David," she said, "how much I am looking forward to that."

I didn't respond, leaving that little confession hanging.

I kissed her goodbye and headed off for work.

My Thursday pretty much mirrored my Wednesday. My life at work is pretty predictable really.

That afternoon Becca buzzed me and said, "A Mr. Reynolds on the line for you."

I didn't recognize the name and said, "did he say what it's about?"

"No," she said, "just that you would want to talk to him."

I sighed and said, "Go ahead, put him through."

"Hey David," the voice said, familiar but I couldn't quite place it.

"Yes?" I said in my best what-do-you-want voice.

He laughed and said, "David, it's Thomas, did I get you at a bad time."

"Oh hell no," I said, laughing myself, "sorry, I didn't recognize the last name."

"That's okay," He said, "I don't know for sure that either Vivian or I actually said it."

"Anyway," he went on when I didn't say anything, "the reason I called is to invite you and Arlene over to the place on Saturday."

"Well thanks," I said, "what's the occasion?"

"A couple of things," he said, "first, a chance for you guys to get to know some other people in The Life," and again, the way he said it the capitalization was obvious, "anndddd," he said dragging out the word, "if you're serious about renting Arlene out I'd like to get some pictures for, you know," and he chuckled, "advertising and marketing purposes."

I laughed and said, "seriously?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh yeah," he replied, "so think you can make it?"

"Sure," I said, "what time and what should we bring?"

There was that laugh again.

"One pee em," he said, "and you just bring yourself that that adorable wife."

"Gotcha," I said.

"Okay man," he said, "get back to work you lazy bureaucrat."

I was laughing as the line went dead.

When I got home Arlene greeted me at the door.

She was an absolute vision in white.

Apparently, she had been drawing fashion tips from Vivian.

She was in a white, single-piece sort of a romper, flowing pants suit. She was covered completely except for her face, hands, bare feet peeking out, and the cutouts for her belly and her breasts.

I stared and she giggled.

"You like?" she asked, striking that classic pinup pose, one knee slightly raised, back arched, one arm straight up.

"You are absolutely stunning," I said, kissing her.

She smiled.

"But just because you're lovely doesn't mean you don't get your 7:22 spanking," I said.

She giggled and said, "I should hope not."

As we ate dinner, a pot roast if it matters, I told her about being invited to Vivian and Thomas' place on Saturday.

We discussed their "complex" relationship, wondering if it was a harbinger for us.

"Now," I said, "he said he's going to be taking some pictures of you for, well, as he put it, advertising and marketing purposes."

"Oh," she said in a small voice.

I grinned.

"So I was thinking," I went on, "that since you made $600 that first time you should probably visit Naughty 'n' Nice and invest in proper attire."

She giggled and said, "I suppose they would know what the proper preggo whore wears."

I chuckled and said, "that was my thinking."

It was odd, making small talk, watching Brett Baier on Fox News, knowing what was coming.

At ten after seven I told her to go upstairs, hang up that pretty new outfit, and be back down to the kitchen at 7:20 sharp.

While she went upstairs I went into the garage.

It took a minute or two but there it was, an old fan belt I had replaced on my old pickup truck a few years back.

I cut it with a pair of diagonal cutters and had a nice two-foot-long whip.

In the kitchen, I laid a long spatula, the wooden cutting board that our son had made in the 7th grade shop, shaped sort of like a short-handled tennis racquet and made from 1X10 pine, and the fan belt on the island.

When she came into the kitchen, at 7:20 I was pleased to note, she looked great.

She had stopped to touch up her makeup and hair.

But mostly it was her body that captivated me.

I was amazed at how quickly the hormones were working.

Her breasts, still showing those fading ring bruises, were heavier than usual, and their shape was changing. The glands, affected by the hormones, her pumping, and my nursing, were growing, their weight dragging her breasts down to lay on the roundness of her belly.

If I had seen her somewhere and not known her I would have guessed her at about seven months pregnant. Her belly grew straight out from the roundness of her mons, looking like she had swallowed a basketball. The tracery of stretch marks radiated from her navel across her hips and around her ass. Her feet were swollen as were her fingers. She looked delightful.

She came to me and kissed me.

"It really does frighten me," she said, holding my hands in hers, "how excited I have been all day."

I smiled and held her, kissed her softly, lightly caressed her back, and said, into her ear, "You know you can stop it any time."

She giggled and kissed me again.

"I know baby," she said, "but I don't want to."

I took her by her shoulders and turned her so she faced the sink and, of course, the window over the sink where she could see right into the neighbor's kitchen, and they, if they happened to look, would see us.

"Hands right here," I said, pointing to two spots on the countertop in front of the sink, "and feet here," I added, touching a spot about three feet from where her hands would be.

She assumed the position and all I could do for several seconds was look.

She had to bend at the waist to make the position work, which left her breasts, heavy and already swelling with what the hormones were doing to her, hanging, swaying gently. Her back was arched and her ass sticking out, inviting.

"Now," I said, lightly caressing her back, enjoying the softness, "you can move around and squirm and dance and whatever it takes, but if you remove your hands then the count starts over and I will continue until I at least reach the point where the count broke."

I let that sink in for a second before asking, "do you understand?"

"Yes," she said softly.

I started with the spatula, the warm-up. Light pats working up to hard smacks, bringing two perfect rectangles of redness right where she sat.

By 15 she was squirming and at 25 the first tears came.

At 26 I started with the breadboard, a hard swat making her shudder and her foot come off the floor.

She was trembling all over.

At 27 she cried out for the first time, a sound best written as "aaaaaaAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeee."

"Not so loud Arlene," I said, "you'll have Marge and Si (our neighbors) looking to see what's happening."

She was breathing in short little pants and didn't reply.

I was learning her tells by now and at 35 I could tell she was right on the edge.

The lash with the fanbelt drew a hissed, "JESUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" and her entire body shuddered.

She danced from foot to foot, breathing in that quick in and out hissing I associated with Lamaze classes and labor.

The bright pink welt the belt left was striking in the midst of the bright red that was her ass.

Three more lashes and there was that explosive orgasm we both were seeking.

I watched in fascination as her clear release, redolent of her womanscent, spattered on the floor.

"AGAIN!" I snapped and the lash brought another welt and another wave of her ecstasy.

"AGAIN!" and the lash took her over the top for the third time.

Her knees were bending now and she was squirming, her pussy more flowing now than squirting.

"ONE MORE!" and the lash, this time across the backs of her thighs did its work.

She came and threw up at the same time.

"That's my good girl," I said, helping her to stand.

The strings of snot and thick drool hung from her chin to her breasts as she dropped to her knees again in that frantic way, grabbing at my belt.

Once she had me in her mouth it was like she could finally relax, and she took her time, bringing me along nicely, swallowing hard to accept me into her throat, and looking up at me with, well, "adoration" is the word.

And once again, when I came, she pulled off and accepted my ejaculation on her face and hair.

She nursed, very gently, at the tip, drawing that last drop and making me the one to squirm.

She stood and surprised me by saying, "thank you my darling. Now go to bed. I'll clean up my mess and join you."

So I went upstairs and undressed, brushed my teeth, peed, and crawled into bed.

When she crawled into bed with me it was obvious she had done nothing to clean herself up. She smelled of semen and puke and I found it arousing.

Her fingers found me where I was hard again and she giggled softly as she swung a leg over me and guided me into her.

When she bent to kiss me the pressure of her belly and then her breasts was exciting.

The smell of puke remained on her breath and I found it to be nauseating and exciting at the same time.

We laid like that, her hips gently moving, our tongues playing, the faint taste of semen and puke shared between us.

When she felt me getting close she started chanting, "come on baby, please baby, fill me up baby, please baby......"

When I came she was right there with me, not that powerful squirt but a gentle flowing.

She giggled softly when we finished, just as I was slipping out.

"Who knew you married such a dirty girl," she asked, and I laughed.

"I don't know," I said, grinning widely, "but I'm just as much in love with her as I was with that good girl I used to know."

She giggled, kissed me, and went to sleep.