Fi and Martin Ch. 01-06

Martin, caught in the vice-like grip of her thighs, realised the gravity of his situation. Fi's playful mockery had a sharp edge to it, a clear indication that she was not to be underestimated. The roles in their relationship had been dramatically reversed, and Martin was now at the mercy of Fi's whims and desires. As he looked into her eyes, he saw not just the woman he knew but a figure of authority and control, one who was relishing the power she wielded over him.

With Martin still firmly clamped between her thighs, Fi executed a series of manoeuvres with an almost predatory grace. She edged them both towards the side of the bed, her movements fluid and purposeful. Once at the edge, she sat down and, with a surprising blend of agility and strength, flipped Martin over. He now lay face down across her lap, a position of vulnerability and submission.

Her left thigh rested under his waist, serving as a fulcrum, while her right descended with calculated force across the middle of his back, effectively immobilising him. Martin's feet dangled impotently to her left, his upper body and arms inelegantly sprawled to her right. His rear end was embarrassingly exposed in this vulnerable position, a fact that Fi observed with satisfaction. She leaned in, her voice low and laced with a hint of menace. "There you are, Martin, utterly exposed and at my mercy," she whispered, her words tinged with a sense of predatory delight. "So helpless and defenceless... just how I like you." Her tone was both mocking and assertive, as she relished his vulnerability, fully savouring the dominance she wielded over him.

With a menacing precision, she used her thumb and forefinger to pull down his underpants, revealing his bare behind. Her actions were deliberate, each movement emphasising her control and his helplessness. She leaned over him, her voice a mix of mockery and stern authority. "You've been a very bad boy, Martin," she chided, her tone dripping with mock disapproval.

Fi paused for a moment, letting the tension build, the silence in the room punctuated only by their breathing. Then, without warning, her hand came down hard, striking his exposed skin with a force that resounded in the room. The first blow was a shock to Martin, a jolt of pain and humiliation.

She didn't stop at one. Her hand came down repeatedly, each strike with as much force as the last. The sound of each impact echoed in the room, a stark reminder of her dominance. After several blows, Martin's stoic silence gave way to audible responses. Each strike elicited a grunt or a gasp, involuntary admissions of the pain he was experiencing.

Fi's punishment was methodical, each blow delivered with an unyielding resolve. It was clear she was intent on teaching Martin a lesson, one that would leave a lasting impression. The situation had spiralled into a realm Martin had never imagined, his wife now the arbiter of his punishment, meting out discipline in a way that was both shocking and undeniable.

As Fi continued, the dynamic between them shifted irrevocably. This was more than a mere physical domination; it was a profound assertion of her authority in their relationship. Martin, trapped and at her mercy, was experiencing a side of Fi that he had never known, a side that was as formidable as it was unforgiving.

After Fi had delivered her firm discipline, the room fell into a tense, weighted silence. The echoes of her actions hung in the air, a potent reminder of the shift in their dynamic. Martin, positioned vulnerably across her lap, was left to process the physical and emotional upheaval.

In the midst of this stillness, Martin felt Fi's gentle touch on his reddened rear end. With an intrigued hum, Fi began to trace deliberate circles around his most delicate area. Her touch was inquisitive, almost studious. Martin's response was to plead feebly, his voice filled with a blend of pain and entreaty. "Fi, please, stop... this is too much," he gasped, his words strained and breathy.

But Fi seemed oblivious to his pleas. Her fingers continued their methodical dance, slowly narrowing the circles until her fingertip paused at a particularly tender spot. There was a moment of charged silence, filled with Martin's growing dread.

Then, Fi began to methodically insert one finger, then another, into him. Her movements were purposeful and relentless, creating a sharp contrast to the room's quietude. Martin's reactions evolved from soft pleas to clear, unmistakable groans of pain, each vocalisation underscoring the intensity of Fi's actions.

Through this all, Fi's comments were casually observational, as if she were engaged in a mundane task. "You're reacting quite strongly, Martin," she noted coolly, her voice devoid of emotion. "It's intriguing to see you like this," she added, her tone detached, as though she were conducting an experiment and noting the results.

Her fingers continued their vigorous motion, unyielding in their exploration. Martin's groans became louder, more urgent, echoing around the room as clear indicators of his distress. Fi, however, appeared almost disengaged from these responses, her focus entirely on her methodical movements, seemingly indifferent to the discomfort she was inflicting.

In these moments, the full extent of Fi's dominance was starkly apparent, her control absolute and unchallenged. She exercised her power with a clinical detachment, rendering Martin completely submissive. The room, once a shared space of intimacy, had transformed into an arena where Fi's implacable dominance was juxtaposed sharply against Martin's exposed helplessness.