Evangeline Anderson - Mr Black Comes Home.pdf - Anderson, Evangeline - riochin

Mr. Black Comes Home

Evangeline Anderson

I am already dressed and ready for him long before he comes through the door. He always

comes home by six exactly; Jonathon is very precise, you could set your watch by him. Dinner

is already done and simmering gently on the back burner, ready to be served but I’m hoping to

play with him some first.

I am wearing a too short, navy blue and green plaid school skirt with white knee socks

and mary janes. My crisp, short sleeved cotton shirt is thin enough to reveal that I am not

wearing a bra and of course my small white cotton panties are already damp from thinking

about what is coming. The naughty school girl is one of Jonathon’s favorites. I know because

he bought this outfit for me as he does many of my clothes.

Jonathon controls many aspects of my life, what I eat, what I wear, it’s all part of our way

of life. Some people might find that strange but to me it’s almost unbearably erotic to give

every detail of my existence over to him. My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his key

in the lock.

When he walks in the door I can see he’s had a hard day. The tension in his shoulders tells

me so. Poor man, he needs to relax and let lose a little. I’m sure I can help him with that.

Silently, I take his jacket and hang it up. He walks across the room and collapses on the couch.

“God, Laura, what a day,” he murmurs, his eyes closed and his head leaning back against

the cushions. I know he needs a minute to unwind and I sympathetically massage some of the

tension out of his shoulders while he grumbles about work and moronic clients and just

generally blows off some steam. It helps when I am the dutiful wife as I am now but I know

what could help him more. I come around to stand in front of him while he is still seated on

the couch. Jonathon is more relaxed now and he looks up at me, really taking in my outfit for

the first time. His expression grows stern and my heart begins to race. I can tell by that icy look

in his brown eyes that tonight’s game will be one to remember.

“Fetch me a drink, Laura. Scotch with no ice,” he orders abruptly, eyeing the way my

nipples are peaking through my thin white cotton shirt and taking in the shortness of my

school skirt which nearly shows the white panties I have on underneath.

“Yes, Sir. Right away,” I say demurely, turning slowly to make sure he has a good view of

my ass. I am longing to be spanked and I am sure his palms are itching to connect with my

softly rounded bottom. I twist my hips seductively as I wander too slowly into the kitchen to

fix his drink.

“Damn it, Laura. Hurry up!” I hear him shout as I finish putting ice in the glass as he

specifically asked me not to. “What are you doing in there?”

“Coming Sir,” I answer, splashing Scotch over the ice cubes and squeezing my thighs

together in anticipation. I can’t wait for what is sure to come.

I wander back into the living room carrying his drink and I hand it to him and stand

before him with my arms behind my back, biting my lip nervously. This posture presses my

breasts out, my nipples rubbed hard against the stiff cotton of my shirt. I cross my legs, one if

front of the other and scuff one little black shoe against the carpet.

“Laura, stop fidgeting,” Jonathon says sternly. “You know I can’t stand it when you chew

on you lip like that.” I make an effort to stand straighter and stop biting my lip. I watch as he

brings the Scotch to his lips and almost takes a drink before he notices what I’ve done.

“Laura,” he says quietly, his voice gone dangerously soft and low, the way it always does.

“Laura, how did I ask you to fix my drink?” His eyes are cold and demanding.

“You…you said to make you a Scotch with no ice,” I stammer softly. No matter how often

we play like this, I can’t stop the nervous tension that rises from the pit of my belly when he

talks like that. It makes him Mr. Black, my stern boss and taskmaster all over again. I feel the

simultaneous urge to please and provoke him at once.

“And what are these?” he shakes the glass gently in front of my nose so that the ice cubes

chatter softly together.

“Ice cubes,” I say softly.

“What?” he demands, leaning forward on the couch, still holding the offending glass out

to me.

“Ice cubes, Sir,” I say, forcing myself to speak more loudly.

“That’s right. And I specifically asked for no ice.” He pushes the glass into my hand.

“Now I’m going upstairs to change my clothes. Bring me another drink in the bedroom.

And this time get it right,” he emphasizes, rising from the couch and standing so close to me I

can feel his body heat all up and down the length of my chest and thighs. He leans over me for

a moment, getting close, invading my space to make his point and then turns and marches

upstairs in quick, economical strides and I go into the kitchen to make him another drink. I

have barely finished pouring a small amount of Scotch over a single ice cube when I hear him

shouting my name with that kind of controlled rage that makes me shiver.

“Laura…Laura! Get up here, now!” I hear him shout. Suddenly I remember the cockroach

I left lying on our bedspread this morning. Oops, I didn’t need to put ice in his drink after all. I

know how Jonathon must be reacting to seeing the bug on our bed. I wonder with a delicious

little chill in the pit of my stomach if I have over-provoked him. If he is actually mad and not

just pretending he will certainly spank me harder. Just the thought makes my knees feel weak.

“Laura!” Jonathon roars and I come hurrying up the stairs calling,

“Coming, Sir…”

When I reach the bedroom, nervous and breathless, still clutching the drink in one

sweating hand, I find Jonathon standing in front of the bed still fully dressed, his chest heaving

quietly with emotion under the starched cotton dress shirt and conservative maroon tie. I love

when he stays in his office clothes to discipline me.

“Yes, Sir?” I ask, hesitantly, standing in the doorway and shifting from foot to foot,

fidgeting in that way I know he despises.

“Laura, what is this?” he asks quietly, gesturing towards the bed. I walk a little closer and

he stands aside so I can see what he is pointing at. The cockroach lays like a small, dead,

brown leaf on the pristine whiteness of our bedspread.

“It’s…it looks like a bug,” I offer softly, barely daring to meet Jonathon’s eyes which are

blazing coldly at me from under his lowered eyebrows.

“And how did it get there?” he demands.

“I…don’t know?” I say, the words barely coming out of my mouth. Jonathon looks

genuinely angry, almost as angry as the very first time he spanked me. I squeeze my thighs

together in anticipation. God, I need this every bit as much as he needs to give it to me.

“Laura, this is unacceptable. Clear this…bug away and then come back here,” he orders.

Silently, I comply taking the cockroach by one leg and carrying it into the bathroom to drop it

in the trash. I leave the drink with it’s single, offensive ice cube in the bathroom as well. I won’

t be needing it now. I walk slowly back into the bedroom where Jonathon is waiting silently,

arms crossed and I wait for his orders.

“Now, bend over the bed, placing you hands palm down on the bedspread.” His voice is

so soft it’s barely above a whisper but it’s so intense I feel it like a shout in my ear. The bed is,

of course, a little low but I manage all right and I know the submissive posture I’m now in has

caused the plaid school skirt to ride high on my thighs and my little white panties are now

flashing him, just a little, under it’s hem. Apparently he wants to see more because he says, in

that same deadly quiet voice,

“Now pull up your skirt.” His order reminds me deliciously of that first time he spanked

me when he promised not to fuck me. I know this time it will be different. Deliberately, I

hesitate to obey him.

“I said pull up your skirt, Laura,” he demands. “Are you frightened that I’m going to fuck

you?” he asks softly, still standing behind me, over me in that dominant posture.

“Maybe,” I whisper, reaching back to pull the plaid skirt up over my ass and casting a

frightened glance over my shoulder to look at his cold eyes and merciless face.

“You’re right to be afraid, Laura,” he tells me, one hand barely caressing the rounded

curve of my ass through the white cotton panties as I crouch before him.

“I am going to fuck you.” He tells me softly, almost gently. “I’m going to fuck you hard.

But first you need to be disciplined.

“ Now pull down your panties, Laura. Pull them all the way down to your knees.” When

he talks to me like this I can barely stay on my feet, I need what he’s about to give me so badly.

I reach back and hook my thumbs in the waistband of the small, white cotton panties and

push them down to my knees. Their innocent cotton crotch is damp with my need and

anticipation. I bend submissively in front of him, arching my back, bare and exposed and I

hear a slow intake of breath behind me as Jonathon takes in the sight of my naked ass, waiting

to be whipped and the wetness between my thighs. I spread my legs a little, waiting for the

first blow to fall.

“Now I want you to say, ‘I will correct my behavior’ ,” Jonathon instructs me, his hand

curving gently over my bare bottom which will soon be red with his punishment. He draws

back his arm and I tense my body, waiting for the first, stinging slap of his palm on my flesh.

“I will correct…” *slap* My breath hitches in my chest but I force myself to continue. “my

behavior,” I finish as Jonathon lands another heavy blow on my upturned ass.

“Continue,” he almost whispers and I do, feeling the excitement building inside, the

tension stretching tight, like a wire between us.

“I will…” *Slap* “correct my behavior,” I say, more loudly, almost panting.

“I will correct my...” *SLAP* “behavior.”

His spanking increases in intensity and I know that beneath those well pressed dress slacks

he is as hard as a rock for me. Each stinging slap to my bare bottom sends spikes of

pleasure/pain throughout my body, making my wet sex tingle and throb with anticipation.

His rough love makes me feel swollen with need, I spread my legs farther apart as he

continues to spank me.

“I will…” *SLAP* “Oh, god...I will correct my behavior,” I moan as Jonathon continues to

deliver the sharp, stinging blows to my bottom, now surely as red as a sunset. He continues to

spank me methodically with hard, slow, deliberate blows to each cheek, making sure they both

receive equal attention. I feel myself losing control beneath his hand. The past and present blur

as he drives me over the edge. I could almost come just from this spanking.

“Oh, Mr. Black…I’m so sorry.” *SLAP!* “I will…I will correct my behavior.” I am nearly

crying with need now and Jonathon seems to realize it. Perhaps it is my slip in calling him Mr.

Black as I did before we were married that tells him.

Abruptly, the blows cease and everything is quiet except for my moaning little breaths and

Jonathon’s own heavy breathing. His hands caress my tender, overly sensitive flesh and I

squirm a little, arching my back appreciatively under his suddenly gentle touch. His fingers

travel down to the exposed v between my thighs and I part my legs a little wider to allow

them access to my drenched sex. I gasp with pleasure and need as he traces the outlines of my

swollen flesh with his fingertips, teasing the inflamed bud of my clitoris in that tender way he

knows I love. I am moaning openly now and spreading my legs as well as the panties, now

tightly stretched between my knees, will allow.

“You’re wet, Laura,” he whispers in that low, intense voice, pressing two strong fingers

into me, inside the sweet, moist opening of my sex.

“Y…yes, Mr. Black,” I pant, softly, nearly overcome with need. My nipples are hard little

pebbles against the rough cotton of my shirt and my cleft is aching to feel more than the two

fingers he is penetrating me with. Abruptly, the fingers withdraw and I whimper in protest.

But then I hear the metallic purr of his zipper coming down.

“Step all the way out of your panties,” he tells me, in that same, deep voice that makes me

melt with need and desire. A little clumsily, stumbling, I do as he commands. I feel his hands

caressing my hips and ass and I shiver with eager anticipation.

“Spread your legs for me. I’m going to fuck you now, Laura,” he tells me and I feel the

blunt head of his cock nudge my slippery sex from behind.

Nearly crying because I need him inside me so badly, I spread my thighs and feel him rub

deliberately against my clitoris before spreading the folds of my sex to thrust inside me. We

both groan as he penetrates me, pressing deeply inside me until he bottoms out, the head of his

cock pressing against the end of my channel.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” Jonathon tell me, gripping my hips so hard I am

sure there will be ten finger shaped bruises bracketing my pelvis in the morning. I love it when

he marks me although sometimes it distresses him, he doesn’t want to leave any permanent

scars. But he is already a permanent scar on my heart and I don’t mind a little outer

decoration to prove it.

“Oh…Mr. Black…oh…” I am moaning shamelessly, pushing my hips back to meet him but

he holds me still firmly and stops the motion, making it clear that I am to let him set the pace

and submit to his fucking. Crying softly, I tilt my pelvis up to him and receive the hard, slow,

steady strokes of his cock into my body. Jonathon is very strong and his cock is quite thick, it

stretches me to the limit as he rides me in that slow, deliberate rhythm that drives me wild.

“Laura, you’ve been very bad. You’re behavior is completely unacceptable,” he tells me as

he pounds into my hot, wet sex, opening my body roughly and thoroughly with his thick

shaft.

“I know…Oh, Mr. Black. I’m sorry. So sorry.” My arms are trembling with the effort of

holding myself up against the fierce thrusts of his body into mine and I have to lower myself to

my elbows to stay upright. I feel myself trembling on the brink of some dark emotion.

“Don’t apologize to me,” he tells me sternly, his tempo speeding up some as he grips my

hips and thrust harder, faster. His cock pressing into my wet, open sex makes me feel

completely vulnerable, completely alive. He is fucking me so hard now and I am trembling on

the razors edge between pleasure and pain. His shaft inside me feels so good it hurts. Jonathon

is rough and thorough when he fucks me, I know I will be deliciously sore after this and I don’

Evangeline Anderson - Mr Black Comes Home.pdf

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