Eve’s Lesson in Domestic Obedience Part 2 (18+ only)
As promised, here is Part 2 of my Sunday Story offering for this week. I left you waiting – but not for too long – just as things were beginning to get a little bit interesting for Eve, now Adam has returned home. If you’ve come so far with me today and liked it, then I hope you enjoy finishing now…
Happy reading! x
I did exactly as I was told, straddling his knee and reaching behind me to unhook the pretty chiffon. My skin pricked with the breath that gushed from his lips as I let it fall away from my shoulders, slowly releasing before him the flesh that had been held captive. The chill of the air left the nerve ends at the surface of my bare breasts tingling, my nipples hardening at the change in temperature as well as the way he looked at me. I thought he was going to kiss them, and my back stiffened, knotting down my spine like a rope ladder in anticipation of his mouth sucking, pulling at my two hard little buttons.
He took his spoon, instead, and scooped cream onto its end. Cupping each of my breasts in turn, he squeezed them with slow, full, hand movements, bringing each level with his face. Then he dipped the tip of the spoon onto each of my nipples. The coldness of the cream sent a beautiful sensation of shivery pins and needles through them, penetrating my ribs and spreading up my back, and ensuring my nipples were wholly engorged. Scarcely had I recovered from it when the heat of his mouth took over and the roughness of his tongue circled each one in turn, scooping up the cream, taking it across my skin, further from my hard little tips, so he could lick more of my flesh. Every so often he stopped sliding his tongue over my tits to suck gently, drawing the arousal in my flesh to meet the desire in his mouth, and leaving rings of tiny love bites on each breast around their dark centres.
He drew his teeth over the last of the cream, drawing it back to my nipples and sucking hard, first one, then the other. Moaning, my fingers wedged in his hair, I thrust my now soaking pussy down against my panties and onto his trousers. His cock was bulging inside the material, digging hard into me. I rolled around over his bulge, and he let out a guttural, throaty moan, my tit still filling his mouth. The sound vibrated across my skin, tingling, making me thrust it further; I wanted him to take it all, to have his fill.
“Can I tempt you now, Adam? Your dessert’s getting cold. And the cream is hotting up.”
He sucked hard, pulling my nipple to a point, his eyes aflame with pure lust.
“Feed me my dessert, Eve. I want to taste what you’ve got for me.”
I scooped a piece of the crumble onto the spoon and dipped it in the cream as Adam opened wide. I bit my lip as he took it all the way in, sucking on the spoon, rolling my temptation around his mouth. I was transfixed as he made ready to swallow what I’d given him.
Suddenly I found myself reeling backwards, banging my shoulder hard on the chair on the way to landing on the floor, as he threw himself over the sink. He was too busy stooping over the enamel bowl to notice me nursing my shoulder. He didn’t swallow—he spat; I was mortified. He hadn’t meant to hurt me, had he? It was just that I hadn’t expected it. I knew how he’d reacted over the apple when I first arrived. I’d been naughty and he’d disciplined me; touched me; given me his full attention. It was only for being bad that I had been punished. It’s the reason he’d fucked me that first time. What did he expect, when all I wanted was for him to do the same again? When all I wanted was for him to do more than merely touch me? Would he punish me this time? Punish me exactly as he had before?
And he had said that he would be able to taste apple, anyway. Wasn’t that his get-out clause? He was right, he had been able to; he should be pleased with himself. I waited, tension invading my skin, organs, bones. I propped myself against the table, moulding my body into the sexiest, panties-only pose I could muster, attempting to counter whatever would happen when he turned around.
“Evie, you have been very, very naughty.”
His voice was so quiet. His eyes roamed the length of my body and lingered over my panties. I saw how his gaze followed me as I walked up to him, pressing myself against him as I lifted the spatula off the worktop and sucked the last of the pieces of bramble-stained apple from it. My arm was painful, but I resisted touching it—I didn’t want him to see.
“What’s the matter, Adam? Don’t you like your dessert? I made it especially for you. And you love my cream, you know you do.”
I brushed my cold, trepidation-filled, erect nipples against his shirt, and fondled his trousers, cupping his balls in my hand. Just for a moment I felt him give into my fingers. But only for a moment. He took me by the shoulders and pushed me against the table, and it took every ounce of control not to scream out as his hand clasped the bone. He took the spatula from my hand.
With each word, I felt the harsh swat of the spatula against my nipples. I squeaked at each sharp sting, my breath strangling itself in my diaphragm as the sensation spread from its point of raw contact through my flesh. Adam’s cock had grown to a thick fullness in his trousers, and I stared down, open-mouthed, at the way it was pulsating and jumping behind its black fabric mask. I breathed long and hard against his cheek.
“Doesn’t my dessert tempt you, Adam?”
He ran the cool, pale wood of the spatula down the hot and sensitive flesh that hungered for the sustenance he brought it; down between my breasts, over my stomach, towards my navel, letting it drift lower, barely on the surface of my skin. Yet every nerve complied with his motion, obeyed his touch.
“Oh, I’m tempted. But you’re naughty, thinking I wouldn’t taste the apple. I told you already, I can recognise its flesh, its juices, as much as I recognise the taste of yours.” I felt the spatula run underneath me, along the crotch of my panties.
“Are you very angry with me, Adam?” My juices flowed, pooling between my legs, momentarily counteracting the throb in my shoulder, and I wondered if my wetness had spread through and onto the spatula. His gaze fixed itself to mine, his expression stoic. But the grey flecks in his eyes were firing around his irises like shards of flint.
“Yes. Very angry that you think you could fool me by hiding your fruit like that. Did you really think that you could make me do what you want in that way?”
He removed the spatula from my crotch, swatting it on my left nipple in passing as he drew it up higher. I swallowed hard, my heart beginning to bang forebodingly within my ribs. Surely he wouldn’t hit my face with it? My eyes were wide, unblinking. It came within a hair’s breadth, and I flinched as it almost caught me at the side of the face. But he drew it towards himself. His eyes closed as his nose rubbed against it, inhaling the mustiness of my cunt juice, as traces of a smile formed over his lips; then he reopened his eyes and the smile vanished. I wasn’t sure that I should reply; it felt safer to stay quiet, to see where this would lead. I never for one moment believed that Adam was stupid, and, at that moment, I wanted him to believe that neither was I. And right then I wished above all else that I had a clue what I was doing. I felt his fingers trailing down my back, spatula still attached, towards the curve of my backside, felt his fingertips hook into the flesh and lift my arse to meet his palms. So the tables were turned: I was back in his hands. The fate of my body rested there.
“You deserve to be punished. I won’t stand for nasty trickery, Evie. Turn around and put your hands on the table.”
My heart thumped, each breath beating a burning pathway of humiliation and disgrace inside my ribs, consuming me. My whole being had become one of shame. Is that what I was to be, from now on? His voice was still so quiet, so full of anger; I hadn’t meant to upset him. It was the last thing in the world I would want to do. Desire for him filled my veins, channelling itself into my very core, fighting for its place at the side of the shame I harboured there. It ripped through me; I couldn’t have been in more pain if the apple had been poisoned. I leant over, my palms on the wood, pushing my panties out against the surface of the spatula. It made contact with the chiffon, and the sheer agony of my latent desire drove itself deep into my pussy, leaving it in torment. After he’d given me my punishment would he give me what I was here for? Would he be desperate to fuck me then—hard, holding me under him, so I could give him every part of me? Isn’t that what a man wants when he persuades a woman to live in his home? To punish her with his cock?
His breath came sharp at the back of my ear, sucking and blowing my hair against my cheek. And then he brought down the spatula against my panties, on the left, then the right. I breathed into the sting of his implement, a whimper released into the air a split second after the pain of each spank registered in my head. The pain, the effort he made to administer it, and the sheer unadulterated sexiness of the spanking increased with every blow from the spatula against my backside. I held an image of wood on chiffon in my mind, and my whimpers morphed into groans the more he brought it down against me, and I absorbed each sting as they spread and numbed deep into my arse cheeks.
Then it stopped. I waited, not wanting to look around in case—I don’t know why. Wanting to know, to see, as always. Uncertainty ripped through me as his fingers tugged at the elastic waist of my panties, yanking them down, the heat of his hand resting against my pussy as he manoeuvred the chiffon to rest on my thighs. It formed a tight band, and I squirmed to make it less uncomfortable and prevent it from cutting off the circulation in my legs. I had little cause for concern, though. My panties only hovered there for a short while before falling to my ankles. The Fall of Eve’s Knickers.
“Open your legs,” he whispered, the heat of his breath against my spine, spreading the potential these words held through my vertebrae, and leaving my desire lapping at the edge of the ocean of possibilities.
I kicked my knickers off one foot, pushing myself lower, my nipples rubbing against the table as I presented my pussy to him. A sigh rumbled deep within me as his fingers explored the length of my pussy; two fingers, one either side of my cunt, urging themselves forward to my clit. I pushed myself into his hand, desperate for his fingers to reach their destination, to stroke the ache I had for him. The muscles inside my entrance twitched in their anticipation, and tingle spikes wracked the front of my pussy from my clit to the top of my little bush.
But he removed his hand.
“You really were naughty to try and tempt me, Evie.”
The spatula came down against my pussy and my nerve endings did a dance all the way down my legs. I thought, maybe, I let out a squeal, I wasn’t absolutely sure. Then again. He did it again. I whimpered, a high-pitched, silly little moan to counteract the depth of the sensation that devoured my pussy and ate its way up into my tummy. I clung to the table, convinced my legs would turn to jelly crystals and leave me dissolving on the floor as he continued to spank my pussy, over and over. I don’t know if he noticed how weak I was becoming. Maybe he did.
“Turn over. Lay on the table.”
He leant over me, pushing the remnants of our dinner into a corner, and my body succumbed to his whims as he turned me in his hands, manipulating my body so that I lay looking up at him. He pushed me right up onto the end of the table, grabbing my ankles and positioning my feet at the corners.
“Stay there. Don’t move.”
His command growled from him, and I ground my toes into the edge of the wood, my body heaving as I watched him undo his trousers, my soaking pussy directly opposite the beautiful bulge he still hid within his shorts. He kicked off his outer layer, rubbing his cock through the white jersey cotton that still dallied with my desire; I spotted the wet patch that had appeared and that was increasing as I watched, and my mouth felt dry. I struggled to swallow.
“I’m going to make you eat your dessert, Evie. And then I’m going to have mine.”
My mouth opened quite instinctively, a primeval urge engulfing me, my eyes remaining transfixed on the bulge that twisted, flipped, leaking pre-cum inside his shorts.
“Oh—oh, thank you.” I shot him a wicked grin.
“Oh, no. That’s forbidden to you. You know that. I just don’t want my trousers dirty.”
I felt a gentle swat of the spatula against my pussy, and my clit exploded with the desperation that had been building up inside it. I moaned, long and hard.
“Do you want dessert, Evie?”
I looked at his face, lit up in acknowledgement of his own power over me at that moment. But I had power, too. I could say ‘no’. If I told him ‘no’, then my punishment would end. And he’d not get what he wanted. My punishment would be over…
“Yes. Give it to me, Adam. Please.”
“Then stick your feet over my shoulders—up there, like that. Good girl. Now bend your knees. Open your legs.”
My back pressed into the table, my cunt hoisted up and on display near his face. He wet his finger and wiped it along my pussy lips, circling my entrance, and pushing it into me in one deft movement. A second finger went in, and I felt the skin tug as he stretched his fingers apart.
“What are you doing?” I watched his face, waited for an answer, but his eyes were shut, and murmurs escaped him with every movement as he separated his digits, then closed them, repeating his action several times.
“Let’s see if you can eat this, Evie.”
He withdrew his fingers, instead picking up the spatula. I watched him, my eyes wide and my breath shallow and erratic, as he inserted it in his mouth and sucked, grimacing at the residual taste of the apple upon it among the berry juice. His tongue licked its underside as he pulled it out.
“Very smooth. Beautifully made. No splinters.” He grinned at the flash of anguish that struck my face. “Ready?”
My body ached; it behaved as if it was paralysed from the cunt upwards. My mouth refused to work; sweat glued me to the table. I emitted a sigh, moan, whimper—whatever it was—and the spoon toyed with the wet hole that he began to open wide. Slowly, slowly, he eased the head of the spatula into my cunt. My muscles gripped it, held it tight, and he waited for them to ease. One moment at a time I felt the entrance of the spatula as it stretched, pulled. Then it was moving inside me. My soft tissue encased it, felt every movement, and my breath became heavier until it gasped and released with every motion in and out. His head was level with my knees, and he was smiling straight into my cunt.
“Oh, you should see this, Evie. Your pretty little hole loves this. The spatula’s dripping in you.”
My body began to burn and force itself down into the table. My head rubbed against the wood, and I could see his cock grinding against the edge, its head just poking out of his fly and soaking the seam. This, the feel of the spatula inside me, the thought of what he was doing to me and what could do to me, sent my legs into spasms.
“Fuck, Evie, you’re soaking. Don’t you dare come now.” He pulled at the spatula, slowly, carefully, sliding it through my wetness, and my moan grated at my throat as he pulled the last of it out. “You ate it well, Evie. And look at what you’ve made. Another dessert. Do you want it?”
He was already scooping some crumble onto the end of the spatula as I began nodding ferociously, like some kind of rabid animal, whining at him as he held it to my lips. I took it into my mouth and he watched avidly as I ate, my crumble and my cum disappearing down my throat together.
“Taste it, Eve. Taste that temptation of yours.” He scooped the double cream onto the spatula and held that to my lips, too, and I opened, ready to receive it. And I watched him smile as he pulled away. “You’ve eaten the dessert, Evie. But I’m the one who’s got the cream.”
I bucked up towards him as the coldness of the cream touched my pussy lips. He spread it over them, his mouth elsewhere, though, his lips kissing my feet, the tip of his tongue licking up my calves, onto the inside of my thighs. I felt his breath on my skin there, where it had become sensitive to the slightest of touches, waiting. I thrust my hips forward, my pussy lifting to meet his mouth as his tongue began to scoop up the cream, licking it from my folds, drawing it up to my clit and sucking it there. He indulged his mouth in me, the heat from his tongue wonderful, setting me alight, its roughness arousing every nerve ending I had, and I pushed my pussy further into his face. He licked the cream around my entrance, brushing it with the tip of his tongue, lapping at it, never entering.
“Come for me, Evie,” he whispered.
A wave of pain gathered, rushing at me, sweeping over my body. I drowned in the feeling, in the moans that crashed into him and sprayed into the air from deep within me; I bucked hard, and for the first time ever, I felt the squirt of my own cum as it shot from me and he caught it on his lips and his tongue, the rest running down his chin and onto the floor. He wiped the remnants of the cream that still sat around my entrance onto the end of the spatula and spread them along my lips as I panted, fast and shallow, from the shock of my orgasm. The spatula tasted of cream, and cunt, and cum, and I devoured it, my mouth seeking every morsel he offered. I lay, my nipples standing up against the brush of his thumb, as he pressed his cock up against me, removing the last smears of the cream on my pussy with his shorts.
“See, pussy, you come when I call.” He smiled at me, as I frowned back. “Does your tight little cunt hurt, Evie?” He eyed me, his face now deadpan, grave.
“It feels a bit—a bit strange. Like it’s kind of wide and fuzzy on the inside. But, no, it’s not painful.”
“Did you think it would be?” His eyes scrutinised me, and I became coy at the intensity of his stare. My cheeks burned.
“I—I don’t know. Yes, I suppose so.”
He nodded. I had no idea what that meant. All I knew is that the only thing that really hurt was that he’d chosen to use an implement and kept his cock hidden from me. And that he’d unnerved me so; that bothered me. He took a dollop of cream onto the spatula and offered it to me, placing it gently in my mouth.
“You said it yourself, Evie. You hoped that being in the kitchen all day would be worth it.”
So, I’d tried that day, too: Temptation, in the guise of something he enjoyed and devoured as a rule, but he’d not fallen for it. And I remained, in my eyes, unworthy of my role, as he kissed the cream from my lips. It wasn’t my failure I minded so much as the feeling that gnawed at me from within, a strange and unfamiliar. I tried to ignore it, but I had this awful feeling that it wasn’t going to go away.
“I think I need to keep a closer eye on you. And maybe you should stay indoors, Evie, unless I’m around. Out of trouble.”
But he didn’t ask for his key back; just raised his eyebrows at me, as I returned his kiss.
Adam helped prepare every meal we have eaten since then. So I suppose I did something right, after all…
If you did go all the way, and actually finished…oooh, well, I thank you very much indeed! As always, comments, questions and other feedback is welcome, either in the ‘comments’ section or by contacting me.