Hi guys! The following is a story I wrote last night about one of my fantasies involving sort of religious fundamentalist themes. Trigger warning to anyone who has been in abusive relationships.
Additionally, I take commissions, so if you like my writing style or would like another example, feel free to message me. I’m very sexually experienced, open minded, and I have a lot of kinks myself, so you should never worry about judgement for your requests.
Anyway, the story part:
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I woke up about a minute from when my watch would have buzzed with it’s alarm: 5:29 AM. I was so used to being up early that my body automatically woke up at the same time every day on it’s own. There was probably some subconscious anxiety about oversleeping and not getting the morning chores done on time and the resulting consequences as well. I hurriedly hit snooze when it went off, not because I was actually snoozing, but to mitigate the risk of disturbing my husband, Michael, snoring away in the bed next to me. The alarm was almost silent, but I took no chances. A good wife lets her hard-working husband rest as much as possible.
I carefully got out of bed and headed down the stairs, avoiding the creakiest steps and shushing the dogs when their tails thumped against the walls in their excitement. They were expected to be quiet and obedient too. The kitchen was chilly, and the cool air raised goosebumps on my bare skin, but I ignored it. I went to the dog bowls in the kitchen and filled them with food and fresh water. They happily crunched into it. Then I tiptoed into our little laundry room, extracted a pair of Michael’s slacks and a work shirt from the dryer, and ironed them both scrupulously. There was a particularly stubborn wrinkle in the slacks that put me about 5 minutes behind schedule, and I worried silently as I carried his clothing back upstairs to hang in the bathroom. Hopefully the steam from his shower would erase any imperfections in the ironing.
Next, back to the kitchen. From around my wrist, I took a scrunchie and tied my hair back, and then fixed him a fresh sandwich- extra meat, no cheese, condiments in the exact right amounts, insides stacked in the “proper order,” according to Michael’s preferences- a serving of fruit, and a baggie of homemade trail mix, and packed it up neatly in his lunchbox, ensuring the sandwich wouldn’t be jostled or squished. A husband deserves a healthy, tasty, thoughtfully prepared lunch. Then I moved onto breakfast: a two-eggs, over-hard, roasted bell peppers and a generous amount of salt and pepper, a very lightly buttered piece of toast, a couple strips of extra crispy bacon, and a glass of orange juice, fresh squeezed by hand to avoid pulp and an excess amount of noise from the electronic juicer. Over time I had worked out exactly when I had to get breakfast started for it to be hot and ready by the time he came downstairs. I usually very slightly undercooked everything and then popped it in the oven on low heat to keep it warm. I tried to work quickly to make up for lost time without compromising the quality of the meal, and ended up putting the meal in the oven earlier and on a slightly higher temperature, praying it wouldn’t end up overcooked. What kind of wife serves her husband a poorly prepared breakfast? That’d be a poor start to his day.
At 7:02, I scurried back up to the bedroom. Michael said the stairs were good for keeping me in shape, and he had me running up and down them often, so ascending them felt relatively effortless by now. After assessing my sleeping husband’s positioning in our bed, I delicately crawled head-first under the covers towards his groin. Luckily his cock was easily accessible and already stiff this morning, since I was still two minutes behind, and I promptly got to work on it with my mouth. I didn’t like servicing him under the blankets because I felt like it was hard to breathe, but Michael had scolded me in the past for pulling them away. A good wife was selfless and put her husband’s needs and comforts before her own. He stirred awake, and after rubbing his eyes, his hands automatically went to the back of my head, grasping my pony tail. I particularly enjoyed the pull on my hair as I bobbed my head on his cock, and I was thankful for this small pleasure, whether given consciously or unconsciously.
He pushed my head further down his length, and I struggled to suppress my gag reflex when I took him into my throat. Eventually I got my nose to his groin, rubbing it into his pubic hair while I twisted my full mouth around his cock, and thrust out my tongue to lap at his balls as best I could. After several minutes of sucking and near-gagging, I was rewarded with a rush of cum in my mouth. It tasted sweet from the orange juice he drank, and I swallowed it gratefully. He patted my freshly-messed hair when I emerged from beneath the sheets, and I relished in the bit of unspoken praise. “Good morning, love,” I greeted him cheerfully. He grunted in response, and held out his hand expectantly. I scrambled to the nightstand where his phone was changing and gave it to him, whereupon he began checking his work emails. What a productive man!
I went to wet his toothbrush and topped it with the appropriate amount of toothpaste, made sure his water-flosser was filled and that a clean, fluffy towel was handy, turned on the overhead heat lamp, and started the shower so it would be at the proper temperature for him to step into. He plodded into the bathroom and stood over the toilet. I came over and knelt near his feet, taking his softened cock in my hands and aiming it precisely into the toilet while he scrolled on his phone. When he was finished, I flushed and posted myself by the shower door. After he brushed his teeth and flossed, I opened it for him and slipped in after him. I took a dollop of shampoo and started massaging it into his scalp, taking care not to get any in his eyes, which would certainly incur a beating. Afterwards I used the detachable shower head to give him a rinse, and went in on his back and shoulders with his body wash. I admired his sculpted musculature as I lathered and massaged his body, amazed at how blessed I was to have such a sexy man for a husband! The wetness between my thighs was not just from the water, but I wouldn’t get any relief until he got home tonight.
I lovingly rubbed, soaped, and rinsed his whole body, including his feet, delighting in his closed eyes and expression of contentment. When I finished, I stood back up and waited for the flick of his hand that usually indicated I should cut the water off. Instead, he opened his eyes and suddenly we locked gazes, his intense and sharp in a way that made something flutter in my lower abdomen area. He gave a slight smirk and suddenly reached up to clutch my throat in his hand, letting me feel the raw strength there that commanded restriction of my airflow, and pinned me against the shower wall. He kept me there for a moment before kissing me deeply and aggressively. My pussy ached desperately as I passionately kissed him back, drinking in the unusual show of affection. All too soon he pulled away, and I kept my eyes closed and groaned quietly in protest. God, I wanted him so badly.
He chuckled and gave me a half pat, half slap to the cheek, prompting my eyes to snap open, and he released my throat. He gave his routine gesture and I turned off the water, reaching for his towel to dry him, and then for another for myself. While he dressed in the clothes set out for him, I selected a pair of socks and the shoes I had polished the night before, and knelt with them at the base of the armchair in our bedroom. He sat comfortably while I put them on his feet. Then I preceded him down the stairs, still naked and somewhat damp, and removed his breakfast from the oven, serving him at the table.
“It’s a little dry today,” He remarked with a scowl.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” I apologized. “I–”
“I don’t want to know why. Your carelessness will have to be punished tonight, of course. I’ve got to leave.”
“Yes, dear. Let me get your things.” I scurried to gather his coat, keys, briefcase, and lunchbox, and handed them to him as he moved towards the door. He said goodbye to the dogs and turned to leave.
“Have a great day, darling. Love you!” I called after him. I received a customary grunt as he got into his car. I knew he loved me too; he just rarely said it. He certainly showed it in non-verbal ways, like providing for me and giving me physical pleasure. I pushed the button to the garage, watched as he pulled out and away, and put it back down behind him. I missed his presence immediately, but there was a long list of chores to be done before he got home.
I set about cleaning the entire house, washing and folding the laundry, walking the dogs, tending to the garden, getting in a good work out (I had to stay in good shape and look pleasing for my husband; no man wants to fuck a fat, ugly hag), actually showering and shaving myself smooth all over, and preparing dinner. Michael had a long day at work, so thankfully I had plenty of time to finish and don some lacy lingerie. A good wife should always welcome her husband home to a clean, and a willing wife.
I got as excited as the dogs when I heard his car pull into the driveway. I rushed to the garage door to hit the button for him, closing it again once he’d parked. He was on the phone arguing with someone when he got out of the car, slamming it’s door. He stormed into the house, tossing his coat and briefcase at me to put away, which I did swiftly. When I returned he stood at the island in the kitchen with a tense posture, and finished his phone call, putting his phone down heavily. He was obviously stressed.
“H-how was your day, baby?” I asked timidly.
“How do you fucking think?” he practically snarled. I jumped, and he started around the island towards me. I unthinkingly took a step backwards, bumping into the mail counter behind me. “My day was absolute shit. I dealt with fucking idiots all day long, starting with my stupid wife who can’t seem to make me something edible to eat in the morning. Don’t you fucking move away from me!”
“I’m sorry!” I squealed. He grabbed a handful of my hair, which was down at this point, and half-dragged me into the living room, tossing me down on the carpet. He pointed at the coffee table.
“Bend over, you brainless whore,” He spat at me. I scrambled to do as he said. I didn’t know if I just hadn’t moved fast enough or if he was just eager to begin my punishment, but his hand came down hard on my ass before I was even fully in position, and I stifled a yelp. He didn’t want to hear my pathetic mewing, and I had already pissed him off. The next several blows rained down, rapidly one after another, and I braced myself, trying hard not to flinch away. This is what bad wives deserved; I was to take it gratefully and unmoving. The beating paused, and I meekly peeked up at him behind me.
“Go get the switch.” he growled. Oh, I must’ve really done it. I stood and started to bolt upstairs to get it, but Michael yelled out, “Stop!” I froze instantly, nearly tripping.
“Undeserving bitches don’t walk. Crawl.” he commanded.
“Yes Sir,” I squeaked, dropping to all fours. My ass stung as I began to crawl up the stairs, but even with the pain I still felt the dampness at my cunt grow along with the humiliation.
“FASTER!” he roared.
“Yes Sir!” I crawled as fast as I could, wincing as I went over the hardwood in the bedroom closet. I retrieved the switch- a thin, supple portion of a tree branch who’s wicked nubs I had failed to trim off- and went to make my way back downstairs with it in hand, but the going was difficult on my hands and knees, and I feared I would break my husband’s favorite torture instrument. I shifted the switch to my mouth and made the awkward descent back to the living room, where Michael was waiting with crossed arms.
“Took you fucking long enough… look how pathetic you are, a dumb slut with a stick in her mouth,” he crooned mockingly, taking it from me. I went back to the table, praying he was in a less cross mood after the humor of my crawling about. The fierceness with which the switch came down on my poor ass cheeks suggested otherwise. That thing was vicious, raising massive welts even with the lightest of flicks, and I cried out uncontrollably, flinching away from the pain.
“Stop moving, you worthless cunt!” This time the switch flashed across my upper thighs, and though I yelped again, I managed to stay still despite the nearly-unbearable sensation raging across my skin. Michael enjoyed my reaction for a few moments before giving me another lash.
“What do you say, bitch?” he taunted.
“…Thank you, Sir,” I said through clenched teeth. The switch licked my backside again before I had fully recovered, and I gave a terse moan.
“What was that?” He flicked his wrist again and it felt like hellfire danced across my lower back.
“UGNH! Thank… You Sir!” I managed. The pain was so bad I could hardly think straight. He cruelly ran the tip of the switch lightly up my inner thighs, lingering near the crotch of my panties. Oh God no, please not there, I begged in my head.
“Oh my,” Michael practically purred. “Look how sopping wet your little twat is. What a dirty, shameful slut you are! You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Sir,” I said, tears beginning to well up in my eyes. What kind of whore got off on punishment? What was wrong with me? I shifted uncomfortably under his penetrating stare, and he lifted the switch abruptly, feigning another strike. I squeezed my eyes shut and gripped the table edge harder in anticipation, but the expected agony didn’t come. Michael snickered, and instead put the switch aside. He bent over my tortured rump and began tracing the raised welts gently with his fingertips. It sent a shiver through my body, and I got the belly butterflies again. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d heard him undo his zipper. I’m supposed to be repenting for being a bad wife…
“Are you gonna overcook my breakfast again, slut?” he murmured.
“No Sir!” I cried.
He leaned in close to my ear and whispered coarsely, “You’d better fucking not.” Suddenly he yanked down the panties and impaled me with his hard, thick cock, slipping into me easily due to my excessive wetness. I gasped at the abrupt fullness as his entire length rammed me, then pulled out slowly, then rammed me again. I almost came right then, but I knew better than to cum without permission.
“Ugnh… Ohh fuckk,” I moaned, as the pounding continued. He twined a fistful of hair around his fingers again, pulling me more upright away from the table, his other hand snaking under my arm to pinch and twist at my nipple.
“That’s a good little pain slut… You fucking love that, don’t you?”
“Yes Sir!” I gasped, earning a smack on my tender ass.
“Where are your manners, girl?” Michael hissed.
“Thank… You… Sir!” I said between hard strokes. I could feel my orgasm building, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold out. I adored being punished, manhandled, degraded… fucked like an animal.
“Good girl,” he grunted.
“Can I… oh fuck… can…” I couldn’t get the words out, that’s how overwhelmed I was by the intensity of the pleasure I was experiencing. It was like every pump of his iron-hard cock stretched my pussy and caressed me right in the g-spot.
“I can’t hear you,” he tantalized.
“Please! Can! I… Cum!” I panted in frustration.
“Hmm…. not yet.”
I began to cry in earnest. “UHHHH! PLEASE SIR!,” I begged. “PLEASE CAN I CUM?!”
“Fine,” he finally acquiesced. “Cum for me, bitch.”
“OH FUUUCK! MICHAAEL!” The orgasm ripped through my body, wave after wave of unimaginable, pent up pleasure giving me full-body shakes and spasms for at least 30 full seconds. I collapsed against the coffee table and rode it out, the whole rest of the world temporarily shattering and ceasing to exist. Michael grunted and gave a few final pumps before he came too, and I felt the warmth from his seed shoot into me, gush after gush. It felt so fucking good.
We rested for a while, just like that, with me leaning on the table and his recovering cock still inside me, pulsing with each little after-shock in my vagina. Then he patted my hip, withdrew, and said, “Good girl. No go serve dinner, before you burn it again.”
I grinned. “Yes, baby. Right away.”
I fucking love that man.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/g5urjw/dont_burn_breakfast_a_fundie_fantasy_mf