Caught & Punished Read online

  CAUGHT & PUNISHED

  by

  Caia Fox

  Copyright © 2014 Caia Fox

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people (living or dead), places or events is purely coincidental. All characters are 18 years of age or older.

  Warning: Adults only. This story contains many scenes of a sexual nature and language to match. Please do not read any further if you think you may be offended by this.

  THE STORY

  Love derailed by games that go too far…

  When Paul started punishing his wife Lizzie and commanding her to obey his requests, their love life shot through the stratosphere. She loved the tone of voice he used on her and the naughty, wicked things he made her do, and his strict discipline even helped her with her writing career. She’d never been happier.

  But then their secret was discovered by his arrogant boss…

  Caught & Punished

  Oh shit! Another day gone, and she had achieved nothing. Everything she wrote stank, and she’d scrapped it. All of it. Every page. Paul was due in from work soon. She’d better stir herself and make something to eat. The kitchen was a mess. Let’s face it, her life was a mess. She’d started writing her novel full of hope, but she wasn’t getting anywhere. As soon as she left her job to write full time, it was as if the torrent of words dried up. What was she going to do? It would kill her to admit defeat and have to go back to work, her tail between her legs, and say she wasn’t going to write after all.

  Lizzie set to work and cleared the kitchen. It was amazing what ten minutes could do for any room in a state of disarray—dishes in the dishwasher, surfaces wiped, cereal packets put away, the remains of lunch in the trash, quick sweep of the floor, and the kitchen looked presentable again. She put a couple of steaks on the grill and prepared a salad. It was time to tidy herself up. A comb through her thick, auburn hair and a slick of lipstick would have to do. Her clothes—simple blue jeans and a white shirt— were presentable. At least she hadn’t started working in her pyjamas or anything. She wasn’t that depressed. Just worried.

  She wanted to write. Why couldn’t she do it now that she had all the time in the world? She’d yearned for that freedom when she worked long hours, stressed out, having to commute an hour each way. It was such a relief to get away from that, but now she had new stresses—and guilt, the guilt of getting nowhere while Paul worked full time to provide for them both. How long was he going to put up with that? She didn’t know. He was an easy-going guy, but there were limits. She wasn’t sure when he would start insisting it wasn’t working out and say her time was up.

  The front door banged. Paul was home. Her face lit up as he swept her into his arms and held her tight. She felt safe there, free of the worry of the missing words, missing pages.

  “How did it go today?” he asked.

  “Not great. I’m not sure what’s going on. Everything that comes out of my head seems wrong. I just look at the words and know they’re not right.”

  “Why don’t you try writing something else? See if it helps?”

  “What? Stop writing my novel?”

  “Yeah…just for a bit…try writing a short story or something…get over your block and give yourself a break. You’re not getting anywhere just now beating your head against a brick wall.”

  “Mmmh…not sure it would help. What would I write?”

  “I don’t know. Something different. A ghost story. A thriller. Something racy. Anything to get you out of the rut.”

  -----<>-----

  Lizzie thought about Paul’s suggestion when she sat down the next day to write. Maybe it would help. She’d woken that morning with the remains of a sexy dream in her head. Perhaps she could use that as the basis for a story. Something erotic. She didn’t need to publish whatever she wrote, just get the words flowing again.

  In her dream, she was working as a maid in a hotel, something she’d never done. It seemed like her uniform was of little practical use at covering her breasts or her bottom, and it seemed to be designed wholly to titillate male guests who might come across her dusting or changing sheets.

  If she bent forward her breasts fell out of the low neckline of her black top, and she had to scoop them back in. At the same time her butt was exposed in the tiny, see-through, white panties provided by the management to cover her modesty. Every time she bent over the cart in the corridor to gather up sheets or spare soap, she found some male or other staring at her exposed body.

  One guest, who looked very like Paul, tall with sexy dark eyes and hair, had taken every advantage and followed her into the room she was supposed to be cleaning and trapped her in a corner. He’d pulled her breasts right out of her top, massaging and sucking them until she was begging for more, then yanked down her panties, bent her over the newly-made bed and fucked her right there, plunging into her without mercy.

  She started tapping on the keyboard, capturing her naughty dream and enhancing it. She laughed, tickled pink at the sound as her fingers raced over the keys. She’d never learned to touch type, but she was damn fast at pecking those keys once her brain got into gear and the words came to her.

  The story unfolded. She had the manager catching her just as she reached orgasm from the pounding she was getting. He spanked her still-bare bottom right there for taking advantage of their guest. He’d been biding his time waiting for her to step out of line, so he could get his hands on her pert round ass and punish it until it was red and glowing. She squealed out each time the manager’s hand landed on her naked flesh, but he continued until her bottom was stinging, her face as crimson as her behind. Then he made her service him too, taking her roughly and making her squirm while the guest watched.

  Before Lizzie knew it, a couple of hours had gone by, and she had pages of lurid text there in black and white. That had been so easy. Of course, it would be crap. But that wasn’t the point. She was writing again. She had a coffee and got back to work.

  It wasn’t just that the words were coming so easily, the story was exciting her just as the dream had. If she wasn’t mistaken, things were getting pretty wet between her legs, and she was tempted to stop and deal with her mounting excitement. But she didn’t. It was such a novelty to be writing or even to be sitting at her computer free of anguish.

  By lunchtime, she had a few thousand words on paper and the bare bones of an erotic story she thought she could work on. Perhaps it wasn’t such crap after all. Racy, yes. Not something she could show her mother-in-law, maybe not even her best friend Sal, but at least she was writing.

  She had a sandwich and a glass of orange juice and got back to work. She’d almost forgotten to eat. That was so unlike other days when she constantly raided the fridge. Hunger seemed to be an excuse to get away from the computer for a few minutes at a time and relieve the stress of the blank page. The pounds had been creeping up slowly but surely. That had to stop too.

  She was almost reluctant to break off when it was time to prepare dinner. She felt alive, bursting with ideas for what her characters would do next. But they were all over the place. She’d have to corral them into some sort of order to create a real story out of it, but she thought she could do it. And why shouldn’t she publish if she managed to do that? She thought others might enjoy what she’d written. Her story had turned her on as she was writing it. Why wouldn’t it do that for others too?

  “Wow! You look happy today! What’s up?” Paul smiled at her as he came into the kitchen.

  “I wrote a story.” She giggled. “A naughty one. Your mother wouldn’t like it.”

  “But I might.” He laughed and kissed her.

  -----<>-----

  A couple of weeks later, Lizzie had completed two sto
ries and was ready to sell them online under a pen name. There was no way she was admitting to having written these. Apart from the story of the reluctant maid who became less reluctant over time and ended up submitting to all kinds of things Lizzie had never experienced but could easily imagine, she had created another about a woman who found out how much she loved being punished and publicly humiliated.

  Even though Lizzie doubted she’d like these things to happen to her in real life, they made her wet and powered her dreams, so it was as if she was putting her own fantasies on display for all to read. She imagined the full force of wagging tongues and fingers against her from her more staid friends, from her relatives and even from the residents of Palmer Place where they lived quiet unassuming lives, not bothering anyone.

  Paul had picked up on her themes though.

  “You didn’t tell me you were into that,” he said, eyebrows raised when he read her stories of spanking and public display.

  “They’re just stories. I wouldn’t want to be those women.”

  “Mmmh,” was all he said, but it obviously got the wheels turning in his brain, because the next time he arrived home and she was so engrossed in her writing that she hadn’t started dinner, he didn’t just accept her apology as usual but pretended to be angry, pulled her over his lap, pulled down her panties and whacked her bare behind right there in the kitchen while she laughed and made a few half-hearted protests. They kissed, and she thought that was the end of it.

  But when he pulled her over his lap and spanked her bare bottom again a couple of nights later, this time a little harder, she found herself getting right into it. That was so hot, the sizzling, burning sensation on the tender skin of her behind, her panties and pants around her ankles! She was dripping wet, her heart pounding. Who knew she would feel like that just because Paul showed the dominant side she didn’t even know he had and spanked her?

  She purred as he rubbed her bottom, soothing the sting, and as she sat up, she kissed him passionately, and one thing led to another. His cock was rigid, and she reached for his belt and zipper and released it right there in the kitchen. She fell to her knees and took the hard length in her mouth, sucking him and looking into his eyes as she did, challenging him to protest at her wanton display.

  No protest came.

  When she paused for breath, he pulled her pants and panties off where they’d fallen to her feet and guided her into the bedroom where he fucked her harder than she’d ever been fucked before. She rarely came that way, but this time, she did. He pounded her so hard, in full contact with her clit, and she was already so turned on, it didn’t take much to send her over the edge. Who cared that dinner was late that night or ever again?

  -----<>-----

  But it seemed like Paul was going to make her care, because he started insisting that she have dinner ready when he returned home from work. He’d phone her before he left the office and, fair warning given, she knew what fate would await her if she was late with the meal preparations. If she was deliberately slow some nights, then it was simply her way of making sure being punished and spanked became a regular part of her life. Her bottom often burned as they sat down to dinner, her nipples hard, the tops of her thighs wet with arousal. Paul didn’t let her replace her panties after a spanking.

  Their antics fuelled her imagination and helped with her writing. Her novel cast aside, she focused entirely on erotic stories. They went straight from her brain to her fingers and filled page after page. The words showed no sign of drying up. She explored more kinks and fetishes and wondered where this would take them. Sex had never been so exciting.

  Paul took an interest in what she produced. Her stories amused him. The rate at which she wrote them tickled him too. She thought nothing of writing three or four thousand words a day now. So he challenged her to write at least five thousand while he was out at work. She had to keep up her writing as well as get the meal ready for the evening. A word or two short and she knew she would be punished after supper when he looked at what she had managed to write that day.

  He examined the content too. Sometimes he punished her for being too dirty, sometimes for not being dirty enough. He liked to call her names as he punished her. If she had gone too far with her stories he called her filthy bitch or slut. If he thought she hadn’t gone far enough, he called her a prissy miss or a prude, but he always used the same loving, indulgent tone. He was never harsh or hateful as he spanked her.

  She explored various spanking implements in her stories, and that gave Paul ideas about trying them too. She found some were less erotic in real life than in print. They both found caning a little too full-on. He was worried he was going too far, hurting her too much. She didn’t like the stripes it left behind on her pale skin, temporary though they were or the sting that lasted days and meant she didn’t feel like being spanked at all while it lasted.

  But Lizzie was delighted with the flogger Paul bought for her. It was black with lots of velvety strands with knotted ends, and she loved the way the velvet swooped over her skin, stimulating her nerve endings, especially when the tails strayed over her breasts or between her legs.

  After a few weeks, she’d been caned, flogged and paddled, and Paul had tried using a wooden spoon on her and the back of a hair brush. Each new implement was exciting in its own way, and apart from the cane, never failed to make her wet and ready to be fucked hard. But she liked it when he used his hand on her bare ass as she lay over his knee best of all. She loved to be as close to him as she could. That way she could feel his erection against her body as his excitement grew along with hers.

  Having noticed a recurrent theme of women being made to strip naked in her stories, Paul often insisted Lizzie take off every stitch of clothing when he was going to spank her. She had to stand with her legs as wide apart as they would go, her hands behind her head as she waited for him to attend to her punishment.

  Her naked display and spanking usually took place at the back of the house in the dining room, a spot that was unlikely to be seen by callers to their home, but she still felt deliciously, wantonly exposed standing there in front of the big window that overlooked the lawn and trees.

  She waited, full of anticipation and delight, thinking about what was going to happen—blood thrummed through her veins, a flush on her cheeks, breasts heavy, nipples erect, and so very wet she thought she might leave a trail behind. She knew the sex that followed would be good. No, it would be more than good. Delightful. Rapturous. Satisfying. Better than ever.

  One day, after she wrote a story about a woman who liked to chat to men and display herself via a web cam, Paul bought one for her. This one would be strictly for their own use. It didn’t take long for him to work out how best to use it to enhance his control over her and the pleasure she had in obeying him.

  At lunchtime, he’d go out somewhere in his car and call her up via a video link on his smartphone. With little preamble, he would command her to take her top and bra off for him and fondle her breasts in full view of the camera until her nipples were sticking out like red bullets, hard and unyielding. He often told her to stay topless like that, breasts heavy and wanting, until she’d written another thousand words. She wasn’t allowed to make herself come until he got home.

  She loved when he ordered her to do things like that. She hadn’t realized how much she loved to be dominated by her husband, not so much in everyday life but in their love life. The more commanding he was, the wetter she got. And the more he saw how much it aroused her, the more dominant he seemed to become.

  One weekend, he decided to lock her panties away in a trunk in the basement. She didn’t need them anymore, he insisted. Her pussy had to be available to him at all times from now on, and being bare made it more accessible. The thought of never being allowed to wear panties and having to be ready for sex or spanking at all times brought her juices flowing. She became wetter still when she saw him remove all her panties from the drawer in their bedroom. Once they were locked away, he was
able to put the chest of drawers to better use by bending her over the top and fucking her bare, wet pussy hard from behind.

  No matter how much he wanted her to, or how strange it felt wearing a bra without panties, Lizzie couldn’t give up wearing bras all day long. She had big, heavy breasts.

  But Paul demanded unrestricted access, so he took three of her bras (luckily not the most expensive ones!) and cut large holes in the front so that she had support while still being able to present her breasts and nipples to him for sucking by simply opening her blouse or pulling up her t-shirt at his request.

  Sometimes he wanted Lizzie to be available to him as soon as he got home from a heavy day at the office. On those occasions, he’d call her as he was leaving, not just to warn her to prepare dinner but also to command her to present herself ready for him on his return. That way she had to scrabble around to finish supper and still find time to be kneeling naked by the front door, sitting on her heels with her knees wide open, exposing her pussy as much as she could, hands behind her back, forcing her breasts to jut forward, ready to welcome him home with a good sucking or fucking or both, whatever he wanted.

  She felt she had the best of all worlds. Submitting to Paul had brought out the sexiest side of herself, the side she never knew existed, and it had taken their sex life through the stratosphere. And yet she got her work done too. He demanded she did. And she did it. The words never stopped flowing, and she was happier than she’d ever been before.

  -----<>-----

  As the weeks went by, Paul became more and more daring in his requests. Instead of just calling Lizzie up at lunchtime, he would call her at various times during the day for a few minutes and check how many words she had written. If he thought she had written enough, he would praise her. If she’d been a bit lazy and not started writing early enough or had stopped to do something else during the day, he commanded her to strip in front of the web cam. Then he told her to get back to work in that naked state until she had added another thousand or even two thousand words to her manuscript.