Simon Says

3

It had been a very traditional wedding. She had promised to love, honor and obey her husband. But there were limits, Elaine thought, and given what had happened before the wedding she was determined to make that clear. On the first night of their honeymoon in Paris, after she and Simon had made glorious love, she brought up the subject.

"Darling," she began, still pressed close to his naked body in their luxurious bed. "Now that we're married, and I'm...I'm truly your wife, you won't--you won't want to share me with anybody else any more, will you?"

"What do you mean, darling?" Simon said.

"You know. You won't ask me to do things like--like I did with that minister, or with that man in the restaurant that time. I--I don't know why you wanted me to do that, Simon, but if you wanted to test my love for you or something, you don't have to do that any more. I did it because I love you, and I still love you, and now I'm your wife, so...so please don't ask me to do things like that again, all right, darling? I don't want anybody but you, ever."
"I understand that, Elaine," Simon said. "And I don't want anybody but you either. But you must understand that circumstances may arise occasionally in which, as your husband, I may have to ask you to do things which you might not find altogether to your liking. But as a dutiful wife, I know you will do your best to please me. That's what marriage is, after all. Two people desiring to make each other happy, and sometimes making sacrifices to that end. Isn't that right?"

Elaine tried not to let her apprehension show in her voice. "Well yes, darling, but it's also about two people being faithful to each other. 'Forsaking all others,' isn't that what the minister said?"

Simon's tone was cooler than before. "He also said--and you agreed--that a wife should love, honor and obey her husband. I am your husband, Elaine, and I expect you to obey me. In all things."

"But Simon--" Elaine sat up in the bed. She was shivering a little, although the room wasn't cold. She tried to keep her voice steady. "Darling, you're not--are you saying that you--that you intend to go on asking me to do things like that? To--to have sex with other men? Because--" She took a deep breath. "Because I won't do that, Simon. I won't do it any more. I'm not a slut. I hated doing that with those men. I can't--I can't do it any more. Please don't ask me." Simon was silent, and she went on. "Oh darling, please, can't we just have a regular marriage? Can't we just love each other and be happy? I'll do anything to make you happy, Simon, as long as it doesn't involve--"

"No!" Simon interrupted her. "Not 'as long as,' Elaine. There are no conditions. There are no qualifications. You are my wife. You will do anything to make me happy. Period. Is that clear?"

She stared at him in silence, and she felt tears gathering in her eyes. His coldness frightened her, and her love for him, the power of it, frightened her even more. But she mustered all her courage. "And if I don't?" she said quaveringly. "What will you do? Divorce me?"

Simon sat up abruptly and swung himself out of the bed. Standing over her, he looked directly into her eyes. "No," he said evenly. "I will never divorce you. But if you do not act as a proper wife, our marriage will be a sham. An empty shell. If you defy me, Elaine, you will kill all my love for you. And you will be miserable for the rest of your life."

With that he turned away from her and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Elaine continued to sit where she was, too stunned even to cry.

.

Simon's business contacts were extensive, even in Europe. On the third night of their stay in Paris, he and his bride were invited to have dinner at the home of a wealthy French industrialist with whom his company often did business. It was to be a formal dinner party, and although she had brought several evening dresses with her on their trip, Simon insisted on buying her a new gown for the occasion. He was very sweet to her, as if to make up for the coldness of his words a couple of nights before. Elaine had not ventured to raise that subject again, and Simon acted as if everything was settled between them. She, on the other hand, felt profoundly unsettled, and even fearful; but as long as Simon was warm and loving with her, her happiness and her helpless love for him overwhelmed everything else.

When they arrived at their destination, an elegantly appointed home in the suburbs of the city, Elaine was surprised to find that they were the only guests. Simon introduced her to their host, Jacques Bertrand, a portly man in his late forties, and his somewhat younger wife, Annette. She found them both quite pleasant, although it was difficult for her to make converstion, as their accented English was limited. Elaine did not speak French at all, although Simon was fluent in it. During the dinner, which was excellent, he and Bertrand kept up a continual flow of talk, mostly about business, Elaine supposed. Her part of the conversation consisted mostly of complimenting Annette on the food and making the occasional remark about the weather and other trivialities.

Then, halfway through the meal, the dialogue between the two men appeared to take a more personal turn. She saw Bertrand glancing at her several times as he spoke to Simon, and Simon doing the same, with a smile, as he replied. She wondered what they were saying, but could barely make out a word of their rapid French. She could only hope it was complimentary.

Finally Simon turned to her. "Monsieur Bertrand has been complimenting me on you, Elaine. He says you are very lovely, and he admires your dress."

"Well, thank you," she said, and she turned to Bertrand with a smile. " Merci ," she said to him, which was about the extent of her French. Bertrand smiled back, and resumed his converation with her husband.

Simon nodded as the other spoke, and they exchanged a few more words. Then he turned to her again. "Monsieur Bertrand says you have an excellent figure, my dear. As a Frenchman, of course, he is a connoisseur of such things. I've told him you would be flattered by his praise. Not that you don't deserve it, of course."

Elaine felt a sudden chill. Surely he wasn't-- But no. She was becoming too paranoid. This was just a kind of Gallic gallantry. She hid her consternation as she smiled at Bertrand again. "Tell him he is very kind, and that I am indeed flattered," she said. "But--" She glanced at Annette, still smiling, "with a wife as beautiful as his, he has no need to envy you yours."

Simon translated her remark--although she was beginning to suspect that Bertrand knew more English than he let on--and the Frenchman smiled appreciatively, and then exchanged some more words with her husband. Though she didn't understand the words, Elaine was not reassured by the tone of the conversation, or by the way Bertrand kept looking at her. She felt herself tense up with apprehension as Simon turned to her again.

"Monsieur Bertrand is particularly taken with your breasts, Elaine," he said.

She felt herself flushing. Her evening gown was rather low-cut, displaying some of the upper curves of her breasts and a bit of cleavage, though not blatantly. She had to make a conscious effort not to fold her arms in front of them. She didn't know what to say, so she said nothing.

"In fact, he would like to see them," Simon said.

There was a pounding in her head, and she felt stricken, as though she couldn't move. Had he really said that? Yes. Of course. He was looking at her calmly, as though he had asked her to pass the salt. Did he really expect her to--

"I'm sorry?" she managed to say, as if she hadn't heard him.

"I said Monsieur Bertrand would like to see your breasts," Simon repeated. "He just wants to look at them, Elaine. Our host appreciates beautiful things, and I have assured him that your bosom is indeed a work of art. Naturally, he would like to see it. Please show it to him. To us."

She felt that she was trembling, although it didn't seem to show. She had been staring at Simon, and now she glanced quickly at Bertrand, whose eyes seemed to be devouring her, and just as quickly looked away. She turned to Annette, but the girl simply smiled blandly and gave a little shrug. No help there.

She put down her fork and took a long, shuddering breath. "No, Simon," she said as firmly as she could. "I won't."

She saw his eyes change. "What?" he said softly.

She clenched her fists under the table, steeling herself. "I said I won't," she made herself say. "I can't do that, Simon. I can't just--just display myself to a stranger. I won't do it."

Simon's eyes were opaque. "Elaine," he said--and his voice, she thought somehow matched his eyes--"you are embarrassing me. Monsieur Bertrand is our host, and my friend. It would be rude to refuse this simple request."

"And I am your wife, Simon," Elaine said, fighting back her tears. "And we talked about this, remember? You just--you just can't ask me to do things like this. It's not right. It's not fair. I'm--I'm sorry if Mr. Bertrand doesn't understand, but--but you shouldn't have--"

"I'm asking you once more, Elaine," Simon interrupted her. "It's very simple. Just open your dress and bare your breasts." His voice hardened suddenly. "Please do it now."

She couldn't look at his face any more. He looked so cold, almost like he hated her, and she couldn't stand that. She dropped her eyes to the table. Her body felt like stone. Her hands were like dead weights. She couldn't raise them if she wanted to. But somehow she was. She was raising them. To the back of her neck. To the tiny catch there. Grasping it in her trembling fingers, and opening it.

No, she thought. You don't have to do this. She forced herself to look at Simon again. Her heart quailed. "I don't want to, Simon," she said. But now it was more of a plea than a refusal.

Simon said nothing. He just continued to look at her with those obsidian eyes, with that hard, cold, unreachable expression. Her eyes fell to the table again, and she felt tears on her cheeks as she took hold of the little zipper and started it down.

She could only get it down a little way, and she had to change her position, lowering her arms, leaning forward in her chair and bringing her hand up behind her to pull it down further. Awkwardly collaborating in her own humiliation. She slid the zipper down to her waist. Then, with her tear-filled eyes still on the table in front of her, she slid the dress from her shoulders and let it fall from her, along with the built-in bra. Her breasts were now bared to them.

She heard Bertrand murmur something to Simon, and her husband's reply. She couldn't understand the words, but the tone was clear. Bertrand was expressing his admiration, and his congratulations. And Simon was rather smugly acknowledging his good fortune. She still could not look at them.

She sat that way throughout the rest of the meal. She longed to cover herself again, but somehow she knew that would not be acceptable. The two men casually resumed eating--Annette had never stopped--although their eyes were constantly on her, especially Bertrand's. But Elaine could not eat. She could not move. No one seemed to notice. Only when the coffee had been served and they had moved into the spacious living room did Simon tell her to put her dress back. She had feared that he would make further demands on her for the pleasure of their host, but it didn't happen. The remainder of the evening passed quite normally, although Elaine took even less part in the conversation than before.

She and Simon didn't say a word to each other on the ride back to their hotel. Simon sat in stony silence. Elaine was angry at him, of course, but even angrier at herself, ashamed that she had given in to him and degraded herself before strangers, especially after telling him she wouldn't do that any more. It has to stop, she told herself. It has to. I won't spend my life doing things like that.

But if that meant spending her life without Simon? Or with him, without his love? She couldn't face the thought of that.

It wasn't until they were back in their hotel room that Simon spoke to her.

"You defied me, Elaine," was what he said. "You questioned my authority, and embarrassed me in front of my friends. That is not acceptable, Elaine. I will not tolerate that. Do you understand?"

She sat heavily on the bed. "But Simon, I--I did what you wanted." She gave an incredulous laugh, at him and at herself. "God knows why I did it, I told you I wouldn't do that any more, but I did it. And you say I embarrassed YOU? I can't believe any of this. How can you do those things to me, Simon? How?"

"You did do it," Simon said coldly. "But not quickly enough. Not without question. Not without defying me first. I won't have that. You must learn to be a real wife, Elaine. You will learn. Now you must be punished."

She stared at him. "What?"

"Get undressed," Simon said.

"Simon, what are you--"

"Get undressed now."

She hesitated, looking at his stony face. Then she stood up and took off her dress, and then her underthings. When she was naked Simon, with deliberate movements, opened his belt and began to pull it out of his pants.

Again she stared at him, her eyes going wide. "Simon, what do you--what are you doing, for god's sake?"

"Lie down on the bed, Elaine."

"Simon, you're not going to--"

"Lie down on the bed," Simon said. "On your stomach. Now."

She couldn't believe this. "Simon, have you gone crazy?" she got out. "You can't--If you think I'm going to let you--" It was too absurd. But Simon seemed completely serious. He was wrapping one end of the belt around his hand. "Simon, you're frightening me."

"You have to learn, Elaine. If you continue to defy me it will be a lot worse. Lie down on the bed."

She swallowed hard. "No, Simon," she said. "This is going too far. I'm not going to let you hit me with that thing. If you try to hurt me, I'll leave you."

"No you won't," Simon said. It was not a threat, or a warning; it was a simple statement of fact. "You know that and I know that," Simon said.

Was he right? Oh god, she thought, give me strength.

"Lie down on the bed, Elaine," Simon said.

She shook her head, unable to speak.

"If you don't do as I say," Simon said, "I will put you on the bed and tie you down. Is that what you want?"

"Simon, for god's sake--"

"All right." Dropping the belt, he picked up one of the stockings she had taken off when she had undressed. He then grabbed her arms and crossed her wrists, winding the stocking around them. She struggled, but he was too strong for her, and his anger seemed to make him stronger. When he picked her up and put her on the bed, she knew there was no escape.

"All right!" she said, almost sobbing. "All right, Simon, stop! You don't have to tie me. I'll--I'll do what you want. Just don't hurt me, please!"

"Good," Simon said. He had placed her on her stomach, and now he unwound the stocking from her wrists. "I am going to hurt you," he said then. "That is the point. So you will be sorry that you acted as you did, and will not wish to do it again. But the punishment will not be unbearable. It could be much worse. Much, much worse. Keep that in mind, Elaine."

He straightened up and picked up the belt again. "Stretch your arms over your head," he told her, "and hold on to the rails."

She did as he said, clutching at the vertical rods at the head of the bed. She was trembling. He wouldn't--he couldn't really whip her. Could he? Not really hard. It would only be--

"Six lashes, Elaine." Simon said. "For disobedience." And he raised the belt.

She had instinctively clenched her buttocks, expecting the blow to fall on them, but instead she felt a searing pain across the upper part of her back as she heard the crack of the belt. It brought a loud, shrill cry from her throat.

"Be quiet," Simon said sharply. "We don't want any disturbances here. Keep your voice down, or I'll have to gag you."

"Simon, please--" she gasped out, but he was already swinging the strap again. Another crack, and the blow fell slightly below the first, feeling like a line of fire across her back. Again a half-scream was wrenched from her throat. She tried to bury her face in the pillow to stifle it, but too late.

"Damn," Simon said. Dropping the belt again, he looked around as if for something to gag her with. He settled on her discarded panties, which lay on the floor. He picked them up and approached the bed. Elaine, crying now, curled herself into a ball, turning onto her side.

"Simon, please," she pleaded again. "No more, please. For god's sake." Her sobs made her body shake. "Please, I can't--"

He made no reply. Sitting on the bed, he crumpled up the flimsy panties and roughly forced them into her mouth. Then he tied one of her stockings around her face to hold them there. Her mouth was stretched wide. She still tried to plead with him, her wet eyes begging above the gag, but her words and her moans were stifled by the tightly packed material.

Simon stood and picked up the belt again. "Get back into position, Elaine," he said.

Still she tried to beg, to reason with him somehow, but it was no use. When he threatened to tie her after all, she slowly rolled onto her stomach, stretched out her arms and grasped the bedrails again, her muffled sobs almost choking her.

Four more times the strap came down, each blow landing a little further down her back, the last one slamming across her buttocks. Each time she screamed into the gag, her body jerking and writhing convulsively. And then it was over.

Again she curled herself into a ball, her shaking hands automatically unknotting the stocking around her head and pulling the panties from her mouth. Gasping and sobbing, she heard Simon pulling off his clothes. Trying to blink away her tears, she looked up at him, and her still wet eyes suddenly went wide.

As many times as she had seen him naked, and aroused, she had never seen his penis look as hard and stiff as it did now. She couldn't believe it--it seemed to her to be larger than ever before, and it was throbbing visibly.

"Elaine," he said hoarsely, and then he fell on her.

She had never known him to be like this. Oh, he had always been a good lover--more than good. He had always given her satisfaction, making love to her smoothly and expertly, playing her body like a virtuoso and bringing them both to the peak of ecstasy without fail. At times there was something almost contemptuous in the cool, knowing ease with which he did this.

But this was different. Now he took her with a savage passion that was totally unlike his usual self. His hot mouth was all over her, his hands seemed to burn with desire as they traveled up and down her body. He devoured her flesh, and he drove into her with an uncontrolled need that thrilled her to the core of her soul. Her abraded back was forgotten, her outraged pride was flung to the winds as he possessed her with a wild fury, pounding into her as if he could not go deep enough, clutching at her as though he could never get enough of her flesh, of her body, of her very being. She cried out in climax again and again as he took her as though the devil himself was driving him.

And afterwards he lay beside her, caressing her body and kissing her face as he murmured to her. "I love you, my darling," he said. "My sweet wife. My own baby. I do love you. Always remember that. I will always love you."

She had never been so happy.