There are three things you need to know about Ariel, my wife. 

First, she’s gorgeous. I mean, she might not be to everyone’s taste, but she is to mine. Ari is an absolute shortstack of a woman. She’s short even for a Filipina at a smidge under five feet (I’m sure she’ll yell, “Four-eleven-and-a-half, Kyle! Round up!” when she reads this), with the missing height apparently deposited in some truly magnificent curves. Add to that her long black hair, adorable round face, mischievous eyes, and an easy, broad smile? I was smitten the moment I laid eyes on her.

The second important thing is that she’s always been a good girl. Daughter to overprotective immigrant parents, raised in the Catholic Church, and even more sheltered than those two factors would suggest… Well, let’s just say that I proved to be a bit of a corrupting influence on her. 

That went both ways, though. I’d been a bit of a player in college; when we met at a party, I was looking for my next one-night stand. Turns out Ariel was looking for her very first one, a ‘declaration of independence from the shackles of her conservative upbringing,’ she told me later, complete with self-deprecating eye roll.

Things didn’t work out that way for either of us. What should have been a night of no-strings-attached fucking turned into conversation that lasted well into the pre-dawn hours and falling asleep in each other’s arms fully clothed, followed by brunch the next morning, and gentle, intimate lovemaking for the rest of the weekend. We were a couple by the time Monday morning rolled around. Hell, we were probably a couple by the end of that first night, but we just didn’t know it. A long-term relationship followed–the longest ever for me–then moving in together, engagement, and marriage.

Which brings me to the third thing you need to know: Ariel is an absolute goofball. I love this about her, how she’s so unafraid to be silly or excited about things. She has none of the ridiculous self-consciousness most of us learn early on, instead enthusing about any topic which strikes her fancy. That’s not to say she can’t be serious when the time calls for it, but she’s helped me see how rarely the times actually do call for it. 

I’d say I got the better end of the deal, but I also know she’d disagree. She has in the past, telling me to hush when I suggest it, before settling the point with an affectionate, noisy smooch.

Her goofiness has interacted in interesting ways with her good girl nature throughout our relationship, but especially near the beginning. Sometimes, especially when Ariel wanted to play the brat, she tried so, so hard to be a bad girl, but her behavior barely moved the needle to “naughty.” Even when cursing–and she cursed like a sailor, a bad habit she picked up from me–she usually sounded like a schoolgirl watching out for the nuns and their rulers, a mix of paranoia and rebelliousness I still find endlessly amusing.

Here’s another example: Ariel turned out to have a bit of a submissive streak. It didn’t comprise a huge part of her personality, nor of our bedroom fun, but it did poke its head up every once in a while. When it did–when Ari wanted “Daddy” to come out and play a bit rough with his “little girl”–she signaled this by being “bad.” 

Sort of.

Her version of “bad” meant failing to do the dishes, then pointing defiantly at the pile in the sink. Or holding my gaze while dropping her socks on the floor in the middle of the living room. Or grabbing my XBox controller and running out of the room; not when I was actually using it, though. That would be mean. 

Not gonna lie: the adorable impishness she affected when being “bad” often led me to stifle a laugh before I disciplined her.

Eventually, though, she went too far. On our honeymoon, she committed a truly heinous crime, one which incurred far greater consequences than the usual punishments I doled out.

We’d taken two weeks after our wedding to visit her relatives on the island of Cebu, staying at a beachside hotel just outside Cebu City, although we rarely managed to see the surf and sand up close. Instead, her innumerable uncles, aunties, and cousins took us around to all the sights. 

At first, I was a little miffed about having our honeymoon hijacked, but by the end of the third day, I saw the hidden wisdom in the packed schedule they’d arranged. Every day, we had to get up early enough and go to bed late enough that our jet lag probably only lasted about half the time it would have otherwise, even though we were essentially twelve hours off our usual day/night cycle.

More importantly, Ariel was in seventh heaven. She came alive when we visited with her family. A few of them had made it to our wedding, while others she’d only ever talked to online, but every one of them we visited brought a bigger and bigger smile to her face, the kids especially. 

Ari absolutely adored spending time with her younger cousins, still laughing even as she helped to change diapers. Every once in a while, she’d hold up one of the babies and waggle her eyebrows at me, as if to say, “Can I keep it?” I always gave a playful glare, and she responded with a pout that was maybe 90% fake and 10% real. 

We’d talked plenty of times about when we wanted to have kids of our own. Both of us wanted a big family; that much we agreed on. However, Ariel wanted to start ASAP, while I argued we should spend more time together as a married couple first. She inevitably countered with the argument that we’d had four years as a couple already, before sighing and agreeing when I replied, “And hasn’t it been great? A little more time. I promise.” I meant it, too; she was going to be a great mom, but I, perhaps selfishly, wanted another few years without the added responsibility first. 

That didn’t keep her extended family from gently harassing us about having kids. After dinner at one of her uncle’s houses, Ari’s aunt slyly waited until we were both in earshot before asking, “Mixed babies so cute, dili ba?” The other guests agreed wholeheartedly, each with a grin or a wink for the two of us. Ariel nodded bashfully, the morena skin of her face glowing with a warm, subtle blush. A round of quiet laughs rose from the assembled group. 

Her uncle joined in, glancing over at me. “Mga batang gigante!” My face burned with embarrassment; like a lot of words in Cebuano, “gigante” has its origins in Spanish and means the same thing there. Given that, at 6’3” and 200 pounds, I dwarfed everyone in the room, I could work the rest out from context: “huge babies.” 

Ariel’s family roared with amusement at my reaction. She managed to hold firm, though, not wanting me to feel even more self-conscious than I already did. That resolve lasted until her uncle revised his statement to, “Mga giganteng puti nga bata!” Once he said that, she almost doubled over with laughter.

I looked at my wife questioningly, now completely out of my depth. In between gasping, mirthful sobs, she finally managed, “Giant- hah!- giant white babies.” My blush deepened from pink to bright red, which renewed Ari’s uncontrollable laughing fit. Eventually, she staggered into my arms, giggling, “Giant white babies from my giant white man,” while showering me with kisses. 

Turning to the crowd, she rapid-fired something in Cebuano that I couldn’t follow. The meaning quickly became clear in their actions, as the uncle slapped me on the back and proudly proclaimed, “Good husband for Ariel. Good man. Welcome to our family.” The others chorused an agreement, all hugs and well-wishes for me, before sending us packing to our hotel. Admittedly, they sent us on with yet more winks and ribald laughs.

Unfortunately for her extended family’s wishes, no conception of giant white babies happened that night. While we were still oversexed newlyweds and comported ourselves as such, exhaustion meant that we maxed out at one session those first few nights. More importantly, we used condoms each time, a habit we’d gotten into after Ariel grew tired of the pill’s side effects a year before. Not a habit we enjoyed, necessarily, but needs must.

One other funny thing happened in that first week, though, after her relative-of-the-day dropped us at the hotel. 

While I showered the day’s grime away, Ari decided she wanted to queue up some porn for us. That wasn’t too unusual, since we’d occasionally watched videos together either as foreplay or during sex. Ari especially liked ones featuring a short, buxom Asian woman, like her, paired with a tall, blonde, muscular white man, like me. She mostly giggled her way through them, but they still got her fired up. 

And so, when I got out of the shower, I heard porn playing in our hotel room.

White male/Asian female porn.

Hardcore white male/Filipina porn. 

Hardcore raceplay white male/Filipina porn.

I won’t repeat most of the words the actors said to each other here, but suffice to say many of them would probably get me banned from the better class of social media. 

Ariel watched, her jaw hanging open, agog both at the actors’ actions and the obscenities coming out of their mouths. When she noticed I’d stepped out of the bathroom, her gaze snapped to mine. “Kyle!” 

I couldn’t hide my smirk. “Find something fun to watch?”

She glanced back and forth between me and the laptop, a strangely compelling combination of guilt and lust on her face. “Yes. No! I, ah, I was just l- looking for something for- I didn’t mean to–!”

The actress’ wailing voice interrupted Ari’s protestations. “Oh, Daddy, give me that big white cock!” 

With that, the spell was broken. I cracked first, going from a smirk to a chuckle. Ariel joined in next with her usual giggle. From there, we escalated through laughs into guffaws, Ari’s eyes tearing up and me trying to catch my breath. When my wife repeated, singsong, “Oh, Daddy, give me that big white cock!” I could only collapse onto the bed, chortling the whole way down. That set her off again, too.

Eventually, when we were back down to titters once more, I crawled up the comforter and kissed her, reaching for the laptop. As I made to close it, Ari half-whispered, “Don’t.” I quirked up an eyebrow. “Just, um, just mute it. I want to watch them while…” Her giggles started back up. “… while Daddy gives me his big white cock.” We burst into laughter again, but I did as she asked. In both cases.

To be clear, I don’t actually have a ‘big white cock.’ As with most men, mine is merely above average. Still, as we ventured out into the city over the next week, Ariel would invariably find opportunities to whisper those words to me, giggling each time.

When I asked one of her cousins why random girls would occasionally glare at Ari while trying to sidle up to me, he explained that they were trying to get themselves a “rich American boyfriend.” That was doubly hilarious to me; beyond the fact that Ariel was also an American, her extended family’s names seemed to be on half the buildings in the city. They were far, far wealthier than I’d ever likely be. Ari whispered an alternate explanation to me, accompanied by a silly grin. “It’s because they want your big white cock.”

When the reverse happened, and guys glared at me while sidling up to her, her cousin told me it was because they were mad that I was a foreigner “stealing their women,” rolling his eyes all the while. Ari once again offered a different take once he was out of earshot. “It’s because they’re jealous of your big white cock.”

“Man, this restaurant has such great service,” I’d comment.

She’d lean in and say, sotto voce, “That’s because the waitress wants–”

“Yes, yes, my big white cock. I know.”

“See? Everyone wants it!” Ari gently nipped my ear, throatily purring, “I certainly do.”

“Can we get the check, please!”

This went on for days. Each time, she laughed harder and harder at my increasingly exasperated responses, but she always followed through later that night. The words never actually made it into our lovemaking, other than that first night when she’d jokingly mimicked the actress, but she did enjoy teasing me.

I think part of it was that, for once, she did have something she could tease me about, a domain where I had far less experience than her. Look, I’m a middle-class white guy that went to college. I’m not saying I’m some paragon of racial justice, but I have enough self-awareness to know there are some things I shouldn’t play with, or at least not unless I’m 100% certain I’m not going to offend anyone. Not out of any fear of being “canceled,” whatever the hell that means this week, but because I legitimately don’t want to make anyone feel bad through my own ignorance. Especially not someone I loved.

Ariel didn’t have that fear, at least in this context. She knew where her boundaries lay, and she knew where mine did, too. She wasn’t going to offend me, just make me a little uncomfortable because of my upbringing. Any discomfort she did cause, she’d more than make up for later. It was a sexy game for her, not much different from the one she played when acting “bad” in order to be “punished.” 

I’m sure she got a little thrill that the shoe was on the other foot now, though. Before, she’d signal to me when she wanted to play rough, and I’d tease and dominate her until we both had our fill. Now, however, she got to set the pace from beginning to end, believing I couldn’t–or at least wouldn’t–respond in kind. 

Once I started looking at it from that perspective, I began to enjoy the whole thing a lot more. Why shouldn’t she have her fun, especially if it meant we both would later? 

The night after I came to that conclusion, we ate at the hotel’s restaurant. The seemingly endless parade of relatives had left us to our own devices that evening, and the two of us just wanted to relax. As a result, we’d shared a delicious, leisurely meal and flirtatious conversation. My wife, wearing a sleeveless floral minidress, grinned at the young family seated at a nearby table, the parents not much older than us. She watched them trying to wrangle their three children for a time before sighing wistfully and picking up the dessert menu. 

Ariel mused, “I don’t know what to get. It all looks so good. What do you think?” 

The drinks, our playful banter earlier, and Ari’s week-long running joke made my response almost inevitable. “I dunno. I hear the big white cock’s nice.” 

I heard a sharp intake of breath. Ari raised her head slowly from the glossy booklet to stare at me, open-mouthed, eyes as big as dinner plates, for what felt like a solid minute. I returned her gaze, sporting a nonchalant, shit-eating grin all the while, before adding, “Or have you had enough of–”

Her mouth slammed shut. Jaw clenched, lips twisted with annoyance, she snarled, “Pay the bill. I’m going upstairs,” then almost knocked the table over as she stood. Before I could respond, Ari turned on her heel and walked out.

Not exactly the reaction I’d expected. A laugh, a snarky comment in return, maybe a come-hither stare and some flirting? Sure. But shock and anger, followed by her abrupt departure? Not at all. 

I made it to our room about five minutes later, wondering whether I’d just seriously fucked up. After taking a moment to compose myself, I tentatively opened the door. “Ariel? Honey, are you o… kay.”

Gone was the minidress, along with her bra. Instead, she stood next to the bed clad only in a black thong–I didn’t even know she’d packed a thong!–and high heels. Ari had put on fresh makeup, too, and more than usual; whereas my adorkable wife generally favored understated, natural colors, the tiny sex goddess standing before me sported garish red lipstick and messy, hastily applied smokey eyeshadow.

I scarcely noticed the makeup, though. Her large breasts–only a C cup, but looking massive on her compact frame–jutted out proudly, their chocolate, silver-dollar-sized areolae and thick, long nipples drawing my eyes downwards from her face. Between those incredible tits, a cute tummy, and wide hips, her naked body looked to me like nothing so much as the Venus of Willendorf by way of my teenage masturbation fantasies.

As I entered the room and closed the door behind me, Ariel stared me straight in the eyes–once they’d returned from their sightseeing trip–with a defiant smirk on her face. The nearest corner of the bedding had been peeled away, including the fitted sheets. With one hand, Ari reached down to the surface of the mattress, then past its top edge, before grasping a small rectangle made of satin. 

A mattress tag.

She tugged once, but it didn’t come loose. Her expression froze; not quite what she’d planned, I don’t think. However, a second yank pulled the offending strip of fabric free with a ripping sound. Ariel gave a triumphant, gleeful, “Hah!” before holding her trophy up. “What do you think of that, Daddy? Huh?”

Don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t laugh “Oh, little girl. You don’t even want to know.” Striding forward, I pulled my polo over my head, momentarily concealing the goofy grin that snuck onto my face. By the time the shirt sailed into the corner, I’d regained the stern expression Ari expected, even if my eyes didn’t quite match it. She, in turn, smiled smugly up at me, thinking she knew what came next.

Normally, I’d have given Ariel a tongue-lashing to start or maybe warmed her up with a kiss. This time, however, I went straight to work. My wife-cum-bratty-sub made a little surprised squawk when, in one quick motion, I swept her off her feet, sat on the bed, and put her across my lap. She made an even louder one when my palm impacted the smooth, warm flesh of her ass. “Ow!”

My hand massaged the spot where I’d just struck. I hadn’t hit hard; I never did. Pain wasn’t the point, or at least not the main one. The act of punishment was. She wanted to play the bad girl, so I had to act as the stern disciplinarian.

And that meant turning her ass cherry red. 

Perhaps not exactly what they mean by “blushing bride,” but it worked for us.

I raised my hand once more. “Count them.” It descended to slap the other cheek.

“Ow! Two!” Another, alternating sides. “Three!” She squirmed in my lap, but not to get away. Another. “Four! It hurts, Daddy!”

I affected the cruel voice I reserved for these sessions. I’d found it by accident, but its sinister tone always got her going even more. Got me going, too. It’s nice when couples can share hobbies. “It’s supposed to. What do bad girls get, Ariel?” 

When she didn’t immediately respond, two quick slaps rained down. Her magnificent ass shook in the most mesmerizing way. “Five! Six! Ah! I won’t say it! You can’t make me!” 

“We both know I can.” My erection throbbed, pushing against the inside of my shorts and poking into her stomach. “We both know you will.”

I caressed her flesh, now subtly hotter than it had been when we began. She relaxed incrementally, perhaps thinking that I’d finished. I hadn’t. Two more loud smacks followed. “Ow! Ow! Seven! Eight!” Petulantly, she hissed, “No, I won’t!!”

I reared back for a more sizable stroke. The brat on my lap whimpered, “No! Wait!” before a thwack as loud as a starting pistol elicited, “Ow! Nine! I’m sorry, Daddy! A spanking! Bad girls get a spanking!” The gentlest of taps on her other buttock gave us an even, “Ten!” 

After a moment, I chided, “And what do we say now, young lady?”

Ariel turned her head to look up at me, the faintest shimmer of tears in her smiling eyes. “Thank you, Daddy. Thank you for punishing me.” 

Running my fingers in leisurely circles over the darkening handprints, I chuckled, “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Ariel ground her tummy against my crotch. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Bad girl.” The fingers that had lovingly traced the marks on her skin drifted lower, trailing across the soaked fabric that only barely concealed her lower lips from view. With a tug, it didn’t even do that. The flimsy piece of cloth slid over her substantial ass, then down her thighs. 

Ariel sighed happily as the hand that had treated her so roughly now lovingly stroked her dark, swollen labia. “Mmm, and you love it.” 

Her sighs turned to pants when two fingers probed inside. My wife’s tight pussy welcomed them, as they always did, with only the slightest hint of resistance. I chuckled at that thought. How like the woman I married: loving, greedy for my affections, but a little coy. A good girl that wanted to be bad, but only ever for me. “I do.”

Ari’s head turned to one side, looking up towards me as best she could. “Do you forgive me, Daddy?” 

I chuckled evilly. “Oh, no, sweetness. Not at all.” A third finger joined the first two, a triangle that spread her in preparation for what was to come. 

Ariel groaned at the intrusion, her hips moving backwards against it, working the invading digits further into her welcoming tunnel. A mewling voice, colored with excitement, asked, “What- Oh, god, Kyle. What? I thought–” 

“That you’d get off with just a spanking?” My thumb joined in, thrumming back and forth across her engorged clit. “Foolish little girl. You went too far this time. Tearing off mattress tags? That’s not just bad, Ari. That’s illegal.”

I felt the telltale shake and shiver of her hips, the one that heralded her orgasms. “Oh, God, Kyle! I- I’m sorry, Daddy! I d- did- didn’t– ah!” My free hand held her across my lap, keeping her safe as she lost control. Ari buried her face in the mattress, muffling cries of joy. So courteous of her to not disturb the guests in the surrounding room. Not yet, anyways.

After her body relaxed, I scooped my wife up into my arms and planted a tender kiss on her lips. She returned it, first with the same tenderness, and then with increasing intensity. Our tongues slid past each other as the kiss moved from tender through passionate and straight into lascivious. 

Still cradling Ariel,  I stood, turned, and deposited her somewhat less than gently on the bed. She laughed, scooting up toward the headboard while watching me free myself of belt and shorts. Ari’s hand moved between her spread legs, fingers sliding into slick, ready folds to tease both me and herself. “That wasn’t much of a punishment, you know.”

“Just a warmup,” I grunted. 

My shorts fell to the ground. Clutching one hand to her chest in mock horror, Ariel quailed, “Oh no, Daddy! What are you going to do with that big fat fucking white cock?” Seductively, she bit her lower lip. “Tell me? Please?”

I took one of her ankles in my hand, tugging her bodily towards me before releasing it. “I’m going to tear that pretty Pinoy cunt of yours apart.” 

Ariel’s eyes went wide at my words as much as, and probably even more than, my rough handling. Moaning, “Oh, fuck. Yes, please,” she pulled her juice-slicked thighs closer to her chest, presenting herself for my use.

It wasn’t until I knelt between her legs, replacing her hands with my own, that she remembered something vitally important. Trying to sit up, Ariel cried out, “Wait! Condom!”

I shoved her back down, grinning wickedly at my lover’s surprised expression. “Oh no, little girl. You don’t get it.” 

“What?” Her brows furrowed together with confusion.

My cock lay ready at her entrance, only a few millimeters of air separating them. “You went too far this time, Ari.” I shifted forward, sliding the crown against her labia. “It’s a life sentence for you, babe.”

The confusion on her face deepened for a moment, then shifted to joyful, almost unbelieving surprise. “Really? Are you sure? I thought–”

Grinning, I taunted, “What are big white cocks for, little girl?” The tip penetrated her teasingly. “Tell me.”

The bratty faux-defiance returned to Ariel’s voice, albeit shakily. “N- no. I- I won’t.” 

“You will.” Another inch slid inside. “What are big white cocks for?” She shook her head from side to side, not trusting herself to keep playing the part. 

A quick thrust and withdrawal forced a gasp from her, quickly followed by an earnest plea. “For breeding little brown sluts! Oh, God, Kyle! Please! Please, Daddy, please, I want to be a Mommy so bad!” 

My lips descended on hers. Ariel’s hands bracketed my cheeks, her mouth open, tongue desperately trying to penetrate me while my cock penetrated her, voice moaning with need and lust and love. Her legs relaxed, draped across my arms, telling me without words that I could use her however I wanted. The love of my life submitted fully to me then, as she always did when we played this game, allowing anything I desired. 

She submitted, knowing that all I desired was her. That all I wanted was to give her anything she ever wanted. 

I shifted my body again, forcing Ari into a mating press, her small body tilting up to let me drive as deeply into her as I could. Ariel’s hands caressed my back, pulling me down as if she wanted to forever make me a part of her. 

Her lips fell away from mine, sucking at my neck in between whispering lovingly vulgar entreaties into my ear. “Breed me, Kyle. Give my tiny Asian cunt your white cum, Daddy. I want all of it, I want you to knock me up, to give me–” A gasp interrupted her when her words spurred me to faster, rougher motions. “--Oh fuck! Y-your big white cock! Your beautiful babies!” 

Ariel knew the signs of my oncoming climax as well as I knew hers, and she used that knowledge to wicked effect. Her voice raised in volume as well as desperation, half-begging, half-cheering. “That’s it. That’s it, please Daddy, please fuck your little girl, fuck her tight brown pussy, fuck it full of your cream, fuck– ah, fuck, ah–” Velvet walls constricted around me, fluttering with eons-old motions, milking my cock as my wife came again. “Fuck your baby into me, Kyle! Please! I need it! I need you!”

The first pulse of seed against her cervix triggered a chain reaction. Ariel babbled as her body betrayed her, orgasm stealing the last bit of control from her limbs. “Oh god Kyle it’s so warm I love it I love you please Daddy please make me a Mommy oh god please oh god!” When words failed her, she instead sobbed into my chest, wordless gasps of delight filling the room and mingling with my loud groans, as my cock throbbed over and over, filling her fertile womb.

After a time, I flopped onto my back and pulled Ariel close. She spooned against my side, and we laid in each other’s arms, covered in sweat and positively glowing with satisfaction. We traded little kisses and sweet words back and forth, giddily in love with each other.

Eventually, though, I couldn’t resist teasing her. “‘Big fat fucking white cock,’ huh?”

Ariel buried her face in my side and laughed. “I couldn’t believe I said that. But you! You, Mr. ‘tear that pretty Pinoy cunt of yours apart!’”

“Okay, my ‘little brown slut.’” I smirked at her chagrined expression. “Oh, forgot that one?”

“... No. Oh God, Kyle, are we bad people? Like, I don’t really think that stuff, or–”

I kissed her, eliciting a happy, contented sigh. “No. Well, maybe. I don’t think so. But it’s not… This is here, for us. Just for us. It’s… transgressive. Like when you call me Daddy; neither of us think that real incest is…” I shuddered. “Like, ew. But pretending is fucking hot. It’s just a way we can get each other revved up. This is the same thing: another way for me to get you revved up.”

She grinned. “Oh, really? Just me?”

“Okay, yeah, me too.” Then I remembered something. “Hey, wait, though. I thought you were actually mad at me downstairs.”

“Oh no!” Her eyes widened in horror. “No! No, baby! I was…” With a laugh, she admitted, “I mean, a little? But not because of what you said, or at least not because I was offended. It’s because I thought I was going to leave a wet spot on the chair.” I couldn’t help but snort with amusement.

My wife stared lovingly at me, tracing my jaw with one finger. “Thank you for… I know it made you kind of uncomfortable at first. For me, it’s like… Like pulling that mattress tag off. I wanted you to play rough with me, so I did that. I gave you permission to use me. You wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t shown you it was something I wanted.” 

She looked down and saw my dick stirring, then rolled her eyes and laughed again before continuing. “You might suggest we play rough, even ask for it, but I get to decide.

“Just like…” Ari slid her hand down and slowly stroked my cock. “This. If I say this is all I want, to touch and play, that’s okay, as long as you want it, too. You can always stop me if you don’t want to be…” she smirked playfully. “... teased.”

“Can’t see that happening. But, yeah, I- ah!” Her hand stroked ever so faster. “Fuck, babe, if you don’t stop that, I’m not going to be able to finish my thought.”

“Oh no!” she giggled.

“If you’re ever not comfortable…” 

“I know, babe. I’ll tell you, and you’ll stop. That’s…” Ariel kissed my neck, murmuring, “Mmmm, that’s part of what gets me so fucking hot, knowing I can trust you like that. That it is just play.”

“I just… I never want to hurt you.”

My wife looked up at me, a playful gleam in her eyes. “Even if I ask you to?” She rolled onto her back and opened her legs, her puffy lips glistening with the mess I’d made there minutes before. “Even if I beg you to take that big fat fucking white cock and tear my pretty Pinoy cunt apart?”

“Well, in that case…” I moved atop my mate, spreading her legs wide, the head of my cock nestling into her slit like it belonged there. Because it did. Because we belonged together; she belonged to me, and I belonged to her. “In that case, I guess I’ll pin my little brown slut to the bed and fuck a whole litter of huge white babies into her.” 

Ari shook with laughter, joyful and loud. “Huge, just like Daddy.” 

“And beautiful, just like Mommy.” She beamed up at me. “I love you, Ariel.”

“I love you, Kyle.” She groaned as I entered her once more, “Oh God, I love you so much!” My bride clung to me, wrapping her arms and legs around me for our final coupling of the night. This time, we spoke only words of devotion, leaving more taboo play for later. I gave my wife everything I could, knowing it could never be enough to repay her for what she gave me: our lives together.

The next morning, I awoke slowly, looking around for Ariel. Yawning, I tried to stretch but found that my arms wouldn’t obey me. Apparently, while I slept, someone had taken our belts and lashed them to the headboard. 

Damn. She really had worn me out.

“Good morning, sunshine.” My beautiful bride stepped out of the bathroom and stood naked before me at the foot of the bed. She was fresh out of the shower, her hair still wet, beads of moisture dripping from her skin.

“Good morning?” I still felt groggy. Also? Very confused. However, part of me knew exactly what time it was and rose to the occasion.

Ari knelt on the bed and crawled toward me. “You know, I realized something last night. Those tags?” She reached for my cock as she drew nearer. “It’s only illegal to take those off in the U.S., and only by the manufacturers.”

“Uh… okay?”

“So I wasn’t a bad girl. Not really.” Her head lowered over my groin, and my glans was enveloped by a wet warmth. I gasped at the sudden sensation, sure as hell awake now. A little chuckle reverberated around my cock, and the gasp became a moan. Sadly, though, it was over as soon as it began.

Ariel looked up my body, cheek pressed against my shaft, a twinkle in her eyes. “You were the bad one. That was unlawful prosecution, mister, and I think you need to be punished. Don’t you?”

I bobbed my head up and down in an enthusiastic nod. “Yes. Yes, absolutely.”

My bride kissed my cock, her eyes still locked onto mine. “I thought you might agree.”

“What, ah, what’s my punishment?”

She crawled up further, straddling me. “Oh, I think for a first-time offense, we can be lenient. Maybe house arrest for a few hours?” The lips of her dripping snatch rubbed up and down my shaft. “Some community service?”

Ari’s hand moved between us, adjusting the head to almost-but-not-quite the right angle. I groaned at her tiny, teasing movements, straining against the belts. She chided, “You’re not trying to escape, are you, prisoner?”

“No! No, ma’am!” My hips thrust up, but she moved just ahead of them, a gleeful, playfully sadistic smile on her lips.

“Ah ah ah. My turn, handsome.” She dipped her head next to my ear and whispered. “After all, that big white cock could hurt a girl.” The love of my life kissed me sweetly. Her velvet heat engulfed my hard shaft, each of them the perfect fit for the other.

Years later, Ariel is still beautiful, still a good girl at heart, still a total goof. Even with the kids underfoot, we find time for new adventures together. While some of those have pushed her a little further than “naughty” on occasion, she’s never quite managed “bad.” We still like to pretend otherwise, though. 

After all, there’s a reason all the mattress tags are missing from our house.