Don't Spare the Rod

Abdul didn't believe in spoiling Emily. His method of running the household was based upon strict discipline, through a light, somewhat pliable cane. It was too thin to support him, but perfect for being his wife with.

He liked Emily hijabed, on her knees, trailing behind him while he identified defects throughout the house. A spot here. A smear there. A harsh slap of the wood against her already swollen ass. It was naked, of course, a waxed pink cunt, and a dozen marks already angry and red.

"Are you even listening, woman?" Abdul growled, baring his teeth.

"Y-y-yes, my beloved Husband. A smear on the fridge." Emily said, quailing.

"Enough. Your skill in the house is no greater than your skill in the bedroom," Abdul fumed. But his sadism had clearly aroused him, and he moved around behind Emily, dropping his trousers and aligning his fat brown cock against her soft pink cunt, which, as much she might to want to deny it, was wet from Abdul's casual dominance of her. He grunted, inserting him into her, then gripped her hips, fucking her like a dog.

"Perhaps you'd bear a worthy son for me, you yankee pig," Abdul said, sweating over her as he started to pound her harder. She arched her back for him, squeezing her sex around his foreign, conquering cock.

"I'd do anything to give you worthy progeny, my beloved Husband," Emily responded, moaning despite herself. Abdul was really giving it to her now, like she was his sow, his big balls pounding her clit. She came, though she had to bite her cheek to hold off any external symbolism of it. Abdul wasn't big on her pleasure, only her servitude.

She'd had to squelch her cries twice more before he finally shot his load deep inside her, breeding his white wife properly. She fell asleep, with slightly more regards for her dominant, sadistic husband.