Page 23 of Accidentally Marrying the Prisoner
I drop my drill with a clatter on the concrete floor and suck back a pained bellow, shaking out my left hand that throbs harder than my cock has for the past three days, now that Mirabeth has locked her pussy down with a figurative chastity belt.
“Let me see it.” Sam takes me by the wrist and carefully inspects the spot where I had missed the jig completely and drilled a shallow hole straight through the side of my hand. “Got yourself good. Need to get you to urgent care for a stitch or two.”
“Dammit. I’m sorry.” Injuring myself on the first day back on the job is a rookie move. I shouldn’t have let myself get distracted.
“Don’t be. Bound to happen sooner or later to everyone. Count yourself lucky it wasn’t worse.” Sam wiggles the fingers of his left hand, where he’s missing the top half of his middle finger from an accident he had some thirty years ago with a table saw.
At his desk in the corner of the warehouse, Sam does a quick wrap job with a sterile bandage around my wound and offers me the company credit card, trusting me with it just as Mirabeth has trusted me to drive her car. “We’ll fill out the paperwork later,” he says without a hint of grievance that my accident is going to cost him, since it happened on company time and property.
Though he offers to drive me, I insist on going by myself, still stewing over the stupid mistake I made by the time the urgent care nurse finishes patching me up, putting my hand out of commission for at least a week. At checkout, the receptionist not only slides a copy of my receipt across the counter but also a pink Post-it note with her name and phone number.
“I’m married,” I say with the curl of my upper lip, flicking the Post-it back toward her.
“That’s too bad,” she says, giving me a coy smile that might work on another man, but certainly doesn’t on me.
“No, it’s not.” Turns out, I quite enjoy being tied down to my randomly-assigned wife, regardless of the faithfulness that is mandated by the marriage program, even if Mirabeth is so distracting that I end up maiming myself at work.
The receptionist’s smile falls flat when I turn to walk out, and I do a double-take when I catch sight of a pamphlet stack at the edge of the counter with an advertisement for birth control options. I’m grumpy on the drive home, covered in sweat and sawdust. My resentment towards the pharmaceutical industry at large builds when I think of Mirabeth’s damn birth control pillsand the lengths Andrew had to go to find pain relief. Might as well throw in the whole medical-industrial complex, too, since my visit to the clinic hadn’t come cheap.
I take a detour on the way home to pick up my prescribed antibiotics and a few other essentials, catching up with an old friend from college who works at the pharmacy. When I step inside the apartment, Mirabeth is sitting at her drafting table, her fingers flying over her laptop’s keyboard as she responds to a customer.
“Honey, you’re home,” she singsongs.
Ok, so that does lift my mood. A little.
“Hey, princess,” I say softly, dropping a kiss on top of her head, and I squeeze her shoulder with my working hand.
“How was your first day back? Did you make any new friends?”
I chuckle. “It was pretty great, ‘til I fucked it up.” I show her my bandaged hand, giving her the short version of the day’s events, though I hold back on telling her about the flirtatious receptionist.
Mirabeth gasps. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have come right away and sat with you.” She takes my hand and lightly places a kiss in the middle, like she can kiss the pain away.
“I had your car.”
“So? I would have found a ride.”
“Thanks,” I say, fully meaning it, touched that she’s so concerned. “I’m gonna take a shower, then get dinner ready before we go out.”
“With your hand all banged up? No, I’ll take care of that.” She quickly types out a message, then shuts her laptop. Stepping ahead of me into the bathroom, she gets the shower started, then helps me undress. Of course my cock is hard and aching for her at the first touch of her fingertips on my belt buckle.
She’s well aware of it, too, though she avoids looking at it when she surprises me by stripping out of her clothes, stretching languidly for my viewing pleasure as she twists her long hair up into a messy bun. When I try to back her against the vanity, though, cupping her breast with my good hand, stroking my thumb across her hardened nipple, she spins me around with a smirk.
“Keep your hand out of the water,” she says, climbing into the tub after me and lathering a washcloth with her body wash.
I stand stock still, watching her with rapt attention as she efficiently washes my body for me, even my cock, though she only gives it a brief tug before she tells me to turn around and starts on my back. I roll up on my tiptoes with a girlish squeal when she cleans between my cheeks, and I whirl on her.
“Sorry, princess, I’m not into that. But if you are…” I catch her around the waist, slipping my fingers between her asscheeks. “I’d be happy to oblige.”
She laughs at my expression and pushes me away, then says, “Get on your knees.”
“Your wish is my command, princess.” I immediately kneel, rest my left hand on the white square tiles so it doesn’t get wet, then bury my nose in my wife’s royal pussy.
“Oh my god, Conrad! I only meant so I could wash your hair!”
“You wash, I lick.” I push my tongue between her thighs, searching for her clit when she starts sliding her fingers into my hair, sudsing it with shampoo.
Mirabeth moans and doesn’t resist when I prop her left foot on the lip of the tub, giving me better access. I’m practically sitting between her legs, head tipped back all the way as I plunge in and out of her, fucking her from below. The pain in my hand is overshadowed by the ache in my cock, the veins running the length of my thick shaft bulging. The cum that’s been collecting in my balls begs to be spilled deep within her, precum leakingfrom my dark, swollen tip.A few more weeks,I remind myself, and then I’ll be able to do just that whenever I want without her putting up a fuss. And believe me, I will as often as she’ll let me.
