by Emily Tilton
The sob of obvious need Zoe gave then told him everything he needed to know, but he had to make the matter just as clear to her.
“If the wedding is off, though, I’m going to let you get up and leave.”
Chapter Seven
Zoe’s body seemed to freeze, where before it had felt as hot as the inside of a volcano. She tried to wriggle again, not sure whether she hoped Bradley would keep holding her in place or would let her go. When she found that his left arm did not relax, that he still had her wrist doubled behind her back, that his right hand remained possessively on her bottom, her hips made another little thrust and another tiny whimper came from her chest.
“Please...” she started, not having any idea what might emerge from her mouth next. “No more spanking, okay? My... my bottom hurts so much, now.”
Bradley’s right hand stopped its soft rubbing and squeezed her punished cheeks, very gently, then. The burning left by the spanking—so hard and so fast, Zoe had thought, especially at first, that she could hardly understand what was taking place—seemed to radiate out, into her entire body but worst of all forward, into the place where she had made the wet spot in her panties at the clinic.
She let out a sob, and suddenly she didn’t feel sure that she actually even wanted him to end the spanking. Her fiancé seemed like a different person tonight. Bradley Corvan had somehow become the kind of man who makes rules and enforces them: the kind of man who metes out the discipline his wife has earned, in the knowledge that he does it for her own good.
But, Zoe wondered, feeling her brow crease, has he changed, really? Or has he grown into the man I thought he might be? The kind of man Nurse Carter clearly thought he would be for me... the kind of man I need.
“You heard me, Zoe,” he said now, slowly and softly, but with a note of authority in his voice that sent a shiver through her whole body. “If you want to get up and go start telling people the wedding is off, I need you to say so, and I’ll let you up. If you don’t, I’m going to stand you up, but just so I can take down your jeans and your panties for your real punishment.”
All she had to do was not say anything. But if she didn’t say anything, he would...
Zoe swallowed hard. Would she speak? Now? In a second? In five seconds, when Bradley started to use his broad-shouldered strength, his thick arms, ropy with muscle, to set her on her feet, so he could for the very first time pull down his bride’s pants?
It didn’t take five seconds, though. Bradley waited two seconds, maybe, and then even as Zoe wondered whether she would speak when he began to stand her up he had already done it in a powerful motion. She was standing again, with his enormous hands on her waist, on the waistband of her jeans.
“Stop,” she said, softly and almost dreamily, but she didn’t think he would, and she didn’t let herself consider the awful question of whether she even wanted him to stop.
Bradley didn’t stop. He deftly unbuttoned her jeans and lowered the zipper. He returned his hands to her hips, underneath the hem of her pink top, and she felt his thumbs come inside, next to the bare skin and the elastic waistband of the panties into which she had changed when she had gotten home from the clinic. Thinking of them, knowing Bradley would see them in a moment, her face burned even hotter than her bottom.
But he paused, then, and spoke to her, his voice so deep and so stern that Zoe thought she might just vanish out of mortification: at her refusal to make dinner, which would have been so easy, at her disrespectful words, at being put over her fiancé’s knee for a spanking, and most of all at what he said.
“I didn’t think that the first time I undressed you would be to learn a lesson about obedience and respect, Zo. I think I made a mistake not being clearer about my needs, and what I think the expectations for a long-term relationship—and even more for a marriage—should be. We’re going to fix that oversight tonight. But first I’m going to make sure you understand that from now on you are to respect my wishes, or next time you’ll be a lot sorrier.”
He looked up into Zoe’s face, which she knew must have gone bright red, calmly and steadily as he spoke. Her fists clenched and unclenched, and her heart raced. His thumbs just inside her jeans, his hands on the denim, made her feel faint, as if she didn’t even know where she was.
“Now you’re going to say, yes, sir, Zoe,” he said, even more slowly and seriously. “You don’t have to call me sir when I’m not disciplining you, but when you go over my knee you will do so.”
Zoe closed her eyes and she felt tears form in their corners and well out through the shut lids.
“Are you ready to have your bottom bared for punishment, Zoe?” Bradley’s deep voice said. “Are you ready to learn how to be a good girl for your husband’s firm hand?”
She nearly swooned, then, like an old-fashioned heroine. He knew what had happened at the clinic, and he must know, too—maybe even better than Zoe did herself—what it meant. The thought of telling him to get lost, that the wedding wouldn’t happen, vanished, replaced by the idea that she had to get it over with. Her fiancé, a man who knew how to keep a girl in line, had decided she needed a spanking over his knee with her panties down; now she had no choice because if she didn’t do as he said he would make her sorrier. He would buy a paddle or a strap, and he would put her not over his knee but over the chair, or the stool, or the arm of the sofa, and he would make sure she didn’t sit comfortably for a day or two.
Her breath came in little pants. Her knees trembled. She had to get it over with.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, and Bradley started to pull down her pants.
“Oh,” he said, and she knew he had seen the panties. The white lacy panties Zoe had put on when she had gotten home from the clinic: one of the three pairs she had bought for the wedding night and the honeymoon, not sure which ones she would wear when—not even sure in fact that she would have the courage to put them on at all, since she had never worn real lingerie before, and her gray thong had been until then the naughtiest underwear she owned.
Bradley kept pulling her jeans down until he had them around her knees. Zoe peeked through nearly closed eyelids, then, to see that he had begun to study the place between her thighs that the lacy front of the thong panties covered. The cotton of her shirt hung down far enough to obscure a good deal of the region from sight, but she knew he had noticed the whiteness and the design.
Had he realized that his fiancée had been bared, down there, that day, by the nurse’s clippers? That the pussy he meant to uncover for the first time had no hair on it because Nurse Carter thought a bride should look fresh and tidy for her bridegroom, in the place she must have his hardness when he decided the time had come to make a woman and a wife of her?
“You’d better take your top off, Zo,” Bradley said in a thick voice. “When your husband disciplines you, it’s not a time for modesty. It’s important that I see what I like to see.”
A sob broke from her throat. Where had his words come from, these words that seemed to look down deep into a part of her soul she had hardly even known she had. Swiftly, trying not to think about it, she obeyed her fiancé: she took the hem of the pink shirt and pulled it off over her head, all the way, so that she could drop it to the floor and Bradley could see the lacy white bra that matched the panties. Zoe had followed Nurse Carter’s advice, though she had never gotten used to how bras felt, encasing and presenting her little breasts.
“You’re so beautiful, Zoe,” Bradley said softly. That made her open her eyes, to see him glance up from her pussy to her face. “And you’re being such a good girl, now.”
Zoe bit her lip as he moved his right hand around behind her, and took both her bottom-cheeks into his long fingers, holding her backside as if to remind her that she had just been spanked over her fiancé’s knee and would very soon return there for the rest of her obedience lesson. His eyes widened a little as he felt the narrowness of the panties’ slender back, how it left the little apples of her bottom so bare to his touch.<
br />
“Yes, sir,” Zoe whispered again. She swallowed hard, then, because she saw Bradley’s left hand begin to move, very slowly, toward the place where her bare thighs rested against the thin black wool of Bradley’s dress trousers. The hand turned upward.
“You had an interesting visit to the clinic, didn’t you?” he asked softly, his eyes traveling between the place where his fingertips had nearly touched the lace that Zoe knew now must reveal, through delicate mesh, that her pussy no longer had the golden curls he had never actually seen but only touched the two or three times they had gotten that far.
Her own eyes went, without volition and with a flare of heat to her face, to the place between his legs where his cock lurked in his pants. She had touched it, once, in the dark, and it had seemed to leap in her fingers. Zoe had felt anxious, and taken away her hand, and Bradley had not forced the issue, had not taken her hand and put it back there as she had almost wished he would.
Now he’s going to force the issue. Now he’s going to tell me what to do, and he’s going to do the things he wants to do. To my little pussy, with his firm hand and with his hard cock. To my bottom. She felt her forehead crumple, and she let out a little whimper. She pressed forward against his leg though it made her blush ten times worse to realize she did it.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered. Their eyes had locked on one another, and he seemed so intent on the words that passed between them now that she felt certain he had something very important to tell her—probably a great many very important things.
Then a little cry burst from her throat, because he had touched her with the tips of his two middle fingers, on the lace, on the place where the sheer fabric covered the very center of her aching need. Still looking deeply into her eyes, he pressed, and rubbed, and he said, “I got to watch the whole thing, Zoe. I saw the nurse shave you down here, and it made me very happy—almost as happy as I am that you put on this lingerie for me. I’m going to fuck you for the first time, soon, and you’ll be wearing your pretty bra and panties when I do.”
“Oh, no... please... sir.” Zoe’s heart had started beating so wildly that she thought Bradley must hear it. She swayed, but he moved his hands to her hips again to hold her up, his attention now fixed not on her face but between her legs, as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the panties and pulled them down.
“That’s a pretty little pussy,” Bradley said. “I can tell it’s going to be nice and tight, just like the nurse said in the note she sent me.”
Chapter Eight
Zoe’s reaction to his shameful words surpassed Bradley’s wildest expectations. She made a whimpering, moaning noise in the back of her throat and she laid herself over his knee so quickly that the chair slid an inch across the floor. He had his beautiful fiancé’s bare bottom under his eyes, and as he watched she put her hands down to grasp the wooden legs of the chair, so she could position herself even more submissively.
Her knees, bound in the twisted denim of her jeans, with the lovely lace of her naughty white panties atop them, moved in what seemed to Bradley an uncertain manner: first parting a little so that he could see the sweet bare cleft of her pussy and even a hint of the coral private lips that showed the warm place where he meant soon to take her virginity, then closing tightly as if in desperate modesty as she realized what she had shown the man who had tonight taken her in hand.
Bradley had from the beginning of this scene followed Davies’ advice and let his dominant instincts determine his course of action.
Remember that for Zoe, as much as for you, sex and discipline go together closely, the program officer had told him. Obviously there will be times when she’s misbehaved so seriously that you’ll need to punish her without any sexual element—for that you’ll probably want to have a paddle or strap handy, and put her over a whipping stool or something like that, for a thorough hiding. And of course there will be many times when you have sex with your wife and you simply take charge of her body and enjoy her, without any disciplinary element. The key to traditional marriage as this program sees it—and probably the key to the most exciting parts of your sex life with your wife, for both of you, is going to be nights like tonight, though, when you have the chance to explore the meaning of the connection between punishment and pleasure. Let your instincts be your guide.
When Zoe drew her knees close together, then, and hid her pussy from him, Bradley put his hands on her thighs and pulled them apart. Now he could see her shaven pussy properly, all the way to the wrinkly hood of her clit, all of it thrillingly bare for him, prepared by the nurse for the first night of his pleasure.
He had briefly entertained, when he had first entered the apartment, the idea of leaving her virginity intact for their wedding night. When she had rebelled, though, he had entirely made up his mind: Zoe Ralston would have sex before her wedding. The bride would go the altar already deflowered, not to mention well disciplined by the man she would marry.
“Bradley, please,” she whispered. She tried to close her knees again, but he resisted, and put his right thigh across them again to keep her in place. Zoe let go of the chair leg with her right hand and put it back behind her, covering herself and hiding the delicious view of her sexual secrets.
“Take that hand away, Zo,” Bradley said, in the firm voice that still surprised him a little when it came out of his mouth, since before tonight he hadn’t known he had it—at least when dealing with a girlfriend. It reminded him of the voice he used in court, when telling a jury his recommendations for how they should think of a case, but it had a tenderness in it, too, despite the stern quality that he knew must come across to Zoe as the voice’s most important characteristic.
Instead of obeying him, though, she clutched at her bottom, still a little pink from the spanking through her jeans, and gave a tiny sob. Her fingers moved as if to keep herself closed there, as if to deny that soon she must have a hard penis thrusting in and out of her young pussy.
With his left hand, Bradley took hold of her wrist, and held it atop her bare back, on the creamy skin distended a bit by her spine, between the white strap of her bra and the sweet cleft of Zoe’s pink little butt. She trembled in his grasp, and gave a little whimper of fear. He fulfilled that fear then, too, because he started to spank his bride’s little bottom, lifting his arm high and bringing his hand down very hard right in the middle, where he knew some of the sting must travel to her pussy since he had made her keep her knees apart.
Zoe gave a scream and squirmed over his lap, but between his left arm and his right leg he kept her in place for three hard swats in the same place. She had a distinct bright pink semicircle on each of her bottom-cheeks now, and she bucked like a wild thing over his knee.
“When I discipline you, Zoe,” Bradley said, putting even more authority in his tone, “you will accept your punishment. You will not cover your bottom, or your pussy, when I wish them bare—whether I mean to spank you or to look at you, or...”
He tightened his grip on her wrist, and he shifted a little to make sure his right leg would keep her just as immobile over his knee as the restraints in the exam room had kept her in the chair. Zoe gave a sob of mingled discomfort and need, as if she knew exactly what he meant to do next, what the or signified.
Bradley returned his right hand to the lovely backside he had entirely under his command, where he knew he would have his way in every fashion, when the proper time came. The proper time had come now, though, to ensure his bride understood the power of her needs, and how ready her bridegroom stood to help her satisfy them.
He had touched her inside her panties twice, and she had clearly liked it, as they had fumbled on the couch, kissing and touching. That soft, cooing reaction, though, hadn’t held a candle to the way Zoe cried out when Bradley put his hand gently between her thighs, feeling the burning warmth of her spanked bottom and the even greater heat of her wet, still-virgin slit.
She bucked desperately over his knee as he began to rub her clit first tenderly an
d then more firmly. She managed to tear her wrist out of his grip, but she didn’t move her hand to try to push his away: instead she returned it to the leg of the chair so that she could push her bottom up further and offer it to him more fully.
“Sir,” she whispered. “Oh, sir, please. I want... I want...”
“Shh, Zoe,” Bradley said softly. “I know what you want, and what you need, naughty girl.”
Zoe’s whole beautiful body seemed to respond to his words and his touch, as he moved his fingers back and forth, probing into the place where her hymen still blocked the way and working her there, then returning to her clit. He heard the chair creak with the grip of her hands on its legs, and her hips rose still a little more, and then she gave a piercing cry, all her limbs suddenly going stiff.
“Oh, God,” she sobbed. “Oh, sir.”
“Did you ever come before, Zo?” Bradley asked very gently, then, moving his hand tenderly down where he knew she needed it so very much.
“No,” Zoe moaned. “Oh, it’s... I mean...”
“You’re going to come again, now,” he said, beginning to work her firmly again, putting his left hand on her punished bottom and squeezing the pinkened places on her adorable cheeks.
“Oh, no... please... I can’t, Bradley. Sir... don’t...”
But he knew exactly what he had to do: he meant to demonstrate to her exactly why they should be in this very nontraditional traditional marriage program. He parted her bottom, now, with his index finger and his ring finger, while with his middle finger he touched the tiny pink ring he had seen Nurse Carter probe with the speculum as she talked to Zoe about anal sex. With his right hand he held her whole pussy, middle fingers rubbing gently at her clit.
Zoe screamed with forced pleasure, riding his thigh, humping it, fighting the grip of his right leg across her knees as if she couldn’t help it, as if the tension between their muscles had driven the pleasure too deep into her body to control herself any longer.
