His Blushing Bride

by Emily Tilton

  “No... no...” she whispered, her chin moving slowly from side to side. “Not... please... not with...” She swallowed very hard, and he felt a delicious shudder go through her whole body.

  Sam nodded slowly. “With my belt, Mary. When you’re very naughty. Especially if you lie to me again.” Their eyes still locked, he flicked out his tongue to tease her nipple again, while he put his right hand further down, to hold the warm seat of her jeans. A wrenching sob of need came from Mary. “And now, Pixy. Over the chair with my belt across your bare bottom, if you don’t take down your pants and your panties this minute.”

  He released her from his arms and sat back in his chair. For a moment she remained motionless, still looking into his eyes, her hands still hovering in midair. Then her adorable nose twitched, and Sam had the distinct impression that the tiny movement had shown him a wealth of thought and emotion: Mary realizing that she didn’t have a choice, and she didn’t need to feel ashamed of how wet her husband’s dominance got her.

  Mary closed her eyes as her hands moved downward to the button on her jeans. Her fingers fumbled there for a moment, and then she gave a little whimper as the button opened, as if startled by the reality of how it felt to strip for a compulsory marital fucking.

  Her eyes opened. “Please, Sam,” she whispered. “Not from behind?”

  Chapter Nine

  Sam’s blue eyes looked back at her so steadily it made Mary’s heart jump.

  “I think you know very well I’m going to fuck you from behind, sweetheart,” he said, “or you wouldn’t have asked. It’s how naughty girls get fucked, bent over with their husband’s hands holding them in place for the cock. Now get your pants off.”

  Mary closed her eyes again and felt a sob of shame and need rise from her chest. Why had she asked?

  Because I wanted him to say yes or because I wanted him to say no?

  She put her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans. Could she really do it? Could she take them off here in the dining room knowing that her husband meant to fuck her that way?

  Another sob burst from her, because the very feeling of working her thumbs inside her panties, of the slight stoop it required to begin obeying her husband’s shameful command, made her clench down there and feel again how terribly wet she had gotten at Sam’s dominance.

  She felt her brow crease as she managed to get the jeans down to mid-thigh and she felt the air moving on her pussy and her spanked backside. A memory from her wedding night came unbidden, bringing a little whimper: the moment she had stood naked in the bathroom before she put on the white nightgown, the blush that had spread across her face as she had looked at her nudity—her tiny breasts and her little bush.

  Mary had thought then, Sam gets to see this whenever he wants, now. That idea had sent a wicked thrill rocketing through her whole body, a hint of coming ecstasy so overwhelming that Mary had feared Sam might think her that terrible thing Mrs. Grabano had called some girls... loose.

  Suddenly, here in the dining room, Mary realized that everything that had gone wrong between them had come from that moment. She cried out with the knowledge, so impossible did it seem to tell Sam about it.

  But her jeans and panties had dropped to the floor around her feet, and Mary stood with one hand across her breasts and the other over her pussy. She looked at Sam’s hands, resting on his knees. His clothes were on, and hers were off. He was the husband, and she the wife; he got to see her like this whenever he wanted.

  “Take your hands away, Mary,” he said. “And step out of your jeans. Then give me your panties. I want to look at them.”

  “What?” Mary looked up at him in horror, her hands still over her private parts.

  “You heard me, Pixy. I need to inspect your underwear. I think it’s the only way I can figure out what you really need.”

  “But...” she wailed. “But I took off my clothes!”

  “Mary, what’s going to happen between us now,” Sam said steadily, “isn’t one thing that you can do and then you won’t have to obey me anymore. We’re going to do a lot of stuff, just tonight. Stuff you don’t think you’re going to like, that you’re going to do because I want it. And tonight will only be the beginning.”

  Mary’s heart had started to race. “Like... what?” she whispered.

  “You’ll find out very soon. But I told you to take your hands away. Don’t make me whip you to get a good look at your cute little pussy and your sweet tits.”

  She felt her face crumple as she saw that he knew—that he absolutely knew. Her husband had somehow become fully aware of what a naughty girl, what a loose girl he had married. Part of Mary wondered why that didn’t make it easier, why it only made her hands clutch more tightly at her breasts and down between her legs, as if she were a modest young woman who truly didn’t want a man to look at the parts of her that tingled and ached with wicked need.

  Her cheeks blazed. Your cute little pussy. Your sweet tits. Good girls wore panties to cover their pussies, and they didn’t get those panties wet.

  But her eyes went down to the big silver buckle of Sam’s jeans belt. To be whipped with her husband’s belt over a dining chair... the thought made her whole frame shudder, made her hands fly away to her sides even as she closed her eyes so that she wouldn’t have to see Sam’s satisfaction at having made her show him her twice-fucked pussy.

  What had he meant? What else did he intend to do with her... to her, tonight? The question floating through her mind drew a whimper from her lips as she stood with her hands clenching into fists and then unclenching, as if she could somehow send the tension in her limbs out, down to the floor, that way.

  “Mary, I love you so much,” she heard Sam say softly. “You turn me on so damn much. I can hardly stop myself from taking you every night when I come into the bedroom and every morning when I wake up.”

  With a little gasp she opened her eyes, just as her hips jerked with a thrill of need down below. Sam looked back at her with a soft smile on his lips, and then she saw his gaze travel downward, saw him look at her little breasts and her sparsely covered pussy. She bit her lip and couldn’t keep down a little whine of shame.

  “Last week,” Sam continued, “I thought I had to find a way to put that idea out of my mind. This week, I know it’s going to come true. You’re going to have a lot of sex from now on, Pixy. Every night and every morning. Three times on my days off. Any way I want, starting tonight.”

  Mary felt her forehead crease very deeply. “Any way?” she whispered.

  Sam nodded. “Now give me those panties.”

  She looked down, and even from above she could see the wet spot. He knew, though—so why did it matter so much?

  “Mary,” Sam growled. She could hear his belt in the way he said her name, and it made her start. She stooped, her whole body shaking, and got her feet out of her jeans and panties. Holding them, the impulse to turn and run came over her, so strongly that she almost obeyed it, but the urge to get it over with and to get the underwear that bore the signs of her immodesty out of her hands conquered the desire to flee. Looking not at the polka-dot panties but at the jeans in her other hand, she reached the little wisp of cotton out to Sam.

  He took them. Mary tried to busy herself with folding her jeans, but Sam said, “Drop those, Pixy,” in so sharp a voice that she obeyed immediately and found herself looking at him although she had decided she wouldn’t, not while he had her panties in his hands.

  When he saw her gazing back at him, Sam turned his own attention downward, and he smoothed out the gusset of the panties so that the wet spot became very obvious. Mary bit her lip, then let out a sob when her husband brought the panties to his nose to take a deep whiff of his naughty bride’s intimate scent.

  His eyes rose again, to meet hers. He lowered her panties from his face a little. “I love this fragrance, Mary,” he said. “When I smelled it last Sunday I didn’t understand. Now I do.”

  A little whine came from her nose, and her chin tried
to go back and forth to say no, but she couldn’t even manage that. He lowered his eyes again, to look at the needy place from which the wicked scent came.

  “You’re going to be bare down there from now on,” he said evenly and matter-of-factly. “You’ll shave later tonight. I got everything you need at the drugstore. I don’t want you thinking you can hide your pussy from me anymore.”

  “But...” she tried, but she didn’t have anything to put after but, and she could see in Sam’s eyes that even the but would get her into trouble.

  “No buts,” he said, his voice becoming the growl that made her heart beat wildly in her chest. “I’m going to inspect your pussy once a week. If I’m not satisfied, you’ll be spanked.”

  “You can’t!” Mary exclaimed, because she simply couldn’t help it. “It’s not... it’s just... wrong!” Her hands had formed little fists, and they had drifted in front of her as if to return to the defensive, shielding positions where she had had them before Sam made her show him her private parts.

  Sam didn’t respond with words. Instead he leaned forward a little, so that he could put his left arm around Mary’s waist and pull her back between his legs, as she gave a startled little cry. At the same time, his right hand went between her thighs, and the little cry became a long, low moan. His eyes had traveled down there, too, and Mary felt her brow furrow as she watched him watch his upturned fingers explore her.

  Then he looked up again, into her eyes, his hands possessing her in front and behind, for he had taken her whole bottom in his grip, now, too. “Mine,” he said simply, and his thumb pressed her clit as he thrust two fingers inside her pussy, and at the same time ran his middle finger between her bottom-cheeks to touch her there, too.

  Mary felt the wetness gush from her at his dominance, his ownership. Her legs shook as her husband demonstrated that he understood her words of protest covered not true modesty but abject wantonness.

  The finger behind her pressed firmly against her smallest place, and Mary suddenly thought of what Sam had said earlier, about all the things he meant to do with her tonight. Surely he didn’t mean to... to have her... there? The idea made her heart jump in her chest.

  “Mine,” Sam said again, and now he moved his right hand up, to put it behind her neck and pull her face down to his so that he could kiss her, at the same time working his other hand further under, and forward so that Mary felt her whole spanked bottom and her still nearly virgin pussy held in his grasp. She cried out into his mouth as she felt his fingers work her firmly down there, teaching her of her husband’s right to prepare his property as he liked, for his enjoyment.

  Sam kissed her for a long time, as she bucked against his hands, her hips jerking as he fondled her naked body roughly. The contrast of her creamy skin with his jeans and the white button-down shirt he wore in the gym office made her shiver all the more in his arms. It seemed so shameful to be naked in the dining room, when her husband had his clothes on, that it made her whole body seem hot with embarrassment.

  Suddenly she realized that he had begun to put gentle downward pressure on her neck and shoulders. He broke the kiss, but he kept his face close. “Kneel down, Pixy,” he said softly. “Between my legs, in front of me.”

  “Why?” Mary asked in a voice that sounded even more quavery to her ears than she had thought it would.

  “You know why,” Sam replied gravely. “You’re going to learn to be a good girl for your husband, tonight, and this is a very important part of it.”

  Another memory from Wellness class flashed into Mary’s mind, making her hot face even hotter. Mrs. Grabano, talking about intimacy: “Girls, you should expect that a man who takes you out, and registers for intimacy with you, will want one thing in particular, if you decide to save your virginity either until marriage or until some very special moment. If you’re serious about him, you should think hard about using your pretty little mouth to keep him happy, as mortifying as I know the thought seems.”

  Mary had giggled along with her friends. She had heard stories of girls who had used their pretty little mouths to obtain proposals from desirable men. But those girls were loose, weren’t they?

  She felt Sam’s hands on her shoulder and her waist, urging her downward. She was married—and she hadn’t even had to do that in order to get a proposal. How could he make her kneel, like this, naked in the dining room?

  But then she saw it, in her mind’s eye, as if from outside herself: the bride unclothed before her husband, his huge hands enforcing his will. She saw the bride whipped over a chair for disobedience, and she saw the bride kneeling to give pleasure, made to see her husband’s manhood close up, made to take it in her mouth, taught to serve him properly at last. With a little cry, she fell to her knees, looking fearfully up into Sam’s handsome face.

  Chapter Ten

  Sam put his hands to his belt buckle. At the movement, Mary whimpered, as if sure that he meant to pull the long black belt from his waist and whip her bare butt with it after all. He felt his eyes go wide at the complexity of the puppyish little sound: he certainly heard fear in it, but he also heard something so wonderfully submissive that it hardened his cock and swelled his heart at the same time.

  Mary’s lovely features looked to him like the face of a girl who knows she must part with her last idea of being in charge, in her house. Her hazel eyes seemed to follow every move he made in mingled fear, curiosity, and helpless need. Her beautiful naked body, kneeling before him, trembled, her hands in front of her breasts nearly clasped in prayer as if to beg her husband to be gentle with her, now that he had decided he must have his way.

  “Look down, Mary,” he said, his voice a low growl as he got the buckle open and then the button on his waistband. When she had lowered her eyes, he drew down the zipper. Mary gave a little gasp as she noticed that he had gone commando today, as he often did when wearing jeans. Sam’s cock stirred in the dark, wiry nest of his pubic hair, and Mary had obviously seen that no fabric was in the way.

  “Oh,” she said softly. Then Sam’s hardness sprang free, and Mary said, “Oh!” again, and to his wicked delight Sam saw the blood rush to her cheeks. He watched her take in the length of him, the throbbing pulse and the way the cock moved as if of its own accord. Mary could see—Sam could almost follow the thought across her red face—how rigidly and almost angrily her husband’s tool confronted her beautiful young face, how arrogantly his balls spilled out over his unzipped fly.

  Same could tell that a sizable, still very prissy part of his nineteen-year-old bride’s mind didn’t want her to see the lewd sight of a man’s hard penis, ready to fuck. With his hand in the hair at the back of Mary’s neck, though, he made her look. He bent her face toward his cock and balls, toward the hairy masculine excess of what her bridegroom possessed as a sign of his dominance over her, the bodily equipment with which he meant to enjoy fucking her as often as he chose and in whatever way he chose.

  She made a little noise of revulsion in the back of her throat and she drew away a little, but he held her face there.

  “No, Pixy,” he said sternly. “You’re going to learn respect and obedience now. Open your mouth or you’re going to get that bare-bottom whipping faster than you can blink. A man has the right to enjoy his wife as he chooses, here in Smallton. I’m going to teach you to be a good cocksucker, for a start.”

  Mary looked up at him with bright pink cheeks, her face a mask of woe. Sam moved his hand gently in her hair, now, stroking her there.

  “Do I have to?” she asked in a pitiful little voice.

  Sam nodded. “Yes, Mary. You have to.” He took his cock in his other hand, brandishing it toward her lips. “Do you see how hard you get your husband? You can make my penis feel so good, if you learn to submit like you know you should. Otherwise you know I have to punish you. Good wives give their husbands blowjobs after a long day, no matter how embarrassing it is to have to suck a man’s cock. Naughty wives get their backsides tanned with a belt.”

 
In fascination he watched his words have their effect on Mary’s heart and mind and pussy—and all those parts of her body seemed to command the expression on her face in turn. Sam’s final sentence seemed to affect her the most strongly of all: as he told her what happened to naughty wives who don’t take their husbands in their mouths, fear and a strangely longing, almost hopeful expression seemed to dawn in her eyes.

  What happened after he said belt, though, held the most surprising part of Mary’s reaction, though: with a tiny, whimpering sob she bent her head and started to kiss Sam’s hard cock. The shaft leaped at the tender touch, and Sam couldn’t suppress a grunt of need from his chest. Mary’s eyes went wide at the sound, and she raised her eyes to his fearfully, her hazel orbs nearly wild, as if she were in the grip of something beyond her knowledge or control.

  When he smiled back at her, Mary’s face crumpled, and she took her lower lip between her teeth. She looked down at his penis, and slowly she opened her mouth and put out her adorable little tongue. Her eyes flicked up at him, as if she wanted to see if she was doing it right. Sam exerted gentle pressure on the back of her head, then, only to guide her and not to force her. With a tiny noise of wordless submission, Mary took the head of his cock into her mouth and then allowed her husband to press in even further, lifting his hips from the dining chair and holding her head in place for his thrusting manhood.

  The velvety sensation of being engulfed by a soft, submissive mouth shot along Sam’s nerves with such a wash of pleasure that he couldn’t help beginning to fuck his wife’s face. She whimpered around the penis as he moved it in her mouth, taking his enjoyment as he wished.

  To his joyful surprise, Mary’s body shook with unmistakable arousal when she felt how her husband controlled her. She sucked desperately, her eyes turned downward to his lap and her head bent to her shameful duty. She had put her hands on his jean-clad thighs when he had guided her face down toward his cock, and now Sam to his astonishment watched his bride move her right hand down and put it wickedly between her thighs.