by Emily Tilton
“Turn around,” he said. “Hands on the toilet seat.”
“Sir…” she said, the conflict in her voice just as satisfactory as the alarmed look she had given on seeing him coming up behind her.
“I’m not going to fuck you, Maria. That’s for later. But you need to know how much trouble you’re in. Turn around and put your hands on the toilet seat.”
“But…”
“The sooner you do as I say, the sooner you’re going to be back in the ballroom doing your job.” He smiled wolfishly then, knowing that this concern above all others would win her obedience.
“What are you going to do?” she whispered.
“Be a good girl for me, Maria. You have a reminder coming.” He put his hands on her shoulders and started to urge her around.
Maria bit her lip, but she complied, turning and bending, but also asking, “What’s a reminder?”
Giving a reminder was one of Jason’s favorite disciplinary techniques, actually. He pressed on Maria’s back until she had bent all the way over the toilet, and then he began to roll up the skirt of her pretty green dress.
“Oh, no, sir, please,” Maria pleaded. “People will hear.”
“No,” Jason said softly, “they won’t.” Under the dress she had on the red garter belt, just as he had hoped she would, and the lacy red panties. “You’re ready to come to my bed, aren’t you, Maria?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, her head hung low.
He reached out his right hand and put his middle fingertip gently to her lips. Maria gave a shudder, as he rubbed there, very softly. Jason said nothing, but Maria knew what he meant her to do, even if she didn’t know what would happen after that: she opened her mouth and admitted the finger, then suckled at it as he moved it in and out, dominating her that way and suggesting so many things about the present and the future between them. All the while, with his left hand under her dress he caressed her bottom, gradually lowering the red panties so that he could run his finger up and down the valley between her bottom-cheeks. Finally he touched the tiny dimple of her anus, and Maria gave a soft whimper.
“Shh,” Jason said, removing the wet finger from her mouth. He shifted his hands to hold the dress up with his left hand while he brought his right down to where he had told her without words what kind of reminder he meant to give her: a reminder of possession, a brief token that Maria belonged to him in every way, now.
She whimpered more loudly, now, and he saw her hands tighten on the toilet seat as he pressed his finger, wet from her mouth, inside her most private place. Her bottom squirmed under his hand.
“Someday soon, Maria,” Jason said softly, “you will carry a little butt plug in your purse, for times like this. I will insert it in your lovely bottom when I think it necessary to remind you to behave yourself.” He felt the lovely tightness of her narrow tunnel surge and ebb as she learned this important new information about the way Jason planned to discipline her. “As you can see, anal discipline makes for a quiet, but very memorable experience, especially after a couple has started having anal sex, the way I plan to do with you tonight.”
“Oh, please,” Maria breathed, as Jason moved the invading finger in and out, teaching her about his rights and his intentions.
“Arch your back and push your bottom out for me,” he ordered, though still very softly. “Just the way you would if I were spanking you. You lost your temper after the ceremony, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Maria sobbed. “I… I have…” She bounced up and down a little, and her bottom quivered with the effort of remaining obedient.
Jason pushed the finger in all the way to the second knuckle. “We’re almost done, darling. We don’t have long, now, before this is all done, and you and I can truly get started. I want to make sure you understand, though, that if you do come to my bed tonight, you will take my cock here where my finger is now.”
“Yes, sir,” Maria breathed.
“Has this little hole ever opened to a penis before?”
“No, sir. You… will you…”
Jason knew exactly what she meant to ask. “Will I be gentle? Yes, Maria, tonight I will be gentle in your bottom, though you may not find me gentle in your other holes, when I use them to make my cock feel good.”
She gave a shuddering moan at this harsh but very sexy formulation of his dominance. Jason removed his finger at last.
“You may stand up and pull up your panties,” he said, loving to be formal about the matter, as always. “I’ll check to make sure the bathroom is clear, and that no one is watching outside, and then I’ll knock and you can come out.”
Maria looked up at him with shining eyes and a very, very mischievous smile. “Thank you, sir. I think this is probably the last place they’ll be looking for me.”
Chapter Twenty
Quint finally got into the hotel elevator, alone, just past midnight, to ride up to the honeymoon suite. Emily had headed up twenty minutes before, after throwing her bouquet directly to Georgia as if she had told her sister exactly where to stand. The music of the band, and their first dance to the strains of I Get A Kick Out Of You, still rang in his ears.
He had known that he would have a decision to make, in this moment, but when he found himself alone Quint didn’t have to spend any time deliberating on the matter at all: he meant to try, at least, to get their marriage started on what he now considered to be the right foot. He walked resolutely down the hall, rather proud of himself for how little he had drunk, though it probably didn’t represent much of a feat considering that the whole night had been a whirlwind of hugging friends and dancing with more people than he thought he had ever before danced with in a single night, or ever would again.
Quint smiled to see the words ‘Honeymoon Suite’ actually on a little plaque on the door of the room, to which the clerk at the front desk had given him the keycard with a knowing smile. They had taken Quint’s luggage up, but he himself had not yet been there. When he opened the door and entered, he seemed to step into seventeenth-century France: Quint had stayed in some nice places, but this room equaled any of them in elegance and luxury.
Or perhaps Emily herself created that impression, standing at the window in the suite’s living room, looking down at the lights of the Back Bay, still in her impossibly elegant white gown. She turned as he entered, a shy smile on her face and a glass of champagne in her hand. Quint no longer had the slightest doubt about how to handle himself, and how to get them off on the right foot—or at least to try.
He crossed to her, took her in his arms, and kissed her as he had not gotten to kiss her yet today despite the fact of their being married. He kissed her the way he had kissed her the night before on the street outside her house, dominating her mouth with his, fully intending to leave her breathless, clinging, yielding in his embrace.
“Oh, Quint,” she whispered when he broke the kiss. “Oh, Quint. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, sweetheart. So much.” He cradled her head in his hand, pressing it gently to the silken fabric of the white dinner jacket. “Are you ready?”
“For what?” Emily asked innocently—or perhaps not entirely innocently, though she certainly didn’t know, Quint felt sure, of all his intentions.
“To belong to me completely,” Quint answered, in a low voice that clearly conveyed exactly what he meant it to convey: that Emily would have a wedding night of a kind she hadn’t anticipated, beginning with the discipline she had earned and ending with Quint possessing her in every way he could.
He tilted her head up to look into her eyes. Emily bit her lip. “I do belong to you completely,” she said a little uncertainly. “I mean, you know I consent… to, you know, discipline…” Her face turned red as she spoke the word. “But can’t we… couldn’t you spank me tomorrow?”
“Oh, you’re going to be spanked tonight, sweetheart. I don’t want you to have any illusions about that. In fact, I’m going to whip you with my belt for your naughtiness yesterday and today.
”
Emily shuddered in his arms deliciously. Holding her in her wedding gown felt like holding a fairytale princess. Quint wanted it to go on forever despite an important part of him also wanting to get on with it, and to get her out of the beautiful dress—to see, in particular, what she had decided to wear underneath.
“But you’re not wearing a belt,” she whispered, her voice sounding a bit desperate to find any way to get out of the punishment she knew she deserved and even needed.
Quint suppressed a chuckle. “I have a belt in my suitcase that I brought along for exactly this purpose, Emily.” He looked around, peered quickly into the bedroom and saw exactly what he had hoped to see at the foot of the bed: a bench whose usual purpose was to hold luggage, but which would do admirably for disciplining a young bride, too. “I’ll whip you in the bedroom. Let’s get you out of your gown.”
“Please, Quint,” Emily said desperately. “Please, not on my wedding day.” She struggled a little in his arms.
Quint held her tightly, intending to make himself as clear as he could on this vital point. “Yes, on your wedding day, Emily. The wedding is over, and we are married. You are my princess, but sometimes princesses misbehave—really rather frequently, in fact.”
Emily giggled a bit at that, though Quint heard in the laughter that she had started to cry a little, too, in fear of the belt. Yes, sweetheart, I need to make you afraid of my belt.
“You misbehaved pretty terribly today, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Emily sniffled, into his chest.
“Yes, what, Emily?” Quint said sternly, gaining confidence by the moment.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, and she shivered as she said it. He thought he could hear in that little sound his bride beginning to understand just how urgently he intended to pattern their marriage after his dominant desires, and how much she herself yearned for it. The way she had melted in his arms the previous night had told him that.
“You know you need to be punished for that, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” Emily repeated.
“And I need to make it clear to you that I will guide you this way, when you need it, on this day of all days. Go into the bedroom, and I’ll help you out of your gown. You have a whipping coming.”
He opened his arms and turned her around, then gave her a swat on the meringue-like bustle of the beautiful gown, wishing she had been wearing jeans at that moment, since a swat on the bustle wasn’t really very much of a spank. Emily did turn her head over her shoulder sweetly, though, with a reproachful look on her face, like a little girl trying to get out of a punishment she wants her daddy to decide is too harsh—even though the little girl knows she’s getting no more than she deserves.
“Get going, Emily,” Quint said in a very daddy-ish voice. Emily bit her lip, and turned and went. “Stand at the foot of the bed, please.”
He followed, and as soon as they had arrived in the bedroom he took her suitcase carefully off the faux-leather-upholstered bench.
“Oh, no,” Emily said. “Please, Quint… not like that.”
“Yes. Like that,” Quint said firmly, and rested his hand on her back, where the silk of her off-the-shoulder gown made a delicious contrast with her creamy skin, and where lay the uppermost part of the complicated hook-and-zipper apparatus that held the gown on. Emily shivered as he began the process of undressing his wife for the first time. The blood pounded in his veins at the perfection of the moment, imagined so many times and in so many different ways.
For a moment he could hardly believe he would carry through with his intention. The idea of whipping his young bride on their wedding night had dwelt in his libidinous imagination since long before he had even met Emily. Thanks to the serendipity of her kinkiness going together so well with his, they would it seemed have exactly the sort of relationship in the bedroom for which Quint had never let himself hope. As he began to unwrap the gift of her lovely body, revealing even more enticing giftwrap beneath the outer layer she had offered to all the world as the sign of her belonging to him, he couldn’t seem quite to get a grip on it all: from an old-fashioned perspective that sent a thrill through his cock, and seemed to have a similar effect on his bride, he owned her now. And he meant to make the meaning of that wonderful ownership absolutely clear, even if he would do that in a way that would leave most of the elegant wedding guests aghast.
Her whole body trembled as he made his way slowly and carefully through the hooks and the zipper. She stood looking down, her fine-spun golden hair still piled intricately atop her head where the comb holding her veil had so recently been. He had almost reached the spot where he knew the whole dress, with its bustle and sewn-in crinoline, would fall around her feet. He could already see her corset, whose existence he had discovered—without being sure what it would look like—when he took her around the waist for the first time once they had reached the end of the aisle at church, to give her a little more of a real kiss.
Maybe it was actually a bustier. Quint didn’t feel especially confident of his ability to discern between various items of lingerie—he knew only what excited him, and this stiff, satiny thing that seemed to have suspenders like a garter belt excited him extremely. His cock got even harder at the thought of whipping Emily in this underwear, and of what would follow.
Emily’s hands were at her sides, but Quint suddenly wanted something else for this moment. “Hands on your head, sweetheart.” Another shiver went through her as she obeyed, and he knew she understood what the command meant to her new husband: that her body belonged to him, and he would dispose of it as he liked.
He finished drawing the zipper down, and now he alone held the gown up; when he released it, it would fall around Emily’s feet, and she would stand revealed before him, next to the bench over which he would whip her to teach her the needed bridal lesson, and steps away from the bed where he would soon fuck her, to consummate their young marriage.
“You look so beautiful, Em,” he murmured in her ear.
“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, and then he let her gown drop, and the purity of her nuptial beauty gave way to the blazing heat of how incredibly sexy she looked in the corset and the suspenders and the stockings and above all the heart-stoppingly lascivious lace panties Emily had on, made from less fabric than Quint thought could be relied on to stay up around her waist.
“Oh, my God,” he couldn’t help himself saying.
Emily turned her face shyly over her shoulder then. “Do you like them, sir?”
“Like doesn’t do it, sweetheart,” Quint breathed, realizing he stood now in a little danger of letting her off the hook for her whipping. He remembered suddenly the urgency of his realization that first night in her room that spankings between couples always involved sex, and how he had made disciplining Emily very complex right from the beginning, with the help of the purple vibrator.
He followed his cock’s single instinct, then, and put his left hand in front of her, possessively and boldly right between her thighs, so that he could feel what his wife felt like in those tiny lace panties. Emily gave a little gasp, which changed to a moan, as Quint’s fingers started their knowing explorations. She arched her back and bent her knees a little, wantonly trying to claim more of the sensations he bestowed.
Knowing, yes, but Quint also found something unknown. “Emily?” he asked.
“Yes, sir?” she whispered, sounding a little fearful, as if she worried she might be in even more trouble because of how he found her down there.
“Did you have your pussy waxed?”
“Yes, sir?” Her voice went up in a question at the end. “Do you like it? Georgia and I did it together, because Georgia said Dave wants her that way from now on.”
Quint hadn’t stopped feeling her increasingly wet pussy through her panties, and then, because the panties made it so easy, inside them as well.
“I do like it, sweetheart,” he admitted. “Very much.”
Chapter Twenty-One
&nb
sp; Emily still couldn’t quite believe she was about to be whipped. Her feelings about the matter whirled in a pattern so complicated that her emotional state seemed to make the idea unreal, as if the very ambivalence she felt could render the real-world facts logically inconsistent, and make them cease to exist.
The rational part of her, paradoxically, seemed to think that if she considered the matter thoroughly enough, this wedding night from some earlier era would simply change back into something light, frothy, and ultra-modern: Emily would undress herself, having told Quint to stay across the room, and reveal the super-sexy bustier and the tiny panties. She would see the hunger in his eyes, and she would know he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She would crook her finger, and her new husband would close the distance between them, and…
Fade to black, or something. Wild animal sex noises. Egalitarian wedding night fucking: groom on top, bride on top, and maybe just a little bit of doggy-style. Falling asleep in one another’s arms.
She looked at the bench, where she knew she would have to lay herself down in a moment, to pay the price of her selfish behavior. She moaned, and she rode Quint’s knowing hands, which he had put inside her panties without so much as a by-your-leave. No striptease, no crooked finger; Emily’s new husband had marched her into the bedroom and removed her gown, because he meant to whip her with the belt in his luggage, brought for this purpose.
What had possessed her to look in his luggage, to see if he had brought a belt like that?
What had possessed her when Georgia said that she was going to the aesthetician for a Brazilian wax, to beg her younger sister to take her along?
She had meant to shave a little, down there, because she knew she didn’t want her pubic hair tufting out at the sides of the panties she had chosen. When Georgia had said with a blush that Dave had asked her to get the wax, Emily’s face, too, had gone hot, but she had also known that Quint, too, would want his bride to be bare for him down there. That knowledge—gained somehow through some submissive instinct that never seemed far away these days, since that first spanking—shouldn’t have made her plead with Georgia, though, should it? Georgia had initially been reluctant to take Emily along because it seemed a little weird to her for sisters to do that together, but Emily had said she knew Quint would want it, but she could never work up the courage to go by herself.
