by Emily Tilton
Chapter Four
Bradley’s handheld buzzed as he watched Zoe bend toward the little chair. He had gotten so hard, seeing his lovely fiancée naked for the first time, that he had locked the door of his office and sat down at his desk to enjoy the experience properly.
The consent form he had signed for the program—which he had as a lawyer of course read thoroughly and with some surprise at the breadth of power it gave him over Zoe as her future husband—had included a provision for the recording and monitoring of her visits to the clinic. The website for prospective bridegrooms had recommended that a girl’s fiancé watch her exam live or on tape, to get a better sense of her needs than he might have otherwise.
Still, Bradley could hardly believe either how hot Zoe’s evident embarrassment at the nurse’s instructions seemed or how sexy she looked to him, naked for this exam that would prepare her for a traditional marriage to him—and a traditional wedding night. He couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms and ask her about the many emotions he could see passing over her face—and of course about the obvious wet spot on the panties she had just finally put down.
“Corvan,” he said, picking up the handheld as he kept following the events in the exam room on his laptop.
“Mr. Corvan, Jake Davies here from state family services. I noticed you’re watching your fiancée’s exam and I thought it might be helpful to touch base about what you’re going to see.”
“You’re watching it too?” Bradley frowned.
“No, actually. I can’t see it—I only know that you’ve got the video feed open. I do see general updates to Zoe’s chart in real time, so I can help you figure out how best to get started on a plan for implementing the program’s recommendations.”
Bradley nodded: that was reassuring, at least. “Okay, so what can you tell me?” He had the urge to ask specific questions immediately—especially about the strength of Zoe’s reaction to the exam—but he realized that this call from Davies must mean that the marriage subsidy program had more to it than he had thought. Probably best to let the program officer volunteer information before Bradley decided to trust a government employee with his concerns about his bride’s sexual health.
“Well, I can tell you that you’re going to qualify for our program, first of all. So, congratulations on that.”
“Why, exactly?” Bradley asked, genuinely curious as to what Davies had seen that made him so confident. On his laptop screen, Zoe hopped up onto the exam chair, looking nervously at the nurse, who was tapping at her handheld.
The program officer chuckled. “I don’t get to see the actual picture of a bride’s panties, but the algorithm that analyzes it is just about 100% accurate. I don’t think I’ll offend you if I say that Zoe’s underwear tells me she belongs in a traditional marriage.”
The nurse had turned back to the beautiful naked girl on the exam chair. Zoe’s face seemed in some hard-to-define way to confirm what Davies had just said, that Bradley’s innocent bride needed a firm hand. She looked at the nurse with wide eyes, as if searching for guidance. Bradley found himself shaking his head, though, doubting his intuition since the idea seemed so outlandish.
“Can you spell that out for me a bit?” he asked, as he watched Zoe lean back in the chair, obeying the nurse’s instructions. He swallowed hard, then, as his bride raised her knees and spread them, to have her feet guided into the plastic stirrups. The camera had it seemed been positioned in the room to give the best possible view of the pussy of a girl in the exam chair. Bradley couldn’t help feeling voyeuristic, even as his cock swelled in his pants at the sight of Zoe’s virgin cleft, sweetly covered in sparse golden curls, with her demure pink private lips peeping out between her paler outer ones as if his bride had been made to disclose a naughty secret.
“Sure,” Davies replied, “but since I think the exam is probably at the point where Zoe is in the stirrups, let me just say that even though it’s going to feel a little strange to watch her this way, without her knowing, it’ll be a really good thing because of what you’re about to learn.”
“Learn?” The nurse stood between Zoe’s thighs, now, her blue scrubs contrasting with the girl’s nudity so sharply that it nearly took Bradley’s breath away.
“Tell you what. Best thing right now is for you to watch, and then call me when it’s over, so I can answer your questions. Sound okay?”
“Yeah,” Bradley said, rather absently because the sight on his screen distracted him so thoroughly now. The nurse’s eyes and Zoe’s seemed locked in a battle of wills, as the older woman’s hand reached out and took hold, lightly, of the bride’s left breast, her thumb against Zoe’s pink nipple.
Bradley’s handheld went silent. Zoe stammered, “Wh-what are you...”
The nurse said calmly, “I’m going to test your sexual responses, now, honey. This nipple is fully erect. That’s very healthy.” She moved her hand across Zoe’s body to palpate the other little breast, rub the other pink nipple. Zoe squirmed on the exam chair, as if simultaneously trying to get away and trying to keep herself in place.
“Try to relax, Zoe,” said the nurse. “Your fiancé sent you here, to help you as a couple start your life together. You’re an adorable girl, ready for marriage and ready to learn about what it means to be a wife.” The nurse continued to stimulate Zoe’s breast as she spoke. “The program you’re applying for is designed to help...” she checked the handheld in her other hand, “...Bradley find the best way to guide you, and you find the best way to accept his guidance. That’s all traditional marriage is.”
But Bradley could see in Zoe’s face as she looked up at the nurse that the implications of this guidance seemed as complicated to his fiancée as they did to him.
“These breasts do deserve to be taken care of, honey,” the nurse said, returning her hand to the other one. “Most young husbands hesitate to tell their wives about their preferences where underwear is concerned, but I’m going to recommend that Bradley make sure you wear a bralette every day.”
“What?” Zoe cried, her face bright red. She squirmed again under the nurse’s hand, this time with more obvious intent to escape the hand whose evident skill had clearly put her in great confusion. The naked girl’s hips moved too, now, her bottom and thighs bucking just a little, but in such an exciting way that Bradley couldn’t resist putting his own left hand down under his desk, to ease the agitation of the long, hard cock that would take Zoe’s virginity so very soon.
The nurse didn’t answer the bride’s protest with words, but she took her hand away from Zoe’s chest. To Bradley’s surprise, that hand instantly went to the side of Zoe’s waist, though and pulled out a thick webbing strap and placed it across the naked girl’s tummy with an unhurried expertise. Then, with that single hand—the nurse’s left hand being still occupied with holding her handheld—she pulled a matching strap from Zoe’s other side and used the strong Velcro on it to secure the girl to the exam chair, even as Zoe turned her head from side to side, her thoughts one step behind the nurse’s actions.
“I... what are you...” Zoe said, the uncertainty in her voice seeming to carry a realization that she had begun repeating herself, each instance seeming less effectual.
Bradley noticed now that the belt had additional Velcro loops, into the right one of which the nurse, still working with one hand, placed Zoe’s gently resisting right wrist and fastened the Velcro. The nurse’s hand reached for the bride’s left wrist then, but Zoe lifted it up and pulled it away, the little fist clenched.
Then at last the nurse looked into Zoe’s eyes again. The whole process of nearly immobilizing the naked girl on the exam chair had taken three seconds at most.
“It’s important that a bride not interfere with this part of the exam, honey,” she said. “Your responses so far tell me that you’re a good candidate for the program, which means that I have the right and the duty to complete the exam despite how embarrassing or uncomfortable it is for you. Put your hand in the cuff, please.”<
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“But... you can’t. I mean... can I call... can I call Bradley, please?”
“We’re not going to disturb him with this, Zoe. I’m already going to have to make a note that you didn’t comply fully when I restrained you for your own safety, and recommend that he discipline you.”
“Discipline me?” Zoe’s jaw went slack with alarm and amazement. Bradley’s own lips had parted, as if to utter his own word of protest, but the expression on Zoe’s face stopped his first intent, which had been to call the clinic himself and demand that they let Zoe go. His fiancée’s eyes had horror in them, and panic, but they also had something else—something unmistakable: recognition.
Relief, even. Zoe’s hand had lowered, the fist opened.
“He’ll decide what that means,” the nurse said. “And he’ll discuss it with you. But a traditional marriage, according to this program, means a marriage with a discipline plan drawn up by the husband and discussed with the wife. I’d be surprised if Bradley didn’t discuss it with you tonight, when he reads my report. Now as I said I don’t want to have to recommend anything specific, but I will if I must. For a girl who refuses to comply, I generally advise a lengthy session with a paddle or a punishment strap—whichever the husband has chosen for her correction.”
Zoe froze, her mouth open, and the nurse took the opportunity to reach calmly out, take her left wrist, and secure it at her side.
Bradley, for his part, had listened half in surprise at the nurse’s words and half in astonishment at his fiancée’s reaction. Zoe’s hips, now restrained in the webbing belt, had moved again, her bottom’s squirming discernible on the video feed, to the side of the nurse’s form. His initially shocked reaction to the idea of meting out corporal punishment to his innocent bride gave way to another, deeper instinct telling him that the idea of traditional marriage, of guiding her with a firm hand, had appealed to him for a reason.
Looking back on the information the state had provided, he could see that though no explicit mention had been made of a paddle or a strap, the implication had come through pretty clearly. Now, with what seemed clear evidence of his bride’s helpless response to the idea, he began to understand how cleverly the state had designed the application process.
His eyes widened, though, at the next step the nurse took. The stirrups, too, had webbing straps, and it took only a moment for Zoe’s ankles to be made as secure as her wrists and waist, as the naked girl stared at her, jaw still lowered but with no sound coming out besides her rapid, panting breath. Then the nurse turned back and patted Zoe’s thigh. “Good girl. I can’t imagine Bradley will do more than put you over his knee for a little while.”
Zoe whimpered, and then the whimper became a tiny sob, because her hips had positively jerked against the restraining strap. Bradley, surprising himself a bit, had an urgent thought, even as he gave his hard cock another stroke through his pants.
Yes, Zo. You’re going to be over my knee tonight for a little while.
He picked up his handheld as the nurse sat down again on her stool, and to Bradley’s surprise pointed her own handheld straight at Zoe’s pussy. Zoe craned her head up, trying to see what the older woman meant to do.
“I’m going to make sure,” the nurse said to the intimate places of the bride’s beautiful body, “your husband has a thorough understanding of your needs.”
Suddenly the video feed on Bradley’s laptop changed to the view from the nurse’s handheld. He swallowed hard at the close-up view of Zoe’s virgin pussy and her cringing, wrinkly anus.
“Oh, no,” Zoe whispered.
Chapter Five
“Do you have an appointment to have this waxed?” asked Nurse Carter conversationally.
“Uh...” Zoe wanted desperately to say an actual word, any word. “Ah...” She almost got No out, then, but suddenly the idea that Nurse Carter had started to take pictures, or even to make a video, of her pussy and her tiny bottom-hole, seemed fully to take hold in her mind. Her body did that awful thing again, the helpless movement of her hips and her thighs, and—much, much worse—she felt herself clench, down there. Her No became the most shameful little mewing sound, because she knew the nurse must have seen her pussy move, in an unmistakable sign of...
Of what? the rational part of her brain demanded, clearly expecting the rest of her to cower before it. Zoe knew herself, despite not having the money for college, to be an intelligent, thoughtful girl. She had decided, rationally, not to sleep with Bradley before their wedding night. Now she would decide, rationally, to reject these strange feelings, to get through this exam, and to tell Bradley that she didn’t care what the nurse’s report said or how much money the state would give them—if he meant to insist on joining this program, he could find another girl, a girl who would go... over... his...
Her face went hot as the sun as it happened again, as her pussy contracted again at the image of herself going over her husband’s knee. Her face to the floor, her bottom raised and bared to receive the justice of his firm hand, as long and as hard as he decided she needed.
An unmistakable sign of...
Need. A real sob came from deep in her chest, now.
“Shh, honey,” said Nurse Carter, her voice very compassionate now. “It’s okay. You’re a healthy young woman, and your vagina is just getting you ready for your husband’s penis. If you don’t have an appointment for a wax, I can shave you right now, if you’d like. That would probably be the safest thing anyway, since girls who haven’t been waxed before sometimes flare up a little, and you wouldn’t want that.”
“B-but...” Zoe felt overwhelmed, now. She hadn’t even thought about... that. She supposed she knew that some girls bared themselves down there, but the way Nurse Carter talked about it made the embarrassment even worse. A girl might get a Brazilian, she had thought, in order to wear a certain bathing suit—the kind of bathing suit Zoe had never worn but had sometimes thought she might like to wear. The nurse, though, seemed to talk about waxing and shaving as if a bride would do it for some other reason, as if it were part of this traditional marriage program.
Together with her mortifying words about Zoe’s pussy, Nurse Carter’s notion of what was natural for the grooming of a young woman soon to have her wedding night made Zoe’s heart race and her wrists struggle against the awful restraints. The tension that arose in her muscles even from this slight effort, the consciousness of being restrained so that a nurse could take pictures of her virgin pussy, had a sudden, terrible effect on Zoe’s entire body that her mind instantly labeled volcanic. Her hips moved again, her pussy clenched again, and the need rocketed through her whole body. To her absolute horror, she felt a trickle of her personal, private wetness go down between her bottom-cheeks and touch the little ring there with its warm moisture.
“That thought arouses you quite a bit, doesn’t it, honey?”
“No!” Zoe said. “It... no... I’m, you know, I’m a...” Her brain searched desperately. “I’m a good girl.” That old, old phrase sounded both extremely lame and very inaccurate: she remembered leaning against the counter, putting her hand down there to rub. She remembered her hand between her thighs in bed at night, thinking of Bradley, of her wedding night, of what happened on a wedding night.
“I’m sure you are, Zoe,” said Nurse Carter, looking up from the stool but still holding the handheld right there. “But even good girls need ongoing discipline from their husbands.”
Zoe wailed, because the nurse’s words had made it happen again, and now she felt more arousal seeping from her. She took sharp breaths through her nose, and smelled it even more strongly. That made her close her eyes and wrinkle her forehead, and she found she couldn’t meet the nurse’s eyes anymore: she put her head back, feeling tears form in the corners of her eyes.
“Shh, honey,” the nurse said. “It’s okay. One of the best things about this program is that you’re going to get what you need without having to ask for it.”
“Oh, please,” Zoe said weakly, �
��I... I don’t.”
But Nurse Carter made no reply to this protest, and instead returned to the previous, just as shameful topic. “You didn’t say whether you have an appointment for a wax, but I’m guessing you don’t. I’m going to go ahead and shave you now, and if you do have an appointment maybe you can postpone it until after your honeymoon.”
Zoe opened her eyes, but she couldn’t find the courage to raise her head. “I...” she tried weakly, but listened to her voice trail off without effect as she gazed up at the fluorescent lights and acoustic tiles.
The nurse it seemed had no intention of ceasing the flow of her words, even as she rolled her stool to the desk and got something clunky out of a cabinet. Only a moment later, it seemed to Zoe, the motor of an electric clipper started up with an angry buzzing noise.
“Your husband will probably want your vulva and anal area waxed once a month, if not every two weeks, when he gets a chance to see what a good aesthetician can do. The program has a special subsidy for that.”
Zoe finally did manage to raise her head to look down her bound, naked body at this piece of information.
“What? I mean... why? For waxing?”
Nurse Carter looked up at her briefly, then returned her attention to Zoe’s pussy as she began to answer. Zoe noticed that at least the nurse had put down her handheld on the little desk. The thought of Bradley seeing the pictures from it, though, of him looking at them on his phone or his laptop, came to her just at the same moment two other things happening: the nurse began to speak and the buzzing clippers made contact with Zoe’s body, just at the top of the little mound above the furry cleft of her pussy.
“Yes, for wax—” Nurse Carter said, but Zoe’s body interrupted her words. This movement of her hips, this shudder through her whole body, and this moan from her chest affected her limbs so urgently that despite the webbing holding her down, the nurse had to pull the clipper away as if to keep it from cutting the most tender area of a young bride’s body.