by Emily Tilton
Stupid. She had managed, through her defiance in taking off the lacy lingerie, which she noticed now still lay on the floor, to find a way to make herself feel ten times more naked than she had ever felt before. And Eric would make her do something with the lingerie, too, wouldn’t he? Shouldn’t she preempt him? See if she could lighten her punishment a little by showing she understood she would have to put the thong and the suspender belt and the lacy bra and the stockings back on, because he had promised she would wear it when the time finally came for… for bed?
She picked up the clothes and started to fold them. Looking down at the jeans in her hands, she said in a voice that sounded pitiful to her ears and would, she hoped, sound the same to Eric’s, “Sir? Should I pick up the… I mean, my… my… lingerie, too?” Lily swallowed hard and risked a look at her bridegroom.
He smiled and nodded. “Yes, honey. Why don’t you put it on top of the dresser, so you can get back into it after your whipping?”
“Yes, sir,” Lily said quietly.
Chapter Thirteen
Eric’s blood seemed to sing in his veins as he watched his naked bride obediently putting her wedding lingerie where he had told her to put it.
“Lay two pillows across the bed, honey, one on top of the other,” he said, making his voice very gentle now that Lily had decided to accept her punishment. “Then lie over them, with the pillows under your hips to raise your bottom. Put your hands in front of your face, and get on your elbows. If you put your hands back to try to cover your bottom, you’ll get extra from the belt.”
She had moved to follow his instruction about the pillows, but now she looked over her shoulder again, her mouth turned down in a perfect little pout that made Eric want to kiss her. He knew that he needed to be firm with her at this point, though.
“Do as I’ve said, Lily. Over the pillows. Bottom nice and high. It’s time for your whipping.”
She turned back to the bed, hesitated one last moment, then clambered up and wriggled herself into position. Eric unbuckled his belt and pulled it off. At the sound of the buckle, Lily turned to look back again.
“Eyes down, honey,” Eric said in a stern voice. “If there’s something I want you to see, I’ll let you know.”
Lily’s eyes went wide, and she turned her face back to the comforter. Eric noticed with a leap of his cock that he could see her bare little pussy peeping from between her thighs. He remembered how Serena had sometimes tried to distract him—and maybe herself—from her punishments by seeking to make them a sexual thing. “Close those knees, Lily,” he said firmly, but without severity, because he didn’t know whether Lily even understood that a whipping could have its erotic side. “I’ll see to your pussy soon enough.”
She let out a little gasping sob and obeyed him. Eric felt a pang of regret at losing the sight of the adorable pink secrets prepared so meticulously for him by Rebecca Smith, but he reveled in the knowledge that he had the authority to disclose them when he wished.
Eric doubled his belt and wound it around his fist, the silver buckle in his hand. He looked down at his sweet, lovely girl and relished the sight of her yielding the creamy roundness of her bottom up to him for discipline this way.
He tapped the belt across both her cheeks, and Lily gave a little whimper in response.
“You’re going to have a hard time keeping still, honey,” he said, again more gently. “That’s alright. It’s your first whipping and your first marital punishment. Remember that if the belt hits anywhere but your backside, though, it doesn’t count toward your penalty.”
“My penalty?” Lily whispered, clearly alarmed at this new element.
“I’m going to give you twenty hard licks,” Eric said. Then he raised his arm and brought it down again sharply. “One,” he said as Lily yelped in pain.
He whipped her quickly and steadily, counting each time he brought the belt down and heard the crack of it on his young wife’s bottom. He didn’t let up at all when she began to cry out and writhe over the pillows. Four or five of the licks landed on her hips, as she turned them up in an attempt to escape from the fiery lash of the thick black leather. When that happened, he waited for her, sobbing, to get back into position, and then he recounted the number of the licks that had landed astray. The glimpses Eric got of her waxed pussy distracted him of course, at these moments, but he always made sure Lily’s legs were closed before he started in again.
Pretty red curlicues had blossomed all over her bottom cheeks and the tops of her thighs by the time he counted “Twenty.” Lily had stayed in place, her face buried in her hands, for the last five. Her bottom clenched and unclenched in helpless little spasms, but the rest of her remained still.
Gently he helped her sit up, pushing the pillows over which she had lain back to the head of the bed. He took her into his arms, and then into his lap, setting her on her hip over his thighs to keep her well-disciplined bottom comfortable. Lily struggled a little at first, with ambiguous motions that Eric thought he could tell from their half-heartedness were meant only to be symbolic of her lingering resentment at having become a wife subject to her husband’s belt when she misbehaved. He could certainly tell that a good deal more of Lily—the part that put her face against his crisp white uniform shirt and cried like a little girl—had begun to understand that to be a disciplined wife represented the fulfillment of needs she had never admitted she had.
“Good girl,” Eric said softly. “Shh. You took your whipping very well.”
In a sobbing little voice, she asked, “Is that the worst?”
Eric stroked her hair, puzzled. “What do you mean, honey?”
Lily clung to him deliciously, without answering for a moment. His cock began to swell under her bottom, but he knew how important it was to cuddle his bride like this for as long as she needed, before they proceeded to the real business of a wedding night.
“I mean… I mean, if I do something… you know, even worse…”
Eric thought he grasped the question she had asked, now. “Well, I can imagine that someday I’ll have to give you more than twenty licks.”
“How many?” Lily asked. Did he hear a strange, almost morbid, eagerness in her voice?
“Fifty,” Eric said. He had once had to give Serena fifty, when she had gotten into trouble for spreading a terrible false rumor about the neighbors.
Lily shuddered. “But… but just the belt? Nothing else?”
He felt his brow furrow. He didn’t know what Lily meant on a conscious level, he supposed, but something inside him—something down below, he realized—responded instinctually now. “That depends on whether you can keep being a good girl for me, honey,” he said. He moved his right hand from her naked back to her punished bottom, and gave her a little squeeze there.
She started deliciously in his arms, and Eric felt his cock rise even higher. “Ow!” she exclaimed. To his surprise, her voice had in it a little-girl quality he had never heard from her before. He wanted to kiss her, but his instinct told him he should try to get to the bottom—literally—of what she had decided she needed to know about discipline in his household.
He looked down into her face, half-turned into his chest, where she had wet his shirt just a little with her tears, now mostly dry. “Wh-what if…” she mumbled, but went no further.
“What if what, honey?” He did kiss the top of her head, not minding the short hair very much at that moment though it tickled his nose.
The kiss seemed to embolden Lily a little. “What if I… forget? And I do something naughty again? Like if I can’t stop saying f—” She caught herself. “You know, bad words.”
“Well,” Eric said thoughtfully, “there are other punishments that husbands sometimes use with wives.”
“Like what?”
Her voice definitely now had an eager quality that Eric found rather bemusing. Serena had submitted happily to him, but she had never inquired as to what further disciplinary measures she might earn, should she fail to heed he
Instinct took over once again: with the hand on her bottom, which he had been stroking very gently in hopes of soothing the soreness a little as well as gratifying his cock’s demand that he not delay any longer in touching his virgin bride as intimately as might be appropriate, he began to explore the tender cleft between her cheeks.
“Oh!” Lily said, as his fingertips found the secret of her little ring. “What are you doing?”
Eric said nothing, but pressed against her there with the tip of his middle finger, with increasing firmness.
“Sir!” Lily said. “Oh, no.” Her little hands balled into fists in front of her perfect breasts.
“Some men discipline their wives by putting a plug here,” he said softly.
“A plug?” she whispered fearfully.
“Yes, honey. I’ve heard it can be quite effective in helping a girl remember that she belongs to her husband.” He pushed the finger in now, and, as Lily whimpered and clung even more tightly to him, he moved it in and out.
“Oh, no,” Lily repeated, even more softly.
“If I plugged you as a punishment,” Eric murmured. “I would use something much bigger than my finger. You would wear it for an hour before bedtime, and then…”
He let his voice trail off, still moving his finger in and out of her sweet little anus and loving the intoxicating effect it seemed to have on his young wife’s senses—and, as if by contact, on his own as well. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this aroused; perhaps he never had been. Having his beautiful, still very innocent virgin bride in his power, to take care of and to enjoy, suited Eric even better than he had supposed it might.
“Then what?”
But Eric thought he could see in the redness of her face that she knew.
“Then I would have you that way,” he said, unable to keep an urgent note from his voice as he thought about having Lily anally for the first time. Soon. He would be gentle the first time, but he intended to make sure she understood that regular anal sex would be a part of her life, now. “You would kneel, bend over, and spread these cheeks for me, and I would have you roughly, to teach you your lesson.”
Lily said nothing, but her breath seemed to come very raggedly now. With his right hand—with which he had taken such a lascivious liberty—he could feel the heat glowing in her pussy, and he sensed that something a little more severe even than he had already promised might be effective.
“And some men whip their wives’ pussies,” he said softly, shifting her on his lap and opening her thighs so he could touch her there for the first time, just cupping her pussy in his palm and pressing very gently on her clit with the heel of his hand.
Lily gave a panicky cry, as if she feared he would spank her pussy now.
“Shh, honey,” Eric said. “I’m not going to spank your pussy unless you’ve misbehaved terribly.” He rubbed gently with his fingers, and realized his virgin bride had become very, very wet down there; his fingers slid up and down easily with her arousal, making her whimper in a submissive way that seemed to go straight to Eric’s cock.
“You wouldn’t, would you? You wouldn’t whip me there?” Lily’s voice had become a pant, and her hips bucked atop his lap, as if she sought to rub her clit against his hand.
“I would, honey, if I had to,” he replied quietly.
“P-please… please don’t spank my pussy, sir,” she gasped, but Eric could tell that some part of Lily, strangely, meant the opposite, and he filed the knowledge away.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re my good girl now, and you accepted your whipping.” He moved his fingers to her clit and rubbed firmly there.
Lily responded with a little cry of joy, and then she turned her face fully to his chest, as if mortified by her arousal. As he continued to fondle her, she made more of the little cries, her hips moving all the while; she might hide her face all she liked, Eric thought, but her body told him how much she needed his dominant touch.
“It’s time to put your lingerie back on, honey,” Eric said then, taking his hand away, at which her joyful noises were replaced with a whimper of frustration. “Then you’ll have the corner time I promised. I want to see how pretty you are in your wedding underwear, with a whipped bottom.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lily couldn’t figure out why she didn’t feel angry at Eric for the way he had utterly defeated her. He had conquered her with his threat, then he had conquered her with his belt, and then he had conquered her with his hand. And the mode of his victory—the way he had turned her own body against her somehow—seemed to her the worst part.
But it also seemed to her the best part. How could it not? Wasn’t that the very thing Eric had done to her?
The asshole doctor had made her come, strapped down in his examination chair—what was the point of denying that it had felt good?—but he had not defeated her. He could never have defeated her, because Lily would always have the refuge of her independent mind, rebelling on the inside.
But Commander Eric Burton, by making clear his dominion over her with words and belt and hands, made Lily want him to touch her, and she didn’t understand it. She was a married woman. Lily Burton. Mrs. Burton. Her husband could whip her with his belt, and he could touch her between her legs. How could that be something she… liked?
Why had she needed—needed so very badly—to know what other punishments might be in store for her? Why had she kept asking until Eric told her that terrible thing, about how some men whip their wives between their legs?
Why had her husband’s finger inside her bottom made her want him to touch her pussy, and when he had touched her pussy, why had she moved her hips that way?
Why, when he’d told her to stand in the corner in that lacy lingerie so that he could see the bottom he had punished, with the red marks that took Lily’s breath away when she glimpsed them in the mirror now as she moved to obey him, had she hoped he would think she looked pretty?
She took the tiny panties from the dresser. She didn’t want to look at the mirror again, but she couldn’t help it: she saw again the bareness where she had once had a covering of curls, and the tender cleft that the ministration of Mrs. Smith’s wax had readied for the skimpy garment she must now put back on, because her husband wanted her pussy presented that way.
Lily pulled the panties up, blushing anew. Her face got even hotter when she realized how wet their narrow gusset would immediately become and how well the narrowness of the seat—if that strip of fabric could even be called a seat—would indeed display the work of her husband’s belt, the punishment she had earned through her bad language and her disobedience. And then she couldn’t keep herself from looking again in the mirror, to see what Eric would see, and stealing look after look as she donned again the lacy bra, the lacy suspender belt, and the stockings with their lacy tops; as she clipped the suspenders to the stockings over the waistband of the panties, wondering with another flash of heat in her face whether that would present an impediment to her husband’s removal of her underwear.
This is how my husband wants me to come to his bed, with my private places wrapped like a gift he intends to present to himself, to unwrap and to enjoy.
Her brow furrowed, and she bit her lip and hurried off into the corner without being told this time, if only so that she wouldn’t have to look in the mirror and see there the way her bridal lingerie showed so clearly her subjection to her husband, told so straightforward a tale of what would happen when he decided the time had come to deflower her.
“Put your hands behind your head, honey,” came his voice from a few feet in back of her. “Interlace your fingers—it’s more comfortable that way. When you have corner time, your body isn’t at your disposal. I’ve put it at mine.”
Lily breathed rapidly in and out of her nose in little puffs as she obeyed, feeling the way the posture didn’t just render her hands unavailable to cover herself but also lifted her breasts, as if she offered them, in their lacy bra, to the wall. To the wall, yes, but also to Eric, as he showed immediately, for without delay he came up behind her and reached around to fondle them, first holding them inside the bra, squeezing gently so that the lace rubbed deliciously but maddeningly against her nipples, then taking each breast out of the bra to play with those nipples between thumbs and middle fingers.
Then, keeping his left hand on her left breast, he moved his right to caress Lily’s bottom with it. She moaned at the mingling of soreness and heat down there.
“Your bottom looks adorable in your wedding panties, Lily,” he said softly into her ear. He held her tenderly there, rubbed gently with his fingertips. She moaned again, blushed as she realized that what she needed more than anything in the world in that moment was for Eric to push those fingertips further in, further down. Suddenly the shame of his finger moving in her anus seemed like nearly the most wonderful thing that could ever befall her—right behind what she knew now she truly needed: her husband’s hardness inside her, opening her and making her his forever.
Then, suddenly, she understood that her claiming lay much nearer than she had supposed. She felt that hardness against her bottom, and she realized that while she had been in the corner, Eric had swiftly undressed. Her bridegroom was naked, behind his bride.
“It almost makes me think every bride should have a whipping on her wedding night.” The hand on her breast left its spot, moved down gently but oh, so possessively across her tummy to the front of the little white panties, and the very idea of it, before the sensation had even reached her, made Lily give a whimpery moan.
Should every bride have a whipping on her wedding night? If she’s like me, she probably should, Lily couldn’t help thinking as her body seemed to explode with pleasure at Eric’s delicate touch on the lace that covered her shamefully bare pussy lips, her aching, erect clit. No little moan now, but a cry of passion and of submission.
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