by Emily Tilton
Bradley slowly stepped back from her, then, making sure as he did so that she could kneel up, on her own, her face bright red as she understood that he meant to watch her pleasure herself while he kept doing the same. She bit her lip and looked into his eyes, and he pointedly dropped his gaze to the lascivious sight of her two fingers frantically rubbing the shaven hood of her sweet clit, so that she whimpered and worked herself faster.
He looked up again, into her eyes.
“Look at my cock, now, girl,” he said, watching her eyes go wide at the word girl, always so innocuous before but now so degrading. “You will look in my eyes only if I give you permission.”
Zoe made a little mewing sound and obeyed.
“Say, yes, sir,” Bradley told her gently.
“Yes, sir,” the girl with her jeans and panties around her knees, submissively on the floor before her future husband, whispered. Her eyes had gone very round as she watched him jerk his cock in his hand, enjoying the spectacle of a lovely young woman made to show her self-pleasure to the man who meant to fuck her.
“I don’t think masturbation has been a big part of your life so far. Am I right?”
Zoe’s cheeks got even pinker, and her fingers seemed to move faster. She shook her head.
“That’s going to change.” Her brow furrowed and she looked up at him, then down again immediately when she realized she had broken the rules. Something in her eyes had given him a sudden suspicion however.
“Maybe it already changed, though?” he asked gently. “Since your medical exam? Did you play with yourself when you got home from the clinic? In the shower, maybe?”
The crease in Zoe’s forehead seemed like a canyon now. Her hips worked in shameful little jerks, as if she couldn’t touch enough of herself with her fingers and her pussy wanted more, had to have more. She darted her eyes up to his and nodded quickly. “Oh, God...” she whispered. “I’m going to... I’m...”
“Take that hand away,” Bradley said sternly. Zoe jerked her right hand from her lap as if it had received an electric shock, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“You played with yourself in the shower this afternoon?” he asked, nodding and speaking gently, in sympathy, even as he pumped his cock in his hand and watched Zoe’s eyes travel in a desperate sort of path from his hard penis to his face.
“Yes, sir,” she murmured.
“Did you come?”
She shook her head, eyes widening as if in hope that this avowal would win her some forgiveness for her lewd act of self-pleasure.
“No, sir. That... over your knee... it never happened before.”
“Good girl,” he said. “You saved your first orgasm for me. That’s very submissive and obedient.”
At these words of humiliating praise, Zoe gave a little whimper, and Bradley saw her right hand move toward her hips, then watched her stop it, even as he noticed her left hand, behind her, squeezing and even—he thought—pressing her middle finger more firmly against her virgin anus.
“From now on, though, you may not touch yourself down there without permission—and of course when I tell you to play with your little pussy and your sweet asshole, to get them ready for me, you will do it immediately and without question.”
“Oh, God,” Zoe moaned, her eyes fixed on Bradley’s cock and her right hand fluttering back and forth like a little bird. “Please? I... I...”
Bradley felt his own eyes widen a bit. He had an inkling of what Zoe wanted to say—and didn’t want to say at the same time. He knew exactly what to do and what to say, just as Davies had assured him he would. The sheer marvel of how well his dark desires and his bride-to-be’s fit together seemed to fill his chest with buoyant air.
“Yes, babe,” he said, almost unconsciously making his tone match the one Nurse Carter had used with Zoe at the clinic. “I know you need it. You’re going to stand up, now, and pull up your panties, but you’re going to take your bra and your jeans off. Then you’re going to go into the bedroom and bend over my bed with your bottom toward the door.”
Her jaw slack, Zoe looked at him, clearly poised on the edge between compliance and protest. As he looked into her eyes, Bradley thought he could even detect how the struggle made her sexual response to his mastery even stronger—how the thought of being made to do such a shameful thing, being made to prepare for her own defloration in the terribly degrading way specified by her future husband, increased the ache between her thighs and made her submission feel as inevitable as it felt troubling.
“But...” she said, her voice trailing off into a swallow, and then into pink-cheeked silence.
Bradley gave her ten heartbeats to contemplate what would happen if she failed to obey him, to rub her bottom and remember her spanking. Then, slowly and deliberately, he stepped forward, and stooped down even as Zoe quailed back a little, chest heaving, and took her underneath the arms to lift her to her feet.
“Oh,” she said very quietly, and he realized that she probably had never realized just how strong he was, from his twice-weekly lifting, had never known that if he wanted he could dominate her utterly with his body. Her face crumpled into a mask of helpless arousal as he stood her up, and then reached behind her to unhook the lacy bra with a practiced motion of his right hand. At the same time, with the fingers of the other hand he took her right nipple into his grasp, and squeezed it just hard enough that Zoe’s eyes widened and she gave a little cry, half of need and half of alarm.
He dropped the bra to the floor and bent his head down. His right hand cradled the back of her dark golden head, fingers twined in the thick tresses, and he kissed her deeply, opening her mouth with his lips and feeling her melt against him as he mastered her that way.
“Oh, God,” she breathed up into his mouth, when he withdrew it, to kiss her neck, her jaw, her cheek. “Oh, God... sir... I...”
He reached down, bending a little and kissing her left nipple, flicking his tongue against it so that Zoe cried out, then kissing her hip as he stripped the jeans to her feet. Zoe stepped out of them the way a little girl might, kicking them off her feet eagerly despite her hesitation of only a moment before. Bradley took the waistband of the sexy white panties and drew them up, and Zoe shivered, as if at the feeling of the lace traveling up in what was at once the right direction and the wrong one.
Bradley’s cock leaped at the wonderful feeling of putting his bride-to-be’s panties in place, for the purpose of sending her to his bed for her first fucking. She gave a little whimper as she sensed the intent in his hands—felt him decline simply to pull the panties up, but rather let his hands linger on the shaven places they covered so very scantily, holding her fore and aft, his big hands encompassing the most intimate places on Zoe’s sweet young body and boldly grasping her there to teach her how thoroughly he meant to possess her, tonight and forever.
Two fingers in front worked their way inside the narrow lace that he had just drawn up, telling her wordlessly, as he kept kissing her clavicle, her neck, her sweet pink nipple, that her husband would decide what to do about her underwear, sexy or chaste, up or down. Bradley might let her wear panties, or tell her to go without them; might take them down for discipline or pull them up and then disregard their covering to probe inside her pretty, bare pussy and discover her needy wetness.
“Oh... please...” she breathed.
He worked all four fingers of his other hand under the back of the thong, now, so that he could hold her between her bottom-cheeks and between her thighs at the same time, his hands making a saddle that Zoe couldn’t keep herself from riding, moaning, as if he had put her in some lewd kind of equestrian training.
“Are you ready for fucking, Zo?” he whispered in her ear, suddenly stopping her in the bouncing, swaying motion that rubbed her soaking pussy against his possessing hands.
Zoe’s chin dropped, her hair falling around her pink cheeks. She had closed her eyes as if she couldn’t bear to look at the shameful thing her bridegroom had made her do. “Yes, sir.
”
Chapter Eleven
Bradley took his hands away, pulled them out of her lacy panties, and Zoe couldn’t keep herself from whimpering at the loss of the terrible pleasure he had forced upon her naughtiest places. She looked up at him with her lip caught between her teeth for a moment, the hot blush pulsing in her cheeks. Naked, his chest seemed so deep, his arms so strong that Zoe’s knees almost gave out under her, her body quivering at the memory of how he had just lifted her to her feet as if she weighed no more than a hummingbird’s feather.
How could she have gotten him for a boyfriend, let alone a fiancé? The handsome, brilliant stranger who had come into town to fight for the legal rights of those whom the corporations had left behind. Now, his clothes gone so that he could enforce on her the kind of traditional marriage it seemed he wanted, state program or no, his hard cock pointed at her as if to say that a girl who wanted a husband like Bradley Corvan had to do as he said, no matter how shamefully he had decided to take his pleasure.
His eyes gazed back at her seriously, and as she looked up at him they seemed to narrow slightly, and a small smile to appear on his lips. Hungry, Zoe thought, her heart beating faster and a little motion of her hips betraying how thoroughly Bradley had already put her under his command, put her into training as his submissive bride. He’s hungry for... for me. For fucking me.
Zoe couldn’t keep looking into his face, for fear she might faint from the roiling shame and the burning need. She dropped her chin and started toward his bedroom door, where the big bed with the dark green comforter waited. They had never fooled around there: Bradley had asked once, a few months before, if she wanted to go to the bedroom, and that had represented the moment when Zoe had put her resolution to save herself for marriage into effect. He had had his hand on her breast, she remembered, under her t-shirt, and she had felt her brow crease, and she had just given a little shake of her head, and he had never asked again—the perfect gentleman.
She had never been in his bedroom, had never been in a man’s bedroom at all. Now this perfect gentleman had discovered, with the help of awful Nurse Carter, the reason Zoe had felt she must save herself for marriage—the reason she had refused to name to herself until this very moment as her bare feet trod across the gray carpet that led to an open door beyond which she could see Bradley’s enormous bed.
Zoe Ralston had known, for a very long time, that she needed fucking much more than she should. She had known that if she went to Bradley Corvan’s bedroom she would need so much fucking she wouldn’t be able to get out of bed until she had begged him to master her utterly and completely—had begged him to do whatever he wanted with her body.
Anything. Shave her pussy. Spank her naughty backside for disobedience. Make her suck his hard cock. Fuck her in her lacy panties.
Take my bottom’s virginity on my wedding night.
More. Even more. Whatever he wants. Whatever he can dream up for me, to shame me and humiliate me and use me, as long as it makes his cock feel good.
For a moment, as she passed through the doorway into Bradley’s bedroom, her heart quailed at the idea that she would have to tell him all these degrading things. Each of them had come into her mind like fireworks of mortification, one sending its own shudder through her chest and making her move faster toward the bed, and now she faced the bed, at its foot. In her white panties, she stood at the edge of a man’s bed—a naked man who had told her she must bend over now and wait for him to come and fuck her.
She didn’t have to tell him, though, did she? She didn’t have to admit that inside an innocent Midwestern girl lurked a sex fiend. She just had to bend over, because if she didn’t do as her husband-to-be said she would find herself bent over a stool to get a paddling on her young bottom... one that she wouldn’t soon forget.
That thought made her bend over, and it made her hang her head, because she didn’t want a paddling. Did she? No, she definitely didn’t want Bradley to put her over one of his kitchen stools and take a leather paddle to her upraised cheeks, warm them to an unbearable heat before he took out his cock and made her thank him for the punishment, just like that, over the stool, the penis thrusting between her lips, getting bigger and harder until he decided the time had come to fuck the same place he had paddled.
Zoe let out a little whimper, and she took the soft comforter in her grasp. She rubbed the fabric, trying to find in its reality some means of pushing the fantasy down inside her again. Even as she felt the soft down inside the fabric, though, and the tiny prickles of the feathers, that wicked part of her moved helplessly and shamelessly, as if she knew that a virgin in lacy white bridal panties had only one purpose: pleasing the master whose feet Zoe heard coming toward her, making the floor beneath the carpet creak softly.
Big, strong, and naked. Zoe bit her lower lip as a tiny whine came from her nose. She turned her head over her shoulder to see Bradley standing there, pumping his cock in his hand as he looked at the girl he had told to bend over for fucking. His eyes were on her bottom, on the lacy thong, as he masturbated, kept his hardness hard for her.
Zoe’s mind flashed back to him telling her she wasn’t allowed to touch herself without permission, from now on. She would never have thought, before today, that a rule of that kind would pose a problem. Now she wondered whether she could ever work up the courage on a weekday morning, say, at the breakfast table, to ask her husband if she could please play with her naughty pussy later that day.
But thinking about what he had done to her tonight, how he had spanked her over his knee, holding her in place with his powerful arms... how he had pulled down her jeans and panties... how he had made her kneel and take a penis in her mouth... how he had stood looking at her punished bottom, offered over the side of his bed... Zoe knew that she would need to touch herself, down there, on a day when they had gotten up too late, say, for him to fuck her before he left for work.
Her cheeks went terribly hot at the thought of what would happen if he should catch her. He would paddle her for that, wouldn’t he? If he found her naked in the kitchen, leaning against the counter the way Zoe had done just that morning but with no clothes on at all because she needed it so bad, her fingers working her little clit desperately... he would march her to the stool and bend her over it, get the paddle, and Zoe would scream as in place of wicked pleasure her husband taught her a terrible lesson in her wifely duty.
Her lips had parted as this irresistible, mortifying fantasy had flashed through her mind, just at the sight of Bradley holding his erection in his hand and enjoying his look at his bride in her sexy panties. Her breath had begun to come in short gasps.
His eyes returned to her face, and he smiled.
“You look so sexy, Zoe,” he said very softly,
That made a whimper come from deep in her throat.
He took another step, so that he stood right behind her. Zoe shuddered, and a part of her almost resisted, almost decided to straighten up and to run away, because of how it felt to have him so utterly in control—so dominant over her that he could tell her she must not move, must present her pussy and bottom just as he chose, while he exercised every freedom... while he decided when to bring his hard cock near, when to put his hands on her hips, her thighs... when to step even closer and lay his penis between her bottom-cheeks, over the lacy strip that ran so naughtily between them and left them so bare for a husband to fondle as he chose.
She craned her head to keep looking at him, but Bradley reached out casually with his right hand, turned her head firmly toward the other end of the bed, and held it that way. She looked at the pillows against the metal headboard while he moved his hardness between the round little apples he had spanked, as if he enjoyed their warmth and the friction they gave.
It felt so shameful that Zoe had to close her eyes and hang her head, but the next thing was more shameful still. Continuing to hold her tight against him with his left hand, Bradley moved his right from her head to her waist, and ran his fingers underneath
the back of the thong, to pull it out from the valley between her cheeks and tug it over the right one. Now his cock moved against her most private places, shaved for him that morning by the nurse who had known much too much about Zoe’s needs.
She moaned as she felt the shaft moving there, as she understood that he had meant it—he would deflower her while she still wore her sexy panties, as if to teach her that his pleasure would accept no constraint.
“So smooth, Zo,” Bradley murmured, as Zoe felt the head of his cock move downward, and between her legs, to rub against the secret lips and against the folds that hid her aching clit. “So smooth and fresh for me.”
She gave a cry of protest, of need, and of shame. Her bottom bucked against his lap, and she knew he would understand exactly what that bodily reflex meant: her pussy needed fucking so very badly. Zoe Ralston had meant to save her virginity for marriage. She had almost made it, but her husband-to-be had learned the shameful truth: Zoe Ralston needed immediate fucking. She should have had it months ago, and would have had it, but her fiancé had had too much respect for her wishes, and he had not understood that she belonged over his knee, or over a spanking stool, for an adjustment to her attitude, before she received his hard cock between her thighs, in her mouth, and in her bottom-hole.
The head of his penis moved back a little, pressed in at the place where Nurse Carter had spread Zoe open to check on her hymen and to pronounce her ready for the marriage bed. Now her bridegroom had bent her over that bed, before they were married. He had decided not to wait. He wanted a fuck, tonight, after disciplining her for the first time.
She tensed and drew a sharp breath, as she felt him come up against the barrier.
“You’re so wet, babe,” Bradley said, stroking her hip with the fingers of his left hand. “Look at me.”
Zoe’s eyes went wide, and she almost pleaded not to have to meet his eyes, but she craned her neck so that she could just see his serious, loving face, the hard jaw with its shadow of stubble.