by Emily Tilton
She felt his right hand leave the panties stretched over her bottom, no defense now against a bridegroom’s wicked desires, and take hold of her right hip, so that she felt herself pinned upon his hard cock. She knew he would take her virginity now, right now... that she could not get away, and she would be a woman in a few seconds—a woman with a penis inside her, a woman having her first fucking.
“I’m taking you this way, for our first time,” he said gently, despite the shameful words, “because we both need this kind of traditional marriage, don’t we?”
Part of Zoe tried to rebel, almost struggled against his restraining hands, almost protested that no, she didn’t want this kind of sex where the bride had to look at the headboard while she had her husband thrusting hard behind her, using her for his enjoyment. The rest of her had melted into Bradley almost entirely, though, her heart full of love for the way he could give her what she needed without her asking.
“Yes, sir,” Zoe whispered, and turned her face to the pillows, feeling her forehead crease and her cheeks go hot as she bent her back a little to push her bottom against his lap, yielding her bare, virgin pussy to her bridegroom’s hardness.
Chapter Twelve
Bradley could hardly have described how heavenly it felt to have Zoe move that way, to have her welcome his cock inside her despite her evident fear and her even more evident shame. She gave another gasp as if she felt his hardness press in the place she needed it most, but also found the most alarming.
He held her hips firmly in his big hands, and he let his body do as it could hardly help doing: with his feet to either side of Zoe’s and his knees bent to straddle her backside so that he could ride her for his pleasure, he thrust hard inside the bare, wet pussy of his bride-to-be. He held her to him though her own reflexes made her try to twist away from her defloration, and he felt the velvet grip of her tight young vagina begin to yield to the pleasure she had denied him for so many months. Zoe struggled and cried out, but Bradley held his place, and drove his hard cock inward until her little bottom rested thrillingly against his lap, and he could hold her on the penis with one hand while with the other he stroked her back gently, the way he might stroke an obedient pet.
“Oh...” she sobbed. “Oh, it hurts. Sir... Bradley. It hurts...” She twisted around to look at him, one blue eye visible and one red cheek. Her eyes seemed full not of pain so much as pride that despite the discomfort she had taken the cock like a good wife does when her husband says she must, even with her lacy white panties still on.
“I know, Zoe,” he murmured. “Shh. I’m going to start fucking, now. It’s going to hurt at first, but that will get better.” He put out the hand that was stroking her back and turned her face away again. He didn’t want to know why exactly he found that so hot, but the casual dominance of the gesture made Zoe whimper with submissive arousal and made his cock jerk inside her. She responded with a little cry, and a squirming movement of her hips on his that brought such pleasure to his rigid shaft that he had to thrust back and begin his rhythm.
“Oh,” Zoe said as Bradley fucked her in a slow cadence, pulling out only an inch or two and then gently thrusting back inside. “Oh... it... oh, no... I... it still hurts, but...”
Her head went back, and her whole body went rigid. Inside, Bradley felt his cock gripped so tightly by her sweet pussy that he grunted with pleasure and began to fuck harder. He looked down to see his bloodstained erection flashing in and out of her shaven pussy, her pretty white panties pulled across her bottom-cheek to let him take his pleasure. Zoe screamed as she felt him thrust with real mastery, a sound of ecstasy and pain mingled into bridal submission, as she had her first climax from a hard penis inside her.
To his delighted surprise, she went on having orgasms as her husband-to-be pounded her backside with his hips, teaching her to take the cock like a good girl. He felt his own climax building in his balls, and he suddenly knew exactly how he wanted to have it. He pulled his hardness from her, the evidence of her defloration so clearly visible on the shaft that his dominant blood sang in his veins at the thought of having claimed her for his pleasure.
Zoe turned with wide eyes, and opened them still further when she saw his cock, but Bradley left her in no doubt: he reached out, picked her up, and laid her on the bed, on her back, with her bottom just at the edge of the bed. He put his hands under her knees, and saw her lips part in surprise, but also in clear arousal, as he spread her wide, her feet in the air and her legs bent all the way back. He brought his cock to the entrance of her pussy, pulling the lacy panties aside to give him access to her no-longer-virgin slit.
Zoe’s eyes traveled downward from his face, and she said, “Oh. Oh, no. I can... I can see it.”
Bradley smiled, realizing that she had probably never seen her pussy so clearly, let alone with her sexy panties pulled aside and a cock about to fuck her. He saw her take in the remnants of her maiden blood, on her private lips and on his hardness. He heard a little whimper in her throat, and then, gazing at her face and loving how shamefully captivated she was by the lewd spectacle down below, he thrust deep inside her.
Zoe cried out, and then kept crying out because Bradley couldn’t help fucking her hard from the start in this ultra-sexy position. He held her in place and thrust inside, his cock sending waves of pleasure through his whole body as she struggled against him as if to enjoy the feeling of being held down.
“I’m going to come inside you, Zoe,” he said, still fucking her just as hard. “The nurse put in an IUD, didn’t she? So you can have as much fucking as you need?”
Zoe’s face crumpled into a mask of helpless arousal as she nodded.
The thought seemed to send both of them over the edge into a lake, or a waterfall, or an ocean of liquid pleasure. He watched Zoe come, and felt her buck underneath him with the force of what he thought must be her biggest orgasm yet. He felt his seed almost boil inside him, and his whole body seemed to go rigid as he shot jet after jet of semen inside the pussy so well prepared for his enjoyment.
He lay on the bed next to her, turning her and putting her over him so that he could stay inside her as the aftershocks of their climaxes went through their joined bodies.
“I love you, Zoe,” he said softly, pulling her down for a kiss.
She winced a little. “I love you too, Bradley Corvan.” She bit her lip, then whispered, “Sir.”
He let her go to the bathroom, then, to clean herself up. After she emerged, now completely naked, to be enfolded for a long moment in his arms and to be kissed all over until she giggled, he went to wash himself.
When he came out, naked himself, he found Zoe in the kitchen, starting to cook the sauce, still without a stitch of clothing. Bradley couldn’t help stopping to admire the lascivious sight of his bride-to-be cooking in the nude, but as she tentatively poured olive oil into a sauté pan over a lit burner, he winced.
Zoe’s concentration, divided between the pan and the back of the can of tomatoes she had opened while he had been in the bathroom, kept her from noticing him coming up behind her with the white apron he’d grabbed from its hook. She turned with a look of alarm in her eyes as he started to drop it over her head, as if worried that he might have found something wanting in her inexpert culinary skills and decided to punish her. When she understood what he was doing, though, and saw the affectionate look on his face, the worry turned to a radiant smile, with a hint almost of mischief in it.
“I’m learning!” she exclaimed. “Look!”
Bradley did look, and he turned the heat down just before he kissed her. “Good girl,” he said, and then kissed her again in front of the stove. Then, unable to help himself, he pulled her away a little and held her close for a moment, her chin against his chest, before he turned her around to tie the strings on the apron.
The view the apron gave him of her sweet bare bottom framed by the fabric and the strings made his cock start to swell again. He put his hand on her backside, down low, cupping her pert li
ttle cheeks possessively, and Zoe turned her head over her shoulder with wide eyes. This time she saw his more serious face, and her lips parted as if with a plea for mercy, though she had of course done nothing wrong—had done the opposite, rather, in starting to cook and beginning to obey the command she had resisted, and thus earned her first session over his knee.
Bradley kept his hand where it was, and said softly but solemnly, “Mine.” He spoke without premeditation, but as soon as the word left his mouth he remembered the last thing Davies had told him: If I had to put the essence of traditional marriage, as we’re promoting it in this program, into a single idea, as old-fashioned as it sounds it would be that Zoe belongs to you, and you will decide what to do with what is yours.
She bit her lip, her brow furrowing and her cheeks going pink.
“Yes, sir,” she said softly, and she moved her hips just a little, pushing her bottom into his hand.
Bradley turned her around again, keeping his hand there, reminding her, as he kissed her lips very deeply, what he had told her about their wedding night. He worked his middle finger between her little cheeks, to touch her virgin anus and make her whimper up into his mouth at the promise of her final defloration.
“Alright,” he said, when he had broken the kiss, “do you want my help with dinner?”
“Nope,” Zoe said. “I think I’ve got it. But... will you watch and make sure I’m doing it right?”
“Watch you cook for me, naked except for an apron?” Bradley asked, reluctantly surrendering his grip on her bottom and stepping back. “I can do that.”
He ended up helping with the browning of the beef, just to help Zoe figure out when it had cooked enough to add the tomatoes. He stood behind her, with his cock hard again against her bare bottom, and put his arms around her to take the spoon from time to time. Part of him wanted to stop the cooking indefinitely, so he could bend Zoe over a stool and have her pussy again, but he settled for conversation for the moment, a little smug in the fact that every time his lovely fiancée turned around, her eyes went from his face straight to the cock that had taken her virginity just a few minutes before. Each time she took it in, she bit her lip and wrinkled her forehead, as if her wanton need for fucking, though now known to both of them, still troubled her.
Smiling, he relented at last and—partly out of fear of getting some burning hot sauce or pasta where he would least want it—went to the bedroom to put on some jeans. When he returned, he told Zoe about the developments in the Selecta case, as she kept the sauce simmering and stirred the spaghetti.
“It looks like they’re out of options. We’re going to go to trial in two weeks unless they come through with a better settlement offer at the last minute.”
Zoe moved the wooden spoon gently through the thick red sauce. “And you’ll win the trial, you think?”
“Yes,” Bradley said. “There’s not much doubt about that. And the damages will be big, but the case is going to go on for years—that’s the problem, and in the meantime...”
Zoe poured the spaghetti, a little awkwardly, into the colander, steam wreathing her face and making her seem to glow a bit when she turned back to him with troubled eyes.
“In the meantime the refinery closes?”
Bradley felt his eyes widen a little. He hadn’t known she had put that together. It wasn’t inevitable that Selecta would, through its subsidiary, close down the refinery, and he hadn’t wanted to worry her because he had felt so certain they would get a settlement to keep it open.
He nodded. “Yeah, probably.”
She responded with a nod of her own. “But this is justice. We can’t let them get away with making people sick.”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling widely at her use of we.
Chapter Thirteen
The day of the rehearsal and the rehearsal dinner passed in a flash, and the rehearsal itself seemed to go by in the blink of an eye. The wedding party was a small one—the wedding itself had a very limited budget given the difficult times all over. Zoe’s parents hadn’t wanted to let Bradley pay for a thing, and really she knew he had stretched his means to make sure they could have a three-night honeymoon at an inexpensive Caribbean resort. So the rehearsal, too, felt intimate, with Bradley’s handsome blond stepbrother John and his best friend Tony to stand up on his side, and Cindy and Kim, her closest friends, on Zoe’s.
Zoe had dreamt of a big wedding in a big church, of course, as a girl, but she hadn’t really minded scaling those dreams back. Her dad hugged her once the brief rehearsal at the tiny church had finished, and said, “I wish we could have made it fancier for you, Zoe—especially since you’re so sweet about it all.”
“Don’t worry, Dad,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I have my guy, and that’s all that matters.”
She hugged him, glad he couldn’t see the pinkness in her cheeks as she thought of Bradley, standing talking to his best man and his lone usher near the altar rail. Zoe had felt sore, between her thighs, most of the day, and it meant that every step reminded her of the night before, and of how her life had changed because of the state’s traditional marriage program.
Subsidized housing! her brain tried to shout at her, in hope of drowning out the other, hot-blush-making parts of the program.
Her dad moved away to talk to the preacher, and Zoe stood by herself for a moment, just looking at Bradley and thinking about the way he had already claimed her as his bride, before they had the preacher’s seal on it. How he had decided she would become a woman last night, and how he had punished her for disobedience. How he had told her that she must not touch herself, must not put her hand to the place where he had opened her for his pleasure, or he would have to bare her bottom for discipline.
He stood in a ray of slanting light from the sinking sun that came in through a stained glass window, blue and red. Tall and broad-chested, he had to bend a little to talk to Tony Stallini, black-haired and built a little like a fireplug. John rose in the middle, lanky and smiling. Zoe felt her brow furrow, for her thoughts—already not suited, according to her ideas of what kind of thing belonged where, for church—had suddenly become a good deal more wayward.
As she looked at the little group, Bradley turned his attention from the conversation to look at her with a warm smile. Zoe tried to return it, but she bit her lip as the vision that had seemed to fill both her mind and her body a moment before returned to her: Bradley, John, and Tony. What might her husband do, what might he say to his friends, about... about traditional marriage, and what might happen then?
Zoe looked around at everyone, forcing a smile onto her face—the sort of smile a girl puts on when she feels the call of nature—and then she turned and walked quietly out of the sanctuary to the tiny bathroom she knew so well from years and years of Sunday mornings. She closed the door and pressed the button lock, terribly distracted.
I just need a moment, she told herself. To compose myself.
She regarded her reflection in the mirror. She still held the practice bouquet made of the paper plate and the ribbons from her shower last week, made by Cindy. She put it on the counter, trying to look at it and to make herself count the ribbons, but she couldn’t seem to see it. And her eyes went back to the bride in the mirror, in her best blue dress.
Best, except for my wedding gown. The one Bradley’s going to order me out of, so that he can make me his in the traditional way that’s also not traditional at all.
She tried to tell herself that she would actually get out of her dress in the little library at the historical society, where the reception would take place: an old Victorian house whose rates weren’t much more expensive than the church parish hall. Cindy and Kim would help her. She would get into her going away dress—this same blue dress, actually, if she could manage not to spill on it tonight.
She and Bradley would get into Bradley’s car, and drive to the hotel in the city. There, he would...
Zoe couldn’t help it: she turned around, so that she could look b
ack over her shoulder at herself. She put her hand behind her, over the fitted blue rayon that covered her bottom.
My ass. He wants my ass, on our wedding night. He’s going to have my ass, because that’s what he decided, and he doesn’t care that I’ve never had a penis in it before—no, that’s why he wants me there. So he can open me, for his pleasure.
She pulled up the dress, because she had to see. She had on regular black bikini panties, but they shaped her pert bottom-cheeks tightly enough that she felt sexy and naughty, just looking at them and thinking of what her bridegroom intended.
In front, as Zoe shifted her weight, unable to keep herself from wiggling her ass a little, just to see what Bradley saw, the ache returned so strongly that she whimpered. The shameful thought that had made her leave the church and come here to compose herself returned with so much force it made her hips jerk and, much worse, made her clench in her panties.
My ass: what if Bradley decided that his friends should... should share my ass with him. What if he told them about me? About how I need cock in me... cocks in me...
Her hips jerked again, and she felt the soreness from her defloration, and from what had happened after dinner, when she had started to do the dishes, and Bradley had come up behind her. She had still only been wearing the apron, for Bradley had said she must have dinner in it, sitting on a towel at the table.
Doing the dishes, letting the water run, she had pushed up against the counter a little, because even though it felt sore, she still couldn’t help it: just the thought of what Bradley had done, of how he had mastered her with his firm hand and his hard cock, made her press the front of the apron against the edge of the granite a little bit.
Zoe needed to see, now in the church bathroom, what Bradley had seen when she did the dishes: a bride’s bare bottom as she leaned over. She pulled down her panties with her left hand as she held her dress up with her right. She bit her lip at the sight of her little bottom, displayed in the mirror as Bradley and his groomsmen might see it, should he decide they should have a good look at the bride’s attractions.