by Emily Tilton
The panties had to come down further, so that Zoe could see what Bradley had seen, before he had pulled her away from the sink and led her to the stool in his kitchen. She tugged them down to mid-thigh, and bent a little further at the waist. Her left cheek, in the mirror, went pink at the sight of a bride being naughty in the church bathroom, but somehow the shame of her self-violated modesty made it even harder to stop.
Yes, she saw with another flash of heat, she could see her pussy lips, now. The bare little pout of her girlish slit peeped between her thighs. Bradley had seen it, when he had come up behind her and pressed his denim-covered lap against her, so that she could feel his renewed hardness through the fabric even as she shivered at the embrace of his strong arms.
Had he known Zoe had pressed her clit, covered though it was by the white apron, against his countertop? He hadn’t said anything about that, if he had noticed: he had just led her to the stool, and said, “Bend over it and hold the legs, Zo. Knees apart.”
That fucking in the apron, over the stool, accounted for most of the soreness Zoe felt now in the bathroom, she thought. She had cried out over and over, because Bradley had fucked hard, hands on the seat of the stool and hips pounding her little bottom as his cock pistoned in and out of her shaved pussy. He had showed no regard for her having recently been virginal there, but driven her onto the hard wood of the stool with the urgency of his enjoyment as Zoe cried out with every thrust.
She had thought she wouldn’t come, because the position seemed so humiliating and her pussy felt so sore, but then she had wondered if she would be paddled over this same stool, when she misbehaved, and whether the paddle could feel as much like a punishment as Bradley’s thrusts did. An orgasm had started to build in her core, then, more powerful than anything she had felt yet, so strong that it scared her. But it wouldn’t stop growing, because now the thought of the paddle had given way to the thought of the cock then in her pussy being driven into her little bottom-hole, to teach her the ultimate lesson of her traditional marriage.
Then she had started to come, and she hadn’t stopped until Bradley had climaxed himself, his hardness so deep inside her that it had taken her breath away.
Now she looked at the little cheeks that had attracted his attention, in the apron. Fascinated, she watched her left hand move up from where it had left the panties at mid-thigh, a useless tangle of black fabric. She watched her fingers travel slowly over the creamy flesh of her thigh, where the pink from her spanking had long since vanished.
If Bradley paddled her, though... that would leave a lasting reminder, wouldn’t it? Zoe cradled her left cheek gently. If her husband paddled her, she would have to look in the mirror every day to see the evidence of her lesson in obedience and respect: Bradley would stand there, wouldn’t he, and make her look, and speak to her about how she must work to please him in the traditional way. He would say that he had decided to share her, as a lesson in her wifely duty.
Her forehead creased as she watched her two middle fingers go where they mustn’t go. Not without permission. She thrust her bottom out further, pulled her dress up a little higher with her other hand.
Blond, lanky John. Black-haired Tony. What if Bradley invited them to see Zoe looking at her paddled bottom in the mirror? What if he told them that on Zoe’s wedding night she had to have the cock in her anus?
Zoe’s breath came in little pants. She couldn’t. Her fingers rubbed and her bottom squirmed. The soreness and ache had become sheer need, sheer pleasure on its way to satisfaction.
I can’t. Not... not here. Not now.
A tiny whine came from between her lips. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. It wouldn’t take long. She hadn’t been in here for longer than it would take to go to the bathroom and freshen up. It would only take a few seconds longer; her slippery fingers told her that.
A knock at the door sounded so close to her ear, thanks to the tininess of the bathroom, that she could do nothing but go completely rigid in alarm.
“Zoe?” said Bradley’s voice. “Are you alright? I’m coming in.”
Thank God the door is... Her eyes went to the knob, and she saw that she hadn’t pushed the button all the way in. At least the door would keep him from seeing, though, she thought with a tiny thrill of relief. The knob turned, the door opened, and she met Bradley’s wide eyes in the mirror, perfectly positioned to let him see precisely what his bride-to-be had done, and was doing: her back to the mirror, her dress up and her panties down, her hand between her thighs.
Bradley frowned. “I see you’re alright,” he said. “We’ll talk about this later, babe. You’re in a lot of trouble, as you know. Pull up your panties and come out of there. We need to get to dinner.”
Chapter Fourteen
Bradley had no inclination to take the incident very seriously, at first. The sight of Zoe being naughty in the church bathroom hadn’t truly displeased him, of course, by any means. He took it as the final confirmation that the traditional marriage program would work very well indeed for Mr. and Mrs. Bradley Corvan.
If Zoe needed to touch herself—and what could she be thinking about, while slipping her furtive fingers along the sweet pussy the nurse had bared for her bridegroom but the way he had mastered her body the night before and would master it on their wedding night?—all the better. Yes, he would have to follow through on the rule he had made for her, in line with the standard practice of couples in the state program, as Davies had described it. He would take her over his knee, once they had reached their hotel room. Frankly, he had kind of hoped he would have an excuse, because it seemed clear to him that a big part of the reason their first night of sex had gone so amazingly well was that it had started with a spanking.
He tried not to let his mind go there too often as the rehearsal dinner proceeded: he and Zoe were making precious memories together, now, with family and friends, and he didn’t want to lose any of the moment’s joy through thinking ahead too far. Sitting next to Zoe at the big table her folks had put out in their yard, though, the sunset reddened the cloudless sky into a spectacular shade that reminded him a good deal too much of the blush on his bride-to-be’s face when he had opened the bathroom door and found her in flagrante delicto.
In raging naughtiness, he translated the ancient phrase to himself as he watched her rise, a much lighter blush upon her cheeks now, to give her wonderful, sentimental speech to her parents. Her dress up, her sweet bottom to the mirror, her hand between her legs from behind.
Her face turned over her shoulder, to see. To look at her backside. Thinking about what? Surely about what he had promised would happen on their wedding night. Bradley’s cock swelled in his khakis.
“And... Bradley,” Zoe said, turning to him and bringing his attention back again to the present. He looked up into her blue eyes and smiled. The sun had gone almost fully below the hills on the horizon, and the twilight made it difficult to see for certain, but he thought her cheeks took on an extra bit of pink, now.
Is she thinking about the punishment she has coming? he wondered, having to shift slightly in his chair to ease the increasing hardness between his thighs.
“I never thought I could find someone who made my dreams come true without even leaving my hometown,” she said, very seriously despite the laughs she had drawn from the party just a moment before with a story about Cindy’s dog, Kim’s car, and the nearby stream.
“Not just yours,” Zoe’s mom said from three places down the table. That stream was part of the subject of the Selecta lawsuit, and although some of the folks in the town, and the surrounding area, had their misgivings about what would happen to the local economy if the megacorp didn’t settle, the Ralstons had never wavered in their faith in Bradley.
Zoe smiled at her mother’s interruption, and everyone murmured their own approval of it, especially John and Tony, who had earned Bradley’s undying affection and loyalty through their willingness, since high school, to back him up the same way he would always do for th
em. Bradley watched Zoe look at his best man and his usher, and take her lower lip between her teeth as she took in their handsome faces and well-built bodies. That made the left side of his mouth quirk up in a smile—had the awakening her fiancé had given her the previous night brought more, and naughtier, ideas into her mind?
“Well,” Zoe said, turning to her mom, “it’s mine that matter.” She stuck out her tongue, very prettily in Bradley’s opinion, and everyone laughed. “Bradley, you swept me off my feet,” she started up again, and though he thought he saw her brow get a little troubled as she considered the various ways he had done that, she went on resolutely, “and I can’t wait to start spending the rest of my life with you.”
She leaned down, and Bradley tilted his face up, for a chaste kiss. As her face drew close to him, he wondered if he saw a little anxiety in her eyes, as if Zoe feared his wrath for what he had seen in the church bathroom. Before he lost sight of that lovely gaze, though, as their lips came together, he smiled reassurance back at her, and the mouth he kissed was a radiantly smiling one.
Everyone clapped, and Bradley rose with his champagne glass in his hand, his brain effortlessly running through the toast he had outlined to himself that morning, the same way he sketched out his opening statements and summations for court—not on paper or a keyboard, but in his head, letting his mind compose the words anew each time from the facts at hand. As he got to his feet, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he put a mental note to check it when he went to the bathroom next to the unwritten notes from which he now spoke.
“Thanks, Mary and Dan, for this amazing night,” he began, “and thanks even more—much more—for bringing up such an extraordinary girl.” He smiled down at Zoe and though the night had gotten too dark now to be certain, he thought he saw another blush come onto her face. Bradley smiled: he hadn’t meant anything by extraordinary, really—definitely not anything naughty—but he could well imagine that the girl he had gotten to know so much better the previous night might take it that way... especially after having been caught masturbating in the church bathroom.
He thanked them all, and sang Zoe’s praises without any reference to her naughtiness—or to how it would from now on receive its just reward. He kissed his bride, to the applause of the table, and then he excused himself to use the bathroom.
A voicemail had come in from Jake Davies. Frowning, Bradley listened to it, using the opportunity of the end of dinner to stretch his legs as he held the phone to his ear, walking a little down the Ralstons’ driveway.
“Hi, Mr. Corvan—it’s Jake Davies from the department of family support. Something’s come up that I need to go over with you. I know it’s a Friday night, and your rehearsal dinner, but it’s relatively urgent—though nothing life-threatening. Maybe you could give me a call back on this number?”
Bradley’s frown deepened as he hit Return Call. He waved to John and Tony as they came out of the house and headed for John’s car, to go back to their motel.
“Davies,” he heard at the other end of the line.
“Mr. Davies, it’s Bradley Corvan.”
“Hi, Bradley,” the program officer said. “Thanks for calling back.”
Bradley didn’t feel entirely happy about the switch to first names, but he never saw any use in objecting to overfamiliarity—as long as a man understood that calling someone by their first name didn’t necessarily mean a really familiar relationship existed, it didn’t bother him much. What troubled him more, however, was Davies’ slightly uncomfortable tone, as if he had bad news. Well, if the traditional marriage program didn’t work out, and the lawsuit didn’t come through, he and Zoe would manage. Bradley hadn’t looked forward to the reporting requirement, anyway: telling the state at regular intervals that, yes, he had kept his young wife well-disciplined for the past three months—with an interview once a year—didn’t appeal to him all that much.
“Sure,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Well, as a lawyer I don’t think I need to tell you that the situation in state government right now is... kind of fluid, at a lot of levels.”
Bradley pulled the phone away from his face and looked at it quizzically for a moment. Why would Davies say something so general?
“Of course,” he replied, returning it to his cheek. “Are you saying we didn’t get the subsidy?”
“No...” Davies said, drawing the word out to about three times its usual length. “But the thing is, the way the corporate laws have put out, you know, tendrils—if you will—into the rest of the state government...”
Bradley felt his eyes go wide.
“Is this about Selecta?” he demanded, keeping his voice casual with a good deal of difficulty. He looked toward the Ralstons’ house. Kim Lomax was emerging.
“Night, Bradley!” she called. “See you tomorrow! Don’t work too hard!”
Bradley waved and smiled. All Zoe’s friends and family, he thought, were so understanding about his lawyer life. It made his heart light, and it even made it relatively bearable to find that Selecta’s corporate reach had found its way into their personal life.
“Yes...” Davies told him. If no had gone on three times longer than it should, yes made it to a six-fold duration. “In a way.”
“A way,” Bradley said flatly, refusing to put a question mark on the end of the word.
“Here’s the thing,” Davies said, sounding a little more comfortable now that he had apparently delivered some portion of the bad news. “As you can understand, Selecta has a good deal of influence in the state house.”
“I believe I can understand that, yes.” Now Bradley almost had to keep from laughing ruefully at the understatement, in order to keep his tone matter-of-fact. Selecta’s influence in the state house meant that the massive settlement his clients deserved didn’t look likely to happen.
“Yes, well... they have a sort of proposal for you, which they want to deliver through me. The piece of information you’re probably missing is that the traditional marriage subsidy program is funded through a Selecta subsidiary, under a confidential section of the state corporate laws.”
Holy shit. Yes, Bradley had been missing that piece of information.
“Okay.”
“And this is actually really good news for you. Selecta is ready to settle your case, if you’ll... well, the best word is probably upgrade... your participation in the program.”
Bradley waved to Cindy, who was coming out of the house, and turned away to walk further up the drive, in an effort to deal in some bodily fashion with the strange information coming from his phone.
“I don’t get it,” he said after a pause, deciding that it probably made more sense to admit to confusion than to try to pretend he had any idea what Davies meant.
“I’ll put it bluntly, Bradley,” said the voice at the other end of the line. “Selecta wants a hold over you. In fact, they probably want you to work for them, once your case is finished. Thank goodness, I don’t have anything to do with that side of it, but if you accept the proposal I’m about to make, you’ll be contacted soon.”
Bradley shook his head as he walked, but he said, “I’m listening.”
“They want evidence in your file here at the state house that you fully endorse the program.”
“Such as?”
“Well, it’s actually quite specific.” Davies swallowed audibly. Bradley felt his brow furrow with consternation as he tried to figure out what the program officer might say next.
“Bradley?” he heard Zoe’s voice call from the door of the house. “Are you out here?”
“Hold on,” he told Davies. He lowered the phone. “I’ll be in in a moment, Zo,” he shouted back. Then, to his phone, he said, “Okay, what?”
“They want video of you punishing your bride and then sharing her with your attendants, at the reception.”
Chapter Fifteen
Bradley seemed distracted as they kissed goodnight, but Zoe attributed it to whatever had just come up on his call,
which must of course have had to do with the Selecta case.
“Thanks for taking the time off for the honeymoon,” she said for about the zillionth time, looking up at him. She repeated the oft-spoken refrain mostly to have something to say—an excuse to study his eyes and to try to figure out from those handsome, serious hazel orbs whether he intended to do anything about what he had seen in the church bathroom.
Zoe felt her brow crease as she failed to find in Bradley’s handsome face any intention to take her up to her childhood bedroom and put her over his knee. The previous day the idea that she might want something of the kind would have seemed crazy. Now the concept had perhaps become a good deal more familiar, but her actual reaction still took her by surprise.
How could the shameful thought of a bare-bottom punishment by her fiancé in the house where she had grown up make her knees tremble less in fear than in need? How could it produce not repugnance but rather something much more ambiguous? No, she didn’t want to worry that her parents would hear, coming from her room, the sound of Bradley’s hand on her naughty backside, but...
“Of course,” Bradley said, his smile beaming reassurance at least that whatever had come up on the phone hadn’t threatened their three days in the Caribbean, though his face remained troubled.
“Alright,” she said, for lack of anything else. “Last chance to kiss me before the altar.”
Bradley smiled again, and bent down to kiss her long and tenderly. He twined his arms around her back and held her tight. Zoe expected him to put a hand on her bottom, and found herself rather wishing he would, maybe as a reminder—maybe with a growl in her ear to inform her of what he intended. Bradley didn’t do that, though, instead breaking the kiss but keeping the tight hug going.