by Emily Tilton
He moved his left hand to rest atop her back. Zoe’s breath puffed rapidly through her flaring nostrils, and she closed her eyes.
“Ten hard swats, now, Zoe Corvan, for touching your pussy without permission,” he said, putting authority in his tone.
“Oh, no,” she whispered. “Oh, please, no.” Her voice sounded almost as if she meant to speak only to herself, the refusal or the denial directed somehow not so much at the announcement of her sentence but at the way she felt about it.
He raised the paddle high. The music, very loud now just as he had requested of the DJ, came wafting reassuringly through the door. No one outside the library would hear either the crack of the leather across a naughty bride’s bottom or her screams of agony as she paid the penalty for illicit pleasure.
He brought the paddle down. The slap of its face upon the center of Zoe’s bottom echoed despite the small proportions of the room and the absorptive effect of the many old books.
Zoe’s cry of pain, and even the creak of the table under her as she began to struggle helplessly against Tony’s hold across her shoulders and Bradley’s hand upon her back, echoed just as loudly. Her pert bottom danced under the leather, and she screamed again, as he gave her another swat, and then another, all in the center of her backside, to make a perfect pink circle there.
“Keep her dress up, Tony,” he said, pausing for a moment since a part of Zoe’s skirt had come loose and threatened to get in the way of the fourth stroke from the paddle.
“Please... it hurts so much,” Zoe sobbed. She turned her face back over her shoulder, tears now flowing down her face, but then looked back at the bookshelf with wide eyes and bitten lip when he met her eyes with a stern, cautioning gaze. “Please, sir,” she pleaded to the law code of 1890. “No more?”
Tony had pulled the dress well up, now. Bradley raised the paddle and brought it down again and again and again, moving the swats right to left and holding her down firmly on the cushion though Zoe tried desperately to squirm away. Her little bottom clenched and unclenched in agony, and her sweet pussy peeped out lewdly as her thighs rubbed against each other in an attempt to soothe the smart a bit. She tried to throw her hands back, to cover her punished cheeks, but Tony kept them pinned under her.
“That’s seven,” Bradley said. Tony nodded.
“Zoe, babe, I want you to hold still for the last three. Tony, why don’t you step back. Zoe, you’re going to bend your back and push out your bottom like a good girl who knows she’s been naughty. And you’re going to bend your knees and spread them, to show us your little pussy.”
Zoe sobbed, “Please... sir, no.”
Bradley raised the paddle and brought it down very hard, so that she screamed. Her bottom had gone a very bright shade of pink; he knew that every paddle stroke would feel excruciating to her now.
“That didn’t count, Zoe,” he said. “You still have three coming. Can you hold still?”
Zoe sobbed, her chest heaving and her bottom squirming.
“John, get a close up of this ass, please,” Bradley said, the dominant blood singing in his veins.
“Oh, God,” Zoe whimpered, as John bent to do as the groom had asked.
“Zo,” he said again, “can you hold still for me?”
“Yes, sir,” she sobbed, bending her knees and spreading them her hips working lasciviously as if for the camera. Tony loosened his hold and stepped back and Zoe exaggerated the pose still more, offering her red bottom for the end of her punishment.
John, too, stepped back. Bradley pulled Zoe’s dress up a final time and held it atop her back, making certain the heavenly sight of his bride’s well-disciplined rear end would remain unimpeded for the camera.
Then he raised the paddle again and brought it down three times in quick succession, middle—right—left. Zoe went rigid with pain, but she held her bottom still for her lesson in obedience, just sobbing quietly as the final sharp noises of her punishment rang out.
Bradley’s cock felt as hard as stone. The time had come for the part of Zoe’s wedding night that he hadn’t told her about—as well as the part he had promised. In her eyes, in the church bathroom’s mirror, he had thought he saw her need for what would now befall her, and then again in her bedroom—and a final time, more visibly, when John and Tony had gone to get her for her paddling.
He put his hand softly on her punished backside and leaned down to speak in her ear as she whimpered quietly over the table.
“Zoe, the next part of your discipline is going to teach you how deeply you belong to me. I know you need it, but I know you probably won’t be able to admit that you do. I want to make sure you know that I understand that, okay?”
A puff of air came from her nostrils. He could see the end of the deep furrow in her forehead, and he kissed it, and then her cheekbone.
Zoe nodded, very slightly. “Okay,” she whispered. “Wh-what is it?”
“I’m going to share you with John and Tony, now. They’ve both been tested recently so they’re going to ride you bareback, just like I do.”
Zoe’s mouth had parted and her breaths came harsh and quick now.
“Is this... is this what the state and... Selecta want?” she asked, somehow making those faceless entities seem like erotic forces, dominant and inimical.
“It’s what I want, Zoe,” Bradley said, and kissed her. At the same time, he began to rub her warm backside more purposefully, concentrating on the parts closest to the parting of her thighs and her shaven pussy.
“Oh, God,” she moaned into his mouth, her body bucking under his hand as his fingertips sought out her clit, just where the cushion’s edge pressed against the inside lining of her wedding gown.
“There we go,” Tony said. “Look at that. You gonna tap that, bro? You the groom here or what?”
“Hell, yeah, I’m going to fuck my gorgeous wife,” Bradley answered, smiling despite himself at Tony’s deadpan shift to bro-talk. The usher had pledged a fraternity at his state university, so he knew how to talk the talk, and Zoe’s sobbing reaction to the degrading sound of it made even John—a college basketball player but by no means a frat boy—raise his eyebrows. “And I just told her that you guys are going to fuck her too. You up for that, John? I know Tony is. I had the nurse put in an IUD, so we don’t need to use protection.”
“Fuck, yeah, I am,” Tony put in, already reaching behind his back and under his tuxedo jacket to unfasten his cummerbund. “Watching you paddle that ass gave me a chubby like you wouldn’t believe. She looks so tight that I think I’m going to come in there in like two minutes.”
John laughed. “Yeah, dude,” he told Bradley. “I’ll take a piece of that.”
Zoe gave a little whimper at the sound of the most serious member of the wedding party succumbing to his desire to fuck the bride. John had his own hands behind his back to take his cummerbund off, and then he had his pants and briefs down to his knees.
Zoe had turned to look at them, John still fully dressed because he continued to film the lewd scene but Bradley and Tony now with their hard cocks out and in their hands. The look in her eyes fired her bridegroom’s blood even hotter: shame and arousal vied on her face while her white wedding dress framed a bottom Bradley had punished for her naughtiness and a shaved pussy that now belonged entirely to her husband.
Clearly recognizing the drama in the bride’s expression on seeing the hard penises that she would take now as the culmination of her wedding day discipline, John moved to get a good close-up of Zoe’s face. Then he shifted again, as if he made government-mandated porn every day, to Bradley’s right, just as the groom put the head of his cock inside the bride’s pouting private lips.
Zoe gave a happy cry as her soaking-wet slit took her husband’s hardness. She closed her eyes and turned her face forward again, as if sensing that Bradley would wish her to show him the same respect when he fucked her as she must when he spanked her. He thrust in very slowly, enjoying each millimeter of the tight velvet walls of
his wife’s warm sheath, the place made for his penis to enjoy and now his to fuck whenever he liked.
“Is she tight, bro?” Tony asked, the soft sound of his pumping hand providing a piquant accent to his words. Zoe sobbed in shame and need at the degradation, her head hanging. The sound made Bradley’s cock leap inside her, raising his own arousal so far that he couldn’t resist. He used his grip on her lace-covered hips to drive all the way in until his lap pressed against the warm bottom-cheeks to which he had taught so stern a lesson.
The heavenly pleasure of a young pussy around his hard cock traveled out from his loins, down to his toes and into his chest, as he looked down to see his possession of the girl he loved. The garter belt and the suspenders framed her creamy bottom cheeks, pink where she had been punished for playing with herself, making a picture so delightful he could hardly believe his good fortune.
“So nice and tight,” he said, starting to fuck the bride in long, powerful strokes that made her cry out with each deep thrust.
Chapter Nineteen
From the very beginning—from the moment when Bradley had told her what Zoe had somehow known he would tell her, that he meant to share his bride with his friends, on her wedding day—Zoe had decided she couldn’t admit to the part of it that lay hidden in the darkest corner of her imagination. If it happened, if Bradley somehow read her mind and declared that the thing she had thought of in the church bathroom would take place, then so be it. But even though part of her had wanted to tell him right then, when he was whispering her shameful fate into her ear, that there was something even more wicked that she had in her mind, she had known she couldn’t.
She tried to lose herself in the feeling of her husband fucking her, fucking her so hard over the old oak table and the plush-covered cushion from the lovely old couch in the corner of the library. His hips awakened the agony of the paddle with each thrust, but as an echo that seemed to burn not with pain but with terrible, terrible need.
I need it. I need more. More. More.
“Wow,” she heard John say. “She’s coming hard, isn’t she?”
Zoe realized then that the sounds that had seemed like they must be coming through the door, an integral part of the thumping, hip-hop-inflected rock that she loved to dance to, the moans and cries, had all come from her. Under her husband’s pounding cock, still encased in her wedding gown and her lacy wedding lingerie, her body responded desperately to every motion of the hardness inside her, trying to writhe against Bradley’s strength so that she could enjoy the way he held her in place for his manhood’s driving thrusts.
She felt the pleasure turn into a shout, a scream of ecstasy that made her worry for just an instant that she would simply tear the gown apart at the seams. The fabric’s constriction of her chest, though, joined together in her senses with Bradley’s hands on the lacy garter belt that she couldn’t help thinking terribly naughty because of how it seemed to frame her pussy and her bottom: together those feelings of bondage, and the vision behind her closed eyelids of the way she had looked with her panties down, her pussy presented to the groomsmen, seemed to make the ecstasy explode deep inside her.
Zoe came, and came, and came, pushing back against Bradley, trying to get him deeper, throwing her hands behind her so that she could touch his hairy thighs and feel the strength there.
“Good girl,” he said. “You feel so good on my cock.”
By the time he stepped back, and his hardness left her to be replaced by Tony’s thicker cock, Zoe felt herself in some other realm of existence, where brides who didn’t get to have more than one man fuck them on their wedding nights were seriously missing out.
“That’s it,” Tony said, as her body moved in response to his quick thrusts, not as long as Bradley’s but powerful, as if Zoe had a massive tree trunk behind her. “Oh, bro. She’s good. I’m going to come in here.”
Somehow that broke through the haze. Zoe spoke, from somewhere so deep within her mind that the word came without her even thinking it.
“No...” she said, “no, please.”
Tony stopped moving inside her. Pulled out. She hadn’t meant that, exactly, though, and the withdrawal of the big, hard penis made her whimper with need and frustration.
“Zo?” Bradley asked, coming to her side and bending down, his hand on her back.
“No... in... in...”
But she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t even open her eyes.
Her body managed to accomplish what her voice couldn’t, though. Her hands decided to show her husband the shameful, wicked thing she needed: the dirty thing she had thought of in the church bathroom, the filthy idea to which she had masturbated and earned her wedding-night paddling.
Zoe’s fingers took hold of her bottom-cheeks, arms reaching around the gathered fabric of her beautiful white wedding gown. They spread the round globes, which felt so warm from the paddle, so that she could feel the air moving on the little ring where she needed her husband to claim her, in front of his groomsmen, and then to share her with them.
Bradley’s voice, when he spoke again, sounded so authoritative, so husbandly, that it made her clench down there, where two men had already fucked her, so hard that it shot a thrill up her back and made her buck in need over the cushion on the table. As she listened to his decree, she pulled her bottom apart harder, pushed her pussy out further, wanting urgently to show them how badly she needed cock, despite all the modesty of which she had once thought herself mistress.
“Not yet, Zoe,” her husband said. “But soon. John, I’ll take the phone, and you go ahead and fuck her pussy. After that, I think we’ll give the bride what she really has coming. I’ll lube that little bottom, and then I’ll open it up with my cock. We’ll all come in her ass.”
A sob burst from Zoe’s chest, when the final pronouncement had been made, and then a whisper. “Yes, sir.”
“Take your hands off your bottom for now, babe, while John fucks you,” he commanded, and Zoe obeyed with a little whimper, laying them along her sides, fingers trailing along the silk of her white gown as John stepped up behind her and put the head of his penis against her already sore pussy. Her bottom closed, but somehow the feeling of exposure, of having demonstrated that her anus needed fucking, remained and made her cheeks burn with humiliation.
She started to lose track, after that, of all the things that happened. She knew that later she would remember certain very important things, though. John’s cock seemed like the longest one, to fit his height. Zoe screamed with the pleasure it forced deep into her, the discomfort seeming to make her come all the harder, her breath taken away by the deep thrusts of Bradley’s tall stepbrother.
John fucked slowly, seeming to revel most in the moment when he had almost pulled his enormous manhood all the way out. Sometimes he kept her that way, just moving the head of his erection in and out, before sliding himself all the way back in. Zoe moaned under his huge hands, his grip almost all the way around the garter belt as he enjoyed her: the third man to fuck her, and all of them just in a few minutes, while the pulsing music continued at her wedding reception.
Then Bradley said, “Alright, Zoe. You can hold your ass open again while I get you ready.”
She realized that John had stepped back, that he must have taken the phone again, that her husband must have brought lube along with the paddle, to the wedding... to the reception. Lube, for getting a bride’s bottom ready. For making her anus a pleasant place to fuck.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, as she obeyed him, again opening her bottom and wondering how she had ever had the courage to do it earlier, when she had asked, wordlessly but very, very shamefully, for ass-fucking. Then she breathed it again and again, almost soundlessly... oh, God... oh, God... as his fingers rubbed the cool, slick stuff on the outside, as one of them went in there.
“So naughty,” Bradley said. “She’s a very naughty girl, isn’t she, guys?”
“Oh, God,” Zoe cried, because she felt something on the little bud, th
e little flower that must now open. Something bigger, but softer than his finger... but bigger. “Oh, please... please, sir... please, sir...”
“Shh, babe. Relax. Let me have my way.”
“Jesus, that’s hot,” Tony said.
“Yeah.” John’s voice, from close by, to her right and only just behind her. Because he had gotten it all on video. Zoe sobbed, and she felt her bottom surge as she let herself do what she really wanted to do, let herself move her muscles that filthy way, and she felt Bradley’s cock enter her smallest hole.
Her husband gave a grunt, and he began to move, and it hurt but Zoe wanted it to hurt... she wanted to know she had paid the price for the needs that Nurse Carter had known about. She wanted to have to take a big cock, submit to her bridegroom’s dirtiest use, because she had those needs, and because she hadn’t known about them—hadn’t known how they could make a girl pull her bottom cheeks apart and ask for her lord’s hardness where only wicked girls would think of yielding to the cock.
“Oh, that’s nice, Zo. I love you so much.” Bradley’s voice sounded thick and distant, and he started to press further in, so that she yelped in alarm. She knew somehow—either from her own instinct or from the way her new husband moved, or even some sudden new hardness of his cock—that the submissive sound had turned him on, so she made it again and again.
It turned her on, too. She hadn’t even dreamt she could climax like this, with a penis in her bottom, but suddenly she found herself coming, in little tremors, over and over, her bottom surging in her hands as she obediently held it open for fucking.
“Oh, Zoe... babe,” Bradley said, his words more a groan than articulate speech, and then her face went hot as she felt him come, his seed spurting in her anus. He breathed hard, stilling his motions, and under him Zoe felt like she had spun off somewhere into the stratosphere.