Page 57 of Shameful Reformation

Another climax, a smaller one, shot through me, making me buck against his strong hands. When I felt him restraining me again, more strongly, fighting me and easily winning the battle to keep my pussy exactly where he wanted it, yet one more orgasm started to build inside me, and I sobbed just at the foreshocks of its beginnings.

Cal spoke again in that growly murmur. He said, with a sort of politeness that at the same time reinforced his absolute mastery of my body, “I’m going to need to fuck you hard, now, darlin’.”

I cried out, because I could sense how big the next climax would be, how intensely I would come on my master’s thrusting manhood. I had thought he had already fucked me hard, but when I felt the driving of his hips, the surging of his cock inside me, become deeper and faster, I understood what fucking really meant—to a man like Cal, at least.

I screamed, and I came. I felt like a rag doll as my future husband slammed his rigid penis into my no-longer-virgin pussy, pressing my face more firmly into the mattress with each thrust. I felt the continuation of my punishment, the extended lesson in the way a dominant man uses a naughty girl after disciplining her.

Time stopped having a meaning: I seemed to become entirely the observer, letting my body feel the pleasure too intense, too mingled with discomfort really to enjoy—but in that lack of enjoyment lay a new level of submission that made me happy. I felt like I could see Cal fucking me, see the stern look on his face as he gazed down on his hardness, with the evidence of my defloration on it, surging in and out of my pussy—his pussy, from this moment forward.

When he stopped and withdrew his cock, I whimpered a little, but the sound seemed to come from far away. I heard him as if from somewhere in the clouds.

“I’m going to put it in your butt, now, darlin’,” Cal said in a voice so authoritative that it sent a shiver down my spine. “And I’m gonna come in there. I want to make sure I claim all of you tonight.”

Then he did something that made a sound I couldn’t quite place. I looked back over my shoulder, my lower lip between my teeth, anxious about what I would see, and I realized the nature of the little noise: Cal had his hand in front of his mouth, cupped. He had spit into his palm, and as I watched he started to lower it. My incomprehension became understanding, and I felt my limbs shudder with shame even as heat spread from my suddenly too-empty pussy.

My face puckered in an odd kind of embarrassment, to have seen what a dominant does when he needs to get a girl’s anus ready for him. I closed my eyes and turned my burning face back to the comforter as I felt my future husband start to spread the saliva over the tiny pucker of my smallest hole. I felt my forehead crease hard, because I noticed, in the racing thoughts of my roiling mind, that Cal had never felt more like the man I would marry than he did right then.

Just wait till he puts his cock there, the floating observer told me. Then you’re really going to belong to him.

The idea, accompanied by Cal’s finger entering my bottom hole, gently easing the narrow passage with his saliva, drew a deep sob from me. My hips bucked, my ass trying to impale itself further on the invading digit, as if my body couldn’t keep itself from showing its master how badly it wanted to serve his darkest pleasure.

I felt a second finger press in. I moaned, bowing my head even further and pressing my face more deeply into the covers of his bed. I caught a faint scent of him, a hint of the aroma I had smelled much more strongly coming from his jeans as Cal had used my mouth. I pushed again, yielded, and a new surge of blood came to my cheeks as I realized that Cal had trained me to do that, over his knee; he had taught me to submit my most private place to his possession.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he told me, the praise bringing an embarrassed sort of pride to my chest. “Good girl. This is going to hurt a little, especially at first, so you can go ahead and play with yourself while you get it.”

The contrast between his dirty talk, the degradation he seemed able to bestow on me so casually, and the caring in his voice and his actions, made me feel dizzy. Somehow at the same time I could love him for his gentleness and want his massive cock inside me, turning me into a filthy slut with his forceful aggression and his utter dominance over me.

That idea on its own, of the two men in one I seemed to have chosen to rule over me, made me thrust my right hand under me. I found the sopping wetness between my thighs, along with the soreness of my defloration. I rubbed my slick fingers over the sensitive lips, the wrinkly hood of my clit. I whimpered with pleasure, the shame—and the shamelessness—of masturbating in front of my accepted suitor only adding to the need.

“There you go, good girl,” Cal murmured. “Rub that clit. Make your puss feel nice. I want you to come with me in your butt, if you can. That’s good training, to get you used to anal.”

I felt his thumb in the crease between my ass cheeks, tugging the right one aside. I rubbed, and moaned. I felt the head of his cock against the tiny flower, pressing. I let out a little cry of instinctive alarm, but Cal kept pushing, patiently and firmly. He moved his left hand to my other cheek, spreading my backside further and drawing another cry, of shame and violated modesty, from my chest.

“Oh… oh… please…” I whispered. “Please…”

“Shh, darlin’,” he said. “Let me in.”

He pushed harder, spreading my cheeks wide, and with a scream I felt his hardness surge into me. I rubbed my clit more urgently, my two middle fingers desperately trying to find the pleasure in the discomfort of the massive penis’ invasion of my newly deflowered ass.

Suddenly, and almost without warning, an orgasm blossomed in me, and I began to buck under Cal’s hands, writhing and crying out at the feeling of submission that spread through the entire area between my waist and my knees. All of it belonged to him, to train and to use.

His hands took hold of my hips, restraining my movement, keeping me where he wanted me. He started to thrust in and out, and I could feel the urgency of his need in the way he filled me, stretched me, mastered me with his thick, surging cock. I sobbed into the comforter, arching my back to offer my bottom more fully. My fingers rubbed and rubbed, and I had more of the little submissive climaxes—too many to count, but even so I could feel the pain of my most advanced lesson, of my shameful reformation. Over and over he filled my bottom with his hardness, murmuring softly and encouragingly about how good it felt, how obedient I was being.

“Sir… oh… Cal, sir…” I heard myself moaning. It seemed all I could say, besides, “Please… please… please…”

Abruptly, I felt a change in his rhythm. His cock, impossibly, seemed to get bigger and harder inside me. I cried out at the terrible fullness, and then I felt him pulse inside me, and though it hurt so much, the idea that Cal was coming inside me, claiming me fully, made the tears that dampened his comforter taste strangely sweet.

EPILOGUE

Grace

Cal and I got married a month later. All of Grasskiln came, of course. I was the first to marry my accepted suitor, but Frannie and Al, and Cora and Jeremy, were going next, the two following weeks. Lisa and Rosa hadn’t hit it off with their first suitors, so they sat with their foster parents in the church, but I had heard from Shelly that both of them had new suitors, and both their first dates with them had gone well.

Cal and Jeremy had grown up playing baseball together, so Cora and I had gotten a chance to know each other better when the four of us hung out. She and I had become pretty close friends, and we had—reluctantly at first, of course—opened up to one another about everything that went on with our suitors.

Jeremy didn’t talk dirty, it seemed, but that worked for Cora. His silent dominance, and his tenderness after whipping her for the little bits of sass she said she couldn’t seem to keep from coming out, got her as wet as a waterfall, she had confided with a deep blush. She confessed she didn’t really want to stop sassing him, and didn’t intend to, though she’d noticed that the frequency of her talking back had gone down quite a bit.

I knew the feeling. Since the night Cal had taken every one of my virginities I had had a kind of love-hate relationship with my defiance. It earned me the paddle on a fairly regular basis, but since every paddling gave way to absolutely mind-blowing sex, I didn’t think I wanted to stop disrespecting the man I loved, from time to time.

Even being put back in my training panties the next day only seemed to make things more ambiguous. As far as I could tell, the way they signaled Cal’s authority over me only made him likelier to bend me over and take them down—not for punishment but for the sort of helpless pleasure only he knew how to give my needy pussy.

I walked down the aisle on Jake’s arm, with lacy white lingerie under my dress rather than that thick cotton. I had the chance to look each of my fellow naughty-girl-bus-riders in the eye. Of course they blushed with me, thinking of all the strange, dark, shameful, wonderful secrets we shared. At the end of the aisle, Jake put my hand in Cal’s, and I looked into the ocean blue eyes of my stunningly gorgeous bridegroom, his handsomeness taken up to eleven by his tux.

“You ready?” he murmured softly to me.

The old Grace Franklin, I thought, would probably have tried to hide her smile. The reformed me did not: I beamed up at him.

“Oh, yes,” I said.

The End

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