Page 18 of Her Shameful Wedding Night (Corporate Correction)

“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 Itellyou 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.”

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