Page 23 of Her Shameful Wedding Night (Corporate Correction)

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 back 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...cocksin 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.

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.”

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