Page 27 of Her Shameful Wedding Night (Corporate Correction)

“It’s complicated, and unfortunately pretty sinister,” Bradley continued, “but what he told me amounts to a promise from Selecta to settle the case if certain conditions are met.”

Now Zoe shook her head, frowning. “But what... That’s good news, right?”

Bradley nodded. “Yes. But the conditions... they have to do with tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Zoe asked, feeling like she could do nothing more than clutch at the threads of the conversation.

Her husband-to-be looked at her very seriously for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. The sight of his face like that, so intent upon hers, made Zoe’s heart jump. Suddenly she didn’t feel very sure that she wasn’t about to get a spanking.

What Bradley said then didn’t help with that particular anxiety.

“Come here, babe. I want you to bend over the bed. I’m going to raise your dress and take your panties down.”

“What?” Zoe hissed, doing everything in her power to hide the sheer ambivalence of her reaction both in body and in soul. “You can’t, Bradley. Not here. Not tonight.”

His eyes narrowed a little more. He seemed to have studied her for some specific response to his words, and to have found it—in the hot blush of her cheeks or perhaps the desperate working of her forehead.

“We went over this last night, Zoe,” he said, the authority suddenly coming back into his voice in full force. “I can, and I will. I’m not going to punish you tonight. That will happen tomorrow, if you consent.”

“Consent?” Zoe whispered, her blood suddenly cooling, for reasons she didn’t quite understand, and didn’t want to.

“Let me be clear,” Bradley said slowly. “ByconsentI mean, if you decide you still want to marry me after I do what I’m about to do and say what I’m about to say. Once you have decided to join me at the altar, your punishment and the other things that will happen at the reception—and then what will happen when we get to the hotel for our real wedding night—all of that will happen whether you like it or not, since you will be my wife, then.”

Zoe’s eyes went very wide. “At the reception?” she whispered. “My punishment at thereception?”

“Come here, Zo,” Bradley said. “Bend over the bed.”

Zoe saw it, now: the way he had set it up for her.

“What if... I don’t?” she said, feeling her brow furrow so deeply it hurt.

Bradley’s face softened, and sympathy came into his hazel eyes. He didn’t say anything.

If I don’t go over there, and bend over my childhood bed, with the pink comforter, then Selecta doesn’t settle the case. If I don’t bend over, so that he can raise my dress and lower my panties, then we don’t get married.Was it true?

Zoe felt her lips part as she realized she didn’t want to know the answer. Her hands balled into little fists, unclenched, closed again. She took a step forward, toward the bed, on wobbly knees, then another. Bradley moved back a little to let her go to the place at the foot where she needed to stand, where she needed to obey him.

As she bent and put her hands on the comforter, she remembered the way she had done the very same thing in his room, at his apartment, the night before. Had he given her such a similar instruction so that she would recall the moment she had offered herself, at his command, clad only in her lacy white panties? The same sort of panties she would be wearing, tomorrow, under her wedding dress... and of course at the reception?

A shiver traveled through her whole body, then, at the thought of what Bradley had said, about the reception, just a few moments ago, and how her posture now indicated that being punished there represented an actual possibility, rather than an absurdity. She started at the feeling of his hand brushing her thigh as he began to raise the hem of the blue dress she had raised herself, in the church bathroom. A wave of heat rushed to her face.

He brought his mouth close to her ear as he pulled the dress up, rolled its skirt so it would stay in place.

“The paddle isn’t going to feel as nice as your fingers did, is it, Zoe?”

She bit her lip. A little whining noise rose in her throat.

“Yes, Zo. They’re overnighting a white leather paddle, to match your dress.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Babe... sir... please, no.” Her voice sounded to her own ears like she had fallen into a trance.

Bradley’s fingers traced the waistband of the black bikini panties now.

“You can’t,” she tried again. “Not... not there.”

He took hold of the panties, at the back, and yanked them down. Zoe gave a little gasp, and then another, suppressing the cry she wanted to make as her husband-to-be thrust his hand between her thighs, his middle two fingers sliding with ease into her pussy, where he had opened her only the previous night.

“Yes,” he said, softly but with steel in his voice, “there. In the library. Not in front of everyone, but in front of John and Tony.”

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