Chapter 2
Valerie
He stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. My drop-dead gorgeous fiancé, or… I swallowed hard… bridegroom, today. How long had he been there? Had he been watching me?
My bridegroom… tall and broad-shouldered, his work-roughened hands both strong and careful when they held me.
Perfectly neat dark brown hair, square jaw set with what I thought looked dismayingly like determination.
Blue eyes—always so calm and steady—looking almost…
stern? Dressed in a crisp shirt and clean jeans, he looked every bit the man I was supposed to trust, supposed to obey.
My face burned all the hotter with humiliation at that idea, as I yanked my hand out of my panties and tried to pull up my own jeans with shaking fingers.
“What are you doing?” His voice was calm. Too calm.
I had to say something. Anything. Should I tell the truth? Confess what I had been doing? Beg him to explain why my body was acting this way?
No. No, I couldn’t. It was too embarrassing. Too shameful.
“Nothing,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
His eyes held mine for a long moment. I could see that he didn’t believe me. Of course he didn’t believe me. He had probably seen everything.
But then, to my surprise, he just nodded slowly. “All right.”
He was letting it go. He was going to pretend he hadn’t seen anything.
Relief flooded through me, followed immediately by something else. Something that felt almost like… disappointment? Why did part of me wish he had pressed the issue? Demanded the truth? Insisted that I confess?
The feeling confused me so much that I almost didn’t hear his next question.
“Why aren’t you getting ready?”
The direct question snapped me back to the present situation. My jeans were still unbuttoned. The lingerie still lay untouched on the bed. And Chris was looking at me with an expression that made my stomach flip.
Something in me rebelled. I couldn’t just submit to all of this without at least trying to assert myself. To show him that I had my own will. My own thoughts and feelings.
“I don’t like the lingerie,” I said, lifting my chin. “I want to postpone the wedding.”
“That’s not going to happen.” His voice was still calm, but there was steel underneath now. “You’re going to put on the lingerie, Valerie, and we’re going to get married today—and then we can spend our honeymoon figuring out why—”
“You’re not my husband yet.” The words, interrupting him, came out more defiant than I intended.
Chris took a step into the room and closed the door behind him. “According to the New Modesty Authority, I’ve had the right to expect your obedience since I became your accepted suitor. I just didn’t think I needed to use that right.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “What?”
“I clearly do now, though.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You have one more chance to start getting dressed. Or you’ll face the consequences.”
“What…” My mouth had gone dry. “What consequences?”
His eyes never left mine. “I think you’ve probably guessed.”
He was indeed going to spank me. Right here, right now. Before the wedding. Before I was even his wife.
And part of me—that terrible, shameful part of me that had just been touching myself—wanted him to do it.
No. No, I couldn’t just give in like that. I had to show him I had spirit. That I wouldn’t be a doormat, even if I loved him.
“I demand that we postpone the wedding by a week.”
Chris moved to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, right next to the white lace lingerie. He looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“Come stand by me, Valerie.”
Oh, God. This was really happening.
I looked at him sitting there, at his large hands resting on his thighs, and I knew exactly what he intended to do. He was going to pull me over his lap. He was going to pull down my jeans—my jeans that were already unbuttoned—and he was going to spank me like a naughty little girl.
My body moved before my mind could catch up.
I ran for the door. I didn’t make it three steps before his hand closed around my wrist.
“Let go!” I shrieked, trying to twist away, but Chris was so much stronger than me. He pulled me back effortlessly, lifting me off my feet as if I weighed nothing at all.
“Chris, no, please—”
He carried me to the bed, my legs kicking uselessly in the air.
When he sat down, he positioned me with an ease that I thought with a rush of heat to my cheeks felt practiced—skillful, even.
My fiancé simply toppled me forward over his left knee with my face in the covers and his iron left hand atop my waist to hold me in place.
Before I could scramble away, his right leg clamped down across the backs of my knees, trapping me completely. I was bent over his lap, my hands trying desperately to find purchase on my pink comforter, my bottom raised high in the most humiliating position imaginable.
“Are you going to take down your jeans and panties for me,” he asked, his voice maddeningly calm, “or do I have to do that?”
The question sent a jolt of terror through me. He wanted me to bare myself. To pull down my own clothes and expose my bottom to him.
“If you obey me, and do it yourself,” he continued, “I’ll make the spanking less severe.”
“I won’t!” The scream tore from my throat. “I won’t, I won’t, I won’t!”
I felt his right hand at my waist, his fingers hooking into the already unbuttoned waistband of my jeans. He tugged them down with firm, deliberate movements, taking my panties with them.
The cool air hit my bare skin and I realized with horror that he could see everything. The smooth, waxed skin. The wetness that had to still be there from what I’d been doing when he walked in.
“I’m going to spank you until you tell me you’ll get dressed,” Chris said.
Then his hand came down on my bare bottom.
The first smack shocked me more than it hurt.
The sound of it—sharp and loud in the quiet room—made me gasp.
But the second one stung, and the third one burned, and by the fourth I was already squirming desperately over his lap.
The thought that my best friend—that everyone in the house, maybe—could hear what had befallen the disobedient bride brought a wrenching sob from my chest.
“Chris, stop! Please!”
He didn’t stop. His hand rose and fell with terrible rhythm, each slap landing on a different spot, covering my entire bottom with burning heat.
I tried to kick my legs, but his right leg held them firmly pinned.
I tried to reach back with my hands, but he caught both wrists easily in his free hand and held them against the small of my back.
“You’re going to learn to obey me, Valerie,” he said, punctuating each word with another sharp smack. “Starting right now.”
The pain was building into something unbearable. My bottom felt like it was on fire. Tears streamed down my face and I couldn’t catch my breath between sobs.
But underneath the pain, underneath the humiliation of being spanked like a child with my bare bottom exposed over my fiancé’s lap, that terrible warmth between my legs was growing stronger.
What was wrong with me? Why did this make me feel that way?
“Are you going to put on your lingerie?” Chris asked.
“No!” I sobbed, even though I knew it would only make the spanking continue.
And it did. His hand came down harder now, faster, finding the sensitive spots where my bottom met my thighs.
I couldn’t hold still anymore. My hips writhed over his lap, seeking relief that didn’t exist, and I felt my body pressing against his thigh in a way that made that shameful warmth rise even higher.
The spanking went on and on, until I couldn’t think anymore, couldn’t do anything but cry and feel. Feel the burning pain across my bottom. Feel the heat between my legs. Feel my body moving against his thigh in ways I couldn’t control.
“I’ll do it!” The words burst from me finally, driven more by the mortification of my own arousal than by the pain itself. “I’ll… I’ll obey you! I’ll get dressed!”
The spanking stopped immediately. Chris’s hand rested on my burning bottom, and I felt him looking down at me.
“From now on,” he said quietly, “you’ll call me sir.”
Sir? The word seemed ridiculous. This was Chris. My fiancé. The boy who had taken me to the county fair and won me a stuffed bear. But as I opened my mouth to protest, I remembered his hand coming down on my bare bottom, remembered being held helpless over his lap, and the word came out instead.
“Yes, sir.”
The moment I said it, something clenched deep inside me—right there, in my pussy. A spasm of shameful pleasure that I couldn’t hide, couldn’t control. And Chris felt it. I knew he did, because I felt his body shift beneath me, felt him looking down at where my body was exposed to him.
“Now,” he said, his voice still maddeningly calm. “What were you doing when I came in?”
“Nothing.” The lie came automatically, desperately. “I wasn’t doing anything… anything, sir.”
“Valerie.” His hand moved on my bottom, not spanking but caressing now, and the gentleness was somehow worse than the pain had been. “I’ve respected your father’s wishes until now. But I’ve been permitted, ever since you accepted me, to touch you just as I please. You know that, don’t you?”
I did know it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had known that becoming Chris’s accepted bride gave him certain rights. I just hadn’t wanted to think about what those rights meant.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please don’t touch me down there.”
But even as I said it, I knew I didn’t really mean it. My body was begging for something I didn’t understand, aching for a touch I had never experienced.
His hand slid lower, between my legs, and I gasped at the contact. His fingers found that slick, hot place where my own fingers had been just minutes before.
“Oh, God,” I moaned, my face burning with shame even as my hips lifted toward his touch.
He seemed to know exactly what to do. His fingers moved with a confidence mine had lacked, finding that spot that made my whole body shudder. He stroked it gently at first, then with more pressure, building a sensation that was so intense I thought I might die from it.
I felt something under my hip then. Something in Chris’s lap, getting hard. The realization sent a fresh wave of heat through me. Was that the difference between boys and girls? What did it mean, though? What did it have to do with our wedding night?
The crazy pictures that ran through my head should have terrified me. Instead, they made that terrible pleasure grow.
“That’s it,” Chris murmured. “This is what happens when you obey, Valerie. This is what good girls get.”
The reward for obedience. That’s what the brochure had said. The pleasure with which nature has endowed women’s bodies, as a reward for obeying their husbands.
His fingers moved faster now, circling that sensitive spot, and I couldn’t hold still anymore. My hips rocked against his hand, seeking more of that unbearable sensation, and I heard myself making sounds I had never made before—desperate, pleading sounds.
“Please,” I gasped, though I didn’t know what I was begging for. “Please, sir, I—”
The pleasure crested suddenly, violently.
My whole body went rigid over his lap as waves of sensation crashed through me, more intense than anything I had ever felt.
I cried out, my hands fisting in the comforter, my bottom clenching under his other hand, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only feel.
When it ended, I lay trembling over his lap, gasping for air. Chris’s hand stilled between my legs, but didn’t move away.
“Do you understand now?” he asked softly.