Chapter 14
Valerie
The next day, on our drive back to Parker’s Bluffs, it seemed like everything would be okay. Chris had a little more work to do on the fixer-upper he had bought for us, so he dropped me back at my parents.
“I just want it to be perfect for you, Val,” he said. “All I need to do is hang the doors, and I want you to see it all in daylight. I’ll pick you up after lunch tomorrow.”
I nodded happily at him. “I can’t wait.”
His smile seemed to light up my whole body. Then he lowered his chin a little and said, “Remember what we were working on this weekend. We’ll pick it back up tomorrow.”
I blinked at him, and then I felt my face go crimson as I understood that he could only mean one thing. My mom was in the kitchen, and though Chris hadn’t said anything naughty or lewd I still felt like I wanted to sink into the ground.
“Chris!” I said, trying to keep my tone playful though my heart quailed.
He raised his eyebrows.
“What, Val?”
I knew exactly what he meant. I swallowed hard.
“Sir,” I whispered. “Please… not here?”
“I didn’t say anything,” Chris replied, shaking his head slightly. His eyes had taken on some of the frustrated expression I had come to dread—but that, to my dismay, my body had also started to respond to in another, even less welcome way.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said, his voice quiet. “But you don’t have permission tonight.”
“Oh, my God,” I breathed, as my whole body flared with heat. Desperately, I repeated my plea. “Please… sir… maybe… let’s not talk about it… here?”
Chris’s response was to gather me into his arms. “I love you,” he said.
“But we’re going to talk about your obedience whenever I choose.
” Then he kissed me softly, and in his lips I felt the strength of his love as well as his resolve.
For a moment, as I watched my husband drive away, I trusted him completely.
After he left, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said: the quiet, but forceful instruction. No permission to touch myself tonight. I stood in my childhood bedroom—the room I’d slept in for eighteen years before getting married—and felt my face burn with shame at the thought.
I couldn’t believe Chris had given me that instruction right there in front of my parents’ house. What if my mom had heard? What if she’d understood what he meant by permission?
The mortification felt almost unbearable, but underneath it something else stirred. The terrible warmth between my legs that seemed to appear every time Chris asserted his authority over me.
I pressed my hands to my hot cheeks and tried to calm my racing heart.
“Valerie?” My mom’s voice drifted up the stairs. “Dinner’s almost ready, honey!”
“Coming!” I called back, forcing brightness into my voice.
I made it through dinner by focusing intently on my food and answering my parents’ questions about the honeymoon in vague, cheerful terms. Yes, the resort was beautiful.
Yes, the horseback riding had been wonderful.
Of course I didn’t mention what had happened on the trail…
or in our cabin… or any of the things that occupied most of my real memories of my honeymoon.
That night, lying in my old bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
About everything that had happened over the past few days.
About how my body had responded to Chris’s dominance, his discipline, his control.
About the way I’d licked his anus and come while doing it.
About how I’d wanted him to fuck me even as I begged him not to.
My hand drifted down between my legs without my permission—let alone my husband’s. Through my cotton pajama bottoms and my modest white briefs, I could feel the heat and dampness there. My pussy throbbed with need, responding to the memories flooding my mind.
I pressed my hand more firmly against myself, feeling that terrible, shameful pleasure begin to build.
Seventy-two hours ago I would never have thought about touching myself this way, but it felt so good…
so right… above all, so necessary. I put my hand inside the waistband of my panties, ran my fingertips further down.
I bit my lip when I felt how wet I’d gotten.
Then I remembered. No permission.
I jerked my hand away as if I’d been burned. My whole body trembled with frustrated need. I squeezed my thighs together, trying to make the ache go away, but it only made it worse.
Chris had forbidden me to touch myself. And even though he wasn’t here, even though he’d never know if I disobeyed, I found I couldn’t do it.
The thought of lying to him again, of hiding what I’d done, made my stomach clench with dread.
He’d make me tell him, and then he’d spank me, and I couldn’t bear that.
I absolutely couldn’t give him a reason to put me over his knee again.
I rolled onto my side, curling into a ball, my hands clenched into fists to keep them away from my body. Between my legs, my pussy throbbed and ached, demanding attention I couldn’t give it.
This was another kind of training, I realized. Teaching me that my body belonged to him even when we were apart. That I couldn’t seek pleasure without his permission, no matter how desperately I needed it.
Distantly, the realization enraged me. Part of me wanted to rebel, to touch myself just to prove I still had control over my own body.
To my horror, though, the thought that my virgin vagina belonged to a strong man who would decide when to open it on his cock only made me wetter.
I lay there for what seemed hours, unable to sleep, my body wound tight with unfulfilled need.
Every time I started to drift off, another wave of arousal would crash through me, jolting me awake.
I thought about Chris’s hands on me. His cock in my mouth.
The way he’d made me display myself, hold my knees up and spread while he inspected me.
The way he’d called me a good girl when I obeyed.
By morning I was exhausted and desperate, my panties and even my pajama bottoms damp with evidence of my arousal. I showered and dressed, trying to compose myself before facing my parents at breakfast.
“You look tired, honey,” my mom said, studying my face with concern. “Didn’t you sleep well?”
“Just adjusting to being back,” I lied, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”
The morning dragged by endlessly. I helped my mom with laundry, tried to read a book, watched the clock creep toward lunchtime when Chris would come pick me up.
By eleven o’clock, my anxiety had reached a fever pitch.
I kept picturing our new home—the bedroom Chris had prepared for us, the bed where he would finally do what he’d been promising to do since our wedding night.
My pussy clenched at the thought, a mixture of fear and that shameful arousal I couldn’t suppress.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go home with him and let him fuck me. Not today. Not yet.
“Mom,” I called out, my voice too high and tight. “I need to run an errand. I’ll be back before Chris gets here.”
“Okay, honey,” she replied from the kitchen, not questioning me.
I grabbed my purse and practically ran to my car. My hands shook as I started the engine, but I knew exactly where I was going. The New Modesty Authority office was only ten minutes away.
Mrs. Chen would help me. She had to. She was a professional, someone who understood what brides went through. Maybe she could talk to Chris, convince him to give me more time. Maybe she could explain that I wasn’t ready yet, that I needed—
What did I need? I didn’t even know anymore.
The New Modesty Authority building was a modest two-story structure on Main Street.
I’d been here twice before—once for my initial assessment, and once for a pre-wedding counseling session.
Both times I’d left feeling confused and overwhelmed by the discussions of marital duties and submission that hadn’t quite told me what I felt like I really needed to know.
Now I burst through the front door like I was fleeing a fire.
The receptionist looked up in surprise. “Mrs. Pelletier? Do you have an appointment?”
“I need to see Mrs. Chen,” I said breathlessly. “Please. It’s urgent.”
The receptionist studied my face for a moment, then picked up the phone. After a brief conversation, she nodded. “Mrs. Chen can see you now. You remember where her office is?”
I nodded and hurried down the hallway, my heels clicking on the polished floor. Mrs. Chen’s door was open, and she sat behind her desk, her silver-streaked black hair pulled back in that same sleek style I remembered. She looked up as I entered, her expression calm and professional.
“Valerie,” she said, gesturing to the chair across from her. “Please, sit down.”
I sank into the chair, my hands twisting together in my lap. “I don’t know what to do,” I blurted out. “Chris is coming to pick me up in an hour and I know what’s going to happen and I can’t—I just can’t—”
“Take a breath,” Mrs. Chen said quietly. “Tell me what’s happening.”
The words tumbled out of me in a rush. Not everything—I couldn’t bring myself to describe the specific things Chris had made me do—but enough.
That I was terrified of having sex, now that I understood what the mysterious word meant.
In my mind, even as I said ‘having sex,’ the real words—Chris’s words—spoke themselves like a sentence of doom: being fucked by my husband.
Taking my bridegroom’s cock in my untried little cunt.
I told Mrs. Chen that my body responded to things my mind couldn’t accept. That I felt like I was going crazy with the conflict between the marital rights I knew I must give my husband and what I feared.
Mrs. Chen listened without interruption, her dark eyes never leaving my face. When I finally fell silent, she turned to the monitor on her desk and typed a few words on her keyboard.
“I’m just going to take a look at your file,” she said, her eyes glancing over to meet mine before returning to her screen.
She scrolled through it slowly, her expression thoughtful.
“Your biometric readings were quite remarkable,” she said finally.
“Ninety-seventh percentile for submissive response. That means your body is hardwired to respond to dominance and discipline in ways that many women simply don’t experience. ”
My face burned. “I don’t want to be like that.”
“What you want and what you are may not align, Valerie.” Mrs. Chen’s voice was matter-of-fact. “The question is whether you’re going to accept your nature or continue fighting it.”
“I can’t just—” I stopped, not knowing how to finish the sentence.
Mrs. Chen reached for her phone. “I’m going to call your husband.”
“What? No!” I half-rose from my chair. “Please don’t—”
“Sit down,” Mrs. Chen said, and something in her tone made me obey instantly. She dialed a number and waited.
“Mr. Pelletier? This is Mrs. Chen from the New Modesty Authority. Your wife is in my office… Yes, she’s fine. But I think she needs some additional guidance. I’d like your permission to provide her with a tutorial on accepting her body’s needs… I see… Yes, that would be appropriate… Thank you.”
She hung up and looked at me. “Your husband has given me permission to work with you.”
“What does that mean?” My voice came out as barely a whisper.
Mrs. Chen stood and walked to a filing cabinet. She opened a drawer and pulled out a small box. When she returned to her desk and opened it, I saw what looked like a pair of lacy white panties. Mrs. Chen picked them up in both hands and held the little garment above her desk, displaying it to me.
My jaw went slack and my heart raced as I saw the panties’ most obvious feature: they had a pretty front, made completely of lace, but they had no back at all.
“Go ahead and take off your clothes for me, Valerie,” Mrs. Chen said. “With the help of these panties I’m going to teach you some important things about your body’s needs.”