I stood there for what felt like forever, my mind spinning. What should I wear? The peach nightgown and panties Chris had given me and then done such dirty things to me in? The mortifying backless panties I still had on? Something that would provoke him, make him finally take what he’d been promising?
My hand hovered over the sheer nightgown, then pulled back. Too obvious. Too much like begging.
Instead, I reached for the most modest nightgown I owned—white cotton that fell to my ankles, with long sleeves and a high neck. And underneath, my usual white cotton panties. The kind that covered everything, the kind I’d worn before my wedding.
My heart hammered as I changed into them. This would do it. This would make him angry. He’d see my modest nightgown and those innocent panties and his jaw would tighten with that look I’d come to recognize. The look that meant I was in trouble.
The scenario played out in my imagination as I pulled the nightgown over my head. He would make me take it off slowly, humiliating me with each button I unfastened. Then he’d bend me over his knee right there in our bedroom, pull down my panties, and spank me until I was sobbing.
My pussy clenched at the thought. Heat flooded between my legs.
No, he wouldn’t just spank me. He’d make me put on the backless panties again—the ones that left me completely exposed. Then he’d position me over a bolster like Grace in the video. I’d feel the leather against my belly, my bottom raised high, everything on display.
And then he’d take me there. In my bottom, just like Jacob had done to Grace. I’d feel his cock pushing into that tight, forbidden place, claiming me in the most degrading way possible. Making me understand that every part of me belonged to him.
Only after that would he finally take my real virginity. Only after he’d used my bottom would he push into my pussy and make me his wife completely.
I was trembling when I returned to the bedroom, my panties already damp with shameful arousal. My face burned as I approached the bed where Chris waited.
He looked up and smiled. “You look comfortable.”
I stood there, waiting for the storm. Waiting for him to tell me to take off the modest nightgown, to punish me for choosing such innocent garments.
Instead, he just pulled back the covers. “Come to bed, sweetheart.”
My stomach dropped. That was it? No anger? No commands?
I climbed in beside him, disappointment and confusion warring in my chest. His arm came around me, pulling me close against his chest. The position was tender, comforting—not at all what I’d expected.
“I’m going back to work tomorrow,” he said, his voice quiet. “The job across town. Should be done in a few days, but I’ll make it home for dinner each night.”
“Oh.” I swallowed hard. “I’ll… I’ll have dinner ready for you.”
“That would be nice.” He pressed a kiss to my hair. “I think you’re going to love being a wife, Val. Taking care of our home together.”
I lay there in his arms, my body still thrumming with unfulfilled need, my mind racing. What was happening? Why wasn’t he taking me with his hard manhood? Why wasn’t he even acknowledging the modest nightgown I’d worn specifically to provoke him?
I thought I understood. Chris was giving me space. Time to process everything that had happened—the paddling at Megan’s house, watching that video, the confusion swirling inside me. Part of me felt grateful for his patience, his understanding.
But another part—a growing, insistent part—felt frustrated. Desperate, even.
I was going to have to do something. Figure out what was going on in my husband’s head. And more important, I needed to finally get my virginity taken. Because this waiting, this anticipation, had begun to drive me absolutely crazy.
The next day passed in a strange haze. Chris left for work early, kissing me goodbye at the door. I spent the morning exploring our new house more thoroughly, trying to make it feel like home. But my mind kept drifting to the same dark places.
By late afternoon, I’d made a spaghetti Bolognese—Chris’s favorite, with homemade sauce and fresh bread. The kitchen smelled amazing as I set the table, checking the clock. He’d be home any minute.
Then something changed inside me. A strange, reckless impulse.
I went to the kitchen and hid the dinner. Covered the pot, put it in the oven on warm, cleared the table as if I’d never prepared anything at all.
My heart pounded as I walked to the living room. My hands trembled as I picked up the remote. I felt like I was moving through water, watching myself from outside my body as I navigated to the New Modesty Blue channel.
The interface loaded, showing various streams. I scrolled until I found one called ‘Her Secret Garden.’ The description read:Real discipline for real infractions. Tonight: Stacy learns from Kevin what happens to wives who lie.
I clicked it.
The stream opened on a bedroom similar to ours. A young woman with dark hair stood before her husband, her face streaked with tears.
