“From now on,” he said quietly, “you’ll call mesir.”
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.
