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Home / Stormy Night Publications Newsletter / Claimed as His Bride by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview

Claimed as His Bride by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview

For the very first time, Willa understood what she had gotten herself into. It made her struggle like a wildcat, as if she could change the reality of the situation by sheer physical will—as if she could prove to herself, by pretending she really thought she might free herself from Rex’s heavily muscled arms, that Willa Stevens Mason didn’t need a husband’s firm hand.

More, she fought the steady grip of his left arm, as he so rudely drew up her gown, to show herself that she didn’t know perfectly well she had earned this spanking—that she had even earned the whipping that made her heart jump when she tried to imagine it. That she didn’t know she needed… that, too, the other thing, the thing that a husband did to his wife on her wedding night, to make a woman of her.

Willa felt her face scrunch up as she sensed how badly she had already lost the physical battle. The air of the bedroom moved against her white nylon stockings, then against the upper thighs left bare by the arch of the basque and its suspenders, over the tiny lace thong. In her mind, she heard the bad word over and over, in Rex’s voice: fuck, used not as a throwaway swear word, but with its true, shameful meaning—the verb that expresses what happens to a bride, in the bedroom, after her bridegroom makes her take off her clothes.

Rex grunted a little as Willa’s body bucked over his knee, but he had her wedding gown up to her waist, and he had his right thigh over both her legs, keeping them almost motionless. His left arm had her right wrist behind her back already, too. When she felt the security of that position, her struggle changed; now she did everything she could to keep her knees together, so that Rex wouldn’t be able to see anything. The little panties felt so embarrassing; the heat rushed to Willa’s face at the thought of their gusset displayed to a man’s lustful eyes, perhaps a little askew with the effort of trying to ward off her punishment.

She hoped this attempt to hide herself would escape Rex’s notice. Pressing her knees together that way seemed mortifying on its own, for part of Willa knew that a bride should feel ready to become a wife, ready to show her adult charms to her groom.

To her horror, though, Rex made it perfectly clear that he knew precisely what she meant to do, and—much worse—that he had no intention of allowing it.

“No, Wills,” he said, with a grim chuckle that traveled from his deep chest through Willa’s little body and made her feel faint. “No modesty for you, in this bedroom, anymore. I’ll look at what I want to look at. Remember what I said about inspecting you on the marriage saddle?”

A sob burst from Willa’s throat. “What does that mean?” she asked desperately.

Rex seemed content to answer that question in actions rather than with words. His right hand descended to her backside, but not with a spank. Willa bit her lip and heard a mewling whine come from deep inside her as her husband fondled her nearly bare bottom for the first time. She felt his two middle fingers on the lacy gusset of the panties, pressing down and inward where she still tried to keep herself closed.

The fingers rubbed firmly, and Willa couldn’t help it now: she cried out, and her whole body bucked not in resistance to her position but in humiliating acceptance of it. Her back arched and her bottom squirmed as if to welcome her husband’s lewd attentions. Still she kept her thighs closed, though they trembled with the effort, and the sensation through the lace of her panties made everything down there so hot and so needy.

“Alright, Willa,” Rex said softly, all his anger seeming to have gone away at the shameful display his wife had just given him. “I’ll make this easy.”

Willa felt her brow crease in a frown. What did he mean? How could it be easy?

His right hand rose.

Willa called out, “No, please… w—”

But her husband had already begun to punish her for her disrespect. His hand came down with a sharp clapping sound right on the middle of her bottom, right where she still wore the tiny white panties that said she was a bride, ready for her wedding night.

“Wait!” Willa finished. “Please, Rex!”

He didn’t wait at all, though: he had spanked her three times before she could even get all the words out, center, right, left. Now she wailed, and tried to renew her struggle though to no avail at all; Rex had her securely in place, and he kept spanking her. The tops of her thighs, right and left, and then her bottom again, with three in the center, on the tender sit-spot, the pain growing so that Willa could only think of trying to get away, and her bottom squirmed with the hopeless effort.

Rex spoke again, even as he kept spanking her, in those awful groups of three, hard and very fast.

“Spread your knees,” he said. “When you do that, I’ll stop, and we can take a look at what’s in the suitcase.”

Willa closed her eyes as tightly as she could. Suddenly she understood what he had meant about making it easy. She could show him once and for all that she meant to accept what happened to a Red Creek girl on her wedding night, and then, as she got that shameful lesson in wifely obedience, she could feel like she had also satisfied her need for spirited independence.

The pain from the spanking had almost, but not quite, blotted out the lingering sensation of his firm fingers on her panties, rubbing degradingly at the place that had ached, on and off, for days now—ever since Willa’s last spanking over her bridegroom’s knee. He had touched the forbidden place at last, and even through the innocent white lace she had felt how a man could claim his bride with his hardness.

Could she feel something long and rigid against her bare hip, now? She had never seen one, let alone touched one. Even in wellness class she had turned away, knowing that her mother would expect her not to look, and grateful for that parental admonition, since the very thought of it made her cheeks hot.

She made a final attempt to get free from his iron grip, moving her legs as if she could somehow kick them free of Rex’s tree-trunk thigh and twisting her torso as if she could wrench herself off his knee and off the bed. In that instant, Willa didn’t even know if she wanted to succeed—to find herself free of her bridegroom’s grasp, on the floor; to spring up like a cat; to run, still in her wedding gown, to the front door and out of it; to run down the street and away from the man who knew too much about what she needed. She didn’t want to know.

She did want to make it clear to Rex that she had no intention of ever confessing that Willa Stevens Mason required a man’s firm hand to guide her to happiness. Well, no intention of ever doing it except under duress, which didn’t count.

Then, as her cheeks got hot yet one more time with the mortifying implications of the thought, she realized in a flash of emotion stronger than anything she had ever felt—even when Rex had proposed, even when they had stood at the altar—how happy her new husband made her. How could an independent young woman, a star athlete, a modern girl, feel that kind of happiness while over her husband’s knee for a spanking? With that thing standing there behind her, waiting, and the promise of a whipping to come?

Willa put all her strength into that final resistance, but Rex kept his hold without even a grunt of effort, now that she had nearly exhausted her muscles. His hand kept coming down, hard and fast, and Willa’s squirming turned into a sobbing, desperate attempt to soothe the terrible sting the punishment visited on her poor bottom. With a wail she pictured herself, a bride with her wedding gown hiked up to show her sexy white wedding lingerie, the bottom of the basque with its naughty suspenders down to white nylons and the naughty thong that left her hind-cheeks entirely bare for the bridegroom to teach her a lesson in wifely respect.

So many lessons. Willa could see now that Rex meant to teach her all the lessons he thought she needed. He’s going to train me to be a good wife. He knows I have a lot to learn. The degrading, regressive thought made her close her eyes so tightly they hurt, as if she could block out the humiliating image on the inside of her eyelids, of what she looked like upended over her husband’s knee for the first of the many discipline sessions Rex Mason meant to give his young bride.

Her body went limp, and her knees moved at last, as if of their own accord. Or maybe Willa moved them, but how could she help it? Rex had made it clear he would spank her until she couldn’t sit down for a week—for their whole honeymoon—unless she did as he had told her.

Immediately, the spanking stopped. Her husband’s strong right hand returned to her bottom, though. Willa tried to suppress the humiliating whimper that instantly broke from her chest—a sob, almost, of penitence and submission and need. She never stood a chance: the sound came out, even louder than she had feared, into the still air of Rex’s bedroom.

Our bedroom. She had to stop thinking of it as his alone. But…

But it belonged to him, didn’t it? And… she belonged to him, too.

His hand rubbed gently, first her right cheek, then her left. Now she didn’t just whimper—Willa moaned. She opened her eyes, and she saw the single flute on the bedside table: Rex’s champagne, that he meant to drink while he watched Willa take off her wedding gown and show him the white, rather demure, yet terribly sexy baby doll nightgown she had bought for her wedding night, blushing even to order it online—and watched her put it on, and then…

Willa turned her face over her right shoulder, to see if she could see it—the saddle. The marriage saddle. She didn’t want to see it, except she did.

But she couldn’t—it stood too far along the other side of the bed. Her mind’s eye could picture it, though, and the mental image along with Rex’s silent, gentle fingers, beginning to move downward and inward, made her whimper again.

“Do you want another look at the saddle, Wills?” Rex asked very softly. “Do you want to see it?”

“N-no,” she stammered, her voice quavery with the tears her spanking had brought to her eyes.

His hand squeezed her right cheek, bringing a little yelp from Willa.

“Tell the truth, sweetheart,” Rex said sternly.

But she didn’t want to see it… except she did.

“I did!” Willa exclaimed. Then, as if the word came not from her mind but from her body, she whispered, “Sir.”

Rex took a deep breath, and let it out with a very soft sigh that Willa knew for certain meant he had a smile on his face. Again, the thrill of joy at finding herself his bride, under his firm guidance, went through her chest. She knew that when she thought of it later, she would probably blush to have felt so, well, old-fashioned. But that didn’t have to matter right now: he had spanked her, and he would keep spanking her if she didn’t obey him: what choice did Willa have?

“Well,” he said much more gently, “I’m not sure that’s the whole truth, but I’m going to have you look at the saddle anyway, in just a moment, so it doesn’t matter much. For now, though…”

Then she gasped, because Rex had thrust his hand between her thighs, very close to their tops though still an aching half-inch away from where Willa needed his touch most. She cried out, her back arching, and she parted her legs, feeling Rex lift his own right leg to allow the lewd separation of her knees.

She cried out again, the need sounding even more urgently in the embarrassing little noise. She felt him work his fingertips inside the lacy gusset of the white thong, and she felt him find out, that way, that his bride had, in the end, on June’s advice, shaved down there.

“Oh, Wills,” Rex said softly. “What a sweet little pussy. So nice and smooth for me.”

He hadn’t needed any more proof, really, that Willa would benefit from what he meant to give her over the marriage saddle. The way her body moved over his knee when he touched her pussy, though, the way she clenched so hard he could see the adorable pink lips moving and feel their fluttering against his fingertips, and the simple fact that she had shaved down there, for him, took his confidence in their sexual compatibility to a new level.

A little whine, descending in pitch into a low moan, came from Willa’s mouth, buried in the blue comforter. Rex rubbed her sweet pussy very gently, up and down, pressing a bit more firmly with each stroke, moving his fingers a little further up toward the place he knew she needed his touch the most.

“Did you shave for me? Did you put on these naughty panties for your husband to see?”

Willa exhaled deeply; it sounded to Rex like the air came from the bottom of her soul, and not just her diminutive midriff. Then, her voice sounding so submissive and needy that it made his cock leap along his thigh, she whispered, “Yes, sir.”

He kept moving his fingers, and now when he pressed in gently at the bottom of her sex, he found the pooling arousal, slick and warm. He spread it upward to the hood of her clit, and Willa cried out at the new sensation, the new intensity. Softly, Rex used his two middle fingers to open her a little there, to touch the tiny bud itself.

His demure wife bucked so hard over his thigh that he had to clamp down with his hand on her back, the one still holding her wrist, to keep her in place. The feeling of restraint seemed to add to her arousal and the beginnings of her pleasure, and Willa struggled even harder, as if she wanted to feel his strength more forcefully. Careful not to hurt her, Rex gave her what she needed, pulling on her wrist, keeping her in position over his knee, ensuring her submission to his lewd touch and his wicked demonstration of her fundamentally erotic nature—her basic, animal need for a good hard fucking by the man to whom she now belonged.

To his surprise—and, he felt certain, her own shock—Willa went right over the edge of arousal into what Rex suddenly realized must be his young bride’s very first orgasm. She screamed so loudly in pleasure that he felt glad his house stood a hundred feet away from his neighbors on either side. Her back arched, and as he held her down more firmly, sensing precisely what she needed, she screamed again. The sweet, creamy thighs, so enticingly harnessed and framed by the suspenders and the stockings, trembled; her adorable red bottom squirmed desperately.

Rex clamped his right thigh down harder, keeping her legs apart as Willa tried to close them, as if she meant to deny him this sexiest of views. He felt the climax, still building, and he thought he could teach her here and now, over his knee, to come again—and maybe settle in her mind once and for all whether she wanted to submit to the sexual training he meant to give his bride.

With his whole hand, Rex took hold of all the sweetness between her legs and between her well-spanked cheeks. His fingertips, on her clit, fluttered quickly against the center of her arousal. His palm could feel her virgin sheath spasm against her husband’s commanding grip. Best of all—and most dominant—he moved his thumb further back, boldly parting the little apples of her backside to touch the tiny rose there, and to tell her with that touch how very thoroughly she would belong to her bridegroom before morning broke again over Red Creek.

Willa’s first orgasm had receded a few seconds earlier, and so before the next one swept over her she had the breath to say, softly and wonderingly, just as she felt her husband’s thumb on her anus, “Oh, God… oh, please… sir.” Then the next climax came on, and she screamed even louder, bucked even harder against Rex’s grasp.

He kept her pussy and her bottom in his hand for a long time, as Willa just kept coming. At last, though he felt sure she wanted—needed—more, he took the hand away, opened it, and began to stroke her warm bottom gently. He smoothed the alluring gusset of her lacy thong back into place. The feeling drew a little whimper that sounded like a protest from Willa’s chest, but no more.

Rex took his hand from her bottom, finally, and let go of her wrist. He reached for his champagne flute, pleased and a little surprised to realize the precious Dom hadn’t warmed much at all since he’d put it down. He sipped contemplatively, gazing down at the marvelous prospect of his lovely bride’s bare bottom, pondering how very quickly such earthshattering events as the orgasms he had just forced on his young wife can unfold.

Willa whimpered again, as if she could hear him swallow his champagne, could sense in it precisely the dominance he meant her to understand. Her climaxes had made his heart glow. Though the pleasure had been hers, she had received it obediently, despite the degradation of being made to come over her husband’s knee after a spanking. She deserved another little reward, before she at last obeyed his embarrassing commands.

“Stand up, Wills,” he said softly, and he helped her obey with his right hand, his left still holding the champagne. Her flushed, tearstained face tilted downward to where he held the flute, as if she couldn’t look him in the eye after the erotic display he had just called forth from her innocent body.

With his right hand, he lifted her chin, until she did turn her gaze upon him, her beautiful blue eyes meeting his and, it seemed, noticing Rex’s warm smile, because Willa smiled too. He raised the flute and put it in the right hand she instinctively reached out for it. Willa’s smile became a grin—almost a mischievous grin, Rex thought, like the mouth of a girl who’s gotten away with something. She raised the glass to her lips, and took not a sip but a swallow, draining half the champagne in a second.

Rex couldn’t help it: he laughed as he took the flute away from his naughty bride.

“I love you so much,” he said, and he put his arms around her, holding the glass around the back of her wedding gown, delighting in the feeling of her silky skin where it emerged from the paradoxically less silky fabric.

“Oh, Rex… sir,” Willa breathed against his shoulder. “Me too. I… it’s just…”

Rex’s own smile got bigger. “I know, Wills. But trust me?”

“You’re going to whip me!” she exclaimed petulantly.

“I am,” he confirmed. “You didn’t give me any choice.”

Willa sighed and clung to him, as if those words had some meaning to her, inside.

No choice. Did either of them have a choice, really?

“Time to get you out of this gown,” he said, putting a little authority in his tone.

After a moment’s hesitation, Willa said softly, “Yes, sir.”

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