Governing His Bride by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview

Suddenly Priscilla did think she had started to understand, as she took her first tentative step toward where William waited. She felt much naughtier even to be in her underclothes in his presence than she had when Mr. Tester had inspected her; that must represent some part of it. The idea that William would lift her shift and pull her drawers down, that he would apply his firm hand to her bare bottom as if she were a misbehaving child, made her private part so warm and wet that her thighs felt slick as she moved toward him—and that was part of the punishment, wasn’t it?

To know that William did control her; that with the simplest use of the governor between her legs, on her (her mental voice fell to a whisper) cunt, he could allow her to feel what she had felt just a few minutes before—the aching ecstasy that had brought her to her knees before her fiancé, the pleasure that cried out that there must be more pleasure, right that instant, and if Priscilla couldn’t have more of that pleasure she would die… to know that made for a kind of discipline she had never, ever imagined. She had thought that being whipped by Mr. Tester and by her mother, over the same bed where William now promised to do things to her at whose nature Priscilla still couldn’t guess, had taught her to be the kind of good girl who deserved the good things a husband like William brought with him. But those whippings seemed to her now like nothing, compared even with the idea of laying herself over her bridegroom’s lap for a spanking.

And all because of the governor. The thing she couldn’t even feel except in the way William’s words and William’s touch affected her most private places. She remembered the instant of terrible pleasure when Dr. Gowdy had installed it, the way she had writhed for a fraction of a second much more violently even than she had when the doctor had given her her first climax. Now, with the governor set at seven (how high did the numbers go?! surely they couldn’t go higher than ten?) she felt more aching arousal than she had with the doctor’s fingers and wand exploring the secrets between her legs, and the thought of that writhing moment seemed to make her flesh cry out, strange as it seemed, for her future husband to spank her as hard as he could.

He put his hands out to receive her, and she felt his touch on her body for the first time separated only by the thin fabric of her shift, blushing again to know that soon he would make her take that off, just as he would soon lower her drawers and see her naked bottom. He guided her silently to his right side, then laid her down, trembling, over his lap. Upended, with her backside the highest part of her, Priscilla felt a tremor of fear and shame go through her body, but mingled so thoroughly with arousal that she couldn’t help a whimper that seemed to express all three things.

“Please, sir,” she said.

“What are you asking for, darling?” William’s voice came from high above her, and she thought again about the moment she had knelt, looking up at him, feeling that she wished only to worship this godlike, handsome man in hope that he might permit her to please him. He adjusted her on his lap, putting his left arm around her waist and raising her bottom so that her head hung down further and even her toes came off the floor. She felt so small, and William seemed so big and strong. She whimpered again, a tiny sound from the back of her throat.

She hardly knew what her please had meant, but she said in a whisper, “Please, not very hard,” even though just a moment before she had caught herself longing for him to be severe with her.

“Don’t be silly, Priscilla. I must spank you hard. You must learn your lesson. When I require you to undress, you will undress.”

He pulled her shift up.

“I shall lower your drawers now, darling. I want you to think about what it means when a husband must bare his wife’s bottom for punishment. Through your disobedience you have forfeited your right to be covered before me when I instruct you in your duty. Now you must have a lesson over my knee, with your underwear down.”

Another whimper, this one almost a sob, burst from Priscilla’s throat. How could anything so shameful make her feel so much of that terrible, itchy pleasure in her little furrow?

She felt his fingers inside the elastic waistband of her drawers.

“When we are married, Priscilla, you will wear a new sort of underwear that I imagine you’ve never heard of,” William said conversationally, just tugging the garment down a little and then pausing, as if to let her feel the meaning of his words.

“What?” she said, startled, raising her head and trying without success to turn her face so that she could see him.

“Shh,” William said, and pulled the drawers down another inch, so that the backs of his fingers were against the curve of her twin bottom-cheeks. Another of the little whimpers came from Priscilla as if of its own accord, this one much sharper. When her guardian and the housekeeper had whipped her, there had been nothing like this; she had taken off her clothes and laid herself down. A handsome man, the handsome man to whom she now belonged, hadn’t touched her like this, bared her like this.

“Husbands call them training pants,” William said, “and they are indeed a little like the training pants worn by toddlers.”

“B-but…” The drawers were all the way down to the top of her thighs, now, but William tugged them gently down even further so that they made a tangle just above Priscilla’s knees.

“Wives, I believe, simply call them punishment drawers.”

He put his big hand on her bottom, and this whimper came much more like a cry of alarm from Priscilla’s chest. No one had ever touched her that way—even the doctor, with his mortifying manipulation, had touched her most private places only clinically. But William held her little bottom in his hand far, far from clinically: he held, cupped, and squeezed the tiniest bit. He said, through his hand, that Priscilla Auden’s bottom belonged to him, now, and that as Mrs. William Verner she would submit it to his caresses and to his discipline as often as he required. Between her legs, where the little governor allowed her seven degrees of arousal but no more, the itching became nearly unbearable.

“Oh, please… please, sir… what are they?” The thought of having to wear anything called either training pants or punishment drawers only made the itching worse. She didn’t know if she wanted the spanking to start, or wanted to have her terrible curiosity about what William had told her of this new sort of underwear satisfied so perhaps some of the baffling mixture of dread and arousal would go away.

“I will tell you only one thing about them, darling, before I spank you,” William said, beginning to rub her bottom in gentle circles that seemed to make her little cries come out as a continuous, pleading whine. “The waistband opens to my touch, but not to yours.”

Priscilla, so distracted by his touch and by the anticipation of the spanking and what would follow that her wits already seemed utterly removed from her, took a very long time to understand the simplest part of what he meant. It didn’t make sense, so her mind kept recoiling from it and concentrating instead on the very, very pressing question of when he would leave off the awful rubbing and start the spanking that now seemed almost welcome.

But he didn’t leave off the rubbing, and to her shame she realized that the whine had turned into a low moan as the warmth in front, though it seemed it could not build—since, she imagined, her fiancé had set the control to seven—nevertheless could apparently ache more and more frustratingly. How warmth could ache, Priscilla felt she might never be able to figure out, but her lust-addled brain thought it might have something to do with feeling like the whole region William had so mortifyingly called her cunt now seemed actually to glow with heat.

Then, just as he lifted his hand and she knew the first spank from her future husband would soon land on her bare bottom, Priscilla did understand what it meant that William would be able to undo the waistband on her training pants, but she herself would not. She pictured herself standing in front of him, with legs crossed, doing a little girl’s dance of discomfort. Sir, may I please use the toilet?

She gave a little gasp of shame as the ache and the itching became so strong she had to ball her hands into little fists as they hung down by her face.

Then William’s hand came down hard, with a loud sound she felt sure her parents must be able to hear from down the hall. For a tiny moment she wondered when she would feel the sting, but then as the second spank landed like the first in the middle of her bottom, across both cheeks, she realized that she had already felt it, and somehow instead of hurting, exactly, it had simply seemed to refocus the terrible ache in front, where she suddenly became all too conscious of her naked private part being divided from William’s trousers only by the thin muslin of her shift. That warmth under her future husband’s hand, as now he began to alternate his spanks between cheeks that themselves felt like they had begun to glow, flowed backward, and for a few moments—a very few moments—the spanking actually felt good.

Priscilla was a good girl, now, she thought with a strange pride: Mr. William Verner had taken her in hand. He would spank her when she needed it, and she would accept the lessons he saw fit to give. He was her accepted lover, and he had the right to bare her bottom. All the naughty feelings she might have down between her thighs belonged to him, and he would control them, punish her as necessary, and then he would do something like what the doctor had done, but it would be ever so much nicer because she loved William and William loved her.

But that strange moment of comfort and pride vanished almost as quickly as it had come. William kept spanking, and he kept spanking hard, saying nothing and letting his firm hand do the talking. The glowing ache, and even the itching, went away, but Priscilla got not the slightest joy from their disappearance, because her bottom hurt.

She cried out, and though she wanted to stay still she couldn’t keep from writhing across William’s lap almost the same way she had writhed naked in the exam chair at the doctor’s office. William tightened his left arm’s grip around her waist and kept spanking her.

She kicked out behind, but he merely shifted her little body in between his legs and immobilized her knees under his right thigh.

“Please…” she sobbed. “Please, sir, no more.” If her parents couldn’t hear the spanking itself, they must be able to hear her crying. She pictured a look of satisfaction on her mother’s face, and that made her break into fresh tears, though somehow it also helped her still her body across William’s left thigh as he continued the spanking a few moments more, until her whole backside felt like it was on fire.

“Are you sorry you didn’t undress when I asked?” William asked softly.

“Yes, sir,” she sobbed.

“Do you plan to take off your clothes when I tell you to, next time?”

But before she could choke out another Yes, sir, he put his hand again on her bottom, and just held her there, again. Instead of the words, a moan broke from her chest: a terrible, long, low, needy moan. If she thought she had ached for her accepted lover’s most lascivious touch before, Priscilla felt then, she hadn’t known what ache meant.

“Oh… oh, William… sir… oh, p-please,” she stammered.

William smiled. His cock had been so hard for so long now that he felt he could sympathize very easily with what his bride now endured.

“Yes, darling,” he said gently. “You may get up and remove your underwear for me, then lie on your tummy on the bed, over the pillows with your knees well apart. I’ll put the lotion on now.”

He helped her to her feet, loving the feeling of having her little body in his arms, her lithe shape freed of her gown’s and corset’s constraints. Her trembling and her clinging to him made his heart seem to glow with affection and care for her. He thanked all the powers of good that the act of disciplining his bride, which aroused him so strongly that it seemed nearly to steal his reason away, should also be the best way to show his tenderness, when he comforted her.

When she stood again, half-turned toward the bed, she said with her blushing face turned over her shoulder, “The lotion is on the nightstand.” In the light from her bedside lamp, her shift was translucent, and with her drawers down around her knees, leaving a sweet strip of bare flesh between the two garments, she looked wonderfully submissive. The little pout that remained on her face from the spanking turned her mouth down just the tiniest bit, so that he felt the urge to kiss her tears away.

He stood and did just that, taking the opportunity to raise her shift and hold the bottom he had warmed so thoroughly again in his hand. The little apples of her backside seemed to fit so perfectly into his palm that he could already scarcely imagine his life before she belonged to him, before he could exercise his right to touch her lasciviously and disciplinarily whenever he wished. Priscilla tensed and gave a startled little moan, as if she worried that he might spank her again, and then she yielded her body up to his again.

“Thank you, darling,” William replied when he broke the kiss. “Now take off your shift and drawers, please.”

“Yes, sir,” Priscilla murmured, turning away and grasping the neck of her shift to unfasten it, so that she could remove it over her head.

William had the urge to make her strip for him while facing him, but to take all her modesty away would spoil some of the fun, he thought on a moment’s reflection. He would lay her over the pillows, make her come, get her ready for fucking, and then at last deflower her—all with her face turned demurely away, down toward the bed just as if she were being punished, while he enjoyed himself as he pleased. The illusion of permitting his blushing bride to keep a shred of her modesty as his cock triumphed over her maidenhead made him harder than ever.

He took two of her firmest pillows—loving the notion that now he could always picture his sweet darling nestled in her little bed among these many soft things, for Priscilla seemed to have no fewer than six pillows upon her bed—and piled them for her down near the foot so that he would be able to stand comfortably when the time came to take hold of her hips and thrust in, claiming her as his own.

When he turned back to her, she had laid her shift over the back of the chair, ready of course to be put on again as soon as he allowed it. An administrative-class Prosperian girl knew that she must never be unclothed for any longer than those to whom she answered required it of her. William found that terribly endearing, but he also wondered whether even after he left his sweet girl tonight he should require that she sleep naked, as she would sleep naked, in his arms, many nights in the near future, when she had come to him as his wife.

Now Priscilla stooped to pull her drawers off, and the ungainly posture made William smile even as the tiny wisp of cunt hair and even of the pink secrets between her thighs that he could see made his cock leap. She straightened up, folding her drawers and laying them on the chair. Then she turned to look at him over her shoulder, her left forearm over her little breasts and her right hand down in front of her private part, even though she still faced the corner where her desk stood, and William couldn’t see the naughty treasures she hid. In the glow of the lamp, he could just make out the lingering redness from her spanking, turning her bottom a warm shade of pink.

He watched her eyes go nervously from him to the pillows on the bed. As if noticing where he had placed them and not understanding, she looked back at him with wide eyes.

“Go ahead and get over the pillows now, Priscilla,” he said in a firm tone, not finding it particularly easy to keep his impatience out of his voice.

She turned, still covering herself and with a deep furrow in her brow.

“I’ll permit you to cover yourself this evening,” William said, “but you must expect to be punished in the future if you try to hide those sweet charms from me.”

Her eyes went wide, and her lips parted as if to shape an objection, but perhaps she saw the hunger in her bridegroom’s eyes and what it promised if she delayed in her obedience any longer. She bit her lip instead of speaking and scurried to the foot of the bed. There she hesitated for a moment, as if working up the courage to move her hands from her chest and loins in order to clamber up.

William refused to let the opportunity go to waste: he took a step forward and gave his girl a sharp spank in the middle of her bottom. The sound of it rang out in her little bedroom, along with her ambiguous cry of pain, mingled with very obvious arousal. Even the inventors of the clitoral governor didn’t know, and subsequent research hadn’t determined, whether something about the device actually strengthened and deepened the sensation that traveled from a girl’s bottom to her clitoris, or whether the deprivation attendant on having the governor at zero, together with a girl’s first erotic awakening at the hands of a man created some analogous effect. Whatever it was, William knew that when he spanked Priscilla, with the governor turned up past five, it would always stimulate her sexually.

Priscilla gave him one final half reproachful and half wondering look over her shoulder. Then she climbed quickly onto her bed and put herself over the pillows. William told himself that nothing could be as pretty as Priscilla Auden in a lovely evening gown, smiling up at him, but the sight of her naked over the pillows, with bottom raised, obediently parting her knees so he could at last see all her most intimate charms in person at closest range, had even greater attractions, at least when his cock was threatening to burst through his trousers.

The sweet pink inner lips of her virgin cunt pouted primly, peeping out from the creamy folds of her outer ones with their adorable red curls. Above, even the tiny flower of her anus winked at him from between the little cheeks that his firm hand had made so warm and rosy. He had a guilty pang at the thought of the resolution he had made on his way to the Auden house tonight, that he would finish in his bride’s bottom, but he had no intention of parting from the idea, perhaps to spurt his seed on her back or even her face.

Custom dictated that after deflowering his bride’s cunt, a gentleman did not spend his seed there, so as not to leave her with a swollen belly should he elect to pay compensation instead of marrying her. But men were divided on the matter of which other ways of enjoyment should be opened on a girl’s first night of sexual service to her future husband. Some maintained that only the mouth should be enjoyed in addition to the cunt, while those of William’s mind insisted that even an administrative-class bride should be left in no doubt that her husband would make frequent use of her anus.

As he fetched the little tube of lotion from Priscilla’s night table, he pondered the question of whether to turn her governor up—or even down—to help get her cunt ready for fucking. To turn it up would certainly make her wetter down there, but he could tell from the way she glistened, and from the naughty scent in the air, that her wetness wouldn’t pose a problem. To turn the governor down would increase the need she felt on an emotional level, born of the increased frustration as he curbed the sensate feeling between her thighs for his mastery.

He stood behind her, listening to her whimpering little breaths and feeling a mixture of love and arousal of which he had not even imagined he was capable. As he watched, her cunt-lips seemed to flutter and her bottom clenched. Priscilla gave a little cry of embarrassment, as if to know that her fiancé could see her private parts do that shamed her.

William couldn’t resist: he stooped and kissed her right there, where it said WEV in tiny letters, right upon her clitoris.

“Oh! William!” she cried out in surprise. “Wh-what are you…?”

He flicked his tongue out, and Priscilla gave a little scream. She tasted tangy and terribly naughty, and he couldn’t keep himself from tasting her again.

“Oh, sir… oh, please… l-lotion…”

“Shh,” William said, standing again and finally squeezing some of the clear unguent onto his fingers. “Here you go, darling.”

He knew how different the experience of the lotion on the fingers of her bridegroom, with the governor at seven, would be from what it had felt like when she herself had put it on to assuage the regular, non-erotic itching, the night before, but his sweet girl’s reaction came as a delightful surprise nevertheless. At his touch she cried out and moved her bottom lewdly to rub her clitoris against his fingers. She seemed almost like an animal in heat, presenting her cunt to him with the arching of her back, and the sounds that came from her throat were like the whines of a gratified puppy.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you,” she managed to get out, as William rubbed the ointment around and around the place where the doctor had installed the governor that gave him absolute control of his bride’s erotic life. Her cunt felt so soft and warm and wet to his touch that he knew he couldn’t wait any longer.

He stood and quickly unfastened his trousers so that they and his drawers dropped to the floor together.

“Oh, please,” Priscilla moaned. “Please don’t stop, sir.”

“It’s time for me to do something else, darling. I’m going to fuck you now.”

She gasped as he pushed the head of his cock against her cunt very softly, rubbing it up and down to get her used to the feeling of having his manhood there, pressing it against her clitoris so that she gave a happy little cry.

“What is it?” she asked. “What are you touching me with?”

William looked down at her innocent little face, her cheek turned against the chenille coverlet of her girlhood bed, her eyes closed. He looked at her little hands, stretched out to either side of her face.

“It’s my cock, darling,” he said. “It must enter inside your cunt, now, and then enter your bottom afterward.”

“It feels very nice, sir,” Priscilla said dreamily.

“It will hurt you in a few moments, I’m afraid. I must take your maidenhead, so that your cunt will be open for my cock from now on.”

“My what?” Her eyes flew open, and she tried to turn her head to look at him.

“Shh,” he said, still rubbing the head of his cock soothingly up and down. “Your maidenhead.” He moved his cock to the place where it would enter her fully, loving how very wet she had gotten for him. He pushed a little further in. Priscilla gasped.

“Oh! Y-you can’t… can you? Sir? What are you doing?”

He pushed again. “I can, Priscilla,” he said. “And I will. Be brave now.”