Don't Miss
Home / Stormy Night Publications Newsletter / His Blushing Bride by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview

His Blushing Bride by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview

“Put your arms up,” he said, injecting a little sharpness into his tone.

Mary whimpered through her nose and obeyed, so that Sam could pull her top off and drop it to the floor. Then he put his fingers under the elastic edge of the bralette. She whimpered again, louder, and her chin moved gently back and forth in a soft, silent no. Her face had become such an exaggerated mask of woe that Sam felt certain his wife must have in her mind’s eye some fantasy of compulsion far, far beyond anything he might intend: Mary’s expression would, he thought, suit an innocent slave girl brought to the bed of a Roman emperor, or a college girl made to undress for a compulsory ‘extra credit’ session with her professor.

He pulled the bralette up and over her head, then dropped it on top of the shirt.

“Put your hands on your head, Pixy,” he said, using the same slightly stern voice. “Open your eyes.”

With a little whine she obeyed both commands, looking back at him with a new expression, curiosity mingled with fear.

“Please…” Mary whispered. “I’ll be good, sir.”

Sam felt his own eyes widen a little as a smile came to his lips.

“Yes,” he agreed. “You will.” With his hands resting on his thighs he surveyed the devastatingly sexy sight of his nineteen-year-old bride topless in the dining room, little breasts perfectly presented over her flat tummy. He let his eyes roam from her pink face to the waistband of her tight jeans.

“Don’t?” Mary said very softly. “Please.”

Sam raised his eyes to hers again.

“I’ll look at you as much as I want, Mary, from now on. Another mistake I made on our wedding night was leaving the light off. It will be on when I fuck you in the future. Especially tonight.”

Mary closed her eyes and breathed, “Oh, God.”

“Now take a step back and strip off your jeans and panties.”

Her hands rose from her head and she looked around at the room, at the empty plates on the table.

“Yes, in the dining room,” Sam said. “If I decide I want to fuck you here, just like I spanked you here, I’m going to do it.”

Mary’s face crumpled again. “Oh, no.”

On a whim brought to his mind by the dominant instinct whose guidance Sam had begun to trust, he put his hands up to her breasts and took them into his grasp, rubbing his thumbs over her tiny nipples. Mary shuddered and cried out, looking into his eyes with what seemed to him uncontrollable arousal, mingled with regret that he had found out her secret.

“I know what you need, Pixy,” Sam growled. “Take off your pants and your underwear and maybe I’ll touch you down there. Maybe I’ll even put my cock where it belongs.”

“Oh, God,” Mary breathed, her hands balling into fists. “Don’t.”

But Sam moved his right hand around her back and pulled her even closer, so that he could lean forward in the dining chair and flick his tongue against the nipple of her right breast as he squeezed it in his left hand. Mary gasped, and then cried out as he bit the delicious little bud very lightly.

Then Sam’s instinct told him exactly what had to come next. His bride needed to know that just as she had no say in whether she would feel his discipline across her young backside, she had no choice as to the pleasure her husband would force upon her body. He pulled his head back so that he could look into her eyes again, and he spoke softly.

“Take off your pants, Pixy, and get a fucking, or I’ll take them off and you’ll only get a whipping.”

“No… no…” she whispered, her chin moving slowly from side to side. “Not… please… not with…” She swallowed very hard, and he felt a delicious shudder go through her whole body.

Sam nodded slowly. “With my belt, Mary. When you’re very naughty. Especially if you lie to me again.” Their eyes still locked, he flicked out his tongue to tease her nipple again, while he put his right hand further down, to hold the warm seat of her jeans. A wrenching sob of need came from Mary. “And now, Pixy. Over the chair with my belt across your bare bottom, if you don’t take down your pants and your panties this minute.”

He released her from his arms and sat back in his chair. For a moment she remained motionless, still looking into his eyes, her hands still hovering in midair. Then her adorable nose twitched, and Sam had the distinct impression that the tiny movement had shown him a wealth of thought and emotion: Mary realizing that she didn’t have a choice, and she didn’t need to feel ashamed of how wet her husband’s dominance got her.

Mary closed her eyes as her hands moved downward to the button on her jeans. Her fingers fumbled there for a moment, and then she gave a little whimper as the button opened, as if startled by the reality of how it felt to strip for a compulsory marital fucking.

Her eyes opened. “Please, Sam,” she whispered. “Not from behind?”

Sam’s blue eyes looked back at her so steadily it made Mary’s heart jump.

“I think you know very well I’m going to fuck you from behind, sweetheart,” he said, “or you wouldn’t have asked. It’s how naughty girls get fucked, bent over with their husband’s hands holding them in place for the cock. Now get your pants off.”

Mary closed her eyes again and felt a sob of shame and need rise from her chest. Why had she asked?

Because I wanted him to say yes or because I wanted him to say no?

She put her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans. Could she really do it? Could she take them off here in the dining room knowing that her husband meant to fuck her that way?

Another sob burst from her, because the very feeling of working her thumbs inside her panties, of the slight stoop it required to begin obeying her husband’s shameful command, made her clench down there and feel again how terribly wet she had gotten at Sam’s dominance.

She felt her brow crease as she managed to get the jeans down to mid-thigh and she felt the air moving on her pussy and her spanked backside. A memory from her wedding night came unbidden, bringing a little whimper: the moment she had stood naked in the bathroom before she put on the white nightgown, the blush that had spread across her face as she had looked at her nudity—her tiny breasts and her little bush.

Mary had thought then, Sam gets to see this whenever he wants, now. That idea had sent a wicked thrill rocketing through her whole body, a hint of coming ecstasy so overwhelming that Mary had feared Sam might think her that terrible thing Mrs. Grabano had called some girls… loose.

Suddenly, here in the dining room, Mary realized that everything that had gone wrong between them had come from that moment. She cried out with the knowledge, so impossible did it seem to tell Sam about it.

But her jeans and panties had dropped to the floor around her feet, and Mary stood with one hand across her breasts and the other over her pussy. She looked at Sam’s hands, resting on his knees. His clothes were on, and hers were off. He was the husband, and she the wife; he got to see her like this whenever he wanted.

“Take your hands away, Mary,” he said. “And step out of your jeans. Then give me your panties. I want to look at them.”

“What?” Mary looked up at him in horror, her hands still over her private parts.

“You heard me, Pixy. I need to inspect your underwear. I think it’s the only way I can figure out what you really need.”

“But…” she wailed. “But I took off my clothes!”

“Mary, what’s going to happen between us now,” Sam said steadily, “isn’t one thing that you can do and then you won’t have to obey me anymore. We’re going to do a lot of stuff, just tonight. Stuff you don’t think you’re going to like, that you’re going to do because I want it. And tonight will only be the beginning.”

Mary’s heart had started to race. “Like… what?” she whispered.

“You’ll find out very soon. But I told you to take your hands away. Don’t make me whip you to get a good look at your cute little pussy and your sweet tits.”

She felt her face crumple as she saw that he knew—that he absolutely knew. Her husband had somehow become fully aware of what a naughty girl, what a loose girl he had married. Part of Mary wondered why that didn’t make it easier, why it only made her hands clutch more tightly at her breasts and down between her legs, as if she were a modest young woman who truly didn’t want a man to look at the parts of her that tingled and ached with wicked need.

Her cheeks blazed. Your cute little pussy. Your sweet tits. Good girls wore panties to cover their pussies, and they didn’t get those panties wet.

But her eyes went down to the big silver buckle of Sam’s jeans belt. To be whipped with her husband’s belt over a dining chair… the thought made her whole frame shudder, made her hands fly away to her sides even as she closed her eyes so that she wouldn’t have to see Sam’s satisfaction at having made her show him her twice-fucked pussy.

What had he meant? What else did he intend to do with her… to her, tonight? The question floating through her mind drew a whimper from her lips as she stood with her hands clenching into fists and then unclenching, as if she could somehow send the tension in her limbs out, down to the floor, that way.

“Mary, I love you so much,” she heard Sam say softly. “You turn me on so damn much. I can hardly stop myself from taking you every night when I come into the bedroom and every morning when I wake up.”

With a little gasp she opened her eyes, just as her hips jerked with a thrill of need down below. Sam looked back at her with a soft smile on his lips, and then she saw his gaze travel downward, saw him look at her little breasts and her sparsely covered pussy. She bit her lip and couldn’t keep down a little whine of shame.

“Last week,” Sam continued, “I thought I had to find a way to put that idea out of my mind. This week, I know it’s going to come true. You’re going to have a lot of sex from now on, Pixy. Every night and every morning. Three times on my days off. Any way I want, starting tonight.”

Mary felt her forehead crease very deeply. “Any way?” she whispered.

Sam nodded. “Now give me those panties.”

She looked down, and even from above she could see the wet spot. He knew, though—so why did it matter so much?

“Mary,” Sam growled. She could hear his belt in the way he said her name, and it made her start. She stooped, her whole body shaking, and got her feet out of her jeans and panties. Holding them, the impulse to turn and run came over her, so strongly that she almost obeyed it, but the urge to get it over with and to get the underwear that bore the signs of her immodesty out of her hands conquered the desire to flee. Looking not at the polka-dot panties but at the jeans in her other hand, she reached the little wisp of cotton out to Sam.

He took them. Mary tried to busy herself with folding her jeans, but Sam said, “Drop those, Pixy,” in so sharp a voice that she obeyed immediately and found herself looking at him although she had decided she wouldn’t, not while he had her panties in his hands.

When he saw her gazing back at him, Sam turned his own attention downward, and he smoothed out the gusset of the panties so that the wet spot became very obvious. Mary bit her lip, then let out a sob when her husband brought the panties to his nose to take a deep whiff of his naughty bride’s intimate scent.

His eyes rose again, to meet hers. He lowered her panties from his face a little. “I love this fragrance, Mary,” he said. “When I smelled it last Sunday I didn’t understand. Now I do.”

A little whine came from her nose, and her chin tried to go back and forth to say no, but she couldn’t even manage that. He lowered his eyes again, to look at the needy place from which the wicked scent came.

“You’re going to be bare down there from now on,” he said evenly and matter-of-factly. “You’ll shave later tonight. I got everything you need at the drugstore. I don’t want you thinking you can hide your pussy from me anymore.”

“But…” she tried, but she didn’t have anything to put after but, and she could see in Sam’s eyes that even the but would get her into trouble.

“No buts,” he said, his voice becoming the growl that made her heart beat wildly in her chest. “I’m going to inspect your pussy once a week. If I’m not satisfied, you’ll be spanked.”

“You can’t!” Mary exclaimed, because she simply couldn’t help it. “It’s not… it’s just… wrong!” Her hands had formed little fists, and they had drifted in front of her as if to return to the defensive, shielding positions where she had had them before Sam made her show him her private parts.

Sam didn’t respond with words. Instead he leaned forward a little, so that he could put his left arm around Mary’s waist and pull her back between his legs, as she gave a startled little cry. At the same time, his right hand went between her thighs, and the little cry became a long, low moan. His eyes had traveled down there, too, and Mary felt her brow furrow as she watched him watch his upturned fingers explore her.

Then he looked up again, into her eyes, his hands possessing her in front and behind, for he had taken her whole bottom in his grip, now, too. “Mine,” he said simply, and his thumb pressed her clit as he thrust two fingers inside her pussy, and at the same time ran his middle finger between her bottom-cheeks to touch her there, too.

Mary felt the wetness gush from her at his dominance, his ownership. Her legs shook as her husband demonstrated that he understood her words of protest covered not true modesty but abject wantonness.

The finger behind her pressed firmly against her smallest place, and Mary suddenly thought of what Sam had said earlier, about all the things he meant to do with her tonight. Surely he didn’t mean to… to have her… there? The idea made her heart jump in her chest.

“Mine,” Sam said again, and now he moved his right hand up, to put it behind her neck and pull her face down to his so that he could kiss her, at the same time working his other hand further under, and forward so that Mary felt her whole spanked bottom and her still nearly virgin pussy held in his grasp. She cried out into his mouth as she felt his fingers work her firmly down there, teaching her of her husband’s right to prepare his property as he liked, for his enjoyment.

Sam kissed her for a long time, as she bucked against his hands, her hips jerking as he fondled her naked body roughly. The contrast of her creamy skin with his jeans and the white button-down shirt he wore in the gym office made her shiver all the more in his arms. It seemed so shameful to be naked in the dining room, when her husband had his clothes on, that it made her whole body seem hot with embarrassment.

Suddenly she realized that he had begun to put gentle downward pressure on her neck and shoulders. He broke the kiss, but he kept his face close. “Kneel down, Pixy,” he said softly. “Between my legs, in front of me.”

“Why?” Mary asked in a voice that sounded even more quavery to her ears than she had thought it would.

“You know why,” Sam replied gravely. “You’re going to learn to be a good girl for your husband, tonight, and this is a very important part of it.”

Read More Info and Buy!

This content is linked through SNP’s newsletter! Don’t miss out on all the free content! Add your email below!