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Bridal Suite Submission Ch. 02

By: kindredspiritofkink



I'm a very bashful person by nature. I've always been modestly self conscious, especially about public displays of affection. It's a shyness that Peter has certainly tested, and so delightfully. But then, I'm getting ahead of myself. I tell you this only so you can

imagine how exhilarated I felt when, on our wedding day, Peter pulled me into his arms and kissed me so deeply for our first wedding photo, right there on the lawn in front of the little campus chapel where we'd just been wed, our friends and family all gathered around to watch.

It was a lovely summer day, a day perfect for enjoying in slow motion though ours had been a whirlwind. The ceremony, the vows, everything. Now as Peter and I posed for our photos it felt the first chance I'd had all day to actually stop and breathe. My heart still raced as wildly as it had earlier up on the alter, though now it was as much for the exhibitionistic thrill of kissing for the camera as for anything else. It's silly, I know. But 4

that's just how I am.

After the first few photos our friends and family naturally drifted off to other things, and Peter and I finally had a few moments alone to ourselves, albeit under the watchful eye of the photographer. I felt alive with arousal. Peter's arms were around me at every moment, his lovely body so close, his lips on mine each chance we had. Every time we kissed, every time we posed for the photographer, it felt a strangely exhibitionistic act. In

my fantasies the heroine would feel like this, except she would be nude for the camera and it wouldn't be her lover's lips upon her but his manhood within her. I trembled to imagine this and hugged Peter closer.

One picture more than any set my heart racing. It was entirely unscripted. Our photographer was in between rolls of film and she'd gone back inside the chapel for more.

In our moment alone Peter sat down on a little bench, and not knowing exactly why except that it felt only natural, I knelt at his feet. My wedding gown settled around me. With my bouquet of roses cradled in my arms I leaned against Peter's legs and smiled. The lovely breeze tickled the bare skin between my breasts, where the daring plunge of my neckline left me dangerously exposed. I tingled. I felt alive. I felt a woman helplessly, completely in love. Overwhelmed by what I felt for Peter I looked up at him, and at that moment I saw our photographer leaning out from the upper window of the chapel with camera in hand, just above us. It was a fleeting, stolen moment. I smiled and she snapped our picture.

It was only afterward that I realized how perfect a view she must have had down my

cleavage, and how submissive I must have looked kneeling at Peter's feet. It was a thrilling thought. Of all the photos we'd taken, this one more than any I couldn't wait to see.

* * *

On the dance floor, our reception in full swing, Peter pulled me into his arms and kissed me deeply, leading me in our first dance as Mr. and Mrs. Peter Thomas. Our first slow, close dance. You can imagine how my heart skipped a beat to feel his lips on mine,

and his hands on me, and how my love for him leapt, and how I blushed. Just as I'd blushed when he kissed me at the altar in front of everyone, and while posing for photos,

and each time since.

It was our first dance as husband and wife, our first dance as two intimate lovers now joined forever. As Peter held me close and led me to the soft, romantic music, he whispered in my ear:

"You're the most beautiful woman in the world, Catherine."

"And the luckiest," I said, smiling up at him. God, he was so handsome, the twinkle in his eye so exciting. It had been so deliciously distracting to stand there at the altar and want him so badly. Even now I could still hear the words in my head, clear as day.

I, Catherine, take you Peter to be my lawfully wedded husband, to love and to cherish...

...and to lust for, and make mad, passionate love with, and -- God willing -- to submit to, my mind, body and soul...

As we danced together I kissed Peter's ear and whispered to him softly. "I have a surprise for you."

"Oooh.... what is it?"

"I can't tell you yet."

Peter groaned good naturedly. "Why do you do that to me?"

"Because you like it," I teased. But that was only part of the reason. The truth was, I'd also told him just so I couldn't back out. Now he would be expecting the surprise. Now I had to go through with it, no matter how nervous I was.

"When...?"

"Later," I told him softly. "When we're alone."

Peter smiled. "Upstairs?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe we should go right now."

I giggled and hugged him tighter, following him to the music. "And leave our guests? Sorry honey, you'll just have to wait."

Peter groaned. "I can't wait, Catherine. Not now!"

"Well, you're just going to have to." I'd waited months for this, for the wedding and our dance and later. Especially the later part. The surprise part. And I wanted Peter to be as anxious as I was when we got to it. I smiled up at him. "Now kiss me again, honey. I promise it will be worth the wait."

* * *

In my fantasies the hero always stole the heroine away from the reception early, always led her straight to the bridal suite, or the coat room, or the stables -- sometimes even to a dungeon, or even just to the nearby woods -- and took her passionately as she lay bound and helpless. In my fantasies he always whipped her before he had her, and she

always -- always -- loved it. In my fantasies he always ravaged her and took of her his

pleasure with their guests still at hand so nearby and oblivious to their passion.

Reality, though, dictated that Peter and I stay through the reception; through the greetings, the toasts, the cake, the dancing. And at every moment there were our guests:

friends and family, so many that Peter and I hadn't a moment alone to ourselves. By the

time we finally excused ourselves from the reception I was desperate to be away, and

desperate to be alone with Peter.

In true, playful Peter fashion, the moment we were through the doors and our wedding reception behind us he slipped his arms around me from behind, capturing me right there in the hallway. Right there with our friends and family so near, the band, the caterers. The music behind us was a heavy, festive beat now, the laughter and chatter barely muffled by the doors we'd just come through, and now came Peter's husky, sexy voice, whispering in my ear.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Catherine?"

I closed my eyes and smiled as he gently kissed the nape of my neck. Mmmm. "I've wanted to do this all evening," he whispered.

"Do what?"

"This..." He turned me in his arms and kissed me deeply, at the same time slipping one hand down to squeeze my bottom through my silken wedding gown.

"Peter! Someone will see!"

"Then let them."

"Peter!" I squirmed in his arms, blushing. Our guests were still so close in the reception hall behind us, not even out of ear shot yet. And the caterers, and...

And then a familiar, sweet voice, one which brought a still deeper blush to my cheeks.

"Hey you two... what are you doing?"

It was Kim. Beautiful, sweet blonde Kim, my maid of honor and best friend -- well, second best now. I turned and smiled at her. "We were just talking."

"Mmm... is that what that's called?" Kim winked at us. "Anyway, I just wanted to say congratulations before you leave." She stole me playfully from Peter's arms, and as we hugged I saw there was a tear in her eye. But she was smiling.

"Have fun on your honeymoon, Mrs. Catherine Thomas. I'll miss you."

"It's only for a week!" I laughed. "And it's only to Hawaii. I'll be back before you know it."

"I know. I'll just miss you, that's all."

She started to pull away but I held her tight, whispering to her softly now so Peter couldn't hear. "Did you do it?"

Kim nodded. "I put it on the table, just like you asked," she whispered. "What's in it, anyway?"

I blushed. "Nothing. Just a little gift for Peter." I thought of it sitting up there on the table in our bridal suite and felt a shiver of excitement and dread. I'd double wrapped it and tied it tight with not one but two silken ribbons, just so Kim wouldn't have a chance in the world of sneaking a peek. I would just die if she knew what was in it.

Kim scowled at my non answer, then smiled and hugged me tighter. "Promise me you'll tell me everything when you get back?"

"I promise." I felt guilty for lying to her. I was certain that I wouldn't be able to tell her quite everything, even if she was my best friend. Not about the gift, and what I hoped would follow.

We parted ways with a final hug, and when Kim was gone I turned back to Peter. He was smiling. And, god, so handsome.

"So, ready for bed?"

"I'm not sleepy," I said with a smile.

"Well... want to go upstairs anyway?"

I hugged Peter tight and kissed him deeply. "Yes, Peter. More than you can know."

* * *

It didn't even really begin to sink in until the hotel elevator doors closed, and Peter and I were alone for the first time all day. The wedding, the photos, the reception ... not once had we been really, truly alone. Now as the elevator doors dinged shut I turned and hugged Peter close, smiling up at him, feeling a flood of love for him such as I'd never

quite felt before. He was the only man I'd ever really loved, the only man I'd ever wanted

to marry. He was my best friend, my one and only true love, my most intimate lover... and now my beloved husband. My beloved, sexy husband. God, he looked so handsome in his tuxedo. So tall and cute and sexy. I'd lusted for him all through the ceremony, and the reception, and the dancing. And now...

As the elevator rose silently I hugged Peter tighter and kissed him. "Will you really?" I asked him hopefully.

Peter smiled curiously. "Will I what?"

"Love me forever."

Peter slipped his arms around me and pulled me closer, his smile widening. "For ever and ever and ever."

As he kissed me again I hugged him still tighter, crushing his body against mine. I could feel his love for me, and his lust. It was hard against my belly through our clothes.

I'd felt it all through the reception, every time we'd danced close or hugged or brushed against each other. I hadn't been able to do anything about it with all our friends and family around, but now in the privacy of the elevator I couldn't help but slip my hand down and squeeze the bulge in his pants.

"Will you lust for me forever?"

"Without a doubt!" Peter chuckled. I loved his chuckle. I loved his laugh, his smile, the way his eyes twinkled when he was happy... the way his eyes gleamed mischievously when he was excited, like they did now.

"Want to tell me what you're thinking?" I asked.

"Just thinking of ways I could satisfy my lust for you."

I felt a tremor of excitement at his words. "I've a few ways in mind myself," I told him quietly.

"Oh? Do tell!"

I blushed. "I will... but upstairs. In our suite..." I would tell him then, and more.

Thinking about the "more" made me blush deeper still. Upstairs in our suite was the "more", the present I had prepared for Peter. The present with the note in it. Just thinking

about it made me shudder with excitement.

And nervousness. I still didn't know just how Peter would react, of course. At the altar I had vowed my love to him, and my body and soul, but upstairs in our bridal suite I

would be exposing them to him... more than I had to anyone else, ever.

"I still can't believe you actually wore this," Peter smiled, tracing the neckline of my wedding gown. I blushed. I couldn't believe it either. I'd never worn anything quite so daring, at least outside the bedroom. Standing up there before our friends and family,

vowing my love to Peter, I had felt such an embarrassingly exhibitionistic thrill that I was still tingling from it, even now in the elevator.

"So... you like it?"

"I love it!" Peter laughed. "And so did everyone else, I'll bet."

I blushed. I hadn't really done it for anyone else, or even Peter really, for that matter. I'd worn it for myself, and how it made me feel. Sexy, attractive, exciting... daring. Almost as if I were baring a part of myself -- a part deep inside -- which I had never let anyone else see. Until tonight, of course. Until the gift, and the note, which waited in the suite.

I slipped my hands down and found Peter's, clasping them tightly, leaning against him contentedly and watching without a word as the floors ticked off. We were almost there...

The Bridal Suite

Our suite -- the bridal suite -- was on the top floor. The elevator opened directly into a little lobby that was all our own. It was here, standing before the gold gilded door to our suite, that I caught Peter's arm.

"Tell me again, Peter," I said softly. "Tell me how much you love me."

Peter kissed me gently. "I love you more than anything else in the world, Catherine. And that will never change."

It was delightfully calming to hear him say it. I knew it already, of course. Peter knew more about me than any other person did, and yet he loved me so deeply and accepted everything about me without question. He knew my hopes, my desires, my faults, my secrets, my fantasies... well, all my fantasies except for my deepest, darkest ones. And in a few moments he would know those, too.

"You know I love you too," I said, watching him seriously as he unlocked the door to our suite.

"I know."

"And lust for you..."

Peter smiled, and in reply he suddenly hoisted me in his arms as effortlessly as could be, carrying me over the threshold as he kissed me again.

In our suite I clutched Peter's neck tighter, my heart leaping. "Oh Peter... it's beautiful!"

The suite was the most sumptuous, the most elegant that I'd ever seen. I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement, that this should be where we would spend our wedding night. In my dreams I'd imagined just such a place, but I'd never really expected it. I felt as if I were on clouds upon clouds as Peter set me down and turned to close the door.

Without thinking about it I moved through the room. Peter followed at my side as if enjoying my delight. The room was pure, virgin white, the chandeliers crystal, the walls

graced with lovely paintings and the tables with delicate vases. I ran my fingers over each

piece of ornately carved furniture, feeling a tingle of excitement. And the window... I

moved to the window, drawing the drapes back. Beneath us lay spread out the entire town, the lights twinkling in the night as if they were an extension of the beautiful room.

I shivered. I could see the lights of the university, where Peter and I had first met and where I would begin teaching next fall. I wasn't sure, but I thought I could even pick out the lights of the little campus chapel where only hours ago I'd stood at the altar and professed my love for Peter. And somewhere down there, invisible in the night, was the little starter home we had purchased, where Peter and I would begin our life together. A life which I now felt more excited about than ever.

As I stood there at the window, staring out into the night, Peter slipped his arms around my waist from behind, kissing the back of my head.

"So... do you like it?"

I turned in his arms. "I love it, Peter. It's perfect."

"There's more."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Peter smiled. He took my hand and led me, through drapery veiled glass doors and into the bedroom. I caught my breath. The bed was straight out of my fantasies, an ornately carved poster bed with canopy and sheer white curtains around it, drawn back to reveal white satin sheets and a sea of lace trimmed pillows. I shivered with a sudden,

fleeting vision of Peter taking me there on the bed, the satin sheets so soft against our skin and the curtains drawn shut as if enveloping us in our own little world.

Without a word Peter led me toward the bed. My heart fluttered. Oh god, he was going to take me straight into bed, and I wouldn't get a chance to give him my surprise!

And yet I couldn't speak, couldn't protest, couldn't beg him to please wait. All I could do was follow as he led me by my hand to the bedside.

But not into the bed. Instead he stopped me there, turned me and kissed me. "I have a surprise for you too, Catherine."

A surprise for me? I followed his gaze and felt a tremor of excitement, deep down inside me There on the bedside table sat a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice, and beside it a delicate crystal vase with a single red rose.

"Oh, Peter...!"

"I wanted to have something for you," he told me softly. "It's hardly enough, I know, but--"

"It's perfect," I whispered. "Just perfect."

Peter took the rose from the vase and brought it to my cheek, caressing me gently with the petals before letting me smell it. Its fragrance was so sweet, so lovely, that I couldn't help but feel a shiver of excitement. Before I could say anything Peter followed the rose with his lips, kissing me deeply.

"Now, what about your surprise for me?"

I blushed. I'd been avoiding thinking about it, but now I just couldn't any longer. Without a word I took Peter's hand and led him from the bedroom, back out to the table where the gift lay waiting, just where Kim had placed it: a long, slender box wrapped so delicately, and embraced with two blue silk ribbons. And the note.

Peter started to reach for it but I stopped him.

"No, Peter."

He cocked his head curiously. "No?"

"No, not yet." I slipped my arms around his neck and kissed him again deeply, whispering to him. "Please Peter... would you help me out of my gown first?"

I could see the excitement in his eyes, the passion, the lust. I didn't have to ask him twice. Almost before I was done speaking he was searching behind my back for the clasps on my wedding gown. For a moment I thought they might be too difficult, that I might have to help him, but he managed. As they came undone, one by one, I felt myself flush with anticipation.

"Slowly, Peter... please?" I wanted to savor the feeling of his fingers, and the way my wedding gown sagged open in back as he undid more and more of it. He did it slowly

now, almost too slowly, kissing me gently as he worked at the catches. He was teasing me.

With my gown undone nearly to my waist, he slipped his hands beneath the soft fabric and caressed my bare skin. I trembled in his arms to feel his hands on me so, to feel him

searching and exploring with his fingers, teasing... tickling.

"Peter!" I giggled. "Cut that out!"

"I thought you wanted me to go slow."

"But you don't need to tickle me!"

"Oh. Sorry." But I could tell by the gleam in his eye and the tug of the smile at his lips that he wasn't at all sorry. He turned his attention back to the catches on my gown and soon he had them undone all the way down to the dimple at the base of my spine. For a moment his hands lingered there, drifting down to cup the gentle swell of my bottom.

Even here in the privacy of our bridal suite I blushed for Peter to touch me so intimately. And then before I knew it his hands were higher, on my shoulders, coaxing my wedding gown off. It caught briefly on my arms and with a gentle wiggle I freed it, trembling with

excitement as the silken gown slipped to the floor with barely a whisper.

Underneath I'd dressed simply for Peter, yet elegantly. My slender, cupless white lace corset, oh-so-lovely and nearly backless as well, so stiffly stayed that it bordered on

uncomfortable and was actually a little difficult to breathe in... but which, I thought, made me look exquisitely sexy, and so for Peter was worth it. The skimpiest, sexiest of thong panties, white lace, so dangerously narrow in front and creeping so high between my bottom cheeks behind that it felt as if I'd nothing on at all. White silk stockings, exquisitely smooth, with delicate lace at the tops and matching white lace garters that framed the lovely vee between my legs. Heels, sexy delicately strappy ones, tall but not too tall. A slender diamond necklace, my favorite one which Peter had given me for my birthday, along with matching diamond earrings. And, of course, my wedding ring. I was the perfect vision of bridal innocence, save for my lacy thong panties which covered nearly nothing, and which I now blushed for having worn.


Bridal Suite Submission Ch. 02



"Wow, Catherine..."

I trembled with excitement to hear Peter's delighted surprise. I trembled to feel his hands on me, sliding down my bare arms and moving gently to cup my naked breasts. He caressed me there and then moved still lower, slipping his hands down my waist, tracing the stiff line of stays in my corset and caressing the silky, lacy material, and then finally to my bare bottom. There he searched gently where the slender thong disappeared between my bottom cheeks.

"I wore it just for you," I said softly. Peter's hands were so very distracting as they slid gracefully over the bare skin of my bottom. "I wanted to look special for you tonight."

"You always look special to me, Catherine."

I blushed. He was sweet to say so, anyway.

"No, I mean it Catherine." He touched my chin gently, coaxing me to look up at him. "You're absolutely beautiful."

"So you won't trade me in any time soon?" I teased.

"Well... at least not tonight."

I couldn't help but give a little laugh. Sweet Peter. Always teasing. He kissed me gently, and as he did he searched higher with his hands, feeling for the fasteners on my corset. I stopped him before he could unfasten it.

"Please Peter... not yet. I want to give you the surprise first."

Peter slipped a hand back down to my bottom, tracing the delicate line of the thong where it dipped between my cheeks, chuckling with amusement. "This isn't it?"

I blushed. No, it wasn't. At least not the whole surprise. I handed him the slender package and note and stood back, watching him anxiously. My heart skipped a beat when he moved to unwrap the gift first.

"Oh no, please Peter... read the note first."

He looked at me curiously, hesitated, and then to my relief he unfolded the note.

I couldn't look away, couldn't do anything but watch his face for the slightest reaction, the slightest sign as he read the note. My heart pounded, my pulse raced. My head felt light and I tingled all over.

Oh god, why wasn't he saying anything? Had I made a mistake? Writing the note had been the hardest thing I'd ever done, not because of the words but because of what Peter might think. Would he be turned off by my secret thoughts, my harbored fantasies? Or excited? Would he take me the way I wanted to be taken? Or would he never want me again? Even now as I watched him nervously I could remember the entire note word for word:

My dearest Peter,

Today, at the altar, I vowed to you my love and devotion forever, without question and without exception.



Tonight, my love, I want to give them to you as I never have before. I have dreamt of this night for days, weeks, months...longer even, if you can believe. And tonight I want to show you, my love: that I love you; that I honor you; and that, most of all, I obey you, in mind, body and soul. Especially my body...



Peter, dearest: With this note, and this gift, I am giving myself to you to do with as you please.



There are three items in the box for you, my dearest Peter. I want you to use them on me tonight. I want you to handcuff my wrists behind my back, so I can't stop you from anything. I want you to gag my mouth, so I can't beg for mercy. And then, my dearest Peter, I want you to whip me with the crop for as long as it gives you pleasure. And afterwards, while I still have the lingering marks of the crop on my bottom, I want you to enjoy me however you like.



Don't worry about hurting me, my love... I want you to hurt me. I want you to use me, Peter, to make me yours. My heart, my soul and most of all my body are yours. Please,

my love, do with them as you desire...



You loving and submissive wife,



Catherine



Peter looked up, speechless. I couldn't help but blush. I had exposed myself to him, stripped my thoughts and fantasies naked and laid them out for him. Now, oh god, what did he think? I couldn't read anything in his shocked look. I couldn't help but speak up, my voice soft and timid.

"If you don't want to, honey, I'll understand. I—"

Peter stopped me with a kiss, pressing his lips to mine before I could finish my thought. His smile was gone and he was looking at me seriously. "Do you really mean it, Catherine? Everything you wrote?"

For a moment I couldn't speak so instead I kissed him, running my hands down the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, feeling his lovely body beneath. "Yes Peter, I really mean it," I

whispered softly. "Every word. I want you to make me yours, honey. I want you to use

me however you like. I..." But I couldn't bring myself to say more, and so I let my voice

trail off.

I waited for Peter to say something. Anything. Only he didn't. His gaze was intense, so intense that I blushed and lowered my eyes, my cheeks burning. I was sure he was judging me. At any moment he would tell me how crazy I was.

But he didn't. Instead, after a long, silent moment Peter turned his attention to the gift. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, too embarrassed to watch openly. I'd wrapped and tied the gift securely so Kim wouldn't stand a chance of sneaking a peek, yet now Peter seemed to unwrap it with the greatest of ease, deftly untying the blue silk ribbons

and then carefully unwrapping the paper without making so much as the slightest rip. Just

watching his fingers at work made me shiver. Peter had such wonderful fingers, and such a gentle touch, and yet so firm when it needed to be.

Peter didn't say a word as he opened the gift. Inside were the three items. I didn't have to look. I knew them by heart, could see them in my dreams for I'd spent enough nights huddled on our bedroom floor as Peter slept, studying my new purchases by the pale moonlight, imagining giving them to him and what he might say, what he might think.

Imagining how they would feel. There were three items. The handcuffs of course, shiny

metal and impossibly strong. I'd tested them to see if I would be able to get out of them (I

wouldn't). A bright red ball gag with black leather straps and a gleaming gold buckle. And of course there was the crop. It was a long, wicked riding crop, pitch black, with a handle of fine leather and a narrow tip that I imagined would leave an awful sting. It had been the most embarrassing thing for me to buy. The saleslady had tried to coax me to buy something a little more tame for my first time, but I'd known from the moment I set eyes on the crop that it was The One.

Now as Peter lifted it from the box and turned it over in his hands, examining it, I couldn't help but shiver. Perhaps I'd made a mistake. Perhaps I should have chosen something tamer.

But it was too late for second thoughts. Peter was trailing his fingers along the length of the crop, saying not a word. Oh god, what on earth did he think? When he set gift box and the crop back on the table my heart sank. Didn't he like my gift? I was at his disposal, after all. Didn't he like that? Didn't it arouse him? Didn't—

Before I could worry any further Peter stole me into his arms and kissed me, his erection pressing hard against my belly. I smiled. Definitely aroused. In fact, he was stiffer than I'd ever felt him before. As we kissed he slipped his hands down to my bottom, tracing the delicate strap of my thong panties where they dipped between my bottom cheeks. I couldn't help but shiver. I'd worn the thong just for him tonight, so I'd be more accessible to him. More accessible to the crop...

Peter finally drew his lips from mine and stared into my eyes. "Catherine, I'm going to do everything you've asked for, and more. But first I need to know one last time, that you're sure: I can do anything I want?"

I nodded, trembling.

"You know I love you more than anything, Catherine. And I would never do anything to hurt you."

"I know."

"Except that now you've asked me to hurt you..."

I shivered. I had. Oh god, I had.

"You want it to hurt, don't you Catherine?"

Again I nodded, blushing. I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes, couldn't let him see the embarrassment in mine, and the hopeful anticipation.

"Are you sure you want this Catherine? Everything?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't answer. It was the million dollar question, one I'd pondered every night and every waking hour for weeks on end. Did I really, truly want this? I thought I did, and I had asked for it, but until I actually experienced it how could I really know?

"Catherine? I'm waiting."

With a smile I looked up. "Yes Peter, I do. More than you can know."

"I can do anything I want with you?"

I nodded. "Yes Peter, anything."

"Even if it hurts you?" He traced the gentle upper swell of my breasts, his fingers lingering there on my bare skin before moving lower and gently cupping my breasts.

"What if I want to whip your breasts, Catherine? What if I want to whip your sweet nipples?"

I caught my breath. "Oh Peter, please--" I'd been about to beg him to please don't, that I couldn't possibly bear such a thing. But I couldn't say it. Instead I blushed and lowered my eyes, my voice barely a whisper. "Please Peter, do anything you like."

Peter didn't say anything. He held my breasts cupped for a moment longer and then he slipped his hands downward, past the bottom of my corset and over my naked thighs until finally he traced the gentle 'V' of my thong where it dipped between my legs. He stroked me there for a moment, teasing but not venturing any further. I waited desperately for him to keep going, for him to slip his fingers under my thong and touch me deeper, but

he didn't. Instead he left me aching and moved back higher, putting his hands on my shoulders and without a word coaxing me down to my knees.

Kneeling down before him felt the most natural thing in the world to do, and the most exciting. As the soft carpet tickled my knees I looked up at him and smiled.

"No Catherine, don't look up. I want to see your head bowed. I want to know your submission to me."

I looked down at Peter's feet, trembling. He was playing his part so perfectly. But then another thought struck me, one which made me shiver.

Perhaps he wasn't playing at all.

...to be continued



Bridal Suite Submission Ch. 03



Kneeling Before Peter 

The silence was excruciating. For the longest time Peter didn't say anything. He just stood there while I knelt before him. I kept my head bowed, my eyes on his feet. I wanted him to say something, anything, just to hear his voice. But he didn't say a word. I wanted to know what he thought, what he felt. What did he think, seeing me kneeling like this before him with my head bowed so submissively? 

As the silence lingered I arched my back a little, willing my modest breasts to swell out a bit more. I knew Peter must have a perfect view of me like this. Without lifting my head I let my gaze drift upward. A smile tugged at my lips. The bulge in the front of his pants was unmistakable. 

"I said eyes down, Catherine. I'm not going to tell you again." 

I jerked my gaze back down to Peter's shoes, startled by his stern tone. A flush rose in my cheeks. God, I'd never heard that tone before, never heard him speak to me so firmly. He'd never before scolded me like that. And never would I have guessed that should he speak to me like this, like he did now, that I would feel such a strange surge of excitement. 

Peter moved away for a moment. The second his back was to me I couldn't help but look cautiously up again. Even from behind he looked so strong and handsome, so sexual. I felt a surge of lust for him, and another as I wondered what he might do with me now that I knelt here for him. It was such a delicious thing to contemplate that I wasn't prepared when he suddenly turned back to me. Our eyes met and in his I saw something that sent a charge racing through me. He'd caught me looking up again. Blushing deeply -- and feeling inside like I'd failed -- I glanced back down to my hands. Such a simple thing, and already I was showing how truly unprepared I was for this. 

Peter was quiet for a moment. "Was I not clear before, Catherine?" 

"No, you were," I said softly. Inside I was kicking myself. Why couldn't I have just obeyed? 

"What did I tell you before?" 

"Not to look up." 

"What else?" 

I was quiet for a moment. "That you wouldn't tell me again." 

"And now you've made me." 

I couldn't read Peter's voice. Was he disappointed with me? Amused? He sounded so stern, and yet so strangely like he enjoyed my failure to obey this simplest of admonitions. It was almost as if he was amused by how obviously unprepared I was. I waited breathlessly for him to say something more, to scold me further, but instead he moved away. He turned and without a word disappeared into our bedroom. I stared down at my hands, wanting desperately to look up but reminding myself over and over again not to. What on earth was he doing? A moment later he was back. I remained staring down at my hands, but when he went to the couch and set something down on the side table, his back momentarily to me, I couldn't help but steal a quick peek. He'd set there on the side table a small bottle of hand lotion from the bathroom and the champagne bucket and glasses from the bedroom, and in his hands he held a white satin pillowcase. 

This time I was quick to look back down before he turned back to me. He sat down on the couch and spoke to me firmly. 

"Come over here, Catherine." 

It was such a simple request, and yet it sent such a surge of excitement coursing through me. In my mind I envisioned all sorts of things he might do to me there on the couch, not least of which would be to pull me over his knees and bare my bottom and do to me exactly what I'd asked of him. Tingling with the illicit possibilities, I rose and took a step forward. 

"No Catherine, on your knees. Crawl to me." 

I froze. Crawl!? I was so startled by Peter's command that I forgot myself and looked up at him. Did he really just tell me to crawl? 

A smile tugged at the corners of Peter's mouth. "What did I tell you about looking up, Catherine?" 

My heart sank. So simple a request, and yet I couldn't seem to obey. I looked back down to the floor, doubt filling me. Had I made a mistake in offering myself to Peter like this tonight? After all, I couldn't even keep my eyes down like he asked. How was I possibly going to let him do everything I'd asked for when I couldn't even do this simple thing for him? 

"You heard me Catherine. Crawl." 

I felt flushed with heady arousal as I went to my knees. I'd not crawled in years, not even been on my hands and knees on the floor but for an occasional moment while cleaning around the house. I moved cautiously forward. To crawl now like this, to Peter with my eyes obediently down, made me tremble with excitement. How must I look to him, his lovely young bride in my pristine white lingerie, crawling to him on hands and knees? I knew he must have a perfect view of my breasts and I arched my back gently, willing myself to present more fully to him, hoping he liked what he saw. The few feet between us seemed to take an exquisite eternity to crawl across. I willed myself to go slowly, which was a terribly difficult undertaking for I wanted more than anything to scamper over and kneel at Peter's feet. But that wouldn't do. Not at all. 

And so I crawled. 

"So obedient," Peter chuckled. When I was but a couple feet from him he stopped me. I hesitated, almost forgetting myself again and looking up. Without a word he rose and stood towering over me. He touched my hair gently, and my cheek, and then as I knelt there before him, my eyes on the floor, he began to circle me slowly. Once, twice, and soon a slow third time. I stared down at his feet when he was in front of me, and held my breath when he was behind. He spoke not a word. What was he thinking? Why didn't he say something? I wanted desperately to know what was on his mind. I wanted more than anything to look up, to see what was in his eyes. This wasn't fair. How could he expect me to keep my head bowed, to keep my eyes down? It was only natural that I should want to look up into his. But then, perhaps that's why he wanted otherwise. Perhaps this was but a test. 

On his third circle around me Peter slowed, and then suddenly he knelt down behind me, his lips so close to my ear that I could feel the tickle of his breath. 

"I wonder, Catherine," he murmured, "if you really know what you've gotten yourself into. If you have any idea what you've begun." 

His words sent a stab of excitement coursing through me. I was still tingling when suddenly he drew my arms behind me. Cold hard steel encircled my wrists, tightening with soft clicks. The cuffs! I'd not even realized he had picked them up. As I tugged gently at my new bonds, my heart racing, he touched my shoulders, my arms, and then suddenly he was reaching around and cupping my naked breasts from behind. It seemed a stolen, delightfully illicit caress, coming as it did while I was so suddenly helpless to defend myself. One of his hands drifted lower, between my legs, and I trembled as he nudged aside the delicate 'V' front of my thong panties and felt with his fingers. He chuckled softly, as if amused by what he found there. 

"You're excited by this, aren't you Catherine? You really do want this, to be on your knees and helpless before me. To have me use you as I like." He nibbled my earlobe, his voice husky. "To be defenseless to my whims." 

I couldn't answer, couldn't even nod. I felt breathless and wetter than ever before. 

It was the cold steel encircling my wrists, and the insinuation in Peter's words. I was completely and helplessly at his mercy, and for that I trembled. This was ten times more delicious than I'd ever imagined. A hundred times, even. I was so excited, and Peter's gently stroking fingers so delicious, that when he drew his hand away I groaned in frustration. 

Peter chuckled and whispered in my ear. "You know, Catherine, if I didn't know any better I'd think there's more to your submission than you've offered me. In fact, I wonder if perhaps there's more there than you even know." 

As I knelt there trembling Peter moved around in front of me again, crouching down so he was almost eye level with me. His sweet breath was hot on my face, his cologne faintly alluring. He had the satin pillowcase from our bed in his hands, and now he brought it to my cheek and caressed me gently with it. It was so impossibly smooth, so delicate to the touch. I trembled and shivered and ached deeply with need as he trailed the pillowcase over my cheek and downward, over my shoulders, my chest, my naked breasts. He teased my nipples gently with the silky fabric, chuckling when I stiffened and gasped. He moved lower and played the fabric over my thighs, letting it slip between just the slightest bit. The touch of the luxurious satin on my bare skin had me breathless for more. 

"Look up at me, Catherine." 

I looked up and gazed into his eyes, trembling to see the hunger there. 

"Since you couldn't keep your eyes down before, Catherine, I'm going to help you a little." And with that he brought the pillowcase up, folded it neatly over on itself, and placed it over my eyes. 

My world plunged into darkness. Adrenaline surged through me, a tingling, excited shock and a feeling of completely helplessness as Peter tied the makeshift blindfold snuggly behind my head. Words of panic caught in my throat. All that came out was a surprised gasp. I'd not anticipated this, never once imagined that he might rob me of my sight as well as my freedom. The neatly folded pillowcase made a surprisingly effective blindfold. Not a hint of light peeked in around the edges, nor even the faintest of glows through the satin fabric. My sudden blindness was terrifying, and yet at the same time I trembled for this was what I'd asked for, only so much more. 

I waited breathlessly with anticipation. Peter would lead me to the bedroom and crop me now, I was sure. He would use me as he liked. But instead he kissed me gently, hardly more than a fleeting, teasing brush of his lips against mine. I leaned forward instinctively, trying in vain to find his lips again with mine, but he chuckled and without a word rose. I could tell this by the soft rustle of his clothes, and the fact that my lips met not his but empty air. 

In my helpless blindness I could only listen as Peter moved about softly and sat down on the couch in front of me. Ice clinked. A soft trickling sound reached my ears. He was pouring himself a glass of our champagne. As I knelt there with my heart pounding I heard him set the bottle back in the bucket of ice and relax back. Though I couldn't see, I knew he would be gazing down upon me as he enjoyed his drink. I straightened my back and pushed my chest out a little more, hoping he liked what he saw. 

Time lost all meaning for me. My world was but darkness and soft sounds. I knelt there anxious and untouched. Peter spoke not a word to me, and I didn't dare break the silence. I knew without being told that it wasn't my place to. After a long while I heard the couch move as he leaned forward. I held my breath, waiting for his touch or even his lips. 

Instead, without a word, he put his glass to my lips and let me have a sip of champagne. I accepted it eagerly. I'd not realized before how thirsty I was, how dry my throat. The fleeting sip wasn't nearly enough. I searched vainly with my lips but Peter had already sat back. 

We repeated this silent act a couple more times as he enjoyed his drink. He would lean forward and offer me but a sip, and chuckle when I followed the retreating glass with my lips in vain. Once, twice, a third time. He seemed to enjoy teasing me like this, as if my helplessness amused him. 

After awhile Peter leaned forward again, only this time no glass came to my lips. Instead he put his hand on the back of my head and drew me slightly forward, closer between his legs. Even in my blindness there was no mistaking the sound of his zipper, the rustle of his boxers as he fished himself out. I smiled and leaned forward, searching with my lips. But Peter stopped me with a chuckle. 

"No, not yet Catherine. I just want to enjoy your beauty for a moment." 

I hesitated, the flush rising in my cheeks, my lips poised. In my blindness, knowing his naked erection was but inches from my mouth, I felt strangely hungry for him. I wanted to take him into my mouth and make love to him, to pleasure him while he finished his champagne, to show him how demure and obedient I could be for him. To be stopped short like this was agonizing. I waited breathlessly. Ice clinked. Peter was pouring himself another glass of champagne. I heard him set the bottle back, heard the couch shift. His hand came again on the back of my head, and this time he drew me gently forward until my lips touched the underside of his stiff erection. 

"Just kiss it, Catherine," he told me softly. "Worship it for a moment. Do you feel that, Catherine? It's stiff with lust for you. It wants you." 

I kissed his penis gently, again and again, the blush rising in my cheeks. Being told to not take him in my mouth made me want to do just that. But I obeyed and only kissed him, from the tip of his swollen erection all the way down to the base, and even on his balls, the soft wisps of hair there tickling my nose. Finally Peter leaned down and put his lips to my ear, whispering softly. 

"Now, Catherine, I want to feel your sweet lips on my cock. Make me happy, my pet. Show me how obedient you are. Show me how talented." 

I trembled at Peter's words, both as his sudden reference to me as his "pet" but also simply at his use of the word "cock". I'd never heard the word from his lips before. It was such a crude word, and yet I flushed inside to hear it now, to be bidden to put my sweet lips upon it. I smiled and moved imperceptibly higher, finding the tip of his cock and taking it into my mouth. If he wanted my sweet lips, well, I'd give them to him like never before. **** I'd never before fellated Peter with just my mouth, without being able to use my hands to at least steady myself against him. It seemed an entirely new and deeply submissive experience to pleasure him now like this with my wrists cuffed behind me. He wanted only my mouth on him, wanted only the pleasure of my lips and tongue. I wasn't even allowed to see him. My existence for the moment was concentrated entirely upon pleasing him orally, a task which I now sank into eagerly. 

I'd never been able to swallow Peter all the way, and now was no exception. He didn't put his hands on me, didn't guide me, just let me fellate him at my own pace. A tingling heat welled inside me as I tended to my task. Peter was delightfully, stiffly erect. I wanted to do everything at once, to suck him, to swallow him, to lick him. I wanted to look up and gaze into his eyes, to know his pleasure at this moment, and yet I couldn't. So I concentrated solely on fellating Peter, and as my excitement swelled so did my eagerness. 

"No, slow down Catherine. I want to enjoy this." 

As I slowed back to a more leisurely pace he rested his hand on my head and followed my motions. After a moment he stroked my hair and coaxed me to tilt my face up, as if to look up at him though in my blindness I couldn't see. "I wish you could know how lovely you look right now, Catherine," he told me softly. "How incredibly sexy you look with your lips wrapped around me. This is what you want, isn't it Catherine? To be on your knees before me, devoting yourself to my pleasure?" 

Without taking my mouth off him I nodded. It was what I wanted, more than anything. Even like this, pleasuring him with my mouth. I'd never been particularly fond of performing fellatio, but now like this, blindfolded and on my knees before Peter, it seemed a comfortably satisfying way to demonstrate my love and submission for him. 

For the longest time I made slow, sweet love to Peter with but my lips and tongue. He enjoyed his drink in silence punctuated only by the wet sounds of my sucking. He didn't say anything, didn't guide me, just let me pleasure him at my leisure. From time to time he caressed my hair, or rested his hand on my head and followed my motions, or reached down to cup one of my naked breasts. My heart raced. Why did this excite me so? After all, I'd fellated Peter many times before, and my naked breasts were nothing new to him. But this time it was different. This time I was on my knees for him, blindfolded and helpless, and everything I did for him took on a whole new exciting freshness as if I were feeling it for the first time. There was something supremely illicit about being on my knees topless before Peter, pleasuring him like this while helpless. As I sucked him, my head bobbing rhythmically, he cupped my swaying breasts. I've always thought my breasts too small, a self-modesty that amuses Peter for he thinks them absolutely perfect. Now, though, I felt only tingling excitement as he followed my motions with his hands on me. 

"You look so beautiful, Catherine," Peter told me softly. I could hear the love in his voice, and the lust. "Today when you joined me at the altar you looked absolutely angelic, a lovely vision in white." He chuckled with amusement as he followed my motions. "If only our guests could see you now..." 

I couldn't help but shiver at the thought. If I'd been angelic on the altar today, right now I felt downright slutty. How else could I feel, on my knees and blindfolded before Peter, my hands cuffed behind me, working obediently at him with my mouth? It was an intoxicating, strangely comforting feeling, to have no task at hand but to fellate my love until he bade me otherwise. 

"You have the most exquisite lips, Catherine," he told me softly. He stroked my hair, caressing the side of my face with just his fingertips. "The lips of an angel. I could sit here and enjoy them all night long." 

How long did I fellate Peter like that, on my knees and blindfolded, everything else for the moment forgotten? My existence centered on his cock, the taste of him in my mouth, the feel of his stiffness upon my tongue, the gentle aching of my jaws as I kept to my task even when it seemed he would want my mouth forever. I was beginning to worry that Peter might even finish in my mouth, an unpleasant prospect which I'd never allowed him or anyone else before. But my worry was misplaced. After a long, long while Peter stroked my hair gently and then coaxed my head up. I took my mouth off him reluctantly, sucking one last time as he slipped from between my lips. 

"Did I please you?" I couldn't help but ask softly in my blindness. Peter hadn't spoken to me in the longest time. Now he leaned down, his breath tickling my face, and kissed me. 

"Very much," he chuckled. "But not nearly as much as you're going to." As I stared up at him in my blindness he traced my lips with his finger, as if examining the opening which had given him such exquisite pleasure. "Open your mouth Catherine." 

I opened my mouth. I waited expectantly to receive his cock again, but instead I was surprised to feel thick rubber nudge between my lips. Oh my god... the gag! I'd become so intent upon pleasuring Peter that I'd forgotten all about the other things. I'd forgotten everything I'd asked of him. Now as the gag filled my mouth I felt a rush of excitement. The taste of the rubber was strong, it's thickness far more demanding on my jaws than I'd anticipated. I instinctively tried to say something, anything, but all that came out was a quiet, helpless murmur. 

"It's too bad I have to gag you, Catherine," Peter told me softly as he fit the straps around my head. "You have no idea how much it would turn me on to hear you scream and beg for mercy." He chuckled with amusement. "Not that I would show you any, but it would be an absolute delight to hear you beg." 

Panic welled within me as Peter buckled my gag securely in place. I'd prepared myself for this in my dreams, even worn the gag strapped in place on a few private occasions around the house so I would be familiar with it come today, but nothing had prepared me to actually be rendered so completely helpless and suddenly at Peter's mercy. 




Bridal Suite Submission Ch. 03



Never once had I anticipated that he might blindfold me, or that he would take to his role so seriously. Never once had I anticipated he might want to crop me so hard that I would actually beg him for mercy. Oh my god, would he really crop me that hard? I shuddered on the verge of panic, and yet inside I tingled. This was what I'd fantasized about, what I'd asked for, and to feel it now was a hundred times more intense than I'd ever imagined. A thousand times more, even. 

As I knelt there trembling, blind and so absolutely helpless that I couldn't even put words to all the things I was feeling right now, Peter placed his hand reassuringly on my head. It was as if he could sense my inner turmoil. He stroked my hair soothingly, and as he did I breathed more normally. My panic slowly subsided, and when he stooped down and kissed me gently on my forehead my panic disappeared entirely. I was in Peter's hands. I was okay. I was getting what I'd asked for, and so much more. The panic slipped from my mind, leaving behind only an excited, tingling need. 

Peter kissed my forehead again, and then my nose. He kissed my upper lip where it stretched around the gag, and then my lower lip, nibbling gently at it. I moaned softly around the gag. I loved it when Peter nibbled on my lips. I tried instinctively to angle my head for a proper kiss, but the gag was in the way. As if knowing my frustration, Peter chuckled. 

"You have such lovely lips, Catherine. You can't imagine how sexy they look wrapped around that gag. It looks almost natural for you." 

I shivered. It felt anything but natural. I felt robbed of my ability to speak, to put words to my fears and desires, robbed even of my ability to breathe easily, as if my tightly laced corset didn't already make it hard enough. I felt flushed and light headed at the same time. I tingled all over, and throbbed between my legs. It was a feeling unlike any I'd ever felt before, or even imagined. Until Peter decided otherwise, I was completely helpless. I was at his mercy. And oh my god, I'd asked him to crop me and make it hurt... 

Bottoms Up 

In my helpless little world there existed only the pounding of my heart and Peter's soft voice in my ear. "I can see your excitement, Catherine. I can see your arousal. You are aroused, aren't you?" He slipped his fingers between my legs, stroking me gently through my delicate thong panties. I moaned and tried instinctively to angle my hips so he would touch me deeper. He chuckled. "Oh yes, so very aroused. I never would have imagined you would become so aroused from being so helpless. That's it, isn't it? Being helpless? Because you are, Catherine. Absolutely, completely helpless." 

He took my hands and coaxed me to rise. I barely could, my legs were trembling so. This was it. I expected him to lead me to the bedroom now, to lie me down on the bed and explore my submission with the crop and then his cock. But instead he turned me and led me not to the bedroom as I expected but to the table. I recognized it unmistakably as my thighs came to rest against its edge. As I trembled in anticipation Peter put his hand on my back, pressing forward gently. 

"Lean forward, Catherine." 

I leaned forward, and then still more as Peter coaxed me further. He didn't stop until I lay bent over the table. The heavy wood surface felt cool beneath my bare breasts and belly, so smooth and unyielding. I could smell the wood faintly, could feel its texture against my cheek as I turned my head in search of a comfortable position to rest in. The stiff stays in my corset dug in uncomfortably. I felt rudely exposed in this position, bent over the table with my bare bottom presented. As I squirmed Peter put his hand on my back, stilling me. 

"Don't move, Catherine," he murmured. I held still and listened to him move about. He retrieved something from nearby... the box I'd presented him with earlier, it sounded like. There was a gentle whisper. The ribbons. He was slipping the two blue satin ribbons from the box. I frowned. Whatever was he doing? It was what was inside the box which mattered, the only item remaining: the crop. Whatever was he doing with the ribbons? 

Peter knelt behind me and coaxed my legs apart, guiding me to spread them as widely as I could. My ankles brushed against the wooden table legs. Silky, narrow satin slipped around my left ankle, and before I knew what was happening Peter drew it snug, binding my ankle to the table leg. Excitement coursed through me. The ribbons. Peter was tying my legs to the table with the ribbons from the gift I'd given him! The gentle kiss of the second satin ribbon came on my right angle, and before I could think to panic Peter snugged it down tightly, binding me there too to the table. The cute little ribbons made surprisingly effective bonds. No matter how much I squirmed, they wouldn't loosen. I hadn't a hope in the world now of closing my legs or of escaping anything Peter might want of me. 

As I lay trembling over the table, bent at the waist and my legs forcibly spread, Peter leaned over and kissed me between my shoulder blades. The gentle touch of his lips sent a shiver racing down my spine. His fingers were on me too, on my shoulders, my arms, tracing the delicate laces on my corset, right down to where my wrists were cuffed behind my back. He took my hands in his and for a moment I clutched him, trying to tell him with my grip how excited I was. He squeezed mine back, and then he coaxed my cuffed wrists up to the middle of my back. 

"Keep them there, Catherine," he murmured to me, leaning forward and kissing my ear. "I don't want to see your hands anywhere near your bottom. Do you understand?" 

I nodded. 

"Good. I'm only going to tell you this once. I don't want to have to remind you." 

I shivered. He sounded so firm, so serious... as if this wasn't a game for him, even a little bit. I clasped my hands together and repeated his admonition to myself over and over. 

Hands nowhere near my bottom. I wouldn't fail him this. 

As I waited anxiously, Peter moved around behind me. I couldn't make out what he was doing. In my blindness everything was so unfamiliar. I shifted against the table, the hard edge digging into my thighs, my legs aching from how widely and awkwardly I was spread. Cool air tickled me between my legs. As widely as I was spread, my delicate little thong panties covered next to nothing, not even my intimate folds. Peter was behind me again. I felt his fingers on my bottom cheeks, tracing gentle circles, and then a moment later there was a different sensation, a new sensation. It tickled. It was a teasing, fleeting caress of something foreign, something stiff yet supple. Peter played it gently over my bare bottom cheeks, first one and then the other. My breath caught in my throat and I stiffened as I realized what it was. It was the tip of the riding crop. 

Peter teased the tip of the crop all over me, tracing the gentle swell of my helplessly offered bottom cheeks, down along the backs of my thighs (at which I shivered uncontrollably), even up along my arms and over my upper back, nudging my soft blonde tresses aside and tracing my shoulder blades. It was there that he leaned over and followed behind with his lips, kissing my shoulders gently and then between, whispering to me softly. 

"I wonder, Catherine, if you really have any idea what you've allowed me?" His voice was so soft, so commanding... so amused. "Earlier, Catherine, you asked me to crop you. Well my pet, I'm going to. Harder perhaps than you might have anticipated." His lips were right on my ear now, his breath hot, his voice husky. "I wonder, Catherine, if you'll be able to hold back your tears. I'm not going to spare your tender flesh a bit, my pet. Not a bit. Before this is over, you're going to cry in vain around that gag of yours." 

As I trembled in anticipation a soft whistling sound reached my ears. Peter was swishing the crop through the air. Each time I instinctively tensed at the whistle, and breathed easier when it didn't fall on my flesh. He was only testing it. Again and again he swished it through the air, until suddenly their came a harsh slap of crop on flesh. I jumped. But the crop hadn't fallen on my flesh. I was confused for a moment until I realized: Peter had tested it on his palm. 

"Wow, this thing really hurts, Catherine. I'm glad I'm not in your place." 

I whimpered around my gag. If I was anxious before, now I was frightened. How shortsighted I'd been. I'd not had the foresight to test the crop on my bottom, or even on my palm. I had absolutely no idea how much it would hurt when Peter started swinging it. I had no idea what to expect. But it was too late now. I couldn't say anything around my gag, couldn't ask him to go slow at first or to be gentle to begin with, couldn't utter more than an unintelligible "Mmmph". I was in Peter's hands now. I would just have to trust him. 

Peter trailed the tip of the crop over my bottom, down the backs of my thighs, then back up to trace teasing circles on my lower back. I waited breathlessly, helpless and alive with expectation. After a long moment Peter drew the crop away. I caught my breath, sure that this was it. But instead the crop came again gently as Peter lay it across my back. He left it there and moved his fingers lower to gently caress my offered bottom. 

"So smooth, so lovely," he whispered as he stroked my bare bottom. "Your skin is so pure and virgin, Catherine. So soft. I wonder how it will look after five minutes of the crop. Or ten." He chuckled and kissed my bottom, first one defenseless cheek and then the other. "Or fifteen..." 

I gasped around my gag. The thought that Peter might crop me for fifteen minutes -- or maybe even longer -- both aroused and frightened me. I hadn't considered putting any limits on my offer of submission, especially not on how long he could crop me for. But fifteen minutes!? I shuddered. Oh God, what had I gotten myself into? 

Peter's lips moved lower. He kissed his way down between my legs and there, nudging my thong panties aside, he took my delicate folds between his lips and suckled gently. It was an unexpected, delicious gesture and I moaned around my gag, shifting my hips so he'd have better access. Oh, how splendid! I was incredibly aroused already and now with Peter's lips on me I trembled with aching need. He chuckled as if knowing my desperation and suckled harder. It was a fleeting, teasing gesture with his lips, not nearly as long as I would have liked. I moaned around my gag with delight, and even louder in frustration when his lips slipped away. Oh, just a couple more minutes of this! If my mouth had been free I would have begged him, but as it was all I could do was groan and squirm, trying in vain to bring myself back into contact with his lips. But it wasn't to be. 

He let my thong panties slip back into place and straightened up behind me. I waited for his lips to come again, but what came instead was the riding crop... not gently before, but suddenly and very much for real. My only warning was a soft whistling, followed by a burst of stinging hot pain on my right buttock that took my breath away. It HURT! It was ten times more painful than I'd ever imagined. A hundred times more even. Tears welled in my eyes and it took my every ounce of self control to not reach down and clutch at my stinging bottom. And yet with that first stroke something burst inside me. It was as if it opened the floodgates to something deep within me, and against the stinging burn that first slash left I found myself on the brink of orgasm, shuddering and straining against my bonds not in pain but in pleasure. 

"Are you okay?" I could hear the concern in Peter's voice. 

I nodded, my vision blurring with tears, too breathless with shock to even moan around my gag. I had almost come, just from that first painful stroke! I hadn't realized before just how close I was, or imagined what feeling the crop for the first time would do to me. But God, it really had almost pushed me over the edge. I suddenly wished I hadn't asked Peter to gag me, that I might be able to beg him to strike me again, and harder. This was what I'd wanted for so long. The stinging, the burning, the helpless arousal... everything. 

Peter must have sensed it within me for he chuckled. "You want to feel it again, don't you Catherine?" 

I nodded vigorously, smiling around my gag. Yes, again. And again. And... 

And he struck me again, this time on my left bottom cheek. Stinging pain bit hard and this time I did cry out into my gag as my tears began for real. Oh my god, it hurt! Again I caught myself just in time as I started to instinctively reach down. These weren't light, playful swats like I'd expected Peter might begin with. He wasn't working me into this slowly. He was taking me at my word and making it hurt. 

When Peter brought the crop down a third time, on my right buttock again just below where he'd struck me first, I couldn't help myself. Without even thinking about it I reached down and clutched at my stinging flesh, massaging furiously as fresh tears welled in my eyes. Almost immediately Peter grasped my cuffed wrists and drew them away from my bottom, pushing them back up to the middle of my back. 

"What did I tell you, Catherine?" He sounded stern and completely serious. 

"Nowhere near your bottom," he reminded me. "Well, since you can't seem to obey I guess I'll just have to help you a bit." 

As I lay there with tears welling Peter untied the bottom lacing on my corset. Whatever was he doing? For a moment I wondered if was going to take my corset off, and I felt a momentary flush of relief for the corset really was laced so tightly that it was making my breathing quite strained. But Peter wasn't removing my corset. He untied the bottom lacing and threaded its ends through the links of my handcuffs, and then he tied the lacing securely again, binding my wrists to my corset. Excitement coursed through me, and a flush of panic. I squirmed gently and then not so gently as I tested my new bonds. The simple lacing held my cuffed wrists securely to the middle of my back. I wouldn't be able to get my hands anywhere near my bottom now even if I wanted. If I'd felt helpless before, now I felt truly vulnerable. 

There was no warning but the soft whistle when the crop fell again. Peter struck me hard, and then again in quick succession. The stinging bite brought fresh tears to my eyes and I instinctively tried to reach down. But the lacing held my cuffed wrists securely, and I could only whimper as Peter brought the crop down on my bottom again and again. I struggled to catch my breath. I wished suddenly that I hadn't coaxed Kim to lace my corset so tightly. Standing at the altar today it had been a tight, welcome reminder of my submissive desires, but now it was frightfully constricting as I tried to breathe against the pain of the crop. Peter brought the crop whistling down on the lower swell of my bottom and I shrieked, panting in desperate, labored little breaths around my gag. The corset was tightly unyielding, the stays biting uncomfortably into my soft flesh as I struggled for breath. I felt light headed and flush, and yet the harder it became for me to breathe, the more exquisite the kiss of the crop felt. 

As I lay so helplessly offered to the crop every little detail, every little sensation became exquisitely magnified. I heard the whistle of the descending crop as if time stood in slow motion. The flaring heat left by the strike burned me to my very core. I felt the cuffs biting ever so slowly deeper into my flesh each time I squirmed. And the table beneath me, its cool, wooden surface felt so exquisite against my nakedness, so hard and unyielding yet so much like an intimate lover. I felt as if it were my only comfort at this moment as again and again the crop fell. I was aware of every sound however small, every movement of air however gentle. I could smell Peter's faint, pleasant cologne and it made me want him more now than ever before. The wetness between my thighs took on a life of its own in these exquisite moments, seeping minutely down my flesh though in my mind it felt like a flood. But most of all, my bottom burned. It felt as if it were on fire. I could feel every mark the crop left, every little crisscrossing, stinging line. Each new one that Peter added -- and he was doing so quite rapidly now -- felt as if a little burning, searing line of pleasure. I felt raw to my very core. And yet at every moment I was on the absolute verge of orgasm. 

In the middle of it all Peter paused briefly. He touched my bottom, digging his fingers in and making me mewl around my gag in discomfort. It hurt! And yet with the pain came pleasure, a throbbing need between my legs and deep inside me which threatened to drive me crazy if I didn't get some relief soon. In this suddenly quiet few moments as I lay panting and desperately trying to catch my breath, Peter leaned forward over me and kissed me between my shoulder blades. 

"Next time, Catherine, I'm not going to gag you. Next time I'm going to want to hear you cry out, and beg, and plead. Next time I'm going to want to hear it in your voice as I mark your lovely bottom." 

I moaned around my gag. Oh God... next time? Didn't he understand that I'd only intended this to be for tonight? But now as I listened to Peter's words, as I ached and throbbed from the lingering marks of the crop, I realized that I'd not been very clear on that point at all. 

Peter was still speaking to me softly, even as he stroked my hair gently. "I wonder, Catherine, if you have any idea how deep your submission to me will be. If you have any idea the implications of what you've offered me. I'm going to enjoy using you whenever I want, my pet. Your lips, your tongue, your submission... I can't tell you how excited I am to think of what you will do for me." As he spoke he teased his fingers along the valley between my bottom cheeks, tickling me gently. I trembled. Only tonight! I'd meant this only for tonight! But I couldn't very well tell Peter that now, gagged as I was, and anyway I was sure that if my mouth had been free at that moment, I would have gladly agreed to anything he might suggest. 

The quiet interlude was soon over. Peter straightened up and without pretense resumed cropping my defenseless bottom. It was far more painful now after the brief respite. Each strike of the crop caught me upon previously marked flesh and the stinging bite was magnified ten fold. A hundred fold, even. My blindfold was wet with my tears, and I could feel them trickling down my cheeks. My bottom burned. My wrists and ankles ached for at every moment now I pulled in vain against my bonds. I squirmed, I trembled, I ached desperately for orgasm and even more for Peter to finish. 

Finally the crop bit hard one last time on my soft, defenseless bottom and then came no more. I waited for it -- hoped for it, even -- but Peter set the crop on the table beside me. 

He touched me gently now, tracing his fingers over my trembling bottom, caressing me softly as he leaned down and kissed my shoulder, and my neck, and the back of my head. Moving in front of me now he kissed me again and again, on my cheeks, on my lips, on my chin. I realized dully what he was doing. He was kissing my tears away. 

"You have no idea how beautiful you look right now, Catherine," he told me softly. "How red and crop-marked your bottom is. How it glows from the kiss of the crop. How your telltale wetness is so visible between your legs. How you tremble now in your bonds." 

He kissed my forehead again. "And most of all, how beautiful your tears are, Catherine. I wonder, are those for the pain or for your joy?" 

I couldn't have answered him even if I hadn't been gagged. I didn't know myself. Probably it was a little of both. 




Bridal Suite Submission Ch. 03



I waited for Peter to let me up. My ankles were beginning to ache. The hard edge of the table was digging into my thighs, the unyielding stays of my corset into my sides. My bottom burned from the crop. And yet Peter made no move to free me. Instead he moved behind me again. In my blind helplessness I heard him set the crop aside. I winced as his fingers brushed my raw bottom. But he wasn't interested so much in my bottom cheeks as in what lay nestled between. He traced the thin crotch piece of my thong panties where they dipped between my cheeks. 

"Earlier, Catherine, you offered yourself to me to do with as I pleased. To mark with the crop and then use for my pleasure. I wonder... did you ever really stop to think what that might entail?" Peter's voice was so low and husky, so suggestive as he kept tracing the crotch of my panties. "Well, my pet, I'm going to let you offer to me an even greater submission now, one far more intimate than a simple reddening of your flesh. Since no bride should leave her bridal suite a virgin, I'm going to pull down your thong and take your last virginity." 

A rush of panic flooded through me. I tightened against my bonds, moaning incoherently around my gag. My last virginity? Did he mean my untried bottom? I'd never allowed anyone that before. Was he serious? I hadn't planned that! I hadn't even considered it! Oh god, I hadn't even prepared myself... 

"I can see you like that thought," Peter chuckled. 

I felt faint, tingling with excitement and dread. He wouldn't really, would he? He wouldn't really sodomize me. Not on my wedding night, not when I was so helpless and unprepared... would he? 

But Catherine... you said he could do anything... 

Oh god, I had. And now I was helpless to change my mind. Helpless to stop him. Helpless even to beg him to be gentle, or to say anything at all. Helpless to do anything but wait, and tremble. 

...to be continued.



Bridal Suite Submission Ch. 04



Innocence Surrendered 

As I contemplated my helpless predicament, Peter pulled my thong panties slowly downward until they hung up on my spread thighs. Cool air tickled me between my legs. With my legs spread and ankles bound, he wouldn't be able to get my panties off the normal way. But he didn't give up. He gave a firm tug and the skimpy fabric ripped. Another determined tug and my panties tore free. I shivered with excitement that he would actually rip from me my panties. I'd never before known him to be like this, so animalistic and passionate as he'd been with the crop and now with my panties. 

Soft sounds reached my ears, the rustle of clothing. Peter was undressing. More odd sounds. A soft popping sound, like a lid being opened. A gentle squirt. The hand lotion, I realized. Peter had brought it out earlier. I waited for him to massage the lotion into my burning bottom cheeks, to soothe me with it, but instead when his slippery fingers came it wasn't upon my bottom cheeks at all but in the valley between. And he wasn't soothing at all but preparing, spreading the cool lotion around my untried pucker. 

I squirmed against the table and against my bonds, tingling with anxiety. I wasn't sure I really wanted him to take my last virginity, but I was sure I had no choice. I was helpless and I'd asked him to do anything to me he wanted... and he was doing just that. He parted my bottom cheeks even further and I held my breath. It was time, and I was helpless. And yet he didn't penetrate me, didn't touch me there except with his gentle breath as he leaned down close. 

"So beautiful," he murmured. "Like a little bud just waiting to blossom. I wonder, Catherine... did you have the foresight to stretch yourself before hand? With your fingers, perhaps? Or even a dildo?" 

I groaned. I hadn't stretched myself. I hadn't even thought of it! How on earth could I not have foreseen that Peter would want this of me? The entire time I'd prepared for tonight, and anticipated, and dreamt, I'd only hoped that Peter would share my fantasy enough to accept my submission for the night and crop me like I wanted, and not think my request too strange. Not once had I considered how much further he might take his liberties with me, and how quickly. Not once had I considered that he might want me in my virginal tightness. Oh, how short sighted I had been! Now that I felt his fingers pressing gently for entrance, and imagined how big his penis was going to feel, I wondered if maybe I hadn't made a mistake. Maybe I shouldn't have asked to be bound and gagged, helpless and unable to protest or even beg him to be gentle. And maybe, just maybe, I should have prepared myself a bit more. Oh god... 

But it was too late now. Peter penetrated me gently with his finger tip. The lotion felt impossibly cool within my tightness, shallowly at first but soon deeper as he gently worked his finger in further. I instinctively tightened on him and he chuckled. 

"Relax, Catherine. Open yourself to me." 

I tried to relax, but it was such an odd sensation. I blushed to feel his finger inside me there, in so intimate a place as my bottom hole. He slipped his finger out for a moment to get more lotion and then pressed back inside, deeper and more firmly this time. I gasped at the suddenness. It was mildly uncomfortable, more perhaps from a psychological perspective than actual discomfort. Such a foreign violation, so cool and so reluctant a fit. 

And this was only Peter's finger. When he added a second finger alongside the first it hurt a bit. My virginal bottom hole wasn't ready for two fingers. And yet he eased me into it gently, applying more hand lotion and probing me shallowly until I relaxed to him, only pushing deep with his fingers when it was obvious I could let him. As he opened me gently he spoke to me, reassuring me, telling me how much he loved me, how sexy my crop-reddened bottom looked, how snuggly my bottom gripped his fingers. 

"How beautiful your submission is, Catherine, that you would allow me such a delight. That you would allow me to posses you so intimately." 

His two fingers were deeply within me now, stretching me uncomfortably and spreading the cool lotion deep. I clenched instinctively on him. From time to time he slipped his fingers from me and gathered more lotion before pressing back in deeply. Each time he seemed to penetrate me more easily, my bottom hole each time less reluctant. I was opening to his gentle efforts. 

At long last Peter withdrew his fingers and didn't push them back in again. He moved close, pressing up against me from behind as I lay trapped over the table. The hair on his legs tickled the backs of mine. His smooth, stiff cock settled snuggly between my bottom cheeks, lying along the gentle valley there, and I tensed. God, it felt so big. I'd never before felt him so hard for me, so eager. I'd never before felt so attuned to a simple touch. His warm presence between my bottom cheeks felt strangely alive, and in that moment it was almost as if I could feel his pulse throbbing in his cock as it lay against me, as if his stiffness betrayed a pent up excitement at having his new bride bottom up and helpless. 

"Do you feel that, Catherine?" Peter asked quietly. He kissed my ear, and then the back of my neck. "That's my love for you, Catherine, and my lust. Do you feel it lying there? I want you to imagine it, Catherine. Imagine it inside you back there, where no one has ever been before. I want you to imagine it stretching you open and pushing deep. Imagine how it's going to feel, Catherine, how it's going to hurt... and how it's going to feel so good." 

I groaned around my gag, imagining. In my mind I was suddenly O, bent over helplessly and blind before her lovers. I shuddered to think myself O. O's first violation of her narrowest passage at the hands of her unseen lover had been rough and violent. O had screamed. She had wept afterward. I shuddered. My beloved Peter would be gentler, wouldn't he? Oh god, he had to be. He just had to. 

Peter stroked my hair gently, kissing the back of my head and my neck and my shoulders even as he shifted and positioned himself at my tight hole. Not pressing, not pushing, just resting there, his thick glans suddenly feeling so impossibly big between my bottom cheeks and against my tight, virginal pucker. His voice was husky as he whispered to me. "I love you, Catherine. I will always love you, and always lust for you. I want you to remember that as I push up inside you, Catherine. As I take your last virginity, as I have you as no man ever has before. You are mine, Catherine, now and forever." 

If I hadn't been gagged I would have told him I felt the same, only twice as much. But I was gagged, and all I could do was groan as his presence against my tight bottom hole became an insistent pressure as he pushed for entry. Not forcing, but firm. Oh God... 

In my fantasies, whenever the hero took the heroine's unused bottom hole it always happened in a rush, and it was always to her moans of delight. But this was different. I was tight and unprepared, despite the lotion and Peter's fingers earlier, and I could only grunt into my gag... not with delight, but with discomfort. It hurt. Peter was being gentle and not rushing, but still it hurt. Ever so slowly he eased inside me, just the tip of his cock. 

Just having him inside me back there, stretching me open even that little bit, made me instinctively tense. I closed my eyes and willed myself to relax, tried to imagine my virginal bottom opening to him like a flower and accepting his penis. Only it wouldn't come, at least not more than a little bit each time Peter pushed gently forward. 

"Don't worry," he whispered in my ear as he stroked my arms reassuringly. "Just relax, my pet. It'll come." 

I groaned around the gag. Why, oh why had I asked him to gag me? If my mouth had been free, I would have surely asked him to pull out. But I couldn't ask him that. I couldn't ask him anything, or beg, or plead, or anything, except strain helplessly against my bonds and try to force myself to relax. 

Through the heady flush of my predicament I was barely aware of Peter slipping his hand beneath me and feeling between my legs. He searched with his fingers, sliding easily there along the wetness between my folds, and when he brushed against my clit I couldn't help but smile and push back a little. Oh, that felt nice! I moaned into my gag, and in my mind I begged him to please, please touch me like that again. He did. And again. And his fingers stayed, stroking gentle little circles around my clit even as his cock continued to press for entrance at my bottom. I couldn't help but relax a little, couldn't help but angle my hips so he had better access with his fingers, and in that moment I felt myself open to him behind. I winced and grunted in surprise, biting down hard on my gag as he sank suddenly into my tight bottom hole. 

"Mmmm... so that's the trick!" 

I clenched on Peter instinctively, even as he continued stroking me with his fingers. His thick presence within my bottom took my breath away. It was as if he penetrated me to my very core, as if he possessed me as deeply and thoroughly as he ever could. It was an oddly foreign sensation to have him within me back there, a cool, uncomfortable, throbbing violation unlike anything I'd felt before. 

For a long moment Peter remained still within me, as if letting me adjust to this new and intimate presence. When he began moving it was ever so slowly and only the shallowest of movements, working gently at my clutching tightness. As I opened reluctantly to him he pushed a little deeper, pulled out a little further. He began enjoying me slowly, and as he did he leaned against my backside and gripped my shoulders, putting his lips to my ear and whispering. 

"You can't imagine how exquisite this feels, Catherine. I can feel you clenching on me. Do you feel that, my pet? How I swell inside you? Milk me, Catherine. Make love to me with your bottom." 

I groaned around my gag, too overwhelmed to do anything but lie there and let Peter have me. Milking him with my bottom, making love to him that way, was out of the question. The aching strain of being possessed so deeply and thoroughly was such that I could barely concentrate on opening myself to him, let alone making love to him with my tightness. He would just have to make do... and he did, slowly and deeply, the entire time lying heavily against my backside, whispering sweet nothings into my ear. Telling me how tight I was, how exquisite my receptiveness, how enjoyable the taking of my last virginity was. For I was his, he reminded me softly, his voice echoing in my consciousness. My body was his, my submission, my tightest of holes. I was his, and he would do with me as he liked. 

I was on the edge of orgasm the entire time, not so much from the act itself – which was rather uncomfortable, to say the least – but for Peter's softly whispered words and the helplessness and thoroughness of my violation. More than anything I was aroused by the simple fact that Peter had decided unilaterally to take me this way, and that I'd been entirely helpless to stop him. Not that I would have, but being helpless to was simply delicious. Even the simple embarrassment of being had in such an intimate, forbidden manner fueled my arousal. This wasn't how husbands and wives made love on their wedding night, nor most couples ever. This was an illicit, uncomfortable taking, enjoyed solely for Peter's pleasure. And for that I trembled so very near to my own. 

After a while Peter stopped moving and remained buried deep inside my bottom. I could feel his balls against my pussy, his breath hot on the back of my neck. I could smell the faint scent of his cologne, so near and so wonderfully familiar. When he spoke, his voice was soft and loving. 

"I could keep this up all night," he told me quietly. I groaned around my gag. My poor bottom hole was already aching something dreadful from being stretched for so long, and my insides felt raw. I had asked for this, yes, but I didn't think I could take being sodomized all night. 

"You're so tight and warm," Peter whispered. He began moving slowly inside my bottom again. "So receptive. Push out, Catherine. Open yourself to me." 

I did it... or at least I tried to. It was so instinctive to clench on him as he pushed back inside. I willed myself to open to him, aching deeply inside for his thrusts were becoming more urgent. He began taking advantage of my receptiveness, enjoying me more thoroughly. Again I found myself short of breath, wincing with each deep thrust. The hand lotion didn't make for the best lubricant. It was satisfactory at best. As Peter slowly sodomized me the ache became a deeply raw sensation. His steady thrusting was causing a turmoil in my bowels. And yet for all the discomfort there was something else there, a strangely illicit arousal at being possessed so intimately and so thoroughly. An arousal at the thought that Peter wasn't using me for my pleasure but for his own. And as he did, at every moment he whispered in my ear, telling me how exquisite my submission to him in this manner was. 

"I'm going to enjoy having you this way any time I want, my pet." He chuckled. "In fact, maybe I'll have you this way every time, in your tight little bottom. Maybe from now on the other way will be a treat that you'll have to earn." 

I trembled with delight, both that he was going to take me like this again, and that he might make a habit out of it. As I clenched on him at the thought he paused, his cock lodged oh so uncomfortably deep inside my bottom. "I wonder, Catherine... if you could talk, would you beg me to take it out of you? Or would you beg me to fuck you harder, and faster?" He slipped his hand beneath my belly and felt between my legs, his fingers quickly finding my clit. "Or would you maybe beg me to allow you an orgasm?" 

I whimpered around my gag and shifted back against him, trying to move myself on his fingers. Peter chuckled. "I thought so." He stroked me for a moment, little circles around my clit, and then stopped. "But not yet." 

I groaned around my gag. God, I needed an orgasm so bad! Why was he teasing me like this!? But I knew the answer to that. He was teasing me because he could... and because he knew I wanted it. 

How long did he enjoy me like that in my tight, no-longer-so-virginal bottom hole? It felt an eternity. From time to time he withdrew and added more lotion, each time pressing swiftly back inside my tightness. I was reluctantly receptive to him now. He had opened me, vanquished my last virginal defensiveness and made me his in this most intimate manner. I throbbed with aching need and burned inside my bottom where he thrust so deeply and so purposefully. I ached where he penetrated and stretched me so tightly, and felt raw to my very core. My legs trembled, tense against my bonds. The corset constricted my chest, forcing my breath to come in short, sharp gasps. The cuffs dug into my wrists as I squirmed. Peter's weight was heavy on my back, adding to my difficulty breathing but feeling so comfortably reassuring, so familiar. And at every moment his cock felt so wonderful inside me. It possessed me, violating me to my very core. It gave me such discomfort and arousal at the same time that I ached for it to stay within me forever, and for Peter never to let me from his arms. 

It was during this time, as I lay bent over the table with Peter enjoying my bottom deeply, that he again slipped a hand down between my legs. I hardly noticed it until he pressed a finger into me there between my folds, and another to the gentle swell of my clit. I gasped and bucked against him at the sudden sensations. He knew me so intimately, knew exactly how to stroke me that would send me up the wall. He wasn't just teasing me this time. This time he was pushing me over the edge, and as he did, his fingers stroking deliciously between my legs, he put his lips to my ear and spoke huskily. 

"Let yourself go, Catherine. I know you want to. Show me how much you're enjoying this. Show me how much you like being my submissive little wife." He chuckled softly, pressing his finger into me still deeper. "Show me how much you like being my submissive little pet..." 

I couldn't help myself. His words, his cock, his fingers, my helplessness to move in my bonds and beneath his weight... it all was too much. I showed him with a strained moan around my gag as I came, clenching on him in my passion. I ached so deeply inside, felt so raw as he continued thrusting in my bottom, and yet it was the most exquisite orgasm I'd ever enjoyed. I closed my eyes and grimaced around my gag. If my mouth had been free I would have surely cried out, but as it was all I could do was grunt incoherently in orgasm as Peter kept at me with his fingers and cock. 

It had been building inside me since Peter had cuffed my wrists behind me, since Kim had first laced me into my corset, since I'd first laid eyes on my wedding-gown-to- be... it had been building inside me for months, even. Now it was as if Peter had unlocked the floodgates. One orgasm rolled into two, and then as Peter refused to let up with his fingers and cock it rolled into yet another. Or perhaps it was all one long orgasm. I was too far gone to know, or to care. I bit down hard on my gag, clenched on Peter, dug my fingernails into his belly as he lay thrusting heavily atop me. My toes curled, my legs tensed. When I come my legs naturally want to close and now, bound as I was to the table legs, it felt an exquisite torment to be prevented from doing just that. 

Just when Peter joined me in orgasm I wasn't sure. I was faintly aware of him grunting in my ear, telling me how much he loved me and how he always would even as his grip on my shoulders tightened and his urgency in my bottom reached a feverish pitch. He was flooding me there where no man ever had before. It was such an overwhelming feeling, such a powerful notion, that it transcended even the blossoming rawness in my bottom and the ache from the crop. Peter was possessing me completely and unconditionally, taking from me his pleasure amidst the throes of my own, and for that I came yet again. 

* * * 

Afterward Peter remained atop me for the longest time, not moving, just lying heavily against my back as he slowly softened inside me. He kissed me gently all over, on my neck, my shoulders, my back, again and again even as he roamed gently with his hands. He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. Words would have been completely nnecessary, anticlimactic even. The only sounds were of our heavy breathing and the soft sounds of the kisses he continued to plant upon my soft, flushed skin. 

I ached all over, inside and out. Mostly inside at the moment, for the raw burning sensation the crop had left had now dulled to an aching throb, and now as Peter softened within me I began to feel more the after effects of the sodomy. It was a deep, somewhat raw sensation, not quite painful but decidedly unpleasant. I felt used... but in a good way. I even felt wet a little, the lingering result left behind by Peter's passion. And for all of this I tingled warmly all over from my orgasm. Four, I reminded myself, smiling around my gag. Peter had coaxed me to four. And he hadn't needed to coax me very hard. 

As I lay there with my eyes dreamily closed Peter moved gently atop me, straightening up. He put his hands gently on my bottom, at which I winced, and ever so slowly withdrew himself from my aching bottom hole. As he vacated me I groaned around my gag. How empty and violated I felt, how thoroughly used. Behind me Peter crouched down and without a word unbound my ankles. I couldn't help but smile around my gag and stretch my legs. God, how exquisite it felt to be able to move again after so long. Just moving this little bit reminded me how sore my bottom was from the cropping. Still saying nothing, Peter rose and untied the bottom lace on my corset, releasing my cuffed wrists. He didn't uncuff me, though. Instead he moved around the table until he was at my head, and there he gently removed my blindfold. Against the sudden flush of light after so long I shut my eyes tightly. He put his hand gently on my head, stroking my hair slowly, brushing aside a few stray tresses that had fallen across my face. As I lay there unmoving he unbuckled the gag and slipped it from my mouth. And then ever so gently he kissed me. 




Bridal Suite Submission Ch. 04



"How do you feel?" he asked softly. 

I groaned. Oh how my jaw ached... almost as much now as my bottom. "Sore," I murmured. 

"Good sore?" 

"Yes, very good." 

Peter was quiet for a moment. "Was it everything you hoped for?" 

I smiled and opened my eyes dreamily. "It was exquisite, honey. Absolutely exquisite." 

Peter smiled and leaned forward to kiss me. "Good. Because next time I'm going to crop you even harder." 

To be continued....



Bridal Suite Submission Ch. 05



I was too weak to stand, too weak even to rise from the table, and so Peter lifted me in his arms. He carried me into the bathroom and there sat me on the edge of the tub. As I smiled dreamily, enjoying the cool tile beneath my bare bottom, he uncuffed my wrists. I couldn't help but groan. Oh, how sore my wrists were! I'd never anticipated wearing the cuffs for so long, nor imagined how raw my wrists would feel afterward. Softer cuffs, I thought to myself. Next time, definitely softer cuffs.

While Peter drew a luxurious bath I stood up gingerly and turned so I could see my backside in the mirror. What I saw there took my breath away. My formerly-pale bottom was covered with bright red splotches from the crop, and from between my cheeks glistened the telltale evidence of my other more intimate use.

"Oh my god, Peter," I murmured incredulously. "Look what you did to me!"

Peter chuckled. "I didn't do that to you."

"Oh?" I giggled. "Then who did?"

Peter snuggled up behind me and slipped his arms around my waist, drawing me close as he kissed the base of my neck. "Why, my pet... you did that to you."

He was right, of course. I had opened the door to my submission and invited him in. I had no one to blame but myself, and no one to thank but Peter. Which I did now with a surge of love, turning and pulling him to me and kissing him again and again.

* * *

We soaked together in the tub, sipping champagne and just enjoying being together. I sat between Peter's legs, lying back against his chest, my eyes closed, smiling dreamily as I savored the feeling of the soapy water up nearly to my neck and Peter's arms so tightly embracing me. We didn't talk. Peter held me and kissed me, on my shoulders, my neck, my back. He seemed content to just hold me, and I was content to just let him. The warmth of the bath soaked the tension right out of me, the anxiousness I'd felt earlier, the ache from my bonds, the lingering chafing from the corset, the rawness of my bottom. The champagne made me tingle, and Peter's arms around me made me feel blissfully content. I felt as if I could stay like this forever.

As Peter cradled me in his arms, sliding his fingers ever so slowly over my soapy skin, he spoke gently in my ear. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

I smiled. "All the time."

"Well, if it's possible I think I love you even more now, Mrs. Peter Thomas."

"Mmm... Mrs. Thomas. I like the sound of that."

"Me too." He fell silent and held me for a long time, slipping his hand between my legs and stroking me there gently. Finally he murmured: "I'm going to enjoy your submission, Catherine. You have no idea how much, nor to what delicious lengths. But how did you know?"

I smiled dreamily. He was talking as if he thought my offer of submission was for more than just tonight. I knew I should tell him that I'd meant this only for tonight, but his fingers felt so delicious on me, his body so warm and soft against mine, that I just couldn't bring myself to. "How did I know what?"

"How much I would enjoy your offer of submission."

"I didn't."

Peter chuckled. "You're a terrible liar, sweetie."

"I didn't! I hoped is all."

"That's all?"

"Well..."

Beneath the warm water Peter tickled me gently. "Tell me, Catherine."

I let him tickle me a moment longer before I let him force my confession. "I found your books."

"Which ones?"

"The ones in the attic."

Peter was quiet for a moment. "You know about them?"

"Mmm hmm. Every naughty little one."

Peter chuckled. "You've been snooping."

"No! I found them by accident!"

"Uh huh, sure." But in the mirror I could see he was smiling. "And my books made you want all this?"

"No, I already wanted it," I told him softly. "Finding your books just gave me hope that I wasn't alone."

We lay together for a long time, not speaking. Peter held me in his arms and stroked me gently beneath the water. "How long, Catherine? How long have you felt like this?"

"All my life."

"Tell me about it."

I blushed. No, I couldn't, it was too embarrassing. And yet Peter firmly insisted. "I'm not asking you, Catherine," he murmured in my ear. "I'm telling you. Now out with it, sweetie."

So there lying back against him in the bath, his arms around me and my glass of champagne forgotten for the moment, I told him everything. I told him how for as long as I could remember I had fantasized about strong, handsome lovers who took me in the darkness, and often over my helpless protests. Who tied me up and made love to me through the night. Who blindfolded me and reddened my bottom with unseen instruments. Who controlled me. Who possessed me. Who stripped from me my modesty and my innocence and made me unequivocally theirs.

I told him how one night during my freshman year in college I'd come purely by chance across the movie "9 1/2 Weeks" on cable, and how I'd been so enthralled with it that the next day I'd rushed out and rented it and watched it over and over again. I told him how that same year I'd participated with our campus theater group in a float in a local parade. It had been a pirate theme and I was chosen to be the fair maiden. I'd stood up there on the float in front of everyone, my dress tattered, my back to the faux mast and my arms pulled back around it. The bindings around my wrists had been fake, looped loosely over and over so they looked real enough, but in my mind they'd been real, and as I'd put on my helpless, struggling maiden bit as the pirates surrounded me I'd trembled with excitement. I'd worn my sexiest, laciest bra and panties beneath my fair maiden costume and from time to time a gust of wind would come along and part the tatters of my dress just enough to offer a fleeting peek to the parade goers. It had been enough to raise a terrible blush in my cheeks, and yet with my hands "bound" I couldn't very well reach down and protect my modesty and so I'd found myself being a bit more the helpless maiden than I'd planned. That night I'd hardly slept a wink, masturbating over and over to the fantasy of being plundered by the pirates, my fair innocence rent asunder again and again as I struggled helplessly.

I told him how in the weeks following my public display I'd been so hungry to feel the snugness of bonds for real that one night when my roommate was out I'd lain on my bed in the dark and tied my own ankles to the bedposts with stockings, and bound my own wrists in front of me as tightly as I could with another, and masturbated furiously as I tugged at my own self-imposed bondage. It was a routine I'd repeated over and over whenever I'd had a chance, a self-indulgence I'd never before admitted to anyone and

which I now blushed to relate to Peter.

I even confessed to him the one event that more than any other had fueled my fantasies: my fateful doctor exam.

"What?" Peter chuckled. "You have a thing for doctors too?"

I blushed. No, I murmured. Not exactly. It had been in my first months as a freshman at the university. I'd gone to the student health clinic for a routine checkup. In the examination room the nurse, a kindly, graying older woman, had taken my blood pressure and checked my temperature and then given me a folded exam gown and told me to undress and put it on, that the doctor would be in shortly. Only the moment she'd left me alone I'd gotten distracted by a phone call from Kim (the subject of which I can't remember to this day for the life of me). It hadn't been the phone call that was important so much as the fact that when the doctor knocked and came in I was still fully dressed and the exam gown still sat folded on the table. He'd smiled and made some polite joke or another and then asked me: would I mind please undressing and putting the gown on so he might examine me? I'd stood frozen, blushing madly, as he turned and busied himself at the counter. He'd been young and handsome, and more embarrassingly than anything seemed not about to leave the room. I couldn't do it, couldn't undress with him standing right there. And yet he'd glanced to me again and with that same polite smile told me: it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before. Now would I mind please undressing and putting the gown on? He was quite busy today. And then he'd busied himself at the counter again. I did it quickly while his back was turned. Blushing madly, tingling though I'd no idea why, I undressed as quickly as I could and slipped the gown on. My fingers had trembled so badly that I'd not been able to work the little ties, and so I'd ended up just holding the gown loosely closed. The entire time I'd felt, or perhaps fantasized, that he was watching me out of the corner of his eye. Probably it was just my imagination, but the effect was the same: I tingled all over with a strange arousal that I'd never felt before.

Afterward I'd hurried back to my dorm room and there, still tingling and thankfully alone, I'd stripped and hurried into bed and masturbated furiously. I was heady with arousal from having been "ordered" to strip by the handsome doctor, from being so intimately examined by him, from the touch of his strong hands on my nakedness and the sterile coldness of his stethoscope and at every moment the blush-inducing fantasy that he wasn't a doctor at all but one of my dark, mysterious strangers who owned me in my dreams. It had been such an innocent experience, and yet so powerfully arousing. I'd skipped the rest of my classes that day -- entirely unlike me -- and spent the afternoon in bed, masturbating furiously to relieve the delicious tension that seemed to not want to fade until I'd worn myself out and fallen blissfully asleep, my hands tucked between my legs and the young, handsome doctor filling my dreams.

There, lying back against him in the tub, I told Peter everything, and when I was finished I fell silent. He was quiet for a moment, and then he hugged me tighter and bent to kiss my neck.

"So, you like the thought of being ordered to strip and felt up by a strange man? I'll have to keep that in mind."

I couldn't help but smile and giggle. Sweet Peter. Always the tease.

* * *

We soaked together until the water grew cool, and afterward Peter helped me from the tub. As I stood there he dried me off. The towel was so sensuously soft and his touch so gentle that I couldn't help but smile. I've always loved Peter's touch. It can be so deliciously strong at just the perfect moments, and so gentle at others. Now as he knelt before me, drying my legs and working his way up, I trembled. So gentle. So perfect. He dried me gently between my legs and then my bottom, at which I flinched for I was still so sore there.

He wasn't content with just drying me. He leaned forward and kissed my belly, smiling up at me. He kissed my belly again a bit lower, and then a bit lower still, and then before I knew it he was kissing me between my legs, slipping his tongue into me there. My legs trembled, my knees threatened to give out.

"Oh, Peter, can we do this on the bed?"

Peter stopped licking just long enough to smile up at me. "We can do this right here. Now stand still and enjoy."

So I stood still -- as still as I could, anyway -- and enjoyed. And I did enjoy. Peter's lips and tongue were so eager, his movements so careful. He always knows exactly how I liked to be licked and made love to, and this time was no exception. I was still so aroused that it didn't take but a few delicious moments before I was trembling so very close to orgasm. I swayed weakly and Peter reached around and cupped my bottom, steadying

me.

As my orgasm washed over me I shuddered and sank to my knees, too weak to stand, and then onto my back right there on the tile floor with Peter following and his lips never leaving my pussy. He coaxed me through my orgasm and beyond until I began to whimper softly, and then he cuddled me tenderly, holding me in his arms right there on the floor. Neither of us spoke. My eyes drifted shut. I was exhausted. My whole body tingled and I felt so warm, so sated, all the way through. I smiled. How lovely Peter's arms felt around me, his naked body against mine, his chin resting on the top of my head as he held me. I felt as if I could stay in his arms forever.

* * *

Sometime later I was barely aware of Peter lifting me from the tile floor and carrying me gently in his arms to the bed, and there laying me back upon the satin sheets amidst a sea of soft pillows. He cuddled up behind me and cradled me in his arms, and there, feeling as if I were one with him, I drifted in and out of sleep. I wasn't asleep, I wasn't awake. I was exhausted. I was content. I was sated. I was madly, helplessly in love.

As we lay together I felt Peter stiffening unmistakably. As his length grew slowly against my bottom I couldn't help but giggle and let my hand wander back between us.

"You're still horny?"

"It occurs to me," Peter told me softly, a twinkle in his eye, "that we still need to consummate our marriage."

"I think we did that pretty thoroughly earlier," I smiled. So thoroughly that I still ached inside, and probably still would in the morning.

Peter kissed me and rolled me gently onto my back, moving to lie atop me between my legs. "No, I mean the right way. Like husband and wife."

My heart was beginning to beat faster, my arousal tingling anew. I slipped my arms around his waist and clutched him to me. "You mean, like lovers?"

Peter smiled. "Yes, like lovers. Like two people madly, passionately in love."

I hugged him tighter. "Do you think you can? I mean, are you up to it?"

In answer Peter smiled and kissed me, guiding himself into me between my legs. As he began moving so deeply inside me he kissed me again and again. "Just try to stop me."

* * *

It was a delicious, heady love making. Afterward Peter remained lying between my legs as he softened within me. I kept my arms around him, holding him close. He rested his head on my shoulder, his breath tickling my cheek and his soft chest hair my own nakedness, and together we lay drifting ever closer to sleep. As my eyes grew heavy Peter kissed my cheek and whispered in my ear. I'd made him the happiest man on earth today, he told me softly. And the luckiest. He loved me more than I would ever know. He was going to enjoy my obedience. He was going to cherish my love. But more than anything else he was going to enjoy my submission. This evening, he told me softly, was but the beginning.

"Tomorrow, Catherine, will be your first day of submission to me. You will do everything I say, and deny me nothing." His voice was low and sexy as he stroked the soft curls of hair between my legs. "Your lovely hair? This soft patch of womanhood between your legs? Tomorrow I'm going to shave it, my pet. You will begin your submission to me smooth as the day you were born. As innocent and pure as can be, without so much as your soft curls to keep me from what is now rightfully mine."

I shivered to hear him talk to me so. "Peter—"

"Sssh, get some sleep. We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow and I want you well rested. This is but the beginning."

I smiled dreamily. "There's more?"

He smiled. "So much more, my pet."

My pet. Each time he referred to me like that I trembled inside. I'd only ever meant this for tonight, but the thought of being Peter's pet (whatever might that mean?) had an deliciously illicit thrill to it. His pet. I could definitely come to like that.

We fell asleep in each other's arms, lying together blissfully, not talking but just being together. As I drifted off to sleep cradled in Peter's arms I smiled. So very many possibilities, so many exquisite surprises to look forward to. And one final thought, which made me tremble to ponder: what, oh what, had I awakened in Peter?

Sweet Dreams

In my dreams that night I was a blushing virgin bride, led to the altar and presented before my beloved Peter in front of our friends and family. I wore no wedding gown, only my jewelry and my undergarments... corset, stockings, panties and heels. And, of course, a sheer white wedding veil.

It was a dream straight out of my fantasies, and even in my dream I blushed and felt mortified when I was urged to my knees before Peter, right there in front of everyone, to profess my love and devotion to him while kneeling obediently at his feet. When he kissed me, his new bride, it wasn't with his lips but with his stiff cock, lifting my wedding veil and guiding himself between my lips. In my dream I emulated the heroines of my fantasies, fellating my beloved new husband eagerly with only my lips and mouth and tongue, my hands clasped obediently in my lap, my back straight and my knees together. I blushed when he put his hands on the back of my head and guided my tempo, and I gagged when he pushed deep into the back of my throat. Through the haze of my embarrassment I could hear our friends and family commenting softly:

"Look at her, she's a natural."

"I can't believe she's taking his entire length."

"She looks good. What a slut..."

I shuddered to hear such words, but instead of taking my mouth off him I redoubled my efforts, proving my love and devotion to him with my lips and tongue.

Even in my dream I was reluctant at the thought that he might spill his seed in my mouth. But he didn't. Instead he helped me to rise, kissed me gently and coaxed me to lie over the low altar, my bottom to our guests. He locked my ankles into cold steel rings set far apart in the base of the altar, and my wrists too to similar rings in front, and then in my dream, right there in front of everyone, he took my virginity.

I came with his first thrust inside me, and again as his motions rocked me against the altar, and my clit against its edge. As he used me right there in front of everyone I professed my love to him over and over and over again.

He didn't come inside me. At least not there, in my front side. Instead, when it was certain that I was ready, he pulled out and moved higher, taking my final, tighter virginity right there in front of everyone even as I sobbed out that it was too much, that I couldn't possibly accommodate him back there. But I did accommodate him, for he thrust deeply and vigorously and took from me his pleasure without any further concern for my own, and without giving me a chance to protest. It hurt, even in my dream. But the hurt was good, and by the time he grunted and spilled his seed so deep in my bottom the burning ache had become a deeply humiliating pleasure.

My new husband was done, but I wasn't. As I lay there spent, fastened helplessly to the altar, he leaned forward and whispered in my ear: the best man was next.

In my dream I came and came and came...

...to be continued