Made to Order Bride, page 3
But she had no name for it, no experience of those other completely unfamiliar responses or even those parts of herself. She just knew that, all of a sudden, in a matter of minutes upon her encounter with this man who said he owned her, they had come into acute, highly shameful prominence and begun to take over her mind with their bawdy demands for some sort of attention.
And he didn't seem at all interested in dealing with the front of her in the least. He was determined to chastise her bottom, and his humongous hand already covered a vast portion of her generously rounded cheeks, which didn't bode at all well for how she was going to fare when he punished her.
The first swat startled her, not that she was entirely unprepared for it, and it made Star draw a deep breath that she held for the next several connections of the flat of his hand with the healthy rise of her rear, entirely unable to expel it at first from the sheer magnitude of the pain he was able to inflict with one simple stroke.
And he didn't even seem to be spanking her with very much effort on his part, either. Her might would have boggled at the thought, but it was too damned busy trying to cope with how he was so calmly and deliberately blistering her behind for her.
He wasn't swatting in a flurry; there was absolutely no need for haste. Apparently, her Master was a man of slow, deliberate action. Not for Tru, a flurry of pretend swats that barely registered a blush of pink to a lady's derriere and on to the main attraction. Each individual, well placed swat—which rang in her ears for almost as long as the burning ache of each actual smack did on her vulnerable flesh—was a work of art, given at what she would have been truly horrified to find out later in their time together was well shy of full strength, or what would consist of the fullest strength he would ever use on her. Each was placed perfectly, at first, for maximum coverage and reddening, his hands devoid of rings that might accidentally mar her otherwise perfect flesh, fingers together, the angry red tone even, overall, from the top of those almost overly generous crests down the backs of her thighs and even down the backs of her calves, which, he was gratified to hear upped the level of her protestations quite considerably, and he filed that fact away for later delectation. Not that he wouldn't be able to review the crisp, clear digital HD recording later, if he so desired, after he'd put her down for a rest.
He was quite sure he would want to see this again every day for the rest of his life, and he'd had cameras installed everywhere—everywhere—in the house for just that purpose. She would be able to get away with nothing, and she could expect absolutely no privacy from him whatsoever. Even in the bathroom.
With the first layer viciously applied, he began on the second, starting from where he'd ended, on the most recently chided flesh, his arm nowhere near tired, as fresh now as it had been when he'd begun, despite the not inconsiderable power he was using for each one.
By now, Star's ability to move and speak was returning, and she wasn't just squeaking. She was no longer just whimpering but was out and out yelling each time that platter of a palm came in contact with her already well chastised buttocks. No amount of amateurish wiggling would extract her from his hold, however, especially once he realized how recovered she was and tipped her just that much more forward and slung a big leg over hers, which also prevented her from kicking back at him, which had, on occasion, disrupted one or two of his carefully calculated swats.
Her hard-won success had backfired on her, however, since he had simply delivered the missing slaps again, twice in a row, so she had ended up, essentially, being spanked three times in a row in the same spot.
She was well and truly trapped, and, on the third excruciating round covering the exact same territory yet again, Star swallowed her pride and began to beg, ashamed and humiliated that it had taken him so short a time to reduce her to such an ignominious state.
"Please, sir, please, stop, I—no—more, please—ahhhh!"
What she couldn't have realized was that he much preferred her screams over the sounds of her begging.
The next time his hand found her nates, the crisp swat was delivered with such force that she thought she was going to faint. "Quiet," was all he said, but the next round was all delivered at that heightened level, one or two notches well above what she thought she could bear. It even had her trying to reach back, but she hadn't the strength yet, and she was so far forward on his lap that she had to keep putting her hands back onto the floor for fear he was going to let her crash face first into the carpet.
He would never have let her do that, of course, but she didn't know enough about him yet to realize that fact, and Tru wasn't going to educate her. She would have to work that out for herself in her own time. Besides, it kept her hands out of his way without him having to make any effort whatsoever. Win-win, as far as he was concerned.
When he finally stopped, Star was a panting, sobbing, throbbing mess. And what was throbbing the worst on her, at least in tandem with the blood coursing painfully through her thoroughly roasted butt, was that which was pulsing through the area exactly opposite of that, which had—much to her shame and disgust—seemed only to become more and more intrigued, the harder he blistered her bottom and the stricter his demeanor became.
"Now. Let's divest you of the catheter." Tru reached over and tucked chucks beneath her, saying, in what he hoped was a very paternal tone, "Now, you can hold your water for me, can't you?" knowing that the intimacy of the question and the fact that he questioned her ability to do something so childish when she was a legal adult would cause her embarrassment in and of itself.
But he was entirely unprepared for how spectacularly she blushed. It was the true definition of a full body blush—even the soles of her feet were tinged pink, and the rest of her rivaled the crimson color of that gorgeous, red ass.
"Yes, sir," she whispered, trying to hide her head against his leg.
Star was entirely unprepared for the crack that landed across the fullest crest of her cheeks, making her arch her back with a yowl. "When I ask you a question, I expect a clear and concise answer, Star," Tru chided in full scold. "And you are to call me Master."
"Yes, Master," she hastened to agree.
"Yes, Master, what?" he prodded, knowing how much discomfort he was causing her in making her detail her response to him as if he misunderstood to which command she was responding.
"Yes, Master, I kn-know h-how to h-hold my w-water."
His eyebrow rose. "You'd better. These are a good pair of pants. If you wet them, I'm going to paddle you good."
Dear God, hadn't she just been spanked good, already? Star wondered.
The paddling, however, was a foregone conclusion. Tru had already seen the stain she'd created by the way her telltale pussy had leaked all over his trousers, even during the thoroughness of her initial round of discipline. He thought that boded well for their future together, if she could be brought to such pleasure despite her obvious discomfort—not that he wasn't going to administer the punishment he had just promised her he would.
Removal of the catheter was rather matter of fact, but he made it as humiliating as possible for her, making sure to remind her several times to clench herself, so as not to tinkle on him, using the childish word for urination knowing full well it would increase her level of humiliation, although he had arranged her legs in a fashion that was most obscenely wide open, despite—or rather because of—her delightful whimpers and groans of shame.
Tru adjusted her so that she was lying more on the sofa, not allowing her to use his leg to hide against. "Turn your head so that your cheek is lying on the couch and look up at me. Do not close your eyes, and do not take your eyes from me. Am I making myself clear?"
"Yes, Master." Clear, but still soft and feminine, like her. He was quite certain his cock was never going to live through this initial encounter. Every single thing she said or did nearly drove him over the edge. It was going to implode right then and there, where it was rooted at the front of his body at every peep or movement she made and had become absolutely useless to him from then on.
But what a way to go!
Chapter 3
"All right then, you're clenching tight now, right?"
"Yes, Master," Star said again, knowing her entire body was flushed beet red with shame at the very thought of the way he'd arranged her legs so far apart so as to be able to get at the area between them. It was where he needed to be to remove the apparatus, but she was also embarrassed because he was looking at her there, where no one else had ever seen her! Where she'd never even seen herself! And he kept talking to her about it, about how and whether she was old enough to have control over her own ability not to urinate all over him. It was the most humiliating conversation she'd ever had in her life! Of course, she did! But she knew she couldn't say anything like that to him, or she'd end up with yet another spanking, or, God forbid, something much worse, although she was sure she couldn't come up with anything worse than that, despite that abominable wall of implements that was no more than twenty feet away.
"I'm deflating the cuff, and then I'm going to slip it out." He was careful to tell her exactly what he was going to do, because he didn't want to frighten her. Only he did it much more slowly, all the while letting his fingers Braille their way over her cleft, those full lips covered in downy soft hair with the strange plastic tube he tugged ever so carefully out from between them, hearing her catch her breath with each movement, not quite whimpering but not quite squealing, either.
Later on, he'd make her tell him how she'd felt about the catheter, and perhaps he might consider catheter training, but for right now, he felt it was much too advanced for her. Tru wanted to start out at the very basics with her. They had their whole lives together, and he didn't want to rush into things. That was what she deserved and what he wanted, so that was what she was going to get.
When it was gone and he'd put the tube onto the completely dry chucks to be dealt with later, once he'd put her down for a rest, he said with utmost sincerity, "Good girl! The pad was completely dry!"
Tru felt her relax over his lap, hearing her very relieved sigh, knowing she had been worried about receiving a second punishment from him so soon after the first, worried that she might spill the slightest droplet onto the pad and thus earn herself a paddling. Then he arranged her on his knee, this time, sitting on it, and gathered her back into his arms, only to, as he did so, bring to her attention the dark splotch on his right trouser leg. "But, Star, what do we have here?" he asked, his manner evincing deep concern for her.
Wide eyed, almost childlike, Star leaned over, still within his arms, not trying to struggle out of them yet because she hadn't realized just exactly what it was that he wanted her to look at, despite the barest note of reproach that had already crept into his tone.
Tru tsked loudly. "I guess I was wrong. You weren't able to hold your water, were you?" He patted the splotch, then brought his fingers to his nose as he watched her eyes well then overflow with tears, her face growing more and more horrified with the realization that she really was going to be turned back over his lap and subjected to a second even more painful session on her already seared backside. "I don't think this is tinkle, though."
He saw a desperate ray of hope appear in Star's eyes that he dashed just as quickly as it had appeared. "It's something else that I'll talk to you about a little later. Something that's actually very good that your body honors me with. However, my pants did end up wet, and what did I say, Star?"
She couldn't help it; she broke down bawling at his question and was barely able to respond to him when she realized how careful his semantics had been when he'd made his decree. "Y-you said i-if I wet your p-pants, you w-were going t-to pad-paddle me g-good." He hadn't specified what the wetting agent had to be, just that she'd be punished again—paddled—if his pants were soiled.
Tru gathered her into his arms for a long moment, rocking her, comforting her, before arranging her so that his hand could easily find its way between her bent legs. They naturally stiffened, as if she meant to deny him access, but she didn't, and he continued, nudging them open, giving her the chance to do what he would do for her if he needed to.
"Good girl, but I want your legs wide open for me. Put the soles of your feet together." He helped her arrange her so that she was frog legged, her most private charms displayed for him and him alone. "This is how I want you to position yourself automatically for me when you're on your back on my lap. If I want you differently, I'll move you, but you're always to make yourself completely available to me. Do you understand?"
She was going to be a constant bright red around him, it seemed, and not just from his constant corrections, he could see. "Yes, Master," she answered clearly but shyly, her eyes darting away from his to look off into space.
"No, Star, you must always look at my hands when I'm touching you like this."
Star was certain the floor was going to open up and swallow her at that pronouncement. She was to watch him touch her? There, between her legs? How could she possibly survive it—the touching itself or the monumental shame and embarrassment that came with it? It was bad enough to lie here over his lap, completely naked, his eyes devouring every part of her, and her legs bent in such an obscene manner as to show him every indecent, hidden cove she'd kept carefully tucked away all her life!
His hand landed on her upper thigh, and she couldn't help but flinch, but somehow, she managed not to close her legs, although it was an incredible struggle. She wasn't sure how she did it, but she managed. It was probably by thinking of how bad her poor sore bottom already hurt, where it came in contact even with those wonderfully soft pants of his, and now she was going to be spanked with the paddle, too. She didn't want to add yet another implement to the already growing list of punishments she wasn't at all sure she could live through.
But was this all that her life was going to consist of from now on—all of this unbelievably embarrassing treatment at the hands of this, well, undeniably attractive man who seemed to enjoy nothing more than finding the most humiliating methods he possibly could in which to treat her and then subjecting her to both embarrassing and terribly painful discipline at every turn?
And to what was he referring about some sort of moisture her body had honored him with? It hadn't been that she was leaking pee or getting her period earlier than she'd expected? Then just what was it that was going on down there? she wondered. It couldn't possibly be good if she was still getting a paddling, could it?
That hand of his reminded her exactly what he was about. It wasn't grabbing at her, but it wasn't still, either. It was confident and possessive. She was his, and he knew the absolute truth of it. He hadn't told her, but Star had a feeling there wasn't anyone in this house—or probably within a hefty kilometer radius that was going to come to her assistance if—she corrected herself silently—when she screamed at the inevitably less than tender ministrations of that hand. No one had batted an eyelash at her reasonably full throated screams when he'd spanked her, so she couldn't imagine that anyone was going to rush in and save her at this late date, no matter if she brought the house down with her protestations.
She was on her own, left to his mercy, and Star was already beginning to realize that he didn't have much of that, as far as she was concerned.
Big, solid fingers that seemed to know exactly what they were doing and where they were aiming for settled right over the thatch of hair that covered the cleft between her legs, cupping and squeezing it, making her whimper as she gazed down her flat belly as she'd been commanded to do, and she watched him take intimate possession of her, the tip of his middle finger gently but inexorably delving between lips that had been naturally parted by virtue of her position, offering her less protection than they would have normally. Not that that would have been any help against him, regardless.
His middle finger was as thick as two and a half of her own fingers, easily, and when it felt the moist, tropical heat of her, not even landing anywhere interesting or touching anything at that point, just probing into that most feminine of all places, Star would have sworn she heard him groan, and she couldn't suppress a very feminine whimper of hers in automatic response.
Or had it been a sigh?
He seemed to relax just a bit.
And then he began to move that finger.
First, down, which surprised her for some reason, towards her bottom hole, although she didn't know why. She had no idea what he was doing in that area at all, much less where he would go or what he would do once he got there. But she was quickly beginning to realize that it was true torture to have to watch someone touching you, especially when that hand was claiming a place you'd been taught all your life that even your very own hand should never, ever explore.
And her mind might not have known what he was going to do, but her body certainly had its hopes up.
When his excruciatingly slow expedition yielded the results he'd been hoping to find and that fingertip found itself literally drowning in her golden nectar, Tru leaned down and tipped Star's face up to his, settling his lips onto hers as slowly and deliberately as he settled the flat of that thoroughly anointed, wildly slickened finger onto her already enormously engorged clit.
Their first kiss wasn't quite what he'd wanted it to be because he was so completely ecstatic at finding her so aroused by her punishment that he couldn't keep himself from grinning like an idiot and removing his hand immediately to cup her face. He'd been amazed to realize that he'd been reconsidering her paddling, but this has merely reinforced for him that his gut instincts about her were dead on. She needed strict discipline and a firm hand all over her body, or she was going to run amok and run all over him, and he could never allow that. He would keep her—and all of her sensual predilections—in strict check at all times, only allowing her to indulge at his own orders, of course, and probably only then when he could watch—and enjoy—himself.
