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I looked closely at Cal’s face, trying to beam my understanding into his eyes, willing him not to say it in words… not to say flat out, You’re going to keep defying me just because you need my discipline so very much.
His lips twitched a little, and then he said, his voice thrillingly stern, “Get that naughty butt into the bedroom and take off your clothes this minute. Don’t make me paddle you harder than I’m already going to, darlin’.”
I put it away, somehow—the distressing self-knowledge that would get in the way of me belonging to Cal, body and soul, not merely as his fiancée and someday his wife, but even more deeply. As his naughty slut. His well-trained, submissive-yet-defiant fuck toy.
I swallowed hard, and I felt the fear of the paddle and the terrible need brought on by the mere thought of it crawl through my tummy. My face crumpled in woe and terror, and with my eyes cast down to the floor I started to walk across the living room as quickly as I could, toward the hall where I knew Cal’s bedroom must lie though I had never seen it.
He stood in the doorway while I took off my clothes. Next to the king-sized bed, facing it, I cast a look over my shoulder with a pout on my face, as if to beg my justly wrathful suitor to spare my already punished bottom. That was when I saw he had the paddle in his hands. He had the handle of it in his right, and the two-foot long blade, with three holes in it, rested on his left.
Terror surged through my nervous system as my eyes traveled from the horrible thing to Cal’s face. For an instant the factual, unsexy knowledge rose in my mind, that I had provoked this terrible punishment as a way to get the man I was falling in love with to give me some firm boundaries and make me feel cared for. Then I had put that idea somewhere else, where it could reassure me from time to time but it wouldn’t get in the way.
“What did I tell you to do, Grace?” he asked, his voice low but very, very menacing. “Take them off. Now.”
CHAPTER 31
Cal
Lucky hardly described how fortunate I felt. Blessed did the job better, though I’ve never really been the kind of person who used that word too much. In any case, it didn’t seem totally appropriate, given that the blessing consisted of something so very… carnal.
Taking all of gorgeous, sweet, rebellious Grace Franklin’s virginities in a single night. To teach her submission and obedience. To train her for my bed and set her on the path of sexual service—and sexual fulfillment.
Hot. Dirty. Erotic. Wrong and yet oh so right. Shameful, but at the same time completely necessary—as well as absolutely irresistible. Watching Grace, as she turned her glowing-red face back toward the bed and started to raise her dress over her head, I knew that I had to do everything I had promised. The hardness of my cock gave me no choice.
And, thank God, Grace’s evident needs, for strict discipline and for submissive sex, seemed to give me even less. If I failed to show her exactly how dominant a suitor she had, and how thoroughly I would rule over her as her husband, I wouldn’t fulfill my most basic responsibility as man—let alone as a participant in the New Modesty program, tasked with caring for this wonderful handful of a girl in need of reformation.
I wanted her so badly that when she had the dress off and had let it drop onto the bed, and I saw her simple white bra for the first time, the straps across the bare skin of her back giving just the barest hint of restraint, my cock jumped against my thigh and my mouth started to water. I had the sudden urge to put the paddle down and just step forward, bend her over, unzip my fly, and go straight to the defloration.
She needed to feel thoroughly punished, though. And I needed to carry out that punishment, and show her she could rely on me to keep my word. I had to demonstrate beyond any doubt that when she questioned my authority her backside would pay the price: a higher price than she would choose to pay the next time she thought about answering back.
Grace had stopped moving. I tightened my grip around the handle of the wooden paddle, and I tapped it on my palm. I saw a shiver go through her at the soft but meaningful sound, and she put her little hands behind her to unhook the bra.
From the doorway, I had a wide enough angle that I could catch a thrilling sidelong view as her small but perfectly buoyant breasts swung free. I had to swallow down a mouthful of saliva as I thought of holding them, tasting them. Even of having my hard cock between them as I looked down at my sweet girl’s blushing face to witness her shame and excitement at learning to please me in a new way.
She dropped the bra on the bed, and kicked off her shoes. She had nothing on now but the training panties around her knees. I wondered for the thousandth time how such an unsexy pair of underwear could look so very hot on a girl like Grace.
She seemed to hesitate, and I tapped the paddle on my palm again. Her head turned, and she looked at me with frightened eyes. She had one arm across her breasts, now, and the other hand in front of her pussy, as if I hadn’t already seen everything a man wants to see.
“Get them off,” I told her, wondering what her sudden hesitation meant. “I told you. From now on, you’ll be naked for your punishments.”
Grace
Knowing that… knowing about how a wife, or a fiancée, must always take all her clothes off when her husband, or her fiancé, disciplines her… it made the paddle in Cal’s hand seem terrifying in a completely new way.
I already feared it on a purely physical level—how could I not? Even the way it sounded when he tapped it on his palm made my stomach lurch with each little noise… thwack… thwack… thwack. How could I bear to have him swing it hard against my bare butt-cheeks? How would I even be able to stand the shame and the terror of the sharp gunshot smack it would so obviously make with every swat?
But as I stared at him, suddenly failing to process his words—out of sheer terror, or out of some kind of attempt my brain was making simply to deny the reality of the humiliating, dreadful scene—the idea of pulling my training panties all the way off seemed impossible. Not because of the horrible pain I knew I had in store. Well, not only because of that.
Because if I obeyed him—when I obeyed him, since I didn’t really have any hope of avoiding it now, did I?—I would confirm that I accepted him as a suitor and as my future husband. The New Modesty Authority could do all the approving and accepting they liked, but it hadn’t changed anything inside me—until this moment.
I hadn’t ever really imagined a traditional proposal, I guessed, with my suitor down on one knee and a glittering ring in a box held up for my inspection. Whether that failure of a conventional romantic imagination had anything to do with the dark, mortifying needs Grasskiln had uncovered in my heart and body didn’t matter at all. Whatever the answer to that pointless question, I definitely hadn’t imagined this kind of decisive moment, though. I knew that when I took off my panties and showed my obedience, accepting the sort of naked paddling reserved for fiancées, for brides, for wives, I would truly belong to Cal.
From now on you’ll be naked for your punishments.
I bit my lip, and I heard a little whine come from my nose. I looked deeply into Cal’s serious, almost solemn face. I could see in his gorgeous eyes that he knew I understood what it meant to receive my corrections in the nude.
Blinking back tears that somehow seemed to have sheer joy mixed into their shame and fear, I stooped and pulled down the tangle of the embarrassing panties. I immediately wished, despite the irony, to have the humiliatingly thick cotton back over my already sore backside to cushion me from the terrible ordeal my chosen suitor had decided I must undergo.
My chosen suitor. That new way of thinking about him seemed right. Jake and the New Modesty could accept a man, and approve him, but—I told myself, anyway—only I could choose him.
