Chapter 11

Grace

Shelly's legs were together, her modest white panties still around her knees as she bent over the low chair. Jake straddled her, his shins up against the seat cushion. I could see everything, and it made my whole body blush. A strange, lightheaded sensation traveled through my limbs and into my head, making me wonder whether I might even faint from the mixture of deep embarrassment and helpless arousal that seethed in my chest and my tummy.

"That's it, Shelly girl," Jake growled. Both of them faced almost completely away from me as he fucked her, his balls slapping up against the bare lips of her pussy over and over, his hands tight around her hips to keep her in place. "You like it nice and hard, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Shelly sobbed, her head bowed and her blonde hair hanging down around her face. With each pounding thrust of her husband's hips, she let out a whimpering moan that sent a surge of need from my clit into my virgin vagina. I bit my lip as I felt an ache there, and I couldn't keep my eyes from the little glimpses I could see of Jake's enormous, rigid penis as it flashed in and out of Shelly's shaved pussy.

I started to wonder whether having my hands atop my head would be enough to keep me from disobedience. Jake seemed completely focused on the pleasure he got from having his cock in his wife's hot, wet sheath; surely he wouldn't turn around and see if I just rubbed my clit a little bit?

My whole body tensed at the conflicting thoughts in my head, my arms most of all as the two impulses fought for control of those muscles: to remain in the humiliating posture my foster father had commanded or to try to steal a little more pleasure from the place that he so clearly regarded as my future husband's property rather than my own.

That thought made the problem worse; if my pussy belonged to the man I would marry, then Jake Carpenter, in taking responsibility for me, had become its caretaker. He would decide when the time had come for my needy clit to receive the attention of his fingers, or—if I could manage to behave myself, it seemed—mine.

I remembered the urgency and the submission in Shelly's voice when she had asked Jake for permission to touch herself. Part of me thought maybe I should beg to do the same, right now. Sir, please… may I touch the little pussy where my suitor will put his cock when you give permission?

I let out a whimper of my own, to mingle with Shelly's submissive noises. She sounded like her fucking might even hurt a little, as if her husband's huge manhood could make her uncomfortable, when he thrust it inside her to have his way. That idea, with the way it mixed sex with punishment, seemed to shoot a lightning bolt of arousal through my nervous system.

I whimpered again, louder, and I felt my right hand start to move, in response to the desperation between my thighs. I wondered with a surge of heat to my face if my need would start to drip from my virgin vagina onto my thighs. I told myself I only wanted to feel myself, down there, just to make sure I wouldn't embarrass myself that way.

Jake saved me from my own foolishness. He turned to look at me, right at that moment. He didn't pause his rhythm inside Shelly's pussy, but he growled, "I'm watching you, Grace. Don't you dare touch yourself."

Under his gaze I felt my face crumple into a mask of woe. Shelly let out a deeper moan, as if the idea of me watching her husband ride her like a wayward filly intensified her shame and pleasure to another level.

"Please, sir," I sobbed, my fantasy coming to pass. "Please, may I?"

Shelly let out a scream that could only mean she had started to come. Jake moved his right hand up her back to twine his fingers in her hair. He turned his attention back to her and let out a grunt that I thought meant his orgasm had gotten very close, too.

"Down, girl," he commanded, and I could see how his hands enforced his will. "Arch your back."

Shelly's climax went on and on, or maybe she had one after the other the same way Jake had forced multiple orgasms on me. I realized that I had started to whimper with every breath as I watched him hold himself deep inside her, his hands keeping her still as his rock-hard butt jerked and tensed with his release.

I wondered what it felt like. I longed to know what sensations Jake's warm seed gave his wife, and what it meant to her to have her pussy be the place he liked to put his essence, when he had finished using her. I felt my arm twitch again with the temptation to think about it with my hand between my legs, which seemed suddenly the best way to consider the question.

But Jake turned back to me, and my hand froze atop my head.

"Shelly likes me to come inside her," he told me. He rubbed her back gently, as it heaved with the exertion of her climax. "Don't you, hon?"

"Yes, sir," I heard her say in a voice that sounded weak.

"We can't have kids," Jake told me. "Just one of those things. But a husband's seed belongs in his wife's womb. You'll understand when your suitor fucks you. We'll get you set up with birth control before then."

At breakfast, with a cushion under my sore butt, the previous night seemed like a dream. Jake had already gone out to plow or sow or harvest or something else farm-y. Shelly fed me eggs and bacon that tasted like some god had blessed her frying pan with eternal tastiness. I searched her face, when she had her attention on the stove, for any sign of embarrassment about what had happened in the living room the night before, and found nothing but sunny morning cheerfulness.

I had barely noticed the little room she had led me to, after my whipping and her fucking; I had fallen into a dreamless sleep the moment I had pulled off my jeans all the way and lain down—on my front of course. In the morning, awoken by the sounds coming upstairs from the kitchen, I had found a new toothbrush and a fluffy towel waiting for me in a neat little pile on the bathroom sink.

Back in the bedroom, I had noticed a chair with a dress hanging on the back, looking like it had last been worn in the 1950s. On the seat of the chair had sat a pair of pink cotton panties a size too large for me. With deeply mixed feelings, I had put them on, and then the ankle socks and black flats I found under the chair, feeling like a country schoolgirl from a movie.

"We'll go into town after breakfast," Shelly told me as I crunched buttered toast. "We'll shop for some things for your room, if you want, and some proper clothes of your own. Then we'll go to the doctor to have your IUD inserted. You and the other girls have a New Modesty meeting at eleven: they'll fill you in on the details of courtship in Grasskiln."

My lips parted and my heart rate sped up, but Shelly had said all these alarming things as if she were telling me about the day's weather, and I couldn't manage to find any words to challenge these clearly benign—in my foster mother's mind, anyway—facts about my day.

Shelly took me to the town's little department store. She encouraged me to choose two posters from fantasy shows I liked, and a big handbag—"for your activities," she told me. Then she led me to the lingerie section and stopped in front of a rack with white shorts that seemed to be made of a very thick, stretchy cotton fabric. Their legs looked long enough to come down almost to my knees.

A sign on top of the rack said, ‘Training Panties: $0.99 (subsidized by the New Modesty Authority).' I felt my face go bright red as I remembered what Jake had said about using these embarrassing things to keep me from playing with myself. I had dismissed his words as a silly attempt to threaten me with a childish punishment that didn't actually exist in the real world. The row of underwear in front of me told me he had spoken only the truth.

"They're a tradition here in Grasskiln," Shelly told me. "One of the town's founders, Elijah Peacock, told his wife to sew drawers that way, because she couldn't keep from masturbating. Her friends noticed one day at the women's swimming hole, and told their husbands—and much to the girls' surprise their men asked Mrs. Peacock to share the pattern. Soon enough, every proper woman in Grasskiln had to wear training drawers until she showed her husband she could keep her hands off his property."

I felt my whole body go cold, and then immediately blaze up with a blush that seemed like it might set my face on fire. I glanced over at Shelly, who stood beside me in front of the rack, with my lower lip caught between my teeth. To my distress, I found her gazing back at me with a knowing smile.

"Yes, honey," she told me. "I wore them too, as a young bride."

I turned back to the panties, my forehead creasing hard. I couldn't help asking, in a whisper.

"And… did they… I mean… did you…?" I couldn't manage to get any further than that, but Shelly of course knew what I wanted to ask.

"They're a reminder," she told me, her voice low and confidential. "Every couple handles it differently, I'm sure, but when I started feeling needy I knew that when Jake got home, if I'd been a good girl and I asked politely, he'd let me take them down, even if he didn't have time to, you know…" her voice fell even further, "…use me."

I felt my brow furrow even more deeply as I remembered what it looked like when Jake used his wife. The way he controlled her with his hands… the way his huge, hard penis surged relentlessly in and out of her soaking wet sheath.

Shelly broke me out of my reverie. "You'd better get seven pairs in your size, honey," she told me. "You're responsible for keeping them nice and clean between laundry days. And…"

For the first time, as I looked at her expression, I thought maybe our conversation carried at least a little bit of embarrassment for her.

"Well, Mr. Carpenter likes to inspect my panties sometimes. I think he'll probably do the same with yours."

A deep frown broke out on my face. "Why?" I asked, turning back to the rack as a new blush came over my face, because I felt sure I knew.

"If he thinks I've been touching myself, or just not keeping my panties clean," she murmured, "he puts me over the arm of his chair. After that… well, maybe it won't bother you as much as it does me… but I'm not allowed to wear clothes the next day."

I chewed the inside of my cheek. I could see why Shelly had supposed I might not care about being forbidden to wear clothes, given that I had arrived without any panties on. But the way my tummy had flipped, and I had even felt mortifying stirrings further down, at the thought, told me that I would care a great deal.

"But…" I whispered fiercely. "But wouldn't…"

I managed to glance over at her, to see that Shelly had her eyes lowered, and that her cheeks had spots of pink on them.

"Yes," she whispered back. "Yes, it makes it worse. But…" Her voice trailed off.

"But what?" I breathed, desperate to understand.

"But it… helps, too? Even when Jake catches me and whips me again. You… I think you'll probably understand when it happens to you."