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.

And I had.

I straightened up slowly, wanting to look away from Cal, or to close my eyes, but unable. I needed to see what he looked like—what his eyes looked like—when he saw me completely naked for the first time. Without even thinking about it, I started to move my hands to cover myself again.

Cal shook his head slowly. His lips had curled up into a little smile and his eyes had crinkled around the edges. I chewed my lower lip. I thought I could see some lust in his expression, which made my tummy churn, but I could see justice, too; he meant to care for me, but his face said that tonight that responsibility involved punishing me until I couldn't sit down.

Tonight and every night I need the paddle, forever. I swallowed hard. Not every night, every night. But probably a lot more often than I wanted, at least at the start.

Not more often than you'll need, though, said the observer who really had begun to feel like me.

I took my hands away. They hovered in front of me for a moment as I tried to figure out where to put them, and then I remembered, with the help of Cal's patient eyes. I felt heat flood my cheeks as I put them back on my head. I hadn't done that with all my clothes off, before. I felt just how submissive a posture it was for the first time; how it lifted and presented my little breasts and left my bare pussy completely accessible.

And Cal stood there, fully clothed, absolutely gorgeous, with the horrible instrument of correction in his hands.

"Turn around and bend over, darlin'," he commanded. "On your elbows."

I shot him one final, pleading look, and watched his eyes narrow and his smile fade. Then I obeyed, feeling the crease in my forehead deepen to what felt like a canyon. I turned to look across the big bed with its dark blue comforter at the off-white wall. Such a normal bedroom, but for me, I suddenly thought, a place of shame and pain.

His bedroom.

You disrespected him. That's why the pain will come before the pleasure.

I felt my face work with all the roiling thoughts and feelings in my head, my heart, my belly.

Cal wouldn't always punish me before he fucked me. I knew that. I remembered the expression on his face as I cast my eyes down to the comforter, bending to go down onto my elbows in the softness of its down. I knew, somehow, with absolute certainty, that the desire I had seen in those blue eyes didn't demand suffering of me, but only mastery.

I had to bite my lip hard at that thought, and I felt a mortifying clench between my tightly closed thighs. I couldn't help picturing him behind me, maybe even approaching already on footsteps muffled by the bedroom's thick carpet. I saw him looking at my backside, reddened already by his firm right hand.

The inescapable suspicion that he must be thinking about fucking me drew a little whine from my nose. Jake had fucked Shelly from behind, as she bent over her chair in the living room. The dominance of it, his control over his wife as he used her pussy for his enjoyment after disciplining me, had made me quiver with need and shame, had made me want to touch myself. I wanted, suddenly and desperately, to play with myself there and then. I wanted to make myself feel good to take away from the coming pain—I even wanted to show Cal how naughty he made me feel, how badly I needed his hardness.

His hardness. I swallowed hard. I heard the floor creak slightly, even closer than I thought he had gotten, and then I felt a different hardness, the wrong hardness, slap the inside of my left thigh lightly. I jumped, though it hadn't actually stung.

"Spread your legs, Grace," Cal said. "I want you to feel like I can see everything while I paddle you."

"Why?" I asked, turning my head over my shoulder to look at him. Cal had a very stern expression on his face, a look that said he had taken responsibility for training me and he intended to discharge that duty fully and faithfully. My eyes went wide. "Why, sir?" I added.

"I'm pretty sure you can figure that out," he replied. "It's embarrassing, isn't it? Are you going to put yourself back in this position anytime soon?"

I opened my mouth to reply, instinctively, that the idea really seemed absurd; Cal had already received the approval and acceptance that apparently gave him the right to see whatever he liked anyway. And if he intended to continue courting me, even to marry me, it would mean sex—just as he himself had already declared, about all the shameful things he meant to do to me and make me do, tonight.

And yet I definitely didn't want to spread my legs right now. Despite it all, I definitely still felt a modesty that didn't seem likely to go away no matter how misplaced I thought it.

"Eyes front," Cal commanded. A lot of the patience in his voice had vanished. "Spread ‘em and show me that sweet virgin pussy."