D.O. Wilson Ch. 01: Innocent Bride

His words brought relief so powerful that I nearly dissolved into tears. "I understand."

"But Claire, this is very important. You have to keep being honest with me. Will you do that?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Good girl. Claire, I need to know if anyone else has touched you here. Your fiancé, perhaps, or some other male friend? Or a female friend?"

"No!" Some other male friend? Or a female friend! "No, of course not! Why would I—I wouldn't—no."

He trailed his fingers up my body from the top of my pubic hair to the center of my chest, resting his hand between my breasts as he came to stand beside my head again. "I believe you. We're almost done. You're doing very well, Claire. I'm proud of you. I know you want this to be over with as much as I do."

His hand traveled again, fingertip drawing a spiral around and up my right breast all the way to the nipple. I tugged at my restraints again, trying to bring my arms down, push him away, cover myself. I no longer wondered why he had tied me down for this.

"One more question, Claire, and if you're honest with me, we can move on to the class, and then send you on your way. Would you like that?"

"I don't need the class." My protest was feeble at best.

"Of course you do. I promise, your fiancé may not think he wants you to learn these skills, but come your wedding night, he will be very pleased that your father knew better."

"But he doesn't—"

He pinched my nipple, hard, cutting me off in a cry of pain. "Enough. This is not up for discussion." He sighed. "I had hoped we could finish this without pausing for discipline, but if you insist on arguing ..." He let the threat hang.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"One final question, then. Has anyone other than you ever seen or touched your breasts? Maybe you experimented a little with your fiancé. A little secret kissing somewhere secluded, and his hands wandered?" His fingers hovered over my nipple, the memory of the flash of pain he'd caused still sharp.

He'd believed everything else I said, but all of that had been the truth. He'd known it the one time I'd tried to lie. "Only over my clothes," I whispered.

"Thank you for your honesty. It makes my job so much easier, and that's good for you, too. You admit to kissing, then?"

"Please don't hurt me." I hated that I had resorted to whining and begging, but I was terrified. I hadn't expected him to ask me that.

"Is that a yes?"

I nodded. "It was just kissing ... a little."

"And you let him touch your breasts."

"Only over my clothes!"

"Yes, yes, you said that. Claire, you know you're not supposed to allow a man to touch you that way if you're not married to him."

"Yes, but—he's my—it was just Manny."

"But what if Manny had decided he didn't want to marry you? Another man would not be happy to learn that you had not kept yourself pure for him."

"But—"

"Your wedding is still five weeks away, correct?"

"Yes. But he won't change his mind. He loves me."

"And you love him. I can see that. Claire, you must be very, very good for the next five weeks. I'm sure your father will keep an eye on you for me. But I'm afraid I do have to give you a small reminder that your virtue is yours to guard." He brushed my hair back from my face and laid his hand on my forehead. "You told me you hadn't done anything wrong, but you knew you had. Why did you lie, Claire?"

"I—I didn't think—I didn't think it was wrong." The horror of my situation finally caught up to me, and tears spilled over.

"Don't cry. It's a minor offense. The punishment will be over quickly." He released my wrists and ankles from the table. It took me a moment to coordinate my muscles after being in that position for so long. He helped me lower my legs and sit up.

"Please, I won't do it again."

"Of course you won't! You're a good girl. You don't make trouble. But even good girls need reminders sometimes, don't they?"

"I didn't—I don't—" I sniffled and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

"Come over here now." He put a hand on my shoulder and guided me over to the padded bench. "Lie down on your stomach."

"What are you going to do?"

"Lie down, Claire. I don't like having to repeat myself."

I stretched out on my stomach on the bench, and he cinched straps around my calves, thighs, waist, and chest, securing me to it.

"This is just so you don't try to wiggle away and mess up my aim. I do try to restrict the lashes to your buttocks."

"Lashes?"

I heard him open the cabinet, though from my angle I couldn't see what he was doing. He returned to my side and caressed my buttocks. "Five with the strap," he said.

"No! Please!" My arms were free, and I reached out to him. "Please."

"Move your arm or I risk hitting it with the strap."

I tucked my hands under my head. Of course begging would do no good, but it was all I had left.

"Ready?"

"No." I'd moved from pleading to petulance.

He chuckled. "You have some spirit."

A loud crack sounded before I realized he'd struck me, and then a searing pain spread through my buttocks.

"Ow!" It hurt even more than I'd imagined.

A second landed, worse than the first. Then a third.

"Please! Please stop!" I screeched.

The final two fell, leaving me writhing and sobbing. "All done. See? Not so bad."

I would have disagreed, but I was crying too hard to form words. My backside throbbed, every breath of air stinging. He returned the strap to the cabinet and untied me, but I couldn't move.

He crouched beside my head. "Would you like some water before we begin the bridal class?"

I nodded, fighting to get my tears under control.

"I'll get you some."

I pushed up on my elbows and watched him open one of the cupboards, which turned out to be a refrigerator. He handed me a bottle of water. I stayed in that position to drink, unwilling to attempt to sit on my tortured bottom, which earned me a laugh from the D.O.

"Never had the strap?" he asked, back to conversational.

I shook my head.

"What did your father use?"

I didn't want to talk to this man at all, much less about my childhood discipline. "The paddle, mostly. Over my clothes."

"Really? Interesting. Lenient."

"Lenient? He'd paddle me for the smallest things!"

"And look what a good daughter he raised. Still, not even lifting your skirt?"

"What? No!"

He shrugged. "You should thank him when you get home."

"Do ... I thought—do they do it on bare skin? Most of them?" I couldn't imagine my father doing such a thing.

"Usually with just the underwear. You got extra padding. Lucky you." He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, watching me drink. "You should be able to sit up."

The throbbing in my backside had faded considerably, and I sat up gingerly. "Oh," I said, noting the unexpected lack of pain.

"Most of your distress was in your head, you realize. That was a very mild punishment."

"I've ... heard stories."

He smiled. "I'm sure you have." He took the empty water bottle from me and tossed it in what I assumed was a recycling bin, then consulted his tablet. "Now, your fiancé waived the class, but due to your arrest, your father elected to override the waiver, as I indicated. He suggested I give you the full course, and from our conversations, I think that is an excellent suggestion. He knows you well."

"I don't—Manny doesn't want it."

"Yes. You mentioned that. Repeatedly. He sounds like a young man who doesn't know what's good for him, to be frank."

"Can't I just go home?"

"Soon. This should take no more than an hour. Possibly an hour and a half if you're less cooperative."

"Can I put my clothes back on?"

"No. You'll need to be naked for this. I thought you said you've heard stories." He shook his head, clearly amused, and stood in the center of a small mat in a clear space near the middle of the trailer. "Come here."

"Why are you allowed to do these things to me when my own fiancé isn't?" I spat, the question too obvious to ignore anymore.

"It's my job, Claire."

"But—"

"You have it backward. Has no one ever explained this to you? You must protect your purity by not allowing yourself to be used that way. Here, you are not allowing it, you are being ordered by a government authority to submit yourself to it. Do you see the difference?"

Ordered by the government, just like I could be ordered by my husband, and ordered by my father ... and yet, somehow it was still my fault if someone did something to me. "Not really."

"Of course you do. Don't pout. It's not pretty. Come here."

Left without options or arguments, I crossed the short distance.

"Now, kneel with your knees open and your hands clasped behind your head."

"Why?"

"Are you going to be difficult?"

I dropped to my knees and arranged myself as he described.

"Good. You should practice this position as often as you can between now and your wedding, so that you can get used to it. Hold it for as long as possible. You should work up to being able to sit this way for as much as thirty minutes. You see, when your husband wants you, you show your obedience by going to the bedroom ahead of him, taking off your clothes, and assuming this position. If you're a very good wife, you may entice him by kneeling this way as an invitation to engage in your marital duties."

Manny wouldn't want me to kneel for him. Would he? My shoulders were quickly tiring. I remembered once, looking for my mother late one night, going into my parents' bedroom and seeing her like this. Now I understood what she was doing. Had she been "enticing" my father, or had he ordered her, I couldn't help but wonder. I also remembered being soundly paddled by my father for disturbing them. Now I understood that, too.

"You can lower your arms. I know it's a strain at first. That's why you need to practice."

I lowered my arms gratefully and rested my hands on my thighs.

"Now, the day will inevitably come that you will displease your husband in some way. You will present yourself for punishment, and you may ask for mercy. Unless he tells you otherwise, when sent for punishment, you will wait on your knees and elbows with your forehead to the floor. Try that now."

I did as he said, more interested in getting this over with than anything else. The position put my rear end up in the air, for obvious reasons. I tried to imagine Manny coming at me with a paddle or belt, and the image didn't fit my sweet, gentle man. I prayed I would never have to use any of these positions. Not with Manny.

"Good girl. Prompt obedience is best. Now hop back up on the table."

I got to my feet and hesitated. The thought of being back up there, on display for him, helpless, had me quaking. "I—why? You already examined me."

"Just when I think you've finally gotten the message. Claire, you must cooperate. It is well within the scope of my responsibilities here to provide further discipline if I deem it necessary. Get up on the table."

My clothes were still strewn on the floor where I'd dropped them, and I considered briefly scooping them up and making a run for it, but I knew that was absurd. I wouldn't get far, naked under the hot sun, right behind the courthouse. I hoisted myself up onto the table and lay back. He cuffed my ankles and wrists again.

"I'm going to give you a little treat, Claire, and the reason I'm doing this is to show you that you, too, can enjoy the marital bed. The more you please your husband, the more likely he is to want to reward you with your own pleasure. This is a gift from me, Claire, as part of your lessons. If you are very, very good for the rest of this class, you can earn a second treat at the end."

"A ... treat?"

"Oh, yes, sweet, innocent Claire. Just close your eyes and enjoy this."

I did not close my eyes, too anxious about what he would do. He selected something from the cabinet and sat on his stool between my legs again. He met my eyes and worked a finger into my vagina a short way, this time without a glove.

"Relax. I guarantee this won't be painful. Quite the opposite." He moved his finger in and out, letting his fingertip rub along the front wall while his knuckle pressed downward. His motions were minute, and I couldn't make sense of what I was feeling.

"How's that?" he asked.

"I don't—I don't know."

He smiled. "Does it feel nice?"

A pulsing began between my legs, first right around where his fingers were, then radiating up into my clitoris and deep inside me, too. I curled my toes and tensed my thighs, trying to escape him, futilely of course.

"Does it?" His finger moved a little faster.

"Yes," I answered, still unsure exactly what was going on. My hips began to rock, tilting and twisting. My breath grew faster and shallow, my heart beat rapidly.

I heard a buzzing sound, and then he touched some kind of stick with a rounded head to my clitoris. I had no name for it, but the buzzing sound resolved into vibrations that coursed up into my pelvis and sent me almost instantly into a kind of frenzy. My hips moved more insistently, and I moaned and gasped. "What—what—what—" I stuttered, unable to form a coherent thought. I trailed off, trying to suppress cries and shouts that threatened to escape my control. I wanted him to stop. I wanted this never to end. I thought I was losing my mind. I thought life had never been more perfect. Why was this man so confusing, and how was he making me doubt myself and my convictions so thoroughly? "Oh, oh, oh, oh, what—what are you—stop!" No, don't stop.

"Almost there. You're very responsive. I noticed it before."

"What?"

The buzzing became louder, and the vibrations increased in kind. My back arched and I fought my restraints, not because I wanted escape but because I needed to channel the energy somehow. I was ... climbing, or floating, or in freefall, or maybe all of that at once, and then all I wanted was to feel this way forever, as my consciousness compressed into a ball around my clitoris and whatever this wonderful machine was.

"That's it. Let it go now. Scream if you need to."

Scream? I screamed, and waves of pure wonder flowed through me as I reached some kind of summit and plummeted back to Earth. The scream ended, and I lay there, panting, with muscles of jelly. The vibrations stopped, and he removed his finger.

"Oh, Claire, that was just beautiful. Did you like that?"

"What—what happened?"

"That was an orgasm. You get one for free, Claire, so you know what to expect. If you want to feel like that again, all you have to do is cooperate for the rest of the class. And if you want your husband to give you orgasms, then you have to earn them. How do you earn orgasms, Claire?"

"I don't—I—by pleasing him?"

"That's right! See, you're getting it. I told you this class would do you a world of good." He freed me from the cuffs again and gave me a moment to recover. "Now you're going to learn how to please him." He supported my arm as I sat up and slid down from the table.

"But he's not here."

The brought a delighted laugh. "Don't worry, dear Claire. There are certain ... universals. If you can please me, you can certainly please him." He sat on the edge of the padded bench.

"Please ... you?" He couldn't possibly mean ...

He unbuckled his belt and opened his fly, lifted his bottom enough to lower his pants to his thighs, exposing black shorts.

"Why are you—what—you can't do that!" There could be only one reason he would take off his pants.

"Of course I can. This is part of my job, part of the bridal class. Your girlfriends didn't tell you about this?"

Maggie had told me what he'd done to her, using her as only her husband should, and Celia had said he'd made her pleasure him at her bridal class, but she hadn't been specific as to how. "They did, but—you aren't going to—" I hugged myself and backed away from him as far as I could.

"I'm not going to take your virginity. As much as I would enjoy that, it is your husband's right to claim you that way. Really, Claire, use your head." He reached through an opening in his shorts and pulled his penis through. In spite of myself, I stared. I'd never seen a grown man's penis.

"My friend said you—you—"

"I'm sure she was exaggerating. Come kneel here between my knees."

"Why would she make that up?"

"I don't know, Claire. You know her better than I do. I've taught and disciplined a lot of women. I don't even know which friend you're referring to. Will you cooperate, or do I need to pause for a reminder first?"

Just get it over with. How bad could it be? It took all my willpower to walk back across the trailer to him and kneel with my face so close to his ... why was my face so close to his penis, anyway?

"Touch it," he said, reaching for my hand.

"Why?"

"I'm going to teach you how to please your husband, silly girl. Touch my cock. Go on." I let him wrap my fingers around the soft flesh. "Good. Now rub. Back and forth. Lightly. Don't squeeze."

I made a tentative attempt to follow his instruction. After several strokes, he spoke again. "Yes, just like that. You see the effect you have on me? Look."

I'd been gazing off into space, focusing on a point beyond his left shoulder, and I looked down at his order to see that his penis had grown longer and thicker. And harder.

"Don't stop. You can move a little faster now. Hold it more firmly."

As I continued, it swelled further, standing out stiffly from his fly.

"Now put your mouth on it."

"My mouth?" I brought my free hand up to my lips in confusion.

"Yes, your mouth. Do this for your husband, and I guarantee he'll be pleased."

"But I can't—my mouth?"

He leaned forward and seized a handful of hair at the base of my skull and yanked my head into his lap. "Open your fucking mouth," he snarled. "I'm getting sick of your balking at every turn. I have two more women to see today, not to mention a full calendar for the next few days, but I will give you a taste of the cane if need be. Clear?"

His change in demeanor terrified me, and I shrank back as far as I could with his hand still tangled in my hair. "I'm sorry! I just don't understand why you're doing this!"

"I can't fuck your pussy, but you have two other holes I can use. If you won't blow me, I'll take my pleasure another way. Who knows, you might be grateful if I pop that cherry, in case your husband decides he'd like to try it, too."

"No, please. I'll—I'll cooperate. I'm sorry."

"Better." He let go of my hair and straightened, his friendlier façade reemerging. "Open your mouth."

My lips parted, and I sealed them around his penis.

"Oh, yes. Good girl. Now move your mouth up and down, just like you did with your hand. Don't be afraid to use your tongue, too."

Once I got started, it was easy enough to continue, as long as I didn't think too much about what I was doing. He made little grunts and moans that I assumed meant he was enjoying this. I imagined I would have no problem doing this for Manny if he wanted it. Maybe it was good to learn how. With that thought to fortify me, I made an effort to do it as well as I could.

"Much better." He groaned and encouraged me to continue with a hand on the back of my head. I bobbed up and down, his penis sliding along my tongue. "That's a good girl. Enough now." He pulled me off of him by the hair, and I sat back on my heels. "It's a good start. If you initiate a blow job, your husband will no doubt be very happy." He tucked his penis back into his pants. "As much as I would like to shoot my load down your throat, I have to pace myself." He retrieved his tablet and made a few more notes, then studied me, still kneeling where he'd left me. "We're nearly done. Just one more lesson and then some grooming."

"Grooming?"

He gestured toward my crotch. "You're a mess. Back up on the table. We can do everything else there."