Reluctant Bride

Falling against him had seemed like the most natural thing in the world for her to do, like she had some skin memory of having done it before so she knew that he'd catch her. As his hands had wrapped around her ribs, the friction of his arms tugged at the material of her bodice, which in turn created the most delicious sensation as the stiff material rubbed against her nipples. Her body had come alive again between being trapped in his embrace and having the most sensitive areas of her body casually tormented: if didn't matter if he'd intended to do so or not. She knew there was no way her fiancé would have gripped her so tightly or that he would've begun sinking to the floor with her—he'd have been too worried about wrecking her dress so close to the wedding. His delicateness about things like that had always bothered her, but she'd contented herself with the belief that that's how Good Men acted. After years of depriving herself of the kind of manhandling her body craved, she wasn't surprised to find that such minimal, completely unintentional, actions had gotten her hotter than she could remember. In her blissful contentment, she'd sighed, sinking even deeper into his embrace almost forcing him to grope her as her uncentered weight threw off his equilibrium. Instead of dropping her, which is what she was certain her fiancé would've done from shock, her fiance's brother firmly, albeit gracelessly, sank to the floor with her.

When they finally reached the floor in their awkward tangle of limbs, silk, tulle, denim and cotton, all she wanted to do was lay on the floor and nuzzle against the warmth of his chest. Her brain had barely registered the lazy play of his fingers through her hair before she felt the familiar tautness of her hair being wrapped around a person's fist and the sharp, quick sting of her hair being pulled. She didn't even think about it as she moaned, "Oh, sir," in the most appreciative way she knew how.

He couldn't explain why he'd done it, why he'd knotted her hair around his fist. One minute he'd been idly contemplating how her hair felt like the smoothest satin as it flowed like water through his fingers, and without even thinking more about it, he'd yanked on it. The honorable part of him wanted to say that he wanted to give her an excuse to slap him, to clear his mind of his sudden and irrational attraction to her. His inner devil though knew that he'd wanted to test her, had wanted to see if maybe she wasn't all sunshine and milkshakes like he'd originally believed. He wanted to believe that his resolve would've held if she'd responded like he thought she might have—that is to say, if she had just moaned a little or morphed into the vanilla-interpreted, porn-inspired version of BDSM. Her acceptance, and even appreciation, of his dominance over her threw him for a loop though, and in his momentarily stunned state, he'd kissed her.

She'd been right about his lips—they demanded she kiss them back. As she opened her mouth wider to eat at his mouth, she felt the insistent tug at her hair combine with the combative ownership of his tongue in her mouth, and knew that her inconsequential mesh thong was doing nothing to contain her pussy's bountiful moisture from running on to the tops of her thighs. How could her milksop of a fiancé be brothers with this feral, demanding beast of man, her brain screamed at her. This was a man who knew what ownership meant, who could properly cherish and protect her the way she needed to be looked after rather than caving to societal standards of how to "properly" treat a woman. The faintest glimmer of teardrops began to show at the edge of her eyelids as she quickly began to get frustrated with the fact that she'd seen heaven in this man, only to be condemned to hell in two weeks to know that he'd forever be so near and yet so forbidden to her.

One errant teardrop had slid silently down her cheek, which he wouldn't have noticed if his hand hadn't grazed against her face as he fought to control the intensity of their kiss. Without meaning to, he let out a low, guttural growl as he pulled away from her, a sort of tense defensiveness branded into his eyes. He braced himself for her hysterics at having cheated (however minor) on her fiancé his brother, for her outrage at him disabusing her in such an uncouth manner, even for her terror at the thought that he might take advantage of their compromised state to exploit her physical vulnerability even more; however, he was completely unprepared for her anguish and frustration.

"Don't stop, sir!" she keened plaintively. "Please, don't stop!"

He had pulled away from her just enough that he could look square into the shimmery blue depths of her eyes: he was stunned. She meant it. From the most fundamental core of her being, she wanted to submit to him, she wanted him to totally possess her. As his consciousness fully registered this knowledge, his body became more acutely aware of soft swell of her heaving breasts pressing into his chest as her sapphire blue eyes pleaded with his hard brown ones, and her engorged lips—all swollen and red from his vigorous ministrations—formed the most perfect "O" of interrupted passion he had ever seen. His dick throbbed insistently, desperate to be free of his button fly jeans, instead buried deeply in her inviting velvety pussy. The longer he sat with her tangled up in her dress in the middle of his lap, the more difficult it was for him to justify why he shouldn't just ruck up her gown and fuck her like an animal on the floor right there. Subconsciously, the violence of it held a certain appeal to him, but he was more principled than that: he wouldn't just fuck her for the sake of fucking her.

"Get off me and get up," he snarled.

The relief and contentment that clearly danced across her face reassured him as much as her pleading had that he hadn't misread the situation; in fact, it reassured him more since she'd had a few moments to clear her head of the passion that might've motivated her earlier uttering. It pleased him to see that who ever had trained her before had done a thorough job because as soon as she realized he had seen her brazen expression of happiness, she immediately lowered her eyes as she attempted to back herself off his lap in the safest, most expedient way possible. As the pressure of her body eased off his groin, his mind began to clear a little as he stood up and began thinking of the next steps to take as well as the potential consequences of each choice.

He didn't know how duplicitous his soon-to-be sister-in-law was, but he'd found it prudent to expect people to try to get away with something naughty rather than to do the "honorable" thing. With that in mind, he needed to assume that despite whatever happened today, she was going to go through with her wedding in two weeks, and he'd need to live with the knowledge that he'd sullied his brother's wife. Although he didn't especially mind the idea of lying to his brother—it wasn't like he expected them to get closer after his wedding obligations were dispatched—it bothered him that he wasn't sure he'd be able to give up his sister-in-law. Granted, he still didn't know if she'd even be worth it, but something in the back of his mind told him that going through with this would rock his understanding of the universe. Could he be content to see her at the five or six mandatory family functions he appeared at every year and not touch her? Could he guarantee he wouldn't try, even if she appeared to be happy and especially if she appeared unhappy? Would he try to seek her out, outside the prying constrictions of "family togetherness"? Would he turn her down if she came to him?

"You've presented me with a bit of a quandary, slut," he said sternly to her downward hung head. The fact that she knew enough not respond pleased him immensely, but made his decision no less difficult. "I'm going to ask you a very simple question, and if your answer pleases me, I'll show you just what a generous master I can be. Do you think you can answer a simple question, slut?"

"I'll try to answer you in the manner most likely to please you, sir," she answered meekly. Although her eagerness thrilled him, he needed her to speak the truth since her answer could very well destroy her and his brother's lives. He gripped her chin firmly in his hand and tilted her face up to look at his making sure to speak distinctly as he did so.

"I do not want you to try to please me, slut. I want you to speak the truth because what I'm about to ask you will have very serious repercussions. Do you understand me?"

She attempted to nod, but he needed to hear her say it. He needed to hear her own her confession to what she was about to do. "Speak!" he barked.

"Yes, I understand, sir," she squeaked out as best she could with him gripping her jaw.

"Very good, slut," he said gently as he affectionately ran his thumb against her jaw. He let the gravity of what he was about to ask her wash through his eyes before saying, "Why do you want to submit yourself to me?"

He released her jaw and stepped a little bit away from her to let her collect herself before answering. As he watched her emotions run across her face, he sensed her confliction and mentally prepared himself for a warm shower and some unbridled free rein for his active imagination.

The last thing she expected him to do was demand she be rational, especially given the havoc his presence was wreaking on her poor, weak body. She desperately tried to think of the best way to put her desire without sounding like some childish amateur or some cheesy five dollar grocery-store romance novel. Inhaling deeply to steady herself as well as prepare for his likely ridicule and outright rejection, she said, "Because being in your presence even for as briefly as I have been, having you lord your power and authority over my body, marking it and claiming it as yours, has been the most alive I've felt in years. Because you reminded me that if I marry your brother, a part of me, an integral part of my soul, will die and I'll just stumble through the rest of my life maimed—as much as if I lost an arm or an eye or a foot—until I finally die, unfulfilled, having squandered my life for a dream that was never really mine. Because I think I've finally met a man who actually knows what it means to be a Master, who I could happily and dutifully serve without my sacrifice merely turning into a pitiful, sophomoric power trip." As she wound up her speech, she stared firmly at the floor waiting for him to walk out on her, to tell her it'd all been a set-up to test her fidelity and that the family had always known she wasn't pure enough for its favorite son. She waited, with baited breath, to see the first small sliver of genuine happiness she'd experienced in countless ages, get crushed under the hobnail boots of reality.

Although her answer pleased him greatly, before he allowed himself to celebrate, he needed to be absolutely clear on one final thing. "Slut, do you still intend to marry my brother?" She looked up sharply and the look of abject horror made him inwardly smile, but again, he needed to hear her voice her decision, to know she owned it. He looked at her expectantly, quirking an eyebrow to suggest that her response would be appreciated at any time. "Sir, how could I?" she asked, somewhat aghast. "How could I marry him, knowing that yours would be the body I craved, that I would seek out your embrace like a horny little slut and that you would have to continually punish me for being such a nasty, wet whore to let you use me how you will only to return home and pretend for your brother that I'm his unsoiled princess? You would have to force me from your bed, from your embrace, your dungeon every time because I would never want to return home!"

Even though he didn't have that much height on her, he could still clearly tell that her already swollen breasts had continued to firm up as her heaving bosom looked to rip itself free of her wedding dress as she passionately decried her intention to wear it for its intended purpose. Her agitation made the blue in her eyes that much more vibrant and her intermittent panting from her spirited outburst left her mouth open in a highly suggestive manner. As he silently appraised her body's response to her enflamed emotions, he also noted the almost painful thrumming in his dick and the heaviness of his balls from his mind's subconscious comparison to things he could do to her to make her body respond the same way. Things that would ultimately be infinitely more pleasurable for both of them.

As much as he wanted to possess her in the basest way imaginable, he knew that she wasn't coming to him solely for sex, she was giving up her future life because she needed him to dominate her, to own her. The first command he gave her in recognition of his ownership over her was barely more than a whisper: "Come here." She responded quickly and obediently, but she had not been able to keep her face completely free of the excited glee she felt at having him want to own her. He knew such unwarranted displays of emotion had to be broken immediately, otherwise her later humiliation and submission would not leave as indelible an imprint as he knew they must.

After she had walked the short distance necessary to stand in front of him, he deliberately circled around her making sure that his gaze held just the right amount of disdainful leering that she would begin to fully comprehend her true objectification. His coolly detached appraisal was not the only way he sought to punish her for her facial transgression though. As he stopped behind her, he slid one arm protectively across the front of her collarbone, allowing his hand to slither effortlessly into her bodice so he could fondle her breast. The soft, milky white orb felt heavy in his hand as he carelessly jiggled his new property; however, his momentary playfulness did not distract him from his real goal—her taut, sensitized nipple. With unforewarned viciousness, he sharply twisted the hardened nub, eliciting a sharp, yet otherwise soundless, inhalation of breath from her. Her self-restraint in not crying out pleased him tremendously, and to reward her, he lightly kissed the back of her neck as he gently massaged her disabused breast.

"I've always been a fan of screamers," he mentioned absently into her hair, "but I rather like your discretion. It could give me so many more opportunities to play with you in public." He paused for a moment as he mulled several ideas over, each one designed to capitalize on her preferred silent responses. As he got more caught up in his fantasies, he began kissing her neck with more passionate intensity, all the while continuing to hold a one-sided conversation with himself. "Would you like that, you little slut? Would you like it, if during the middle of Thanksgiving family dinner, I discreetly started to finger you under the table and for every sideways glance you elicited, I would deny you an orgasm? How about if I made you ride around on the bus one day while wearing a vibrator harness, and as long as the bus was in motion, I would keep the vibrator on, but whenever the bus stopped, so would the toy? What about if I made you wear nipple clamps attached to Ben-wa balls and told you that not only must you only use stairs all day, but that you must keep track of how many orgasms you have so that I would know how many times to paddle you that night? How badly would you like me to do all of that to you, you little whore?"

She'd been careful to keep her face as neutral as possible while he'd been describing everything he wanted to do to her, but there was nothing she could do to allay the aching in her breasts for their want of stimulation or to temper the abundant nectar her pussy was producing in anticipation of being fucked for hours on end with little to no interruption. As the thought of getting fucked senseless by the man behind passed through her mind, her pussy walls began to unconsciously contract in their desperate desire to squeeze something, anything, so long as it was capable of making her come hard over and over again. In her distracted state, she'd failed to notice that he'd removed his hand from the front of her bodice, and instead had both his hands gripping something in the middle of her back. Despite the sudden yank she felt against her back, the first real indication she had that he'd decided to expediently disrobe her was the screaming sound of material being forcibly torn away from its seams and fastenings.

As the stiffer material of her bodice began falling away from her, he got the distinct mental image of removing the shell from a hard-boiled egg, although he was sure she was an infinitely more enjoyable source of protein. After his hands made short work of the silk shell of her dress's skirt, the seemingly endless layers of tulle hardly afforded him any resistance in his quest to undress her. When the last wisps of tulle finally slipped off her hips, he walked back in front of her to review his handiwork. In a bizarre way, she reminded him of the painting of Venus being birthed from the sea if Venus had been born wearing a cheap, black mesh thong. Despite the warmth in the room, her dusty-rose colored nipples were erect as they strained desperately away from her voluptuous breasts. His eyes glanced briefly over her toned stomach as he found his attention drawn to her barely hidden pussy. Now that her nethers were no longer shielded by a barricade of fabric, he noticed the faint, sweet aroma of her soaking loins. Mentally, he licked his lips at the idea that she was that much of a sopping mess and he had hardly even touched her. With that thought came his next inspiration for how he could best abase her further. He walked back behind her and stood close enough to her that she could just feel his straining, trapped erection pulsating against her ass through his jeans. Leaning just over her shoulder, he asked her in a honeyed growl, "When's the last time you were fucked, slut?"

Between his proximity, his voice and the way he had phrased his question, goosebumps had broken out all over her skin as a tingle made a beeline down her spine straight to her pussy. Without looking at him, she replied, "I had sex last week, Sir." He wasn't sure if she'd meant her answer to be coy or modest, but either way, her response displeased him. His word choice had not been meant as a mere vulgar euphemism for sex; he really wanted to know when was the last time she'd been well and truly fucked. If he hadn't been standing quite so close to her, he would've slapped her all but naked ass to reprimand her; however, since he felt that moving away from her would dissipate some of the sexual tension that was building, he decided to get a grip on her pussy instead. Whether she'd done it consciously or not didn't matter, but as he moved his hand toward her crotch, he noticed that she widened her stance a little creating more room for his hand. He cupped her mons firmly, his fingers wrapping between her legs toward her ass. His mind absently noted that the heat of her core combined with the moisture seeping through her thong was causing his fingers to develop a humid stickiness about them. Since he was supposed to be punishing her and he needed to know how good her restraint was in the face of unexpected stimulation, he gently undulated his fingers against her lips.

When he had first grabbed on to her pussy, she had succeeded in swallowing her surprised squeak and had dutifully said nothing as her sopping core released even more of its molten juice; however, she couldn't stop her intake of breath when his fingers began their almost unperceivable assault on her sensitized lips. She felt his fingers still almost instantly as his hot breath rumbled erotically in her ear as he said, "My, my. You're a wet little whore, and yet you don't seem to know the difference between having sex and being fucked. Either you lied to me before or you were pretending to have some type of modesty that you obviously don't possess. Which is it?"