Bridal Suite Submission Ch. 05

I was too weak to stand, too weak even to rise from the table, and so Peter lifted me in his arms. He carried me into the bathroom and there sat me on the edge of the tub. As I smiled dreamily, enjoying the cool tile beneath my bare bottom, he uncuffed my wrists. I couldn't help but groan. Oh, how sore my wrists were! I'd never anticipated wearing the cuffs for so long, nor imagined how raw my wrists would feel afterward. Softer cuffs, I thought to myself. Next time, definitely softer cuffs.

While Peter drew a luxurious bath I stood up gingerly and turned so I could see my backside in the mirror. What I saw there took my breath away. My formerly-pale bottom was covered with bright red splotches from the crop, and from between my cheeks glistened the telltale evidence of my other more intimate use.

"Oh my god, Peter," I murmured incredulously. "Look what you did to me!"

Peter chuckled. "I didn't do that to you."

"Oh?" I giggled. "Then who did?"

Peter snuggled up behind me and slipped his arms around my waist, drawing me close as he kissed the base of my neck. "Why, my pet... you did that to you."

He was right, of course. I had opened the door to my submission and invited him in. I had no one to blame but myself, and no one to thank but Peter. Which I did now with a surge of love, turning and pulling him to me and kissing him again and again.

* * *

We soaked together in the tub, sipping champagne and just enjoying being together. I sat between Peter's legs, lying back against his chest, my eyes closed, smiling dreamily as I savored the feeling of the soapy water up nearly to my neck and Peter's arms so tightly embracing me. We didn't talk. Peter held me and kissed me, on my shoulders, my neck, my back. He seemed content to just hold me, and I was content to just let him. The warmth of the bath soaked the tension right out of me, the anxiousness I'd felt earlier, the ache from my bonds, the lingering chafing from the corset, the rawness of my bottom. The champagne made me tingle, and Peter's arms around me made me feel blissfully content. I felt as if I could stay like this forever.

As Peter cradled me in his arms, sliding his fingers ever so slowly over my soapy skin, he spoke gently in my ear. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"

I smiled. "All the time."

"Well, if it's possible I think I love you even more now, Mrs. Peter Thomas."

"Mmm... Mrs. Thomas. I like the sound of that."

"Me too." He fell silent and held me for a long time, slipping his hand between my legs and stroking me there gently. Finally he murmured: "I'm going to enjoy your submission, Catherine. You have no idea how much, nor to what delicious lengths. But how did you know?"

I smiled dreamily. He was talking as if he thought my offer of submission was for more than just tonight. I knew I should tell him that I'd meant this only for tonight, but his fingers felt so delicious on me, his body so warm and soft against mine, that I just couldn't bring myself to. "How did I know what?"

"How much I would enjoy your offer of submission."

"I didn't."

Peter chuckled. "You're a terrible liar, sweetie."

"I didn't! I hoped is all."

"That's all?"

"Well..."

Beneath the warm water Peter tickled me gently. "Tell me, Catherine."

I let him tickle me a moment longer before I let him force my confession. "I found your books."

"Which ones?"

"The ones in the attic."

Peter was quiet for a moment. "You know about them?"

"Mmm hmm. Every naughty little one."

Peter chuckled. "You've been snooping."

"No! I found them by accident!"

"Uh huh, sure." But in the mirror I could see he was smiling. "And my books made you want all this?"

"No, I already wanted it," I told him softly. "Finding your books just gave me hope that I wasn't alone."

We lay together for a long time, not speaking. Peter held me in his arms and stroked me gently beneath the water. "How long, Catherine? How long have you felt like this?"

"All my life."

"Tell me about it."

I blushed. No, I couldn't, it was too embarrassing. And yet Peter firmly insisted. "I'm not asking you, Catherine," he murmured in my ear. "I'm telling you. Now out with it, sweetie."

So there lying back against him in the bath, his arms around me and my glass of champagne forgotten for the moment, I told him everything. I told him how for as long as I could remember I had fantasized about strong, handsome lovers who took me in the darkness, and often over my helpless protests. Who tied me up and made love to me through the night. Who blindfolded me and reddened my bottom with unseen instruments. Who controlled me. Who possessed me. Who stripped from me my modesty and my innocence and made me unequivocally theirs.

I told him how one night during my freshman year in college I'd come purely by chance across the movie "9 1/2 Weeks" on cable, and how I'd been so enthralled with it that the next day I'd rushed out and rented it and watched it over and over again. I told him how that same year I'd participated with our campus theater group in a float in a local parade. It had been a pirate theme and I was chosen to be the fair maiden. I'd stood up there on the float in front of everyone, my dress tattered, my back to the faux mast and my arms pulled back around it. The bindings around my wrists had been fake, looped loosely over and over so they looked real enough, but in my mind they'd been real, and as I'd put on my helpless, struggling maiden bit as the pirates surrounded me I'd trembled with excitement. I'd worn my sexiest, laciest bra and panties beneath my fair maiden costume and from time to time a gust of wind would come along and part the tatters of my dress just enough to offer a fleeting peek to the parade goers. It had been enough to raise a terrible blush in my cheeks, and yet with my hands "bound" I couldn't very well reach down and protect my modesty and so I'd found myself being a bit more the helpless maiden than I'd planned. That night I'd hardly slept a wink, masturbating over and over to the fantasy of being plundered by the pirates, my fair innocence rent asunder again and again as I struggled helplessly.

I told him how in the weeks following my public display I'd been so hungry to feel the snugness of bonds for real that one night when my roommate was out I'd lain on my bed in the dark and tied my own ankles to the bedposts with stockings, and bound my own wrists in front of me as tightly as I could with another, and masturbated furiously as I tugged at my own self-imposed bondage. It was a routine I'd repeated over and over whenever I'd had a chance, a self-indulgence I'd never before admitted to anyone and

which I now blushed to relate to Peter.

I even confessed to him the one event that more than any other had fueled my fantasies: my fateful doctor exam.

"What?" Peter chuckled. "You have a thing for doctors too?"

I blushed. No, I murmured. Not exactly. It had been in my first months as a freshman at the university. I'd gone to the student health clinic for a routine checkup. In the examination room the nurse, a kindly, graying older woman, had taken my blood pressure and checked my temperature and then given me a folded exam gown and told me to undress and put it on, that the doctor would be in shortly. Only the moment she'd left me alone I'd gotten distracted by a phone call from Kim (the subject of which I can't remember to this day for the life of me). It hadn't been the phone call that was important so much as the fact that when the doctor knocked and came in I was still fully dressed and the exam gown still sat folded on the table. He'd smiled and made some polite joke or another and then asked me: would I mind please undressing and putting the gown on so he might examine me? I'd stood frozen, blushing madly, as he turned and busied himself at the counter. He'd been young and handsome, and more embarrassingly than anything seemed not about to leave the room. I couldn't do it, couldn't undress with him standing right there. And yet he'd glanced to me again and with that same polite smile told me: it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before. Now would I mind please undressing and putting the gown on? He was quite busy today. And then he'd busied himself at the counter again. I did it quickly while his back was turned. Blushing madly, tingling though I'd no idea why, I undressed as quickly as I could and slipped the gown on. My fingers had trembled so badly that I'd not been able to work the little ties, and so I'd ended up just holding the gown loosely closed. The entire time I'd felt, or perhaps fantasized, that he was watching me out of the corner of his eye. Probably it was just my imagination, but the effect was the same: I tingled all over with a strange arousal that I'd never felt before.

Afterward I'd hurried back to my dorm room and there, still tingling and thankfully alone, I'd stripped and hurried into bed and masturbated furiously. I was heady with arousal from having been "ordered" to strip by the handsome doctor, from being so intimately examined by him, from the touch of his strong hands on my nakedness and the sterile coldness of his stethoscope and at every moment the blush-inducing fantasy that he wasn't a doctor at all but one of my dark, mysterious strangers who owned me in my dreams. It had been such an innocent experience, and yet so powerfully arousing. I'd skipped the rest of my classes that day -- entirely unlike me -- and spent the afternoon in bed, masturbating furiously to relieve the delicious tension that seemed to not want to fade until I'd worn myself out and fallen blissfully asleep, my hands tucked between my legs and the young, handsome doctor filling my dreams.

There, lying back against him in the tub, I told Peter everything, and when I was finished I fell silent. He was quiet for a moment, and then he hugged me tighter and bent to kiss my neck.

"So, you like the thought of being ordered to strip and felt up by a strange man? I'll have to keep that in mind."

I couldn't help but smile and giggle. Sweet Peter. Always the tease.

* * *

We soaked together until the water grew cool, and afterward Peter helped me from the tub. As I stood there he dried me off. The towel was so sensuously soft and his touch so gentle that I couldn't help but smile. I've always loved Peter's touch. It can be so deliciously strong at just the perfect moments, and so gentle at others. Now as he knelt before me, drying my legs and working his way up, I trembled. So gentle. So perfect. He dried me gently between my legs and then my bottom, at which I flinched for I was still so sore there.

He wasn't content with just drying me. He leaned forward and kissed my belly, smiling up at me. He kissed my belly again a bit lower, and then a bit lower still, and then before I knew it he was kissing me between my legs, slipping his tongue into me there. My legs trembled, my knees threatened to give out.

"Oh, Peter, can we do this on the bed?"

Peter stopped licking just long enough to smile up at me. "We can do this right here. Now stand still and enjoy."

So I stood still -- as still as I could, anyway -- and enjoyed. And I did enjoy. Peter's lips and tongue were so eager, his movements so careful. He always knows exactly how I liked to be licked and made love to, and this time was no exception. I was still so aroused that it didn't take but a few delicious moments before I was trembling so very close to orgasm. I swayed weakly and Peter reached around and cupped my bottom, steadying

me.

As my orgasm washed over me I shuddered and sank to my knees, too weak to stand, and then onto my back right there on the tile floor with Peter following and his lips never leaving my pussy. He coaxed me through my orgasm and beyond until I began to whimper softly, and then he cuddled me tenderly, holding me in his arms right there on the floor. Neither of us spoke. My eyes drifted shut. I was exhausted. My whole body tingled and I felt so warm, so sated, all the way through. I smiled. How lovely Peter's arms felt around me, his naked body against mine, his chin resting on the top of my head as he held me. I felt as if I could stay in his arms forever.

* * *

Sometime later I was barely aware of Peter lifting me from the tile floor and carrying me gently in his arms to the bed, and there laying me back upon the satin sheets amidst a sea of soft pillows. He cuddled up behind me and cradled me in his arms, and there, feeling as if I were one with him, I drifted in and out of sleep. I wasn't asleep, I wasn't awake. I was exhausted. I was content. I was sated. I was madly, helplessly in love.

As we lay together I felt Peter stiffening unmistakably. As his length grew slowly against my bottom I couldn't help but giggle and let my hand wander back between us.

"You're still horny?"

"It occurs to me," Peter told me softly, a twinkle in his eye, "that we still need to consummate our marriage."

"I think we did that pretty thoroughly earlier," I smiled. So thoroughly that I still ached inside, and probably still would in the morning.

Peter kissed me and rolled me gently onto my back, moving to lie atop me between my legs. "No, I mean the right way. Like husband and wife."

My heart was beginning to beat faster, my arousal tingling anew. I slipped my arms around his waist and clutched him to me. "You mean, like lovers?"

Peter smiled. "Yes, like lovers. Like two people madly, passionately in love."

I hugged him tighter. "Do you think you can? I mean, are you up to it?"

In answer Peter smiled and kissed me, guiding himself into me between my legs. As he began moving so deeply inside me he kissed me again and again. "Just try to stop me."

* * *

It was a delicious, heady love making. Afterward Peter remained lying between my legs as he softened within me. I kept my arms around him, holding him close. He rested his head on my shoulder, his breath tickling my cheek and his soft chest hair my own nakedness, and together we lay drifting ever closer to sleep. As my eyes grew heavy Peter kissed my cheek and whispered in my ear. I'd made him the happiest man on earth today, he told me softly. And the luckiest. He loved me more than I would ever know. He was going to enjoy my obedience. He was going to cherish my love. But more than anything else he was going to enjoy my submission. This evening, he told me softly, was but the beginning.

"Tomorrow, Catherine, will be your first day of submission to me. You will do everything I say, and deny me nothing." His voice was low and sexy as he stroked the soft curls of hair between my legs. "Your lovely hair? This soft patch of womanhood between your legs? Tomorrow I'm going to shave it, my pet. You will begin your submission to me smooth as the day you were born. As innocent and pure as can be, without so much as your soft curls to keep me from what is now rightfully mine."

I shivered to hear him talk to me so. "Peter—"

"Sssh, get some sleep. We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow and I want you well rested. This is but the beginning."

I smiled dreamily. "There's more?"

He smiled. "So much more, my pet."

My pet. Each time he referred to me like that I trembled inside. I'd only ever meant this for tonight, but the thought of being Peter's pet (whatever might that mean?) had an deliciously illicit thrill to it. His pet. I could definitely come to like that.

We fell asleep in each other's arms, lying together blissfully, not talking but just being together. As I drifted off to sleep cradled in Peter's arms I smiled. So very many possibilities, so many exquisite surprises to look forward to. And one final thought, which made me tremble to ponder: what, oh what, had I awakened in Peter?

Sweet Dreams

In my dreams that night I was a blushing virgin bride, led to the altar and presented before my beloved Peter in front of our friends and family. I wore no wedding gown, only my jewelry and my undergarments... corset, stockings, panties and heels. And, of course, a sheer white wedding veil.

It was a dream straight out of my fantasies, and even in my dream I blushed and felt mortified when I was urged to my knees before Peter, right there in front of everyone, to profess my love and devotion to him while kneeling obediently at his feet. When he kissed me, his new bride, it wasn't with his lips but with his stiff cock, lifting my wedding veil and guiding himself between my lips. In my dream I emulated the heroines of my fantasies, fellating my beloved new husband eagerly with only my lips and mouth and tongue, my hands clasped obediently in my lap, my back straight and my knees together. I blushed when he put his hands on the back of my head and guided my tempo, and I gagged when he pushed deep into the back of my throat. Through the haze of my embarrassment I could hear our friends and family commenting softly:

"Look at her, she's a natural."

"I can't believe she's taking his entire length."

"She looks good. What a slut..."

I shuddered to hear such words, but instead of taking my mouth off him I redoubled my efforts, proving my love and devotion to him with my lips and tongue.

Even in my dream I was reluctant at the thought that he might spill his seed in my mouth. But he didn't. Instead he helped me to rise, kissed me gently and coaxed me to lie over the low altar, my bottom to our guests. He locked my ankles into cold steel rings set far apart in the base of the altar, and my wrists too to similar rings in front, and then in my dream, right there in front of everyone, he took my virginity.

I came with his first thrust inside me, and again as his motions rocked me against the altar, and my clit against its edge. As he used me right there in front of everyone I professed my love to him over and over and over again.

He didn't come inside me. At least not there, in my front side. Instead, when it was certain that I was ready, he pulled out and moved higher, taking my final, tighter virginity right there in front of everyone even as I sobbed out that it was too much, that I couldn't possibly accommodate him back there. But I did accommodate him, for he thrust deeply and vigorously and took from me his pleasure without any further concern for my own, and without giving me a chance to protest. It hurt, even in my dream. But the hurt was good, and by the time he grunted and spilled his seed so deep in my bottom the burning ache had become a deeply humiliating pleasure.

My new husband was done, but I wasn't. As I lay there spent, fastened helplessly to the altar, he leaned forward and whispered in my ear: the best man was next.

In my dream I came and came and came...

...to be continued