Shameful Reformation – Shamefully Courted Read Online Emily Tilton

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
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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.


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