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Dominant bride wants the wedding night to set the scene for the rest of their marital lives.
This female domination story contains graphic details of physical and mental sadism and masochism, including tease and denial, spanking and cuckolding. It is entirely fictional and completely my own work.
Please DO NOT read any further if you do not enjoy fictional stories in which males submit to dominant females, either willingly, forcible, or by coercion. Please DO NOT read if you think that stories like this should end up with the male taking control and beating or fucking the female – If that’s your bag, this story is not for you.
Please DO read further if you want to know how a domineering bride treats her submissive groom on their wedding night.
———-
“Do you think you’re a good boy?” she asked.
He knew exactly what would come next; they had had this conversation hundreds of times since they first met four years ago. “Yes Lorna, I am a good boy.”
“And good boys don’t cum do they?”
“No Lorna.”
She circled around his kneeling body with her heels in her hand – elegant as they were, they had been uncomfortable to wear all day, and had been the first things she removed when they reached their hotel room. Smaller heels would have been more comfortable, and practical, but she wanted to ensure that she was at least an inch taller than him on this day.
“Do you think that men usually cum on their wedding nights?” she asked.
“Yes Lorna!” he said, attempting to sound positive but not too enthusiastic – he knew how much she loved to build him up to a state of excitement, then crush his hopes.
“So how many men do you think have cum in this room?” she questioned.
He thought for a moment. The hotel was hundreds of years old but how long had this room been the honeymoon suite? “Thousands,” he ventured.
“Yes,” she agreed, “we could count the number in the thousands…. I imagine that there have been a few couples like us, and a few silly men would have gotten too drunk to perform, but on the whole, I guess that most brides will have spread their legs willingly so that all those bad boy grooms could leave their dirty mess in them. I suppose it’s a kind of vow – confirmation that a couple’s marital lives would be filled with nights of sex……and that leaves us with a little problem doesn’t it Andrew?”
She had promised him ‘hot vaginal sex’ on their wedding night to consummate their marriage, but he had paid a terrible price for the honour; six months without an orgasm of any kind… and with Lorna at the helm, there were truly many kinds of orgasm.
“Yes Lorna,” he said humbly, careful not to add any more words that might push her in the wrong direction, or give her some fresh ideas.
“So, what am I to do, Andrew?” she asked. “It’s our wedding night, but you’re a good boy… how can we consummate the wedding?”
Lorna stopped circling, turned her back on him, and told him to unzip her dress. He lifted her long veil with one hand and fumbled around at her neckline for a few moments while he tried to locate the cleverly concealed zip tab. “You don’t seem to be in much of a hurry,” she teased.
“I’m sorry Lorna,” he said, hastily, “the zip… it’s…”
“Shush!” she said harshly, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Hurry up and unzip my dress.”
“Yes Lorna.”
He found the zip tab, ran a finger between the neat folds of silk that covered the little nylon teeth from view, and followed the tab down behind them to the small of her back, exposing the clasp of her delicate necklace, her pale shoulder blades, and the pretty white corset below. She held the dress across her breasts so that it would not fall down under its own considerable weight, then she turned to face him. Now that he was standing, he was an inch and a half taller than her, and she did not like it.
“Get back on your knees, husband,” she ordered.
Immediately after the ceremony, and all throughout the wedding breakfast and evening celebrations, Lorna had often and happily referred to Andrew as her ‘husband’. It was novel and provoked happy swoons from the wedding guests every time, helping to paint a picture of a perfectly conventional couple. Now that they were alone, however, Lorna intonated the word with a humbling and condescending inflection, as she might for the word ‘slave’ or ‘servant’.
Andrew did as he was told, climbing down onto his knees so that she could look down on him again.
“Good boy,” she said, giving him her usual supercilious smile.
She loosened her grip on the fabric of her dress and let it slip down her body, revealing the cups of her corset that pushed her breasts together, accentuating her cleavage. A little key hung on the delicate silver chain around her neck, and nestled comfortably in the cleft of her bosom. She dropped the dress further, revealing the panel across her tummy, criss-crossed with a threaded lace and embroidered with delicate white flowers and leaves. She held the heavy dress there, altındağ escort around her hip, so that she could exhibit her slender waist and ample bosom, accentuated by the strict curves of the corset.
“So, what shall we do Andrew?, You’ve been a good boy, have you not?”
Yes Lorna,” Andrew nodded. “I’m always a good boy for you Lorna.”
“And good boys don’t cum do they Andrew?, they don’t let their filthy messes debase their lovely wives do they?”
“No Lorna, messes are not allowed…”
“But on the other hand,” she interrupted, “I did promise you sex did I not? And I always keep my promises don’t I Andrew?”
They both knew that this was not true; Lorna would regularly make promises to Andrew, then break them frivolously… but it was not wise to disagree with Lorna.
“Yes Lorna, you always keep your promises.”
Lorna watched him for a while, making him feel uncomfortable with her incessant eye contact. She was strikingly beautiful; tall and slim with long golden locks harsh blue eyes. He recalled that her breasts were large and firm, with large pink, pronounced areola, though he had not seen them bare for many months. He was well aware that if love was only about looks, they would not have been in the same room together.
“Are bad boys allowed to cum Andrew?” she asked eventually, breaking her stare and crossing the room to an old wingback chair beside the crackling fire, trailing the white dress across the dark oak floorboards as she went.
“Yes Lorna, bad boys can do as they please.”
“Do we know any bad boys?”
“Yes Lorna, you are friends with a few.”
He watched her, but remained on his knees, facing the foot of the bed.
She dropped the heavy dress to the floor, allowing it to rest in a high pyramid of crumpled silk and lace that she had to climb out of with high steps. Her long legs were stockinged in white nylon, attached to the waist of her corset by suspender straps hooked on silver buttons. Her panties were also white, lace trimmed to match the corset, and sculpted to create a tantalizing triangle of bare skin just above her pubic mound.
Lorna sat in the chair and hooked a leg lazily over one of the arms so that when he looked in her direction, he could get an alluring glimpse of the panties that covered her glorious cunt.
“I have an idea,” she declared.
Andrew knew full we’ll that an ‘idea’ on a night like this was never spontaneous; Lorna would have conceived this scenario a long time ago, planned every detail, and plotted for every eventuality as though she were playing chess (which she always beat him at).
“Perhaps you could be a bad boy tonight?”
In Lorna and Andrew’s world, ‘bad boys’ were the ones that had sex with ‘bad girls’. They took their wives or girlfriends whenever and however they wanted, and came however they pleased. The thought of being a bad boy for the night caused Andrew’s cock to stiffen in the tight confines of his formal trousers.
“Would you like that, husband?” she continued.
“Yes Lorna! Yes please! If I were a bad boy we could consummate the marriage! We could have the sex you PROMISED me….”
“I’d have to punish you of course… for being a bad boy… we have to make sure that everything is balanced – especially after all the effort I went to, to make this day special.”
It was true that Lorna had taken the reins in organising their wedding day, and every detail had been perfect enough to meet her exacting standards, from the church flowers to the church venue itself, the table fancies to the wedding breakfast. She’d even dictated his groom’s speech and his choice of underwear. She had allowed certain luxuries here and there, but the wedding had not been expensive; they each worked hard but we’re not rolling in money.
“Yes Lorna, of course! I would be a good boy afterwards and you could give me the punishment I would deserve for being bad… the day would be even more perfect…”
“Punishment comes first,” she interrupted.
“Yes Lorna, sorry Lorna.”
Lorna seemed pleased with the agreement.
“Remove your clothes,” she demanded.
Andrew remained on his knees and removed his grey, paisley patterned waistcoat, then began to untie the royal blue cravat from around his stiff, white collar. When it was loose, he placed it on the waistcoat beside him and set to work on the hidden buttons of his dress shirt, then his gold cufflinks. He removed the shirt and laid that on the floor beside him too, revealing the tight, white, satin corset that she had insisted he wore. It sculpted his waist and stomach, but stopped with a stiff, wire hem just below his fatty pecs, giving them the impression of being little, flat breasts. Other than the open bosom, his corset matched hers, right down to the floral stitching. The white lace was pulled tight to thrust more of his flesh up above the wire hem.
Lorna giggled a little at his feminine lingerie. “You shape up quite nicely in the right underwear,” she ankara anal yapan escort said, “Maybe I could dress you up and pass you off as a lady one day.”
Andrew cringed at the thought – he had never wanted to be made a sissy – the idea simply didn’t appeal to him, in fact he found the thought excruciatingly embarrassing – no matter how ‘sexy’ Lorna said he looked in ladies’ underwear, or how sensual the soft feminine attire felt on his body. But Lorna had insisted that he had to be a ‘girl’ beneath his wedding suit, just to remind him at all times that he was marrying into subservience… that he would never be the real man in their marriage.
“May I stand to remove my trousers please Lorna?” he asked.
“Yes husband,” she replied, still with that condescension on the word ‘husband’, “but I want you back on your knees straight afterwards.”
“Yes Lorna, thank you, Lorna,” he said.
He stood, unbuckled the slender belt that held up his charcoal, pinstriped trousers, and threaded it out of the belt loops. He laid it on the floor, unhooked the two waist clips, lowered the zip of the fly, and guided his trousers to his ankles, revealing the white, silk panties, suspender straps and stockings that she had selected for him. Every item of his undergarments matched her own in as much detail as possible, and this was one of the areas where Lorna had insisted that they hadn’t scrimped on the price – she had dictated that both her garments and his should be made to measure by a seamstress friend of hers.
Andrew pulled the crumpled trousers from his ankles, and returned to his knees, still facing the bed, and waited for his next instructions.
“Come here,” she ordered.
He shuffled along the floor on his knees until he reached her feet.
“Pull your panties down,” she said.
He was glad to remove the thin G-string from the cleft of his arse, and the tiny patch of material of the crotch that wasn’t even adequate enough to comfortably cradle his balls, let alone the bulky plastic of his cock tube. He pushed them to his knees to reveal the white chastity tube that Lorna had ordered just for this occasion. His confined cock filled it completely, and its fruitless swelling was thrusting the device away from his body.
Lorna reached behind her neck and unclasped her delicate necklace, then held it by the loose ends and let the key dangle between them.
“Married in a cock cage,” she taunted. “How many men have enjoyed that experience do you think?”
It really had been an experience to enjoy, Andrew thought; the humbling disempowerment had been divine as he stood beside his bride, fully aware that the key to his little emasculating prison hung around her neck. And to be forced to wear feminine undergarments too, to be married in white stockings and suspenders really was the most delightful, rude and daring thing she had ever made him do. Had he not been locked in his little, white tube, his cock would have been uncouthly addressing the vicar throughout the service.
“Very few I would think,” he said with a proud sort of smile.
“Very few indeed!” she agreed.
She unhooked her leg from the arm of the chair and leaned down towards his face, then she took the key in her fingers and inserted it into the lock of his device. She twisted it slightly, then pulled it back out to extract the little brass barrel of the lock. The tube disengaged from the ring immediately, and his swelling cock thrust it crudely towards her.
“Someone’s enjoying their day!” Lorna giggled.
“Yes Lorna!” Andrew agreed enthusiastically, “you planned and executed it perfectly”
Lorna pulled the little white tube from his bulbous bell-end and set it on the cushion of the chair beside her, then she took one of his balls firmly, and squeezed it through the ring that still clung to the base of his shaft. Lorna was always a little rough when she did this, but at least she got the ordeal over with quickly. When she had done the same to his other testicle, she pulled the ring free from his swollen penis, leaving it naked and bobbing around between them in a way that Andrew had not seen for at least 6 months, save for their clinical, weekly hygiene sessions.
“It’s punishment time!” Lorna said, with a distinct hint of glee in her voice. She pressed her knees together and gently patted her lap. “Up you get.”
Andrew positioned himself to her right, then bent himself over her knees, his hot erection pressed into her white nylon covered thighs, his white knickers around his knees. The rear straps of his suspenders framed his bottom perfectly.
“How many spanks for being a bad boy do you think?” Lorna asked.
“I don’t know, maybe twenty?”
He cursed himself before the words had even left his lips. He might receive twenty spanks for forgetting to put the bins out, or for buying a new power tool without her permission, but to earn the privilege of fucking her?…
“TWENTY!” she exclaimed quickly, “Twenty slaps ankara escort for being a really bad boy? Twenty slaps for being SO bad that you get to fuck this bad girl?”
“No Lorna! forty… fifty…” he blabbered in a panic.
She placed the palm of her narrow hand flat on his round bottom. “Getting closer,” she said, flatly.
“Sixty! Sixty? Please not sixty Lorna,” he stammered.
“Let’s make a start and see how we get on shall we? To be honest, I am quite keen for that fuck…”
Andrew’s cock stiffened against her thigh at the thought of finally making love to his newlywed wife, but when her hand slapped his soft buttock for the first time in their wedded life, he stiffened even more. He loved to be spanked over her knee, to be on the receiving end of her dominating dark side, to have her hurt him repeatedly, then throw him off onto the floor like a piece of meat.
The sharp sound of bare-hand slapping filled the room as Andrew took his punishment. She slapped him long and hard, his bottom reddening minute-by-minute as he fidgeted on her lap. She paused, gathered his hands behind his back, pressed them into the delicately embroidered rear of his virgin-white corset, and resumed her onslaught until her arm was burning with the effort, and the palm of her hand was sore. She wanted this first punishment of their married lives to be long and painful, a kind of benchmark for the rest of their lives, so she pushed on as long as she could, perspiring with the effort as his poor bottom took on a purple hue.
“72,” she said wearily, “See how much I love you?”
She let go of his hands and pushed him from her lap. He landed on the floor at her feet and immediately began to rub his burning bottom.
“I want you to get my pussy ready to be fucked,” she said crudely, hooking both of her legs over the arms of the chair and exposing the gusset of her dainty panties to his gaze.
Andrew immediately got to his knees and, ignoring the searing pain in his backside, began to lap at the silky crotch of her knickers.
This was always the routine; Lorna would make him tease her through her panties before pulling them aside like a whore to allow him access to her sodden pussy.
She held his hair gently, threw her head back and made herself comfortable… Andrew had practiced worshipping her like this for years, and was very good at it… such talent was not to be rushed.
Eager as he was to finally mount his beautiful bride, Andrew worked Lorna slowly and sensually, taking longer than ever before to take her to the point where she was moaning softly and subconsciously, kneading her own breasts and pinching her nipples. He would regularly take her to this blissful place and hold her there for as long as she could stand it, until she demanded that he licked her to orgasm or that he put on the face dildo.
Finally, Lorna escaped from her elysian trance, and asked him, “Do you think I’m wet enough to fuck?”
She had been soaked from the start, her command of him while he knelt at her feet was enough to make her wet before they had even made any physical contact.
Andrew paused his ministrations just long enough to answer, “Yes Lorna!”, then quickly want back to caressing the inner sides of her swollen labia in a way that he knew teased her terribly.
“Hmmm, me too!” she said, though she let him continue his worship for some time more before making her next move.
“That’s enough if that for now then Andrew,” she said. He sat up on his knees, as though begging, and she stood, stepped out of her panties, and climbed on to the ancient four-poster.
He remained in position, watching her arrange herself on the bed, head on two pillows with her veil spread out around her golden hair, silk-and-lace-clad torso resting on the soft, burgundy duvet, naked legs spread wide apart, her titillated pussy exposed and glistening with her juices and his saliva.
“Come here big boy,” she said
He stood immediately, his purple cock as erect as it possibly could be, throbbing and aching for the divine intercourse he’d been promised. A string of pre-cum hung from its tip, and blobbed onto the Tudor floorboards as he stood to join her. Once on the bed, he knelt over her, trapping her in the cage of his arms and legs as he began to kiss her soft neck. He nuzzled his way up to her ear and kissed her softly as his purple cock rubbed against her unruly blonde bush, then he adjusted his hips, dipping them down so that the engorged head of his penis could engage with her sloppy hole.
She put a hand on either side of his face and directed his head so that she could look him in the eyes.
“Hold on a second cowboy,” she said.
He froze with just the bulging end of his cock pressed into her hot, wet passage; the feeling of penetration confined only to his bulbous bell end. She looked at him intently for a moment, as though waiting for him to ask a question while he held steady, wondering why she had stopped him. Then, suddenly, the realisation crashed upon him. As he finally understood that she was not actually going to let him fuck her, his expression changed to that of despairing realisation, and Lorna began to laugh uncontrollably. She grabbed his hips, just in case he decided to attempt a forbidden thrust into her glorious tunnel, and held him back from her.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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