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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My body had responded to that spark of rebellion even faster than my mind had. As my limbs had gone into action, taking her delicious form into my arms in that dominant way, I had felt a fleeting moment of confusion. It took a second or two to get my head around the fact that I could love her, love her independence and even her defiance, and yet feel in my very bones the need to correct her with the utmost severity when she provoked me that way.

As I had felt her yield to my strength I had understood, though it had brought out an even more paradoxical set of ideas. I wanted to take care of her, to treasure her. I also needed to spank her hard.

Looking into her eyes as they gazed timidly at me through the angle made by the soft, pinkish flesh of her bent elbow, it all made sense. I could see Grace’s own dawning and developing understanding of her needs—and I felt a thrill of mingled joy and arousal to see also, maybe in the crease in her forehead, that she had even begun to accept those needs.

“Eyes front, darlin’,” I told her. The way my words affected her, the tiny changes I saw in her face, the way she swallowed at the sound of my deep voice… they all seemed to affect me at something like an atomic, molecular level. My dominant blood surged in my veins—and a lot of it went straight to my already hard cock, so that I felt it jump along my thigh.

Grace turned her face quickly to look at the wall above the couch, where I had hung an old photo of Grasskiln in the 1920s, a frontier town with a general store and a saloon and a church. I felt like I could read my sweet, gorgeous handful’s mind as she caught sight of it—the town in the photo looked like the kind of place where men were men and women learned to obey their suitors when the time for courtship arrived.

I crossed the distance to the couch with a single step, so that I stood behind Grace. I looked at the soft skin of her neck, where her red ponytail descended to shoulder-length and made her complexion look very pale. I saw that she had started to tremble all over, the shaking in her arms mirrored in the slight movement of the ponytail.

“I’m going to bare your bottom now,” I told her, and I reached for the hem of her dress and started to roll it up.

Grace

I whimpered softly as I felt Cal raising my skirt and gathering it at my waist. My body started to shake so violently with fear and embarrassment that I worried I might fall down. He rolled the dress, and tucked it, slowly and carefully, as if to make sure both that I understood he could see my humiliating training panties and that I felt the return of his patience and carefulness, now that I had shown submission and obedience.

The trembling in my limbs quieted a little, though I could still feel it as a kind of distracting electricity that seemed to travel all over my skin. It felt like it centered in the small of my back, the stripe of bare skin above the waistband of my underwear that could feel the air of Cal’s living room moving over it. Below that exposed flesh, in a dismaying contrast, I could feel in a sort of negative way how the training panties encased me in modest, virginal white, preventing any delicate, arousing sensation from getting through.

And yet inside them I felt the lingering—though quickly fading—ache from the ferocious spanking Cal had already given me. All of those sensations seemed magnified, multiplied, by the tension in my muscles that holding my arms up created. Knowing that with my hands on my head I had yielded responsibility for my body to the strong man who intended to discipline me sent tendrils of fear and need traveling from my sore bottom to my pussy to my nipples.

The sheer confusion of it all made me whimper when Cal’s hands touched me there, on the exposed skin between the rolled, tucked hem of my dress and my underwear. When he hooked his thumbs into the waistband, their knuckles digging gently into the sides of my waist, I tried to keep another, matching whimper down but succeeded only in turning it into a kittenish whine. I shuddered violently as I felt him start to pull my panties down.

“Easy, darlin’,” Cal said. “We’ve done this before.”

I felt my face work with shame and need, tears forming at the corners of my eyes. Part of me wanted to protest that it had somehow felt easier when he had me over his knee. The idea that my shaved pussy had just come into view—that Cal could turn me around and see it if he wanted, because I had to keep my hands on my head, and I wasn’t allowed to hide my body from him—made it very different.


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