Page 49 of Shamefully Trained

The thought should have revolted me. Instead it made my legs shake harder.

“You’re going to love the feeling of being filled like this,” he said. “Not today, but soon. Soon you’ll crave it. Soon when I tell you to lube your anus and present your bottom for my cock, this little cunt will get wet immediately.”

His hand demonstrated the point. My whole body responded with such shameless immediacy that I let out a little cry and tried to hide my face.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said, and for the first time since he had begun this particular humiliation, something in his voice made my chest tighten for a different reason. “You need structure. You need a man who’ll train you properly and not use your body carelessly. I’m giving you that.”

I almost said I know, and I almost followed it with the admission I had balked at before.

I almost said thank you.

Instead I panted and trembled and let him make me feel what he wanted me to feel, because somewhere under my shame and confusion I had already begun to understand that he was, in his own severe and impossible way, taking care of me. For his pleasure, yes. Absolutely for his pleasure. But not only for that. He wanted something from me and for me at the same time, and my body knew the difference even when my pride kept trying to blur it.

His fingers grew firmer. The pressure built with shocking speed.

“I’m going to make you come on my plug,” he said near my ear. “And every time I do this, your body will learn a little more. It will learn that opening your ass for your sponsor leads to pleasure. It will learn to welcome fullness there. It will learn to beg.”

“No,” I said again, but this time it came out as a moan.

He laughed softly, not unkindly. “You can say no with your mouth while your cunt says yes with every pulse. I know how to listen.”

CHAPTER 16

Alex

That did it. Something in me gave way at a level that felt biological: physically, helplessly. I stopped trying to separate what I felt from what he meant me to feel. The plug sat snug and intimate inside me, claiming me from behind. His hand worked me from the front. His other hand kept me bent and offered and exactly where he wanted me. I was not a woman in a bath with a man anymore, not in any civilized equal way. I was a female creature being handled, taught, conditioned.

An animal, I thought wildly.

And then, because the thought itself sent a shudder through me: his animal.

Then, suddenly, he pulled his hand away.

“What kind of girl are you?” he asked, in a growl that corresponded so well to my tiny fantasy of being a creature of the wild that it nearly made me come without his hand there, just with the force of the words.

“Oh, God,” I moaned, my back arching helplessly, my pussy seeking his hand. “Sir… I’m… I’m the kind of girl who needs it in the ass… oh, please… God… sir…”

His hand returned. He worked my pussy for one moment more, and then the orgasm hit so hard that it felt as if the fullness in my ass had been translated directly into fire in my cunt. I cried out and convulsed, my thighs shaking, my back arching uselessly against the steady restraint of his hand. The plug moved inside me with the contractions, making the pleasure stranger and more degrading and somehow more complete.

“That’s it,” he said, voice low and intent. “Come. Come while your bottom is full. Learn what it feels like, and how your body needs it.”

I did. Helplessly. Repeatedly. My body milked his fingers and the toy together, and I heard little ruined sounds coming out of my own throat that I somehow told myself originated in another girl’s body.

He did not stop immediately when the climax crested. He worked me through it as if to seal the lesson into my nerves. By the time he eased his hand away, I was shaking so hard I nearly collapsed.

For a few moments all I could do was stay there on hands and knees, wet hair clinging to my shoulders, the bathwater lapping softly around my arms, the plug still inside me like a mark of my degradation and his mastery.

Then he stroked my back once.

“Good girl,” he said quietly. “You did well for your first real lesson.”

Tears of shame pricked the corners of my eyes. My whole body felt too open, too known.

“I don’t… I don’t like… that you can… do that,” I whispered.

His hand paused between my shoulder blades. “No,” he said. “You don’t like that I can show you things about yourself you’d rather not have to know.”

I shut my eyes.