Page 75 of Shamefully Trained

He was silent for a moment. Then I felt his fingers at the thong again, moving the soaked gusset aside.

I flinched even from that, too tender now, but he only looked down between my legs with awful calm and said, “Yes. And first I’m going to use this hot little cunt to get my cock ready for your adorable asshole.”

For a second I stopped breathing.

It wasn’t really the crudest thing he had said to me, I felt sure. But it struck somewhere so deep in my shame that I felt as if the world had tilted under me.

Use this cunt… get my cock ready… your adorable asshole.

It reduced me so completely to function, to openings, to a body arranged for a man’s sequence of pleasures, that heat and humiliation crashed over me together. Between my spread knees I could see that he had started to pump his cock, almost idly, in his left hand… as if the enjoyment of contemplating using me as his fuck toy were enhanced by this casual little demonstration of his dominance… showing me that he could masturbate as he chose, while I would be whipped for it.

A sound came out of me that was almost a laugh and almost another sob.

A stolen glance revealed that Porter had looked up from my pussy to my face. “That embarrasses you,” he said. “Look at me.”

“Yes,” I whispered miserably, as my cheeks burned at the sight of his dark eyes.

“Why?”

I swallowed. I could barely form words. “Because it makes me feel like… like…”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m just…” My got hotter. “Like I’m just here to be used however you want.”

His fingers stroked once, lightly, over my punished sex, and I jolted.

“You are there to be used how I want,” he said simply. “Within the structure I set, and with the care I choose to take. That’s part of what this arrangement is.”

I shut my eyes. I couldn’t even tell if my face was hotter with mortification than my pussy was with need.

When I opened my eyes, he was unfastening his belt. He had already shrugged off his jacket and his white shirt. My stomach flipped so hard I thought I might be sick.

“Sir,” I whispered.

“Watch. Eyes back where they belong.”

I obeyed. I couldn’t have looked away if I had wanted to. He pulled off his trousers and his underwear, and his cock looked even harder and heavier. The sight of it sent a fresh pulse straight into my throbbing pussy and then back again into my newly frightened bottom. My anus seemed to clench in anticipation all by itself, remembering the plug, remembering how he had trained me, remembering every terrible thing he had taught my body to feel.

He saw all of that in me. Somehow I knew that simply from the assurance in his posture.

“Put your hands above your head,” he said.

I obeyed.

“Keep your knees up.”

I held them there, though my thighs had begun to tremble almost violently.

He stroked himself once, twice, looking at my face. “Your pussy first,” he repeated. “To get me ready. And because I want you to feel exactly what’s being taken away from your cunt and given to your bottom.”

That made me moan softly despite myself. The words felt like too much. The image they created was too much. My body understood the terrible hierarchy in them before my mind could reject it.

He leaned over me and kissed me.

The tenderness of it after the horrible pussy spanking nearly undid me more thoroughly than the punishment had. His mouth was firm, not soft exactly, but intimate in a way that made my eyes sting afresh. One of his hands slid under my back for leverage. The other spread my thighs wider.

When he broke the kiss he murmured into my ear, “Last chance to tell me you don’t want this arrangement anymore.”