Page 102 of Shamefully Trained

I obeyed.

The wood pressed hard beneath my palms and knees.

“Arch that back, you little slut,” Porter said, his tone sharp—maybe sharper, and hungrier, than he had intended.

To bend my back lifted my ass, presented my smooth, waxed pussy. I displayed the striped flesh of my bottom, and underneath that the tender cleft, the pink lips. I felt like an exhibit. A lesson aid. A girl who had asked for such indecency that she deserved to be displayed while it was considered.

Porter stood beside me for a moment in silence. I heard that dry note in his voice that somehow made everything more humiliating.

“I think a girl who asks for two cocks,” he said, “should be given rather special attention.”

Heat flashed through me so hard that I almost sagged onto my elbows.

Gowry let out a low sound of agreement. “Hard to argue with that.”

Porter’s hand moved over my back, then down to my hip, then to the soft underside of one breast in the red lace. “Senator,” he said, “if you’d like to assist me in preparing her body, I imagine Alex would be grateful.”

I thought I might actually combust. My body… to be prepared… the subject of collaboration. My body: something they could work on together before using.

“Yes,” Gowry said. “I’d like that.”

Porter’s fingers tightened a little on my hip. “Close your eyes.”

I did.

The darkness made everything feel larger. The room became touch, breath, and helpless anticipation. I felt hands on me—too many to sort properly, though I kept trying; it even felt like there were more than four, impossible though I knew that to be.

One man touched my shoulders and throat while another smoothed his palms down my sides. Fingers skimmed over the cups of my bra, over my ribs, over my waist. One hand cupped a breast through the lace and thumbed my nipple until it tightened painfully. Another spread over one buttock and then the other, tracing the cane marks with a pressure that made me gasp.

I did not know whose hands were where anymore. That represented an essential part of the experience, one Porter had obviously intended when he had told me to close my eyes. My body became a shared field of sensation, and because I could not see, I could not assign ownership or prepare for the next touch. Fingers slid into my hair, gathered it, let it fall. A mouth brushed my shoulder. A hand moved between my thighs and simply rested there over my sex for one suspended second, making me whimper into the darkness behind my eyelids.

“So responsive,” one of them murmured. I couldn’t even tell which.

I had begun to breathe too fast. The blood seemed to have gone hot all through me. Every touch intensified the next one. A palm glided over my belly while another hand stroked down the inner line of my thigh and opened me a little wider at the knees. Fingers traced the cleft of my bottom, not entering, only letting me feel how exposed I was from every angle. Then a thumb found my clit through a smear of my own wetness and circled once, lightly.

I cried out.

“Stay still,” Porter said, in that sharp voice that always, always made me clench.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

The hands continued. One man held my hips very steady while another cupped my chin from below and tilted my face up, as if to inspect what the arousal looked like on me. Fingers slipped under the red lace at my breast and pinched my nipple directly now, not cruelly, but enough to make me jerk. Then a hand spread me between my legs, and I felt two fingers run slowly through my folds.

I made the most humiliating sound.

“Christ,” Gowry said softly, and I heard in it not tenderness but appreciation.

The fingers that had found my pussy gathered my wetness and moved with terrible deliberateness. They stroked through me again, then further back and further up, to the tighter place… the little bud Porter had made his own. I went rigid at once. A fingertip worked there, slickening the little ring with what my own body had produced from all this shame and need. The realization of that—that I was being prepared for anal use with my own arousal—sent such a violent pulse through me that I thought for one dizzy instant I might simply lose consciousness and float away.

Instead I stayed there, panting over the coffee table with my eyes shut while one of them worked my pussy and then my anus and then my pussy again, making a single continuity out of those places in a way that felt depraved beyond language.

“There,” Porter said quietly near my ear. “That’s better.”

Then, further away and louder, to the man with whom he had decided to share me.

“The anus is mine, but to celebrate this legislative achievement, please accept a loan of the cunt.”

“Oh, God,” I whimpered. I thought I might burst into flames from the wave of mortification and need that swept through me.