Page 3 of Shamefully Trained

I was crying already, more from humiliation than pain, though there was pain too. “No,” I whispered.

He stared down at me with open contempt and what looked horribly like satisfaction. “Of course not.”

Then he put his hand on the back of my head again and used my mouth harder. I tried to do what my body seemed to understand and my mind didn’t, tried to relax my throat, to breathe through my nose, to take what he gave me without choking. I couldn’t manage it well enough for him. He held me there until mascara and tears and saliva had made a complete wreck of me, then released me with a short disgusted sound.

“Up,” he said. “You’re going to get the consequences of that awful performance now, you little whore.”

I sobbed and rose, my confusion over why I obeyed this asshole growing but somehow not stopping me. I felt unsteady when I stood. He turned me and bent me over the desk with one hand between my shoulders. The polished wood was cold against my breasts and cheek. Papers shifted under me. I heard the whisper of leather sliding through belt loops.

“Wait…” I said, and then I felt the first stroke.

It landed across my bare ass with a force that took the breath out of me. I cried out at once, not from calculation or dramatics but because my body couldn’t help it. The second came lower, the third higher, each one a bright hard stripe of pain that left me clenching and shaking. I tried to push myself up and his hand shoved me down.

“Stay where I put you. You earned this, and you’re going to get it. A whore like you needs to learn her lesson when she fails to give pleasure.”

The belt hissed and cracked against me again. Tears ran onto the desk blotter. I hated him in those moments, hated him with a clarity that should have solved everything, and yet beneath the pain there was that same terrible unraveling, my body answering with heat where it should have answered with revulsion alone.

When he stopped, the silence throbbed.

“Reach back,” he said. “Spread yourself for me. Show me that sweet pink cunt.”

I froze.

He laid the belt, folded, against one scorched cheek. Not striking, just letting me feel it there. “Do it.”

My hands shook. I reached them back and let out a little whimper as I grasped my whipped bottom cheeks. I pulled myself open for him in the most degrading posture I had ever imagined, much less taken. I could feel how wet I was and wanted to disappear. He made a pleased noise that ruined me further.

“That looks nice and tight.”

I closed my eyes.

“Are you on birth control?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t ask anything else. He didn’t ask if I wanted him to use a condom, or if I wanted him at all, because by then the transaction had moved beyond language into something uglier and simpler. He positioned himself behind me and pushed his hardness into my pussy. I cried out again, half from the sudden intrusion, half because my body was already too sensitized from the belt and the humiliation and the forced arousal of it all.

“Fuck, that is tight,” he swore under his breath, a man’s half-grunted sound of satisfaction. Then he began to thrust.

The desk hit my hips with each stroke. I clutched at the edge of it, hearing my own little helpless noises, hearing him breathe harder, feeling the room narrow to impact and shame and the hot involuntary pleasure that kept breaking through despite everything I thought I believed about myself. I tried not to move back against him. I couldn’t entirely help it.

“That’s it,” he said roughly. “You wanted something from me, didn’t you? This is what girls like you trade.”

I made some protest—I think I said his name, or no, or please, I honestly didn’t even know—but it dissolved when he drove deeper and my body clenched around him in traitorous response.

Then the door opened.

I jerked, horror slicing through the fog so cleanly it almost hurt. Gowry swore and stopped, still inside me. I twisted enough to see past my hair, past the corner of the desk.

Senator Hathaway stood in the doorway.

CHAPTER 2

Alex

For a second no one moved. The overhead light caught on the glassy dark of her eyes and on the severe line of her mouth. She took in everything at once. I knew she did: my nakedness, bent over Gowry’s desk; the red marks striping my ass; the senator behind me with his hand still braced on my hip; my smeared face. If she felt surprise, it lasted no more than an instant before she replaced it with something flatter and more dangerous.

I remained braced over the desk, my hands flat on the polished wood, my hair hanging in my face, my knees trembling so badly I thought I might slide right down to the carpet. Gowry stayed behind me, one hand on my hip, his cock still inside my soaking pussy. The air in the office felt obscene, hot and close and full of the sound I had just been making and the unmistakable scent of my mortifying need.