Page 34 of Shamefully Trained

“Or I’ll whip you,” he said.

I laughed once, a tiny, wrecked sound, then reached for my blouse with fingers that hardly worked. He watched while I undressed. He didn’t hurry me, and he didn’t help. He simply stood there in his perfect suit while I unbuttoned and unzipped and peeled away the clothes I had so carefully chosen, the nice lingerie beneath them, everything. By the time I stood bare before him, my skin felt over-aware of every inch of air in the room.

His gaze moved over me slowly, possessively. “Better.”

I wrapped my arms around myself without thinking.

“Don’t cover up.”

I heard it in his tone, this time, though he hadn’t spoken the words: or I’ll have to use the cane. I dropped my arms.

He gave a single nod, then turned and left the bathroom. I stood there naked and shivering over the puddle I had made, staring after him in disbelief, until he returned a moment later with a bucket and a flat mop.

He set them down near the sink. “Clean it thoroughly. You can put your clothes in the hamper over there. I’ve got clothes you can wear out when I’m through with you.”

Oh, no. The way my heart raced at this new revelation of this man’s intentions had more of need to it than of fear or shame. I tried desperately to find some kind of composure. I looked at the mop, then at him.

“You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

I almost asked whether he intended to supervise. Instead I bit my lip.

He seemed to understand the unasked question anyway. “When you’re finished, leave the bucket and mop here. Then come find me in my office.”

My stomach tightened. “And then?”

“Then,” he said, “you’ll get the spanking you’ve earned.”

He left me with that.

For a long moment I didn’t move. Then I picked up my clothes and put them in the hamper. Then I filled the bucket. I mopped up my own puddle naked in a millionaire’s bathroom while my skin flushed and cooled and flushed again.

Every so often the fact of what I was doing would hit me again, and I would have to stop and close my eyes.

I’m naked.

I peed on his floor.

He’s going to spank me when I’m done.

That last thought stayed with me most persistently of all. It threaded through each stroke of the mop, through each wring of the pad into the bucket, through each breath I tried to steady. He hadn’t touched my ass cheeks in punishment, and already I felt his hand there, somehow, in anticipation. I remembered his threat of the cane. I remembered his hand in the café bathroom. His probing, degrading finger in the tiny hole. I remembered the way my body had yielded and betrayed me over and over.

By the time the floor shone again I felt as though my nerves had been brought almost to the point of singing.

CHAPTER 11

Alex

I left the bucket and mop in the corner. I stood up too fast from the semi-crouch I had adopted as I cleaned the floor, and I had to steady myself. In the mirror I looked utterly lascivious in my vulnerability: hair wild from my tears and my haste to the bathroom, cheeks pink, breasts rising and falling too quickly, bare body looking, to my desperate eyes, shamefully ready for… for…

Submission. Obedience. Discipline.

Training.

I nearly got my clothes out of the hamper and put them back on.

The thought came as a true temptation. I could dress, leaving the soaking, humiliating panties behind, and walk out, and say I had misunderstood. I could reclaim my sense of who I was.