Page 62 of Shamefully Trained

I could hardly answer because answering made the thing real in language. Still, I heard myself do it. “The plug, sir. And… the pillow.”

“And?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Being made to… because… because… you’ll spank me.”

“Good girl.”

The praise almost undid me. My body reacted before my pride could object, rocking faster, clutching the pillow tighter. I was humping it now with no pretense of dignity whatsoever, using it as if I were some lonely adolescent discovered at the worst possible moment, except that this wasn’t privacy discovered. This was exhibition demanded. Supervised. Directed.

“Rub that needy little cunt harder,” he said. “Use what I gave you.”

I moved harder against the pillow. The friction went sharp and bright almost immediately. The plug shifted under my fingers. My stomach tightened. I could hear my own breath, my little humiliating gasps, and now and then the faint sound of the bed answering my movement.

“I can see how wet you are,” he said.

A moan escaped me, half shame.

“Yes,” he said softly. “You should be ashamed. You’re sore and tired and still you’re humping a pillow for me like a fuck toy who can’t help herself.”

The words struck straight through me. Shame poured heat into every nerve. My hips stuttered, then found a more desperate rhythm.

I didn’t know how long it went on. Time there was measured only in his instructions and my body’s responses.

“More plug.”

I moved it a little farther and cried out.

“Hold it there. Grind.”

I obeyed.

“That’s it. Let your body learn.”

The pressure built low and frighteningly fast. It came in waves distorted by soreness, by fullness, by embarrassment. I felt half mad with it. The detached self billions of miles away could see perfectly that I was being conditioned, that he had found some shortcut straight into the part of me that answered ritual and command and humiliation more obediently than I had ever believed possible.

The girl on the bed didn’t seem able to care. She wanted relief. She wanted permission even more.

“Sir,” I whispered.

“Yes?”

My throat tightened. “May I come?”

He let the silence sit long enough to make me shake.

“No.”

The refusal went through me like a blade. I made a broken sound and kept moving because I had no other option. My whole body trembled around the pillow.

“Keep riding,” he said. “Don’t stop because I denied you.”

I obeyed. Tears pricked my eyes from sheer overwhelm. My clit throbbed against the pillow. The plug moved in tiny, horrible increments. I felt dizzy with need.

“Ask again.”

“Please, may I come, sir?”

“No.”