Page 80 of Shamefully Trained

The white bra still framed the breasts of the red-haired girl with the dark, handsome man standing behind her. Her little peaches looked very sweet, really. The garter belt and stockings made everything look deliberate, decorative, chosen. But below that there was nothing. No little triangle of lace. No pretense. The cleft of the girl’s hairless sex looked lewdly bare between the straps.

He turned me, wordlessly. I knew I had to keep my eyes on the mirror, and looked back over my shoulder to see what my sponsor wanted me to see: my bottom just as exposed, just as vulnerable, just as available.

I looked exactly as he had intended. Not naked, which might somehow have felt simpler. Beautifully dressed for submission.

His hands came to rest on my hips.

“Do you see,” he asked quietly, “how pretty you are when you’re properly dressed?”

My throat tightened. “Yes, sir.”

“How submissive.”

The word sent a shiver through me. I stared at my own reflection, at the flush on my face, at my loosened red hair, at the white lace and the bare smoothness beneath it, and knew that denial would be absurd.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

He slid one hand lower, not touching my sex, only tracing the line of my hip and the top of my thigh, guiding my eye to what the mirror already showed me.

“No panties,” he said softly. “Cunt bare. Bottom bare. Ready for a man who knows how to take you in hand and use you properly.”

I shut my eyes for one second. Heat crashed through me in one merciless wave.

“Open them.”

I did.

“Look at yourself while I tell you the truth,” he said. “This is how you should look for a man who understands. Not hidden away. Not pretending. Open and available.”

I could hardly breathe.

His hand spread over my lower belly and held me still. “And because you dressed wrongly and had to be corrected, you’ll stay this way.”

All night. And tomorrow. He didn’t need to say it. I heard it anyway.

I watched my own face in the mirror as the understanding settled in me. I would walk through my apartment like this. Sit, stand, move, bend, with nothing between the white straps and the bare, waxed places he had claimed. Tomorrow, at work at the café, even under my skirt, every step would remind me. Every glance would make me think maybe someone had noticed that I had no panties on. Worst of all, I knew he meant that reminder to work on me, to deepen the lesson until I felt my own availability as something almost natural.

He leaned close enough that I felt his breath near my ear.

“What do you say?”

The answer came automatically now, though not lightly. “Thank you, sir.”

His eyes met mine in the mirror. “That’s better. We’ll see whether having your panties taken away makes you any more obedient when I bend you over for the next round.”

My knees weakened again.

CHAPTER 25

Alex

A subtle chime rang throughout the apartment.

“That’s dinner,” Porter told me, as he took the bigger of the robes from its hook and put it on. “You may stay in your bedroom until the delivery person leaves.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, because as far as I could tell there was nothing else I had it in me to say.

My apartment was so thoroughly his territory, rather than mine, that being told to wait in my own bedroom felt like a reasonable instruction. I went at once, my bare feet soundless on the floor, my face still warm from his demeaning, impossibly hot treatment of me. In the bedroom I stood for a second beside the bed, listening.