Page 84 of Shamefully Trained

“Speak.”

“And then letting him try me,” I sobbed into the bedspread. “Afterward. If he helped with the bill. Or because you wanted him to. I don’t know.” Tears wet the bedding beneath my face. “It was disgusting. I know it was. I know.”

The room stayed still for one suspended second.

When he spoke at last, his voice had gone lower. “Lift yourself up.”

I did, trembling.

He put the belt aside. His hand came to rest on my scorched bottom, not soothing exactly, but assessing. Possessing. I could feel his palm absorb the heat he had made.

“Put that out of your head,” he said. Something in his tone told me that I hadn’t displeased him the way I had feared I would.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

But his hand lingered. And when I dared the smallest glance back over my shoulder, what I saw in his face did not really reassure me nearly as much as the words should have. He looked stern, yes. He also looked darkly aroused.

He saw that I had seen it.

“Spread your knees,” he said.

My thighs opened on the bed at once.

“Wider.”

I obeyed.

“Now reach back and offer your anus. You’re going to take it in the ass again, you little slut, just like you need it from your sponsor.”

CHAPTER 26

Alex

The order sent a jolt of shame and need through my whole body. My face flamed so hard it felt like I might actually scorch the sheets.

I lowered myself at once, turning my cheek to the mattress because I couldn’t bear to imagine what my expression looked like, let alone contemplate letting Porter see it. I reached back with both hands. My bottom still burned in narrow, vivid lines from his belt. The skin felt hot and swollen under my grasping fingers. I shuddered at the sting of that first touch, and when I parted my cheeks the tenderness, or the shame, or both, made me whimper.

I have no choice.

The words began again, at once, in my head, like a prayer or an incantation. I have no choice. I have no choice.

If I disobeyed him now, it would only get worse. That was true, wasn’t it? He would spank me more. Whip me more. Cane me, maybe. I dwelt on the thought sent, until it sent the expected, logical fear through me, and the fear ran straight down into a shameful little throb between my legs.

Then, for one instant—one dangerous instant of clarity—I thought: I could say no.

I could tell him I wanted this to end. He had said so. He had said it so often, hadn’t he? He had offered it, without me even asking. Somewhere beneath everything else I knew that of course he would let me go.

But I pushed that thought down with all the force I had.

I have no choice. I have no choice. I have no choice.

The truth of my actual, legal, factual situation felt cold, though, and I wanted, desperately, to be warm. Hot. Hotter.

It felt so much better to imagine—no, to believe—that he would not let me go at all. That if I refused and begged and tried to run away he would simply hold me down on top of the bed, his crushing weight on top of me, my wrists held useless behind my back, my whipped cheeks roughly parted… he would drive into my ass until I screamed… he would come there for the second time…and then punish me afterward, for making him use force to get what he had paid for.

The image made me sob, so I spread my bottom wider, offered my sore bottom hole more submissively to his manhood.

My fingers pressed into the sore flesh of my bottom and drew my cheeks apart until I felt obscenely open, terribly displayed. The posture humiliated me so completely that I let out another whimper just from the feeling of it. I had never in my life imagined doing such a thing for anyone. Offering that most private part of myself with my own hands. Presenting it.