Page 99 of Shamefully Trained

Then I sensed Porter close behind me. He laid the cane lightly across my back, and the incongruous gentleness of the gesture after that pain made me shudder.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “how are you feeling about the assistive tech bill now, Senator?”

There was a silence long enough to make me painfully aware that I remained spread and naked under both their gazes.

At last Gowry said, “I think there’s a case to be made for it.”

A wave of dizzy relief and degradation washed through me together. This was happening. It was actually working.

“Good,” Porter said.

Then, to me: “Get on your knees in front of the senator.”

For one terrible second my body balked—not in disobedience, but in sheer overwhelmed sensation. My bottom ached. My cunt throbbed. The room felt far away and too close at the same time.

“Now, Alex.”

I pushed myself upright, trying not to whimper at the movement of the striped flesh, and turned. Gowry stood only a few feet away. His face looked composed, but his interest no longer needed any interpretation. I dropped to my knees in front of him.

Porter’s voice came from just behind me, calm and decisive. “Open your mouth. Tongue out.”

Heat flooded me all over again. I obeyed. I watched as Gowry undid his trousers. My mouth remained open because Porter had told me to keep it that way. My jaw already ached in anticipation.

“Alex will make the argument for me,” Porter said.

I felt my pulse jump in my throat.

“If you’d care to use her mouth,” he added, with that same terrible composure, “I think you’ll find her body more eloquent than any budget projection. The pleasure she gives is often highly clarifying.”

Gowry looked down at me, then at Porter, and something grimly amused touched his mouth. “Is that so?”

“It has been my experience.”

Gowry’s hand came to the back of my head. His hard manhood loomed in front of me, brandished casually, moving inexorably forward.

The first touch of his cock against my tongue made me moan before I could stop myself. That little sound humiliated me utterly. It told both of them too much.

The senator did not rush. He let the blunt head rest there for one second, as if reacquainting me with the weight and heat of him, then he pushed in.

I took him, with a whimper that would have humiliated me all by itself, even if the very idea that I had gotten so aroused at being shared this way hadn’t already thoroughly degraded me.

My lips stretched around him, my already aching jaw opening wider, the salty masculine taste filling my mouth while my whipped bottom burned and burned. I tried to do what Porter had taught me—relax my throat, breathe through my nose, keep my tongue soft and useful, receive rather than flinch. I heard Porter move somewhere behind me, and that seemed to steady me, though the idea I could find refuge there mortified me all on its own.

With both hands on the back of my head, Gowry began to fuck my face in measured strokes. He had clearly decided to use me deliberately, which felt even more shaming. Each thrust made me rock a little on my knees.

I realized with an absurd new blush that I had put my hands behind my back without being told. To my dismay, it seemed right, even once I had noticed it. Better. More obedient. More what I was for.

“Well trained,” Gowry said after a few thrusts, his voice still remarkably even despite what he was doing to me. “You weren’t exaggerating. She’s much better than she was a few weeks ago.”

“No,” Porter said. “I tend not to.”

I felt absurd pride flower in me at that, right in the middle of the degradation. My eyes stung. I looked up as much as I could, and saw only pieces: Gowry’s broad torso, the line of his open trousers, one of Porter’s hands resting lightly against the edge of the desk as if he had only a casual interest in how I performed this humiliating service in the interest of his bill.

Gowry pushed deeper. I gagged around him, tears springing to my eyes, and then I forced myself to take it better on the next thrust of his massive penis. Porter had taught me that too: not to panic at the shameful reflex, not to make drama of it, but to open and yield and try again.

“There,” Porter said quietly. “That’s my girl.”

The words went through me like an electrical current. My pussy clenched so hard it almost hurt. I knelt on a senator’s carpet with my face turned into a tool to secure legislation, my ass freshly caned, my body reduced in every conceivable way to function and service, and all I could feel, suddenly and shockingly, was safety.