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“That’s enough, Sara,” Philip said. His eyes narrowed, and I had the fleeting but very strong impression that my guardian felt the need to interrupt not just my pleasure but also his own; that he found my lewd display so arousing that he might lose control. That tiny moment, when I felt absolutely sure Philip wanted me just as much as I wanted him, made me gasp, even as he stilled my moving hand and pulled the plug from my pussy, moving both hand and toy downward.
I gave a little cry as he found the tight ring of my most private place with the slippery tip of the plug. I closed my eyes again at the blossoming of heat in my cheeks, down my neck. Philip exerted a gentle pressure, urging the thing inward just a millimeter, and the muscles of my bottom instinctively tightened against the intrusion.
My head shook more rapidlyno. A little whine came from between my pursed lips. The plug pushed harder, and my bottom squirmed more insistently, its tensing echoing the shaking of my head.
“Please,” I whispered. “No… sir… not yet?”
“Look at me, Sara,” my guardian said.
My eyes flew open, though his voice this time hadn’t taken on the threatening tone he had used just a few moments before. Instead his words, murmured gently in a deep, low voice, coaxed me to do as he said, because he knew best. It felt like he spoke even more to my body than to my mind, and the expression in his eyes told the same gentle story, reassuring me that my shameful needs had found in him a true guardian. He might be displaying my dark desires and my humiliating surrender to all the people of Artemisia, but he did it for my own good.
At the same time, he pressed again with the plug… the ‘number one’ plug. I cried out in alarm, but the look in Philip’s eyes somehow made my muscles do something new—something that also wasn’t new, that my body did nearly every day, as embarrassing as that thought seemed. I made another sound, another kind of cry, and I discovered, red-faced, how to open my bottom-hole for my master.
The toy slid in, and my hips bucked at the sensation of pleasurable discomfort. I found that my own hand had begun to assist Philip’s from underneath his pressing fingers: Iwantedthe little intruder in there… I wanted to get the bulbous part past the narrow little ring… wanted the flared base up against the shaved valley of my bottom.
“There,” Philip said, as to my mingled shame and pride I accomplished it. I bit my lower lip, feeling my forehead crease very hard at the sensation. My left hand curled into a fist: I had the near irresistible urge to move it over my thigh so that my fingertips could rub the place where the governor had begun to tingle nonstop. I knew I would be whipped for it, but that only made me want to do it more, and realizing the insanity of that absurd, terrible need brought a tiny cry of frustration to my lips.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please, sir.”
“Do you want to play with yourself, Sara?” my guardian asked.
My eyes went very wide: I hadn’t even realized until Philip put it that way that my naughty impulse to touch my clit represented an urge to do exactly the shameful thing he had said I must do, to begin my training.
For a moment I could only pant through parted lips, looking into his solemn face. Then, without even meaning to, I started to nod.
“Ask me, my dear,” Philip said softly. “You must ask for what you need.”
That made me shake my head, though. I whispered again, “Please, sir. Don’t… don’t make me.”
Philip smiled, but this smile came with narrowed eyes, a harder expression than his usual satisfied assessment of my wanton progress.
“But that’s exactly what I must do, Sara,” he said, dropping his chin for emphasis as he gazed straight back at me. Down below, he began to use his grip over my fingers on the base of the plug to push it in a tiny bit and then to pull it out. “If you want me to turn up your governor, you must ask to touch your sweet little cunny, and then you must do it for me and for everyone watching your broadcast.”
CHAPTER23
Sara
I closed my mouth. I chewed hard on my lower lip. I felt tears start to gather at the corners of my eyes. Little quakes of need ran through me from my clit to my rock-hard nipples, from the mortified heat in my face to my curling, tingling toes. My wanton hips moved in a lewd, shameless rhythm with the tiny movements of the plug in my bottom.
At my left side, I had clenched my hand into a fist so tight I could feel my fingernails digging almost painfully into my palm. Down between my thighs, my governor… Philip’s governor… denied me the final ascent toward coming over and over, each wave of pleasure stopped before it could build to where I needed it so desperately to go.
The words tore themselves out of my chest, in a rapid flow that some childish part of my brain must have thought would make them comprehensible to my guardian but not to the millions watching.
“Please sir may I touch myself,” I gasped.
I felt certain that would be enough, because… because I could see something in Philip’s eyes—a warmth that could only mean he had started to feel the same way about me that it seemed I simply couldn’t keep myself from feeling about him, as crazy as it made me feel. He would surely give in to the desire he clearly had to let me feel good—tomakeme feel good.
But though I didn’t stop thinking I understood his feelings correctly, I saw alongside his affection his dominant will… hisironwill… to train me.
To make me as pleasurable a fuck toy for his enjoyment as he could… for his enjoyment and for the voyeuristic enjoyment of the masses… fortheirtraining as well.
“What do you want to touch, Sara?” he said gently, the theatrical tone returning so that I knew he meant his words for the audience as much as—maybe even more than—for me.
“Oh, no,” I gasped. I thought of all the men who would watch this background story, with which I felt sure—from my own public relations experience—they would set up the even more degrading main event, whatever Philip had planned. I thought of how they would see the footage of Philip’s hand over mine, urging the awful pink plug into my anus, precursor to what he had told me all too clearly he meant to do with his hard cock.
I thought of the women watching, too, and that made my brow furrow even harder. How many of them would find that my terrible story brought out the complexity inside their hearts and minds and… and their…
Oh, no.
