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I could see her counting in her head. Today was Wednesday. Leah blinked a few times, as if she might be about to cry, but she gave another little nod.
I delivered the final piece of news I had for her, looking intently into her face as I spoke.
“As your sponsor, I’m able to access the video feed from your apartment whenever I choose,” I said, causing a nearly instant wave of pink to make its way to her cheeks. “Tomorrow night at nine o’clock, you’re going to get into lacy underwear and lie here with your legs spread, and stroke your closed lips with one hand, while you put your finger in your anus with the other to get yourself ready for me to fuck you there. I’ll be watching, obviously.”
“Oh…” Leah whispered. “Oh… no… please…”
In her lovely green eyes I could see how much of her resistance to this part of her training came from how terribly it aroused her. I nodded slowly.
“Yes, Rebel. I need you to learn what it means to keep yourself ready for your sponsor’s use. This little exercise will teach you that.”
I turned my attention to her little pussy, the tender slit opening so sweetly and pinkly between her restrained thighs, smooth and bare and open. I reached across Leah’s body to rest the little bottle on the nightstand and carefully wiped off the excess adhesive. Leah whimpered as I used my left hand to close, very gently, the uppermost part of the outer labia over the complicated, wrinkly hood of her clit.
I brushed just a bit of the adhesive along the seam I had made, between her pussy lips, and I kept the lips together with my fingers and thumb, just for three seconds. When I let go, the top of my rebel’s pussy stayed closed, that half-inch of her private lips sealed together until I used the solvent to open her up again.
* * *
Leah
It felt strange and terribly shameful. It didn’t hurt—really, it even kind of felt good. But watching Christian carefully tug the pale outer lips of my pussy together and then brush just a little of the glue on, then take his hand away to check that he had closed them sent waves of humiliation coursing through my body. The little bit of stimulation his fingers provided seemed a sort of ghostly mockery of the pleasure I knew all too well he could give me—if I obeyed him.
The idea of it, and the sight of it, and the feeling of it… they all combined to make every outward breath emerge accompanied by a keening little whimper. I sounded like a puppy begging for milk, and I felt like one, too: the need for my sponsor’s serious attention to the delights I knew my body could afford him seemed so overwhelming I thought I might pass out.
“Shh, Rebel,” Christian murmured. I looked up from the terrible sight of his degrading discipline, so that I could see again the intent expression he always seemed to wear when he concentrated on… on…
On what?Part of me—the deepest part of me—knew the answer, but my reason didn’t want to acknowledge it. I saw his dark eyes rise to meet mine, as if he had read my mind, yet again, and meant to resolve the conflict he sensed there. When I took in the warmth and the wisdom on his chiseled, bronzed face, I couldn’t hold back my understanding any longer. Christian’s focused attention on my pussy—onsealingmy pussy to punish me for my disobedience—and his concentration on something like the craftsmanship of the shameful task… they concerned his wish to take care of me, as much as his desire to subject me to his sexual will.
Oh, I could see in the chocolate-brown pools of his irises that he definitely meant to do that, too: I could most certainly not doubt that my billionaire keeper intended to get his money’s worth in the pleasure he would wring out of my body. Not pleasure for me, first and foremost; pleasure for him—for his hard, demanding, thrusting cock.
I turned my eyes there. Over my spread thighs I could just make out Christian’s huge, rigid penis, swaying slightly while he focused on the closing of my pussy. I remembered with a shudder of shame and arousal that he meant to train my mouth before he left. I belonged to him, now. I had no choice but to accept his manhood there. He would enjoy me as he pleased, train me as he liked.
And yet… my eyes returned to his face, to see again the look that told me that it really all was for my own good. He knew how to help me tell the story I needed to tell, as humiliating a tale as it had turned out to be.
“I’m almost finished, Leah,” he told me. “Just another half inch.”
I felt my face crumple as he looked back down at my pussy, and my gaze followed his.
I hadn’t imagined that my story would concern a girl who needed her pussy closed to teach her to obey a wealthy man. Or even a girl who would submit to having her mouth trained to suck a man’s penis, under threat of having her bare bottom spanked if she didn’t please him.
As I felt the brush again, painting the edges of my outer lips at the very bottom, I had a moment of panic. I suddenly realized—how could I possibly not have thought of it before—the anatomical problem it seemed like my insane submission was about to create.
Christian spoke softly, reading my mind again, though I guessed it didn’t take a ton of insight given that my whole body had just tensed up.
“I’m going to leave an opening, Leah. Don’t worry. It will feel strange, but it will help you remember, when you’re on the toilet.”
My entire upper body seemed to fill with heat, and then an instant later the warmth went downward, and my hips bucked, as my now humiliatingly covered vagina clenched hard. The sheer shame of how aroused shame itself could make me seemed to echo back and forth in my body, from my scalding face to my aching, needy pussy.
Much, much worse, I suddenly needed to pee so bad it made me whimper. I went from my terribly aroused clench to a different kind: a desperate contraction of my muscles to control my bladder.
Christian’s eyes flicked up to mine, and I saw him understand, yet again, precisely what I needed.
“Do you have to go now, Rebel?” he asked.
I bit my lip and nodded, another submissive little sound escaping my throat.
“I’ll let you go in a moment,” he replied, a smile on his lips but, in his eyes, a very different expression: a wolfish hunger that sent a thrill of fear up and down my spine.
“What?” I whispered. I had never imagined that he would, that hecoulddeny me the fulfillment of such a primal urge. I should have known, though, part of me realized, off in space. So much of my keeper’s discipline involved exactly that kind of denial.
