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“Oh…” I sobbed. “Oh, sir… no, please… not with the… not with the belt!”
But Christian had already tightened his grip on my right hip even further, immobilizing me entirely, it felt like, and his arm had already risen. It came down, and my body seemed to explode into agony as the leather lashed me between my legs, over my sealed labia.
I screamed and sobbed, wailed and wept. My body twisted and writhed at first. In the reflection in front of me I saw that my beautifully coiffed hair had come completely free of the chignon; bobby pins fell to the floor.
My master kept whipping my pussy, though: short, sharp, quick lashes that found the narrow opening left by my lowered panties and made me feel like my most intimate places had caught fire. Christian had prepared me well, though, I understood after only four or five strokes. I yielded again, pushed out my bottom again in hope of pleasing him enough that he would open me and fill me and use me as he liked.
The belt stopped whipping me. Christian spoke sternly, his voice making clear that my punishment hadn’t ended yet—that I must take the next part, also, as an uncomfortable degrading lesson in my sponsor’s ownership.
“Get down on your elbows,” he commanded. “Nose against the top of the table. Keep your ass nice and high. I’ll be back in a moment.”
He let go of me. My body sagged. Almost automatically, I lowered myself as he had instructed, my backside still on fire but with the pain dulling quickly and the desperate need mounting in my pussy so urgently that every movement seemed to draw a shamefully ambiguous whimper from my throat. I felt it acutely, how degrading a position my keeper had put me in.
To my dismay, I began to wish he had told me to keep looking at the reflection in the window. Without that actual, physical sight my mind’s eye had begun to go wild, picturing the wanton young woman prostrate on the fucking table. Her head down, her field of vision nothing but the black upholstered top of the special table her master had placed her on. Her bottom raised and her lacy panties lowered, the garter belt framing her bare privates, displaying the terrible thing he had to do to teach her to obey him, and the tiny, virginal hole where he would complete that discipline.
I heard Christian moving around me, and I lifted my head in time to see him put the little bottle with the green stripe on the window sill in front of me.
“That’s what you’ll get if you take your ass-fucking like a good girl,” Christian said.
The coarse words sent a terrible thrill of need through my whole body. I tried, out of some desperate pride, to keep my hips from giving their mortifying little jerk of arousal, but it happened nonetheless.
“But…” I whispered. “But, sir… I’ve never…”
Shame rose so high into my chest that I couldn’t continue.
I heard something click, a plastic sort of sound. Then I heard something squirting. I closed my eyes, feeling my cheeks heat up, and I lowered my nose to the table according to Christian’s command, utterly torn between needing to see and needing not to. I felt his left hand on my burning bottom, rubbing gently. I cried out at the mingling of soreness and a level of sexual arousal I had never before experienced. My hips bucked and my back arched. I had taken the edge of the fucking table in my fingers, and I tightened my grip so much it hurt.
Between my bottom-cheeks I felt his right hand, then. I let out a whimpering moan. I shook my head, very slowly, my nose moving over the faux leather surface of the table.
“Tonight, Rebel,” he told me in a growling voice that despite its hungry, animal quality also had a satisfaction and even a happiness that made my heart skip a beat, “for you, getting an ass-fucking like a good girl is just learning how to open properly.”
I remembered the previous night, and how shamefully pleasurable it had felt to put that forbidden finger inside that taboo little bud. At the very same time, Christian’s finger, slick and cool with lube, slipped inside me there.
I let out a moan. Part of my mind still wanted to show some resistance, but the need my keeper had created with his belt and his still-rubbing left hand made it impossible not to push back. I tried, wantonly, to get more of that utterly naughty sensation of penetration and filling—in the secret place where a good girl should never let herself be penetrated, let alone filled.
“You’re doing great, Leah,” Christian murmured, and I felt myself clench, both my unseen vagina and my degradingly opened anus. I heard him chuckle, and it made me whimper in embarrassment, even as the arousal, impossibly, seemed to grow more intense. “But my cock is a lot bigger, and I’m going to fuck you hard once I’ve got you open.”
To my horror, those words made me gush even as I felt my breath speed up in fear, little pants in and out of my mouth warming the padded surface beneath my face.
He added another finger, and it still felt so good I had trouble imagining how I could have trouble receiving his hardness. I moaned louder, arching my back and trying to offer myself even more fully.
Christian used the opportunity to slip another finger inside me, and suddenly I understood, because my bottom tightened reflexively at the discomfort, trying to expel the intruder.
“No,” Christian said forcefully. He kept his fingers inside me, so that I cried out and swayed forward, trying to escape. His fingers, firmly implanted in my bottom hole, followed me, refusing to allow me any respite from his degrading training. Instead of caressing with his left hand, he squeezed hard, and then he moved that hand back to my hip, to hold me firmly in place as the cone of those three fingers kept exploring me. “No, Rebel,” my master repeated. “Open up. Your ass knows how. You open it every day on the toilet.”
CHAPTER35
Leah
Every new thing he said seemed more degrading than the last. I started to wonder, distantly, if he could keep that up forever, leading me further and further into the abyss of my dark needs. My bottom squirmed as he held me more open than I felt like I had ever been. His command to open even further, accompanied with those filthy words about my ass ‘knowing,’ radiated waves of heat through my whole body.
His left hand gripped my hip more tightly, preventing any attempt at forward movement. I cried out in discomfort as I tried in vain to close my anus against his invading fingers. Christian kept them there, and he turned them slightly, back and forth, as if he meant to help me get used to the utterly degrading sensation… the way it felt to have my bottom forced, like that… to be made to accept such shameful training… the ultimate symbol of my ‘place’—my sexual servitude to a wealthy man.
Desperately, I tried to push him out, letting the mortifying bodily memory he had spoken of take over. A sob burst from my chest as I felt the physical result of the tensing in those different muscles… how it did open me… how instead of pushing my master’s fingers out, it let him insert them further inside the narrow passage… how that made Christian let out a little chuckle, combined with a soft grunt of satisfaction that made my cheeks burn.
“See?” he asked in that patronizing tone of voice that seemed somehow to connect the blush in my face to the warmth down below my belly. “There you go, Rebel. You’re almost ready for my cock now.”
I moaned in a long, drawn-out whine as Christian kept teaching me. His fingers rotated gently, and I kept pushing, shameful as it felt. I had raised my torso and lifted my head as I tried to escape my anal training, and so I could see it in the window: the red-haired, red-faced, nearly naked girl having her flaming bottom prepared for fucking.
