Page 42 of Shamefully Trained

I listened with every nerve I had.

“When I’m in your mouth, you breathe through your nose. If I go deeper and you need air, I’ll let you have it. You do not panic. If you panic, your body tightens and everything becomes more difficult. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you feel yourself about to gag, hold still. Gagging doesn’t mean failure. It means you’re learning the shape of what’s in your mouth. From now on, you’re going to be the kind of girl who takes a man deep that way, when he’s entitled to use you as he pleases.”

I flushed again, my face certainly scarlet.

He touched my cheek. “Now open for the cock.”

I opened, with a little whimper.

He placed the head of his manhood on my tongue again. “Good. Relax.”

Then he slid in farther than before, not all at once, but with a firm, inexorable pressure that made my eyes widen. I concentrated desperately on my nose, on air, on not jerking back. His hand held my head steady.

“That’s it,” he said. “Take it.”

He withdrew, then pushed in again, a little deeper. My throat convulsed. I made a choked sound around him.

“Breathe,” he said.

I obeyed, barely.

A third thrust, deeper still, and I nearly gagged. Tears sprang to my eyes. My hands flew to his thighs, clutching. His grip in my hair tightened just enough to keep me where he wanted me.

“Good girl. There. You’re all right.”

The reassurance in the middle of the domination was disorienting enough that I almost sobbed.

Then he began to use my mouth in short, measured thrusts, not gentle now exactly, with a rhythm that made it impossible to pretend this was still only a lesson.

His hips drove upward. His hand at the back of my head kept me where he wanted me. All I could do was kneel there and take him, my eyes wet, my throat working around him in miserable little spasms while he used my mouth.

I could feel the control in him and also, dismayingly, the strain on it. He liked this. Not abstractly, not as part of some scheme of instruction—a perverse but charitable academy for wayward young women. He liked having me on my knees with his cock in my mouth so much that it changed the sounds he made.

That realization went through me in a wave of heat.

He pulled out enough to let me breathe, then pushed back in, even more firmly. My nose brushed the wiry curls at the base of his thick penis. I nearly gagged again. He grunted, low and rough, and the noise made my whole body tighten.

“That’s it,” he said, but it came out less composed than before. “Take it. Let me use that pretty mouth.”

I tried to, the best I could. I held still because he had told me to, because I was afraid not to, because some deeper and much more humiliating part of me wanted desperately to do it well. He thrust again, and this time the gag came anyway, my throat convulsing hard around him. I made a helpless sound.

Instead of stopping, he swore under his breath. “Fuck.”

The sound shocked me almost as much as the thrusting. Porter did not seem like a man who swore because his body had forced the word out of him. But his hand tightened in my hair and his cock drove into my mouth again and I understood, in the most shameful possible way, that it felt incredibly good to him.

Pride bloomed in me at once, ugly and hot. I had done that to him. I was the reason his breathing had roughened, the reason he had lost some of that perfect, smooth control. I was on my knees with my mouth full of his cock, and the thought made me burn with shame, but beneath the shame something in me lifted, pleased and feminine and depraved.

He withdrew almost all the way and then thrust himself back into my mouth in a hard stroke. Tears spilled from the corners of my eyes. My hands clutched at his thighs. His muscles bunched beneath my fingers. The room narrowed to the pressure in my mouth, the salt taste of him, the ache in my jaw, the sound of his breathing.

“Such a good little slut,” he said hoarsely.

The word struck straight between my legs. My hips jerked with the force of it. Slut. From him. Said not with contempt exactly, but with possession. I felt my pussy pulse so hard that for one insane second I thought I might actually come from the shame of hearing it while his cock was in my throat.

He must have felt me tense, or heard the tiny sound I made around him, because he gave a soft laugh that turned into another grunt.