Page 45 of Shamefully Trained

Maybe that should have sobered me. Instead it made me move again, once, involuntarily. I could feel how hard he was now, how ready. The knowledge seemed to fill the room with another kind of heat.

He tightened his arm around me just slightly, a warning and an embrace at once.

I went still, though every inch of me remained awake.

He shut the tap off. The sudden reduction in sound made the room feel smaller. He reached for soap, worked it between his hands, and began washing me with slow thoroughness that I understood at once was not remotely innocent. His lathered palm moved over my shoulders, my arms, the tops of my breasts, my stomach. Each place he touched felt claimed.

When his hand returned to my bottom, smoothing over the tender flesh he had reddened, I let out a small helpless breath.

“Sore?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“As you should be.”

The matter-of-factness of that made me shiver. He kissed my temple, almost absentmindedly, and then his hand slid inward between my thighs under the water.

I stiffened, then forced myself to relax.

“Open your legs,” he said.

The three-word command, blunt and matter-of-fact, sent a thrill of shame and need through me, so strong that my back arched. I bit my lip and heard a little whine come from my throat as I obeyed, suddenly both desperate and utterly mortified at the idea of giving him that access to the body he had apparently purchased for his enjoyment.

His fingers did not touch my clit. Not yet. He simply let the water and his hand pass over me, as if learning again what he had already discovered about my body. I could feel how slick I still was despite the bathwater, despite everything. He felt it too. His hand paused.

“Poor girl,” he murmured. “You’re aching to be filled.”

I shut my eyes.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

He said nothing for a moment. His cock stayed firm against my bottom. I wriggled, knowing it as a naughty thing to do and doing it anyway.

It was a tiny movement, just my hips seeking him again under the water, but it was enough. His arm tightened. I felt the smile leave him, though I somehow knew also that he wasn’t angry.

“That’s enough,” he said quietly. “It’s time to start training you properly.”

My pulse jumped. “What… what does that mean?”

Porter didn’t answer. He only moved me off him and rose from the tub in one smooth motion, water sheeting down his body. The loss of his heat behind me made me feel abruptly exposed and foolishly bereft. I half turned, trying to follow him with my eyes, then I remembered myself and looked down. I heard the cabinet open.

“What are you getting?” I whispered.

No answer.

The silence made my stomach flutter worse than if he had said something terrible at once. I shifted in the bath, water lapping around me.

“Sir?” I tried again, hating the smallness of my voice. “Please tell me.”

“Hands and knees,” he said.

I obeyed so quickly that the speed of it humiliated me. The tub was large enough that I could kneel without slipping, though the water made everything feel unstable. My palms braced on the smooth bottom. My wet hair fell forward into the water, which rose to an inch or two below my nose.

“Backside higher.”

I straightened my legs a little to raise my ass.

“No. Present yourself.” His hand came to my lower back, pushing firmly, correcting me. “Arch. More than that. Spread your knees.”