Page 69 of Shamefully Trained

A miserable little sound rose in my throat. Suddenly I didn’t have the slightest desire to break his degrading rule, even when instructed to. I obeyed anyway.

The instant my eyes lifted to his, my whole face seemed to catch fire. I clenched helplessly between my legs, my thong suddenly a torment against my waxed, oversensitive skin. He looked down at me with that same impossible expression—appetite, authority, and some deeper steadiness that only made the shame more complete.

“Open. It’s time to take the cock.”

I parted my lips.

He pushed his hardness into my mouth at once, without force but with complete certainty, and I let out a tiny, muffled whimper around him. The weight of his big penis on my tongue, the intimate fullness of him, the sheer fact of kneeling there in white lace while my sponsor used my mouth the moment he came home from work—it all crashed over me in one scorching wave.

“There,” he murmured. “You look so lovely like this. A cock suits that pretty little mouth beautifully. You were made to give head.”

The praise hit me with almost the same force as the penetration. My eyes stung instantly. I could taste him, feel the firm pressure of his body advancing by slow inches, and all the while he watched my face as if this were the sight he had wanted all day.

He withdrew just enough to let me breathe a bit and then slid back in.

“Take it softly,” he said. “That’s it. More saliva. Get the cock nice and wet.”

I obeyed with shuddering shame, letting my lips soften, letting the gathering saliva do what he asked. My mouth worked around him while my heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat. I tried to be good. I tried not to gag, not to look away, not to seem as affected as I was.

But my body betrayed me on every front. My nipples had tightened painfully inside the lace bra. My thighs wanted to press together. My pussy pulsed in needy, humiliating contractions against the tiny scrap of fabric covering it.

He noticed everything.

“Hands behind your back,” he said quietly. “Eyes down now.”

I hesitated only long enough for a flush of fear to go through me, then moved both hands behind me and laced them there. The loss of balance made me feel even more exposed, more obviously available for his use. He made a low sound of approval and gave a slightly deeper thrust. My nose brushed his fly and I choked. With my eyes lowered, his lap became my whole, humiliating world.

“Breathe through your nose,” he said. “Good girl. Hold still.”

I held still. It was more shameful that way, but somehow also easier. I could surrender the little pretense of control my hands might have given me. I could simply kneel there and let him use me as he had paid to do. Part of me knew that the thought should have made me furious with myself. Instead it made something hot and desperate flutter low in my belly.

He kept one hand at the back of my head now, not forcing exactly, just guiding, claiming. He moved in and out of my mouth in slow, measured strokes that seemed designed less to finish himself quickly than to make me feel every degrading second of it.

“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” he murmured.

I could only make a tiny sound around him.

He withdrew enough for speech. “Answer me. You’ve been thinking about how your sponsor will use you tonight.”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered, and the words came out wrecked and breathy.

“All afternoon?”

My skin tingled with mortification. “Yes, sir.”

His thumb stroked my cheek once. “I thought so. You’re learning so quickly that I can tell you’re reflecting on your training, even if you find it embarrassing.”

Then he fed me his cock again, deeper this time, until my eyes watered. I swallowed convulsively around him and heard his breathing change just a little. The sound sent a bolt of awful pride through me.

He liked this. He liked my mouth. He liked watching me struggle and obey and get wet while he used me. The realization made me burn so fiercely that I nearly moaned.

He drew out and said, “Stand up. I want to inspect you.”

I blinked at the floor stupidly for half a second, lips parted and damp. Then I scrambled to my feet. My knees felt weak. He turned me toward the long mirror beside the sitting area and positioned me in front of it with one hand on my hip.

“Look at yourself.”

I did, and immediately wished I hadn’t.