Page 98 of Shamefully Trained

He came up behind me. I could feel him there even before he touched me. Then his hands settled at my hips—bigger, rougher feeling than Porter’s, though not clumsy. He hooked his fingers in the sides of the thong and drew it down very slowly.

The feeling of the air moving between my bottom cheeks made me shiver. The thong slid over my thighs, then lower. He obviously meant to savor the act of exposing my bare pussy and my cringing anus, the site of my naughtiness. At my knees he paused just long enough to make me feel how trapped I was, bent over a United States senator’s desk with my panties around my legs waiting to be caned by the man who paid for me.

Then he pushed the lace down the rest of the way.

“Step out of the panties,” Porter instructed, his voice taking on a hard note that sent another shudder through my limbs.

I obeyed, lifting first one foot and then the other carefully, suddenly absurdly afraid of ripping the beautiful red lace. Somewhere beyond my pounding heartbeat I knew this was working. I knew Gowry was aroused. I didn’t need to see his face to know it: I felt as if I could hear it in the slight thickening of his silence, sense it in the patience of his handling of me, in the charged stillness that had taken over the room.

Porter came nearer. “Hands stretched out. Stay where you belong. You will have six.”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

CHAPTER 31

Alex

The first stroke of the cane landed with a thin, cutting agony that tore a cry from me instantly. It was not like a spanking, not like the belt. It was narrower, sharper, more exact, as if pain itself had been distilled to a line of fire and laid across my flesh.

“Oh… God…”

“Count,” Porter said.

“One,” I gasped, “sir.”

He did not give me the second immediately. He let me feel the first stripe bloom and deepen, let me lie there shaking over the desk while Gowry watched.

Then the second stroke came. The crack echoed in the corners of the hideaway, and the agony took my breath away, before I cried out, louder, “Two, sir!”

Porter’s voice behind me remained entirely composed. “She takes it beautifully when she understands she has earned it. That’s one of the more pleasing things about her.”

I heard Gowry say, “Is it?”

“Yes. And she’s learned remarkably quickly what can be done with proper incentives.”

The third stroke landed lower. I sobbed and writhed over the desk, nearly losing my balance and catching myself with my spread fingers. “Three! Sir!”

Porter went on as if discussing some elegant but slightly indecent acquisition. “She was tight in the ass at first, of course. When I plugged her the first time it was very difficult for her. She was frightened. Proud. Now she opens much more sweetly… when handled correctly, anyway.”

My whole body jolted with humiliation. He was discussing fucking me in the ass… while whipping my bare bottom in front of the man with whom he might soon share the most intimate parts of my body.

The fourth stroke fell. I screamed. “Four, sir!”

“She clenches less now,” Porter said. “And when she’s really submitting, she gets very wet from it. It’s extraordinarily enjoyable to fuck her there.”

I could hear my own ragged breathing and nothing else for a second. Then the fifth stroke cut across the burning lines already there, and I cried out helplessly, tears spilling onto the polished wood.

“Five, sir!”

My legs trembled violently. My poor bottom clenched and unclenched as if in a shameless invitation that made the blood rush to my face’s cheeks.

Porter let me endure that one a little longer too. “Especially after discipline,” he said. “Her body understands the sequence. Correction, surrender, and then anal use. It suits her.”

Gowry’s answer came low. “I can imagine.”

The sixth stroke landed with merciless precision. I shouted the number and then bucked over the desk, trying to soothe the agony a little, sobbing openly now, my bottom a field of blazing fire.

For a few seconds nothing happened. I could only breathe and feel and try not to pass out.