“Then I think five more minutes of the belt is appropriate. Don’t you?”
I sobbed. I pressed my face deeper into the sheets and sobbed, and I nodded, because what else could I do? I had earned this. My body had earned this, with its wanton, insatiable need, and the part of me that had whisperedhe would punish meat the crest of last night’s climax understood with a terrible, crystalline clarity that this was exactly where that whisper had been leading.
He began to whip me again, and I screamed as the new lashes fell across the tops of my thighs. I sobbed into the mattress. My hipsbucked forward, my knees tried to buckle, and the jeans held me in place like shackles.
“I want you to think about something while I finish,” Master Paul said, and his voice had taken on a new quality now—something darker, more possessive, something that made my stomach drop even as the pain blazed across my skin. “I want you to think about what’s going to happen after I shave you. After I take every bit of hair off that cunt and make you smooth and bare and mine.”
Five more lashes. Lower. The crease again. I wailed.
“I’m going to fuck you, Anne.”
The words landed with more force than the belt. My entire body went rigid. The sob caught in my throat and became something else—a strangled, broken sound that contained equal parts terror and a hunger so raw it frightened me.
“I’m going to lay you down on this bed,” he continued, the belt cracking over and over across my bottom while he spoke, as if punctuating his own sentence with leather, “and I’m going to spread your legs apart, and I’m going to push my cock into that tight little cunt, and I am going to enjoy every inch of it. Every single inch. I’m going to feel how wet you are. I’m going to feel how tight you are. And you’re going to lie there and take it and know that this—this—is what your body was made for. Not your fingers in the dark. My cock. Inside you. Filling you up until there’s no room left for disobedience.”
The next lashes were the hardest. They landed squarely across both cheeks with cracks that seemed to split the air, and the pain that followed was so complete, so total, that my vision went white. I collapsed forward onto the mattress, my arms giving outbeneath me, my face buried in the sheets, my body shaking with sobs that came from somewhere so deep inside me I wasn’t sure they’d ever stop.
The pain wasn’t the worst part, though. The worst part was what the pain did to the rest of me. Each stroke of the belt had sent shockwaves through my lower body, and those shockwaves had found the swollen, aching center of my need and amplified it. The agony on the surface of my skin and the desperate, liquid want beneath it had become indistinguishable; two aspects of a single, overwhelming sensation that had colonized my entire body.
I was dripping. I could feel it—the evidence of my shameful arousal running down my inner thighs, hot and slick, making the skin there glisten in the studio lights, I felt certain. The belt had punished my bottom and my body had responded by flooding my pussy with proof that it wanted more.
“Now,” Master Paul said, and his voice had gone quieter, more controlled, more dangerous. “Reach back. Both hands. I want you to take hold of your cheeks and pull them apart.”
CHAPTER 23
Anne
The command sent a bolt of pure, electric shame through me. I knew what he would see. I knew what he was asking me to show him, to show the cameras, to show Melissa and Darlene and anyone who would ever watch this footage. The most hidden, most private, most unspeakable part of my body.
“Do it, Anne.”
My hands released the sheets. They moved behind me—trembling, clumsy, operating on the same autopilot that had carried me through every other impossible thing Master Paul had asked of me. My fingers found the hot, welted flesh of my bottom, and I flinched at my own touch, the skin so tender from the whipping that even the pressure of my fingertips sent fresh waves of stinging pain radiating outward.
I pulled my cheeks apart.
The air hit me there and I felt myself exposed in a way that transcended anything that had come before. My pussy, mywelted bottom, and now this—the tight, puckered opening that no one had ever seen, that I had barely acknowledged existed, presented to a man with a belt in his hand while cameras captured every detail of my shame.
A sob broke from me. Long, shuddering, wrecked.
“There she is,” Master Paul said, and his voice held something that sounded almost like reverence, though the word seemed wrong for a man looking at a girl’s most private place while she held herself open for his inspection. “Look at that. Perfect.”
I heard Darlene’s shutter clicking. I heard it from somewhere very far away, as if the sound were reaching me through deep water.
“I’m going to fuck you there, too, Anne.”
My entire body convulsed. The words hit me like a physical blow—harder than any stroke of the belt—and the sound I made was not a sob or a scream but something in between, a guttural, keening cry that seemed to come from a place inside me I hadn’t known existed.
“Not today,” he continued. His voice carried the dark, measured patience that made every word feel like a hand closing around something vital. “Not until I think you’re ready. Not until I’ve trained you properly. Not until I know that when I push my cock into this tight little hole, you’re going to be grateful. You’re going to thank me for taking you there. You’re going to understand that every part of your body belongs to me, and that includes this.” I felt his fingertip—just the pad of it, warm and dry—press against my anus with a pressure so light it seemed like barely more than a suggestion. “This is mine. And when I decide you’ve earned the privilege of being fucked here, you’re goingto open for me the way a good girl opens. Willingly. Gratefully. Completely.”
I was shaking so violently that my hands could barely maintain their grip on my own cheeks. The touch of his finger against that forbidden place had sent a current through my body that seemed to short-circuit every system I had—thought, language, dignity, the ability to do anything except shake.
And then my thighs squeezed together.
I didn’t decide to do it. My body decided, if it could have even been called a decision: my treacherous, desperate body… the one that had come five times in the dark and soaked through my training panties… had moaned helplessly while a man called my most private places his property.
My thighs clamped together with a force that made the muscles burn, trying to press my swollen, aching folds against each other in a futile search for the friction my cunt was screaming for. The motion was small, involuntary, a micro-adjustment that would have been invisible to anyone who wasn’t watching me the way Master Paul watched me.
The belt cracked across my bottom before I’d even registered that he’d drawn it back. The stroke landed low, across the crease where my punished cheeks met my thighs. The pain that detonated there seemed to reach directly into the hot, clenching center of my need and twist it like a key.
