Page 38 of Shamefully Trained

“My underwear too,” I said. “Remember what I told you about your eyes.”

* * *

Alex

Really, I couldn’t stop thinking about the ‘formal’ command he had given me: to keep my eyes on his penis whenever it was visible. I could see it through his underwear, the outline of its fluted head a clear ridge in the black cotton of the boxer briefs’ front.

I chewed on my lip, thinking about the soreness in my bottom, telling myself I had no choice but to look at Porter’s cock, and only his cock, because I couldn’t bear to be punished again. To my mortification, the very thought made me clench, my hips jerking, too, as if my pussy offered itself to the masculine hardness it seemed my sponsor would make me uncover fully, and then make me serve.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

My hands rose the rest of the way, slow and careful now, as if the fabric itself required ceremony. I hooked my fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs and hesitated.

“Not like you’re stripping a frat boy at a party,” he said quietly. “Nice and slow.”

Heat flooded my face, though I had never been to that kind of party. I did as he said, tugging gently as he lifted himself again. The black cotton gave way by degrees. I saw curly, wiry hair. I saw the upper side of the base of the shaft. More of the shape appeared. My pulse beat so hard I could feel it and to my horror my mouth started to water.

“Good,” Porter said. “You may lower them properly.”

I pulled the boxer briefs down.

His cock sprang free, already so thick and so hard, so much heavier looking than I had expected from the outline. For one dizzy second I thought I might actually sway, or even swoon. I kept my eyes where he had ordered them, but that made the overwhelm worse, because I had nothing to look at except the flushed, straining column of him, the wet gleam at the tip that I knew meant he hungered to possess me, the weight of his balls beneath.

I had seen men’s cocks before. I had touched one or two, and I had had Senator Gowry’s in my mouth. Not like this, though: not as something presented to me to revere and to please, under threat of punishment for displeasing service. Even the degrading moment in Gowry’s office when I had tried to give head for the first time and been whipped for getting it wrong… it seemed like only the faintest pre-echo of kneeling in front of my sponsor after a thorough spanking.

My mouth, so wet a moment before, suddenly went dry.

I could practically feel him watching me take in the sight of his revealed manhood. “What are you feeling?” he asked softly.

I had no answer, or no simple one at any rate; nothing to which I could have given adequate words. Shame. Fear. Curiosity. A hot, sick little thrill. The memory of every ugly thing I had told myself about women who knelt like this. The fact that I was one of them.

“I’m nervous,” I said.

“About pleasing me?”

I shut my eyes for half a second, then opened them at once because I had no permission to look away from his cock. “Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

I bit my lip. The words would not come. He waited. That somehow made it possible to find some way to express myself.

“Because…” I chewed on my lower lip. “Because Senator Gowry told me I was terrible at it.”

Silence, for one beat.

“At sucking cock,” I added in a rush, mortified by my own vagueness.

His tone remained even. “Did he.”

“Yes.” My face felt as if it would burn off. “He said I was awful.”

Porter’s hand settled lightly at the back of my head, not pushing, just there. “How exactly did he try to enjoy you, Alex?”

The question seemed so matter-of-fact that I nearly flinched. “I…”

“Tell me.”

I stared at his cock, at the rigid jut of it, and forced myself through the humiliation. “I think he… I think it’s called… um… face-fucking.”