Page 47 of Shamefully Trained

Her head dropped lower, nearly to her forearms. Her red hair drifted in the bathwater around her shoulders. I could see the flush moving over her skin, high along her neck and across the tops of her shoulders, and under my palm I could feel the alternation I had already begun to know and to expect: mortification, heat, resistance, need, then another rush of mortification because the need was there at all.

None of it surprised me. I knew what kind of girl Alex was, better than she yet knew herself.

“Again,” I said softly. “Another breath.”

She dragged one in. This time when she let it out, I eased the plug deeper, not steadily but in small patient increments, allowing each stretch to settle before asking for the next. The flared body of it was modest by the standards of those accustomed to anal play, but Alex’s ass was not experienced, and that was part of what made her so intoxicating to me. Every fraction of surrender in that little pink ring felt meaningful and earned.

“Oh,” she whispered, and then, in a whine, “oh, God… sir…”

“You’re all right.”

“It’s getting bigger?”

“Yes.” My voice roughened a little. “And eventually I’m going to put something even bigger than this in your bottom. So you’re going to learn what opening feels like when it happens properly. Not by panic. Not by fighting. By yielding one little bit at a time. You’re the kind of girl who needs it in the ass.”

She shuddered all over. Between her spread thighs, above the surface of the bathwater, I could see a glistening of wetness between her pussy lips again.

I let my thumb trace a small reassuring arc against her back. “You feel that, don’t you. The shame of hearing it, and the excitement too.”

She gave the tiniest nod, then seemed to regret it at once.

“Use your words, Alex,” I said, smiling at the paternal tone I could hear in my voice.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir, what?”

* * *

Alex

For a moment I tried to pretend I didn’t know what he wanted me to add. I told myself that he couldn’t possibly expect me to say that… to repeat the terrible thing he had said.

Then I tried to make myself believe that even though I did understand exactly what this man… this man who planned to give me ten thousand dollars a month, plus housing and—apparently—sumptuous meals wanted me to say… even though I knew exactly the words he wanted, they absolutely weren’t true.

Even if I did say them, which I didn’t have any intention of doing, they wouldn’t actually describe me.

You’re the kind of girl who needs it in the ass.

My mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

His hand on my back pressed down just a fraction, enough to remind me how I was positioned for him: knees spread, backside raised, body arranged to make access easy. The plug had gone inside me, not fully seated yet, but sufficiently deep that every tiny movement made me aware of it in a way that seemed to radiate through my whole lower body between waist and knees.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered finally, because it was all I could manage. “I… I’m the kind…”

“What kind of girl are you, Alex?”

The calmness of his voice made tears sting my eyes. I shook my head once, miserably, though I had no idea whether I meant no or simply I can’t.

Then his right hand changed its position. His thumb kept the plug where it was and his fingers slid forward under me.

I gasped.