Page 57 of Shamefully Trained

I couldn’t tell how long he had held me there. Time had gone strange. There was only the relentless rhythm of him, the terrible fullness at my rear, the ache building and building in my pussy until it seemed to spread into my stomach and breasts and throat. I felt overfull with pleasure I couldn’t spend. I was crying by then, not delicately, not attractively. Tears ran down my face and onto the table. My breath hitched in wet, wrecked sounds.

“Please,” I kept saying. “Please, sir. Please. Please.”

Each refusal sharpened the need instead of dulling it. Each minute made me less myself and more some sobbing female thing trapped under a man’s command, made to wait and wait while he used her body and listened to her beg.

At some point my legs started to weaken in earnest. He must have felt it, because his hand shifted from my hip to my waist, bracing me more securely while he continued to thrust. The casual strength of it undid me further.

“I can’t,” I cried. “I can’t hold it…”

“Yes, you can.”

That stern certainty in his voice made me shudder all over. My body obeyed him even then. It held. It quivered on the brink and held, because he had said no and because somewhere deep below my frantic humiliation, the command had become more real than the desperate urge itself.

When he finally spoke again, my crying had turned thin and ragged.

“That’s enough,” he said.

For one wild second I thought he meant to stop entirely, and panic flashed through me so hard it felt like a blow.

Then his hand gripped the base of the plug more firmly and his voice dropped lower, darker, with a note of approval in it that went straight through me.

“Now,” he said. “Come as much as you want.”

The first climax instantly overwhelmed my body. It hit with such violence that my cry of helpless pleasure tore out of me in a raw scream. My whole body convulsed against the table. My knees nearly buckled, but he held me up and kept fucking me through it, his cock driving through the spasms of my vagina while the plug moved just enough to make the pleasure feel endless, dirty, impossible.

“Oh, God… oh… oh… oh, sir…”

“That’s right.”

I thought it would crest and pass.

It didn’t.

Another wave seized me before the first had fully ended, then another. I was shaking so hard I could barely breathe. My pussy fluttered and clenched around him again and again, each climax dragging the next one after it. I had no dignity left in me whatsoever. I screamed. I sobbed. I pushed back helplessly onto him because my body wanted more even while it seemed impossible to survive what it was getting.

He did not tell me to stop. He had told me to come as much as I wanted, and my treacherous body apparently wanted to come until I lost my mind.

“Such a needy girl,” he murmured, almost with satisfaction. “There you are. Take it. Give it to me.”

By the third or fourth climax—I genuinely didn’t know which—I had gone almost boneless with it. Pleasure had become a kind of torment all its own, too intense to hold inside ordinary thought. My vagina felt swollen and oversensitive and still ravenous. Every stroke of his cock seemed to strike the very center of me. The plug, still seated in my bottom, made every contraction spread wider, stranger, more shamefully complete.

Then his rhythm changed.

Until then he had used me with that same infuriating control—the control of a jackhammer. He had forced my body to spend itself while he remained the orchestrator of it. Now I felt something in him tighten. His thrusts grew rougher, less measured, heavier with urgency. His breath changed near my ear.

I was dimly aware, through the haze, that this meant something. That I was doing this to him too. The thought gave me another helpless spasm of pleasure.

“Yes,” he said, sounding rough now in a way that made me shiver. “Clench on me. That’s it.”

He drove into me hard, all the way, once, twice, again, and then I felt him come.

The sensation of it—of his cock buried deep in me, of the pulsing heat flooding inside me—made me cry out once more. He held himself there, filling me, his hand hard on my waist. I could feel each pulse of him in the deepest part of me. The intimacy of it, the sheer possession in it, shocked me all over again despite everything.

I was still trembling when he reached, without withdrawing, for his phone.

I heard him unlock it one-handed and lift it to his ear while his cock remained inside me and my naked body was still draped over the dining table like a meal he hadn’t quite finished eating.

“Bradford,” he said.