Page 60 of Shamefully Trained

Then he took out his phone and tapped into the SA app. He showed me his home screen, which had options mine definitely did not. He tapped the one labeled Associate supervision.

His screen filled with six thumbnails depicting an interior, including—I realized with a lurch of my tummy—a view of the two of us, standing in the bathroom.

Another view displayed the entry. Another the living room. The kitchen. The bedroom, from two different angles.

I stared at the screens. “You can see all of it.”

“Yes.”

“All the time?”

His gaze rested on me. I looked down, my stomach tightening, thinking about his eye contact rules, though of course I didn’t have to, then, because he had his jeans on.

“Right. Of course,” I mumbled.

He showed me the lock controls. The shades. The climate settings. How deliveries would be made. How I could request items in my own SA app. He did it all with the same practical tone he might have used to orient a new employee, if new employees were expected to sleep plugged and under surveillance one floor below the man who had just fucked them senseless over a dining table.

Then he put the phone away and looked at me as if the tour had concluded.

“Be in that bed in fifteen minutes,” he said. “Naked.”

My pulse jumped. “And then?”

“I’ll decide what to do with you.”

He left. The door shut behind him with a soft sound that somehow emphasized the fact that I was alone only in what seemed like a technical sense.

I stood in the middle of the living room for one stupid second, feeling the plug inside me, the soft sweats against my bare skin, the invisible cameras, the proximity of him one floor above. Then I moved.

I went first to the bedroom because it seemed most urgent. The bed looked too neat to touch. I stripped off the sweatshirt and sweatpants with clumsy hands and left them in a heap on the bench at the foot of the bed. The air touched every place the fabric had warmed. My nipples tightened at once. The plug shifted when I bent to pull the pants fully off, and I had to close my eyes for a second.

Bathroom. I brushed my teeth because I needed to do something normal. I splashed water on my face. In the mirror I looked strange to myself, as if Porter had somehow rearranged me at the cellular level. My hair, half dry from the bath, had gone wild at the ends. My cheeks still held too much color. My mouth looked swollen.

My eyes looked… not happy, certainly, but dazed in a way that suggested wonder and enchantment—which, paradoxically or not, frightened me. The remaining rational part of me, anyway.

I checked the time twice, then padded back to the bedroom. I got under the covers and lay on my back, naked except for the thing inside me, and tried not to think. The sheets were cool and high-thread-count smooth. The mattress felt so comfortable it seemed indecent.

At what must have been exactly the moment when fifteen minutes had elapsed, a speaker somewhere in the room came alive.

“Open your legs.”

I jerked so hard the sheets rustled. Porter’s voice, disembodied but perfectly clear, made the room change shape around me. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

“Yes, sir,” I whispered, though I had no idea whether the system could hear me. I spread my knees.

“I can hear you,” he said, “even at that volume. And I can see you. Turn over. Knees apart. Take the covers down and present your bottom.”

Heat flooded me all at once. He could see me. Of course he could see me. He had shown me that. But somehow hearing him say it, hearing him make use of it, brought the shame to life—almost as humiliatingly as those simple but filthy words: Present your bottom.

I pushed the covers down, heat surging in me as I revealed myself yet again. Then I turned over and got onto my knees. My whole body felt sore and overused. I lowered my chest to the mattress, then hesitated.

“Higher,” he said. “Get that bottom up, or I’m going to spank it first thing in the morning.”

A shiver ran through me. I raised my hips. The plug made itself known immediately, seated there like a seal my sponsor had placed to mark his property.

“Better,” he said. “Stay like that.”

The pause lasted long enough to make me fully aware of his gaze, of what his eyes must be interested in enjoying. My ass, with the little black flare nestled between the cheeks he had spanked over his knee. My pussy beneath, probably still puffy and damp and indecently responsive… soon to be waxed smooth for him. My back rose and fell with my breath, too quickly for my mental comfort.