Page 68 of Shamefully Trained

CHAPTER 21

Porter

Riding up in the elevator at 3:55, I did my best to clear my mind of the detritus from the day’s meetings on the Hill. Gowry had been his usual predatory self, which made him easy to read, if not to control. Men like that believed themselves the only true adults in any room: annoying, but predictable.

The other senators clustered nearest him—Johnson with his vanity masquerading as principle, Sinogar with his cultivated outsider’s sneer—had followed his lead in the subtle, infuriating way of men following power while congratulating themselves on independence. I had spent an hour listening to their greed straining to cover itself in the language of justice and freedom.

Alex had seen it quickly last night. More quickly than many people who had spent years in that world.

The elevator climbed in silence while I recalled the way she had sat at my table with her new plug in her ass and crème brûlée in front of her and shown political instincts as refined as those of men who called themselves strategists for a living. She had been right about Gowry’s kind. Right about the distinction between dominance and competence. Right, perhaps, in the most dangerous suggestion of all: that a man like Gowry might be moved if presented with the correct angle.

Or bait.

I dismissed the word at once from my mind.

I refused to dangle Alex Murphy in front of Jason Gowry like meat. I refused to test the extent of Gowry’s appetite for my own gain, as important as this bill was to me. The idea was vulgar, needlessly risky, and frankly offensive.

And yet it remained in my mind with a quiet persistence that annoyed me.

Not because I seriously entertained it, I told myself, but because Alex had seemed to. Some part of her had offered the possibility with those clear blue eyes lowered over dessert, as if she already understood the value of her own vulnerability and had begun, dangerously, to think in terms of how it might be used.

The elevator doors opened.

By the time I reached her apartment door, I had put Gowry where he belonged in my mind: outside my domestic sphere, outside the part of my life I considered essential, and definitely outside the immediate matter of the young woman waiting for my training in submission to a man’s hard cock.

The lock released at my approach. I opened the door and stepped inside.

She stood in the living room exactly as ordered, and for a few seconds I simply took the sight in.

White lace bra and panties. White stockings. Garters fastening pale silk over pale thighs. Her red hair loose over her shoulders, her body held in that unmistakable posture of a young woman trying to stand very still so as not to reveal how much standing there cost her.

The waxing had made an obvious difference in the tender, smooth region to which the tiny panties I had chosen invited the eye. She looked barer, sweeter, more indecently arranged for inspection. I could even make out the rosy pinkness of her tight little pussy through the veil of lace.

Her jaw was set just a bit too tightly. Her hands had the tiniest tension in them.

Beautiful.

I smiled. “Kneel,” I commanded her. “I’ve been waiting all day to use that little mouth.”

* * *

Alex

With a tiny sob, I obeyed, falling to the floor like a marionette whose strings the puppeteer could manipulate with a mere flick of his wrist. The carpet felt soft against my knees, and I gazed across my tiny luxury apartment into Porter’s dark eyes, which somehow seemed to me both hungry and caring.

He didn’t make me wait.

His zipper made a soft, metallic sound. My breath caught. Then he drew himself out, and before I could stop myself my gaze had dropped straight to his cock as if my eyes had learned the required path all on their own. The realization humiliated me almost as much as the sight of him, fully clothed except for his rampant manhood while I knelt in white lace.

I knew better than to look at his face when he was uncovered that way. I had been taught better. If I forgot myself and looked my sponsor in the eye, I would go over his knee to learn a terrible lesson. So I stared where I was permitted to stare, at the thick, rigid length of him, and to my horror my mouth began to fill so quickly with saliva that I had to swallow hard.

Heat flooded me everywhere.

He stepped closer.

I stayed where I was, knees shoulder-width apart on the carpet, hands at my sides, trying not to squirm in the white lace while every inch of me seemed to tighten with awareness. His cock hovered so near my face that I could feel the warmth of him before he touched me.

“Look up,” he said.