Page 72 of Shamefully Trained

His dark gaze held mine for a long second, and the heat of my own defiance frightened me even while I clung to it. I hadn’t planned it. I hadn’t reasoned my way into some noble stand. I had simply, suddenly wanted to push. To press against the walls of his control and to feel whether they moved.

Somehow I understand that he had seen that instantly.

“You’re testing me,” he said quietly. “Deliberately. You want to see where the boundary is.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

That earned me a very small nod, as if I had just confirmed something for him.

“You’re going to find out a good deal more about that boundary, now, you little slut,” he said in a calm, even voice that made me bite my lip to keep back a whine of fear. “Go to your bedroom. Take the comforter and the top sheet off the bed. Lie on it, on your back. Pull your knees up and hold them that way. Spread yourself.”

My stomach dropped. I didn’t move.

He went on in the same even tone. “I’m going to spank your cunt for that little act of defiance.”

Every part of me went hot and cold at once.

“No.” The word burst out of me before I could stop it. “No, please… Porter, sir… not that?”

Spank your cunt. He had used the c-word before, and it had felt dirty and coarse and hot. In that horrible phrase it felt incandescent. Fear and arousal surged through my whole body as I pleaded with him, tears springing to the corners of my eyes.

He just watched me.

My mind turned wild immediately, not with dignity or principle, but with fear and the hideous pulse of need his words had caused. A pussy spanking. Not my bottom, not the slightly familiar place of punishment that he had already made part of our structure, but… there. The most exposed, most humiliating possible spot. The place he had had waxed, so it would be extra exposed and extra sensitive. I felt as if he had reached inside me and squeezed my lungs.

“Please spank my bottom,” I heard myself say. “Please. I’ll take that. I’ll take more than that.”

His face stayed composed.

“You can whip me,” I blurted. “My bottom, I mean. Or… cane me. If you want to punish me, then do that. Please don’t…”

The words wouldn’t finish. My body knew too well what I was begging him not to do.

His mouth moved very slightly. “I’m fairly sure I’ll cane that sweet bottom before long.”

A shiver went through me so violently that I had to lock my knees.

“But not for this,” he said. “For this, the proper punishment is a spanking on your little cunt, because the challenge you just issued was an attempt to find out how far I’ll go to correct you.”

I whimpered.

He put his hand behind my head. His thumb came to rest on my cheekbone.

“You have a choice,” he said. “You may accept the punishment that fits your behavior. Or I end this arrangement tonight.”

I stared at him.

He continued, as if clarifying terms in a contract. “I’ll transfer ten thousand dollars to you for the time so far. You’ll keep the apartment through the end of the month. Then my sponsorship ends, and so does the subsidy. No further training. No further obligations.”

The air seemed to thin around me.

He made it sound so reasonable. For one absurd second I felt angry about that. He hadn’t yelled at me. He hadn’t cornered me physically, despite the controlling, warning hand around my head. He had simply laid out consequences in a voice that implied adult freedom while leaving me almost none.

I thought about the apartment. The money. The fact that I had no good alternative and knew it. I thought about the strange, terrible gravity that had already formed between us. I thought about walking out of it all and trying to reconstruct some version of myself untouched by him.

Then I thought about him ending it. About never feeling his hand on me again. Never being seen by him again in that impossible, humiliating, clarifying way.

That last thought did something awful to my chest.