Page 78 of Shamefully Trained

The realization might have alarmed me more if my cock hadn’t been buried in her virgin asshole while her body tightened around it in needy pulses.

“That’s it,” I murmured. “Good girl. Play with your cunt properly. Let your body learn what opening your bottom for me can earn you.”

She cried out softly and obeyed more fully. Her fingers moved with increasing urgency. I gave her a slow stroke, then another, savoring the exquisite drag of her tiny anus on my shaft, the way her whole body answered every inch. Her cunt had gotten even more visibly wet, and every time she touched herself I watched the movement with hungry fascination.

“Sir,” she whispered, her voice straining with the discomfort of having her bottom fucked for the first time.

“Yes?”

“Please…” Her voice trembled. “Please, may I come?”

* * *

Alex

I felt very keenly how easily he could have denied me. Indeed, I knew Porter well enough by now, I thought, to have a reasonable expectation that he would deny me. At the moment, though, I couldn’t bear the thought.

And yet I had asked.

The very idea told me, to my dismay, that the structure of asking, of waiting, of receiving permission from my sponsor… I needed it. I felt paradoxically like I couldn’t bear not to climax, whatever Porter said, and also that I couldn’t bear to come without his permission.

“Yes,” he said. “You’re being a very good girl. Come on my cock. Come while I’m in your ass.”

The words went straight through me. My whole body answered before my mind could even frame a response, whether gratitude, shame, or relief. I cried out and convulsed around him at once, my fingertips slipping over my clit more and more rapidly as the orgasm hit with shocking force.

Porter’s hands closed harder on my legs, opened me even wider, pushed my knees further back. That renewed restraint, the bondage of his thick, strong fingers, seemed to create a feedback loop of shame, arousal, discomfort, and finally forced pleasure. I writhed under him, but there was nowhere for me to go. He held me exactly where he wanted me, folded and used and made to come with his cock still deep in my ass, and the helplessness of it poured fuel on the climax until it seemed to break over me in wave after wave.

I heard myself making raw, desperate sounds. My thighs shook violently. My deprived pussy clenched on emptiness while my bottom spasmed around the thick intrusion of him, and the combination was so intense, so humiliatingly complete, that tears sprang to my eyes.

“Oh… oh, God… oh, sir…”

“That’s it,” he said, his voice rough now. “Take it in the ass. Come hard for me.”

I did. I couldn’t have stopped if he had ordered me to. My body bucked over the bed underneath him, checked instantly by the iron certainty of his hold. Each time I tried to move more freely I felt how completely he controlled the shape of my pleasure. Even my orgasm had to happen inside the frame of his hands.

Then something changed in him. I felt it first in the thrusting. He had kept that same measured command of himself, not gentle at all but very deliberate. Now the rhythm turned heavier, more urgent. His breath caught once. The knowledge flashed through me, dizzying and indecent: the sight of me coming like that, the feeling of my body clenching and shaking around him, had pushed him nearer to his own climax much faster than he had intended.

The thought sent another helpless spasm through my limbs.

“Christ,” he muttered.

He drove into me twice more, hard enough to make me cry out afresh, and then he came. I felt the hot pulses inside my bottom and shuddered all over again at the intimacy of that, at the raw possession in it. He stayed buried for a moment, one hand still pinning me, as if he meant me to feel every last throb.

When he withdrew, the emptiness made me gasp. He released my legs, and lowered them gently, urging me further up the bed and then letting my feet hang off the side as he stood.

I stayed where I was for a few seconds, trembling over the edge of the bed, my cheek turned against the softness of the sheet, breathing as if I had run a great distance. Then I heard him move away. Water ran in the bathroom. I remained frozen where he had left me, because I wasn’t sure I could stand yet and because some instinct in me had become very wary of assuming permission.

When he came back, I turned my head enough to see him drying his hands.

My voice sounded small and unsteady. “May I take the… the lingerie off now? And… please… may I use the bathroom?”

His gaze moved over me where I still lay half-draped over the table in white lace and stockings, the thong displaced and damp, the whole outfit in disarray from his use. His expression stayed composed.

“No.”

The single word made heat rise in my face at once.

“You look far too pretty like this,” he said. “And I haven’t finished with you. I’m going to fuck your bottom again before you’re allowed out of your lingerie.”