Page 79 of Shamefully Trained

I swallowed hard. The words sent fear and a dark pulse of excitement through me so quickly that I blushed to the roots of my hair.

Then his eyes dropped lower, and a faint, coolly amused note entered his voice. “Also, you made a mistake.”

I blinked at him. “What?”

“You put the suspenders on over your panties.” He stepped closer, touched one of the straps lightly with a fingertip, and I felt absurdly exposed under that tiny gesture. “That means a man has to go to unnecessary trouble to take your underwear down for discipline and fucking. So a simple punishment is definitely in order.”

My stomach tightened.

“No panties for you tonight, or tomorrow, of course. Tonight was an exception because I wanted to play with those pretty white ones. That’s not your punishment, though. That’s just the rule going back into effect.”

I stared at him, and the flush that followed seemed to move all the way down my throat and chest. It was such a small thing, especially in comparison with everything else I had done and undergone so far. Such a ridiculous thing. And yet it had terrible force. Bare under the suspenders. Bare because he had decided I should be. Bare because I had dressed in a way that might hinder him from taking his pleasure in my pussy and anus as easily as he preferred.

He saw all that happen in my face.

“Up,” he said.

I obeyed carefully, wincing a little at the tenderness in my bottom. He took my arm and led me toward the bathroom with infuriating calm.

Inside the bright marble room he positioned me in front of the toilet, then stood behind me, close enough that I could feel his body heat at my back.

“Unfasten the suspenders from the stockings,” he said.

My fingers felt clumsy. I looked down at my legs encased in the sheer white fabric, the neat little clips holding the straps in place to the tops of the stockings. Even that seemed to humiliate me further: the ridiculous daintiness of the task, performed under his supervision while my ass still ached from his cock.

I reached down and undid the front first.

“Slowly,” he said. “I want you to think about what you’re doing.”

My cheeks burned as I obeyed. One clip, then the other. Then the back, which was harder. He made me work for it, not helping, simply standing there and watching while I fumbled behind myself with shaking fingers.

When the last strap came free, he said, “Now take your panties off.”

They were already half out of place. Pulling them down over my thighs should have been a simple thing. Instead it felt mortifyingly ceremonial. Final. I dropped them, stepped out of them, and stared at the little wet scrap of white lace on the marble floor.

“Pick them up,” he said. “Put them on the counter.”

I bent to obey, acutely aware of how naked that left me beneath the garter belt and stockings. When I straightened, he lifted one of the loose straps with two fingers.

“Now refasten the suspenders properly.”

My trembling fingers managed the delicate task at last, though part of me felt certain Porter would spank me for taking so long. By the time I had finished, my pulse was beating very fast. I couldn’t stop thinking about how the belt, the suspenders, and the stockings framed my bare, punished pussy and my no-longer-virgin bottom: yet another way my sponsor wanted those most private parts presented for his enjoyment.

“Good,” he said. “Now you may use the toilet.”

The permission itself made me chew the inside of my cheek. I sat with my face burning and my white-stockinged knees parted, with him standing there in front of me. I looked at the floor and tried to pretend there was some remaining scrap of modesty in the situation.

“Look at me,” Porter commanded.

“Oh, God,” I whispered as at the same time I raised my eyes to his and my bladder let go, the humiliating rushing sound filling the air as I gazed into my sponsor’s too-gorgeous face and saw his eyes narrow in evident satisfaction. I had never in my life felt more reduced, more looked after, more controlled.

When I was done, he handed me toilet paper before I reached for it. Then he had me stand and flush and wash my hands while he remained there. Every tiny ordinary act felt transformed by his instructions, and his presence, into part of the same structure.

Then he turned me toward the big mirror over the vanity.

“Look.”

I did, and a little sound escaped me before I could stop it.