Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
I turned on my side and without thinking about it I put my hand back there to find the base of the humiliating device. Something in me wanted to see what it felt like, I realized with a hot blush, and to my distress, before I could push the idea away, it felt perversely right.
A naughty girl like me should be naked in bed with her pussy closed and a sizable plug up her little bottom. A girl like me had to learn about her body’s shameful needs in an equally shameful way.
I twisted the plug experimentally, and the feeling shot straight through the root of me, like a forbidden nerve had been plugged directly into my brain. I gasped, rolling onto my back again, my legs scissoring under the sheet. The air on my nipples made them pebble, and I brought my hand up to cup one breast, squeezing it, pinching at the tip the way I liked.
I let my other hand drift down my belly, pausing at the seal. It was so smooth, so final. I pressed my palm flat against it and flexed my thighs, rocking my hips the way Mike had taught me. The pressure of the plug inside me combined with the frictionless resistance of my closed slit, and I found I could build the sensation with just pelvic muscle and imagination alone.
It was the weirdest, hottest thing I’d ever felt, and somehow it only made me want more.
I started to play, not just with my body, but my mind. I let the images come, playing out every fantasy I’d ever had and some that, until last night, would have horrified me.
First, the memory of being spanked over Mike’s knee. The pain, the helplessness, the sound of his voice telling me what a naughty girl I was—it all returned with vivid, cinematic intensity. I could practically feel the heat blooming in my bottom, the way his hand had gripped and shaped me, the impossibility of escape.
Then, escalation: the memory of the orderly’s cane, six precise lines across my bare cheeks, the way I’d been forced to count and thank him. I imagined Mike standing over me with the same cane, his face stern but his eyes full of a secret pride, making me bend over the boardroom table in front of a dozen silent, watching men in expensive suits.
The image made me clench so hard I almost came.
“Please,” I whispered to the darkness. “Please, no… I can’t… I can’t bear it.”
My mind and my aching pussy pushed me further. I needed more… I needed a sterner lesson. I was naked in bed, playing with myself. I had earned a whipping. I cried, begged on my knees not to have my panties taken down… to be spanked instead…
But Mike took the terrifying thing—the martinet—from the cabinet. He restrained me over a piece of gleaming gym equipment, my wrists and ankles buckled in with stout leather. My sponsor lashed the whip against my exposed skin, laying down stripes that made me gasp and shudder, until I was a mess of tears and arousal, sobbing out apologies and promises to be better next time.
“I want to be a good girl for you,” I murmured, suddenly wondering with a surge of heat to my face and beneath my hand, where I could feel the wetness emerging from the little opening, whether Mike could hear me. “Please… no more whipping. Please let me suck your beautiful cock.”
My hand worked my breast harder, and I could feel more of my need escaping the seal, trickling down to the sheet, proof of how responsive I’d become.
But that wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed to see what would happen if I let myself fantasize about the thing that Mike had hinted at, that he’d promised would come next: his cock, huge and inexorable, stretching me open in the place that he had already begun to train for his pleasure.
In my mind, he was there, kneeling behind me, spreading my cheeks and pressing the head of his cock against my lubed, quivering hole. I begged him to go slow, but he told me, in that calm, implacable way, that I had to learn to serve his needs. I felt the stretch, the fullness, the impossible invasion—and I came, just from the thought of it, my body clenching around the plug.
The orgasm left me limp and gasping, legs splayed, the sheet twisted between my thighs. But as soon as the aftershocks faded, the need returned—sharper, more insistent than before. I couldn’t stop. My hand drifted back down, found the seal, the pressure of the plug, the impossible ache inside me. I squeezed and rocked and let my mind slide deeper into the dark places it had never dared before.
This time, I pictured a vast, glass-walled boardroom. Mike stood at the head of a long table, flanked by men and women in suits, every face turned toward me as I walked, naked across the polished floor toward my sponsor. I tried to cover myself, but my hands were cuffed behind my back, leaving my breasts and sealed pussy exposed for all to see. The plug in my bottom was even more enormous in this vision, a shameful, glittering jewel for the board’s entertainment.