Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“Good.” He sat back a little. “Then perhaps you’re beginning to understand what sort of man I am.”
The realization that he was right frightened me in a deeper way than all the sexual things, because it touched something that felt even more fundamental. He was dangerous to me not only because he could make me come with a plug in my ass while telling me what I would become for him. He was dangerous because he was not casual. He was not crude. He meant things. He imposed structure because he believed it was good for me as well as pleasurable for him, and I had already started to believe him often enough that resisting had already become terribly complicated.
I looked down at the water.
“You really think this is good for me,” I said.
“I know you need a framework for desires that otherwise frighten and shame you. I know your body is more at peace when it isn’t pretending.” He paused. “And yes. I enjoy that truth very much.”
That honesty did something to me. I could not have explained why. Perhaps because it left me nothing easy to rebel against. He was not pretending to be selfless. He wanted me. He intended to use me. He also intended, somehow, to care for me, alongside the use… or inside it, even.
My throat tightened.
“I don’t know what I’m becoming,” I whispered.
His expression changed just slightly. “You’re becoming more honest. We can build the rest from there.”
He rose and held out his hands to me. I took them without hesitation, as if some other woman had made the choice, or perhaps as if there simply were no choice involved. He lifted me to my feet in the bath, the water sliding down my body. I stood unsteadily, aware at once of the plug still filling me, of my sore bottom, of the weakness in my legs after the orgasm he had forced on me.
He reached for a towel. I watched him rub it over the planes of his back and then the strong lines of his ass. Even that sight, more innocent than the view of his hard penis, made something in me flutter low and shamefully. He dried himself with efficient thoroughness, then took a dark bathrobe from a hook near the cabinet and shrugged into it.
Another robe hung there, like a marker of Porter’s obvious penchant for training girls in the bathroom. That, too, brought a stir between my thighs.
He looked over at me, still standing in the bath, still flushed and weak and too full. “Out.”
I obeyed, again without hesitation. Somehow, I thought idly, my mantra of I have no choice had apparently turned into reflex. When I noticed the thought, it obligingly and mortifyingly opened into a micro-fantasy. Me, bent over the edge of the tub. Porter, above me, with a cane raised high. I bit my lip and swallowed hard. The marble felt cool under my feet. Water slid down my thighs. The plug shifted with the movement and I sucked in a breath.
His eyes flicked downward at once. “You’ll keep it in.”
My face heated all over again. “Through… um… or, until…?”
“Through dinner,” he said calmly, as if announcing the weather. “Until I decide you should take it out. Put the robe on.”
I stared at him for one foolish second, because dinner and the plug seemed like concepts from incompatible universes. Then I reached for the robe and put it on with unsteady hands. It was thick and soft and so luxurious that it paradoxically didn’t feel safe. Instead, it made me feel even more deeply owned.
He tied his own belt, glanced once at me to make sure I had secured mine, and then led me out of the bathroom.
The plug made its presence known with every step.
Immediately, it became the governing fact of my body. Each movement made the toy press and settle and remind me. I felt marked from the inside. Claimed. Worse, I felt instructed. I couldn’t take three steps in that robe without hearing it again, in my own voice.
I’m the kind of girl who needs it in the ass.
I wanted to vanish into the floor every time the sentence crossed my mind. I also could not stop thinking it, and every thought, just like my stray observation a few moments before, about the nature of my choices, blossomed into a shameful little fantasy.
By the time we reached the main room I had already imagined, in a humiliating flash, Porter bending me over the back of one of the dining chairs and swiftly replacing the plug with his cock. The image came so vividly that my knees actually weakened. I tightened my jaw and kept walking.
The door chime sounded. Porter didn’t look surprised. He crossed to a panel by the entry and admitted whoever it was without ceremony. I stood near the edge of the living area, wrapped in his robe, trying to appear like a person and not like a concubine in training with a toy in her ass.