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)
I braced myself with one hand on the marble counter and reached back with the other. Even touching the base of the plug made me inhale sharply. It felt intimate in a way that still shocked me, as if I had gone to sleep with his hand still there in absent form. I hesitated.
Then, because he had said I could, I began to pull.
The sensation was immediate and alarming: a drag of fullness, then a stretch that made my knees soften. I bit my lip. The thing had not seemed so large after a night inside me, but removal proved otherwise. I went slowly, pulse thudding in my throat, my body resisting with little involuntary contractions that made it harder. By the time the widest part slipped free, I let out a sound half gasp, half whimper.
Then it was out.
I stood very still with it in my hand, breathing through my mouth.
My body felt abruptly, strangely empty. Not better at once. Just aware of an absence where a demand had been. I looked at the black silicone for one stupid second, as if it might explain me to myself, then washed it thoroughly, trying not to look at it too closely. I set it carefully on the counter because something inside me wondered if Porter would punish me for concealing it, for pretending in any way that my anus didn’t belong to him, wasn’t susceptible to his training whenever he chose.
There was a faint ache in my bottom, tender and secret. I could feel how open my sponsor had made me. That realization sent a new flush over my skin.
I showered longer than I needed to, partly because hot water soothed me and partly because I dreaded the rest of the morning. The water ran over my breasts, my stomach, between my legs. When my hand passed lightly over my pussy, I discovered with appalling clarity that I was still sensitive from the night before. More than sensitive. The briefest contact sent a small hot shiver through me. I snatched my hand away at once as if I had been caught.
No touching myself without permission. I hadn’t forgotten.
The rule had settled into me with frightening speed. It was one thing to be forbidden some abstract liberty. It was another to stand alone in a shower and obey because his voice had taught my body that disobedience would bring harsh discipline.
Afterward I wrapped myself in a towel and made coffee in the little kitchen. The apartment’s systems seemed already to know I had gotten up. A screen on the refrigerator displayed time, weather, some cheery suggested breakfast, and a discreet reminder of my eleven o’clock appointment. I nearly rolled my eyes at that, but I kept the tiny rebellion inside, thinking I had to preserve some kind of privacy at least.
I drank coffee by the window in one of the two robes that hung in the bathroom, looking out over the city and trying to feel like an adult with choices. The robe was soft. It somehow made me feel dressed in his intentions. I thought of the two robes again.
For the convenience of my sponsor.
Every few minutes my mind slid back to the appointment that waited below. Waxing. Not merely my bikini line. My sponsor wanted me smooth. He had said… he had said my anus too, in that matter-of-fact voice that left no room to pretend he had misspoken.
I imagined explaining any of this to a friend and had to set down the mug before I spilled it from sheer internal recoil.
But of course there was no friend to explain it to. There was no ordinary world in which I could say, casually, My sponsor arranged for me to have my pussy waxed because he wants me waiting in white lingerie when he gets back from his meeting, and he thinks a girl needs a bare pussy to wear lacy lingerie properly. Even in Washington, where people developed unusual tolerances for warped power structures, that sentence would have cleared a room.
At ten-thirty I put on a simple dress and flats and no underwear, because after the last twenty-four hours the absence had already begun to feel less like a missing item than like another standing instruction.
When I reached the lingerie drawer to see what awaited me for later, I did it only because I told myself I should know. That was a practical decision, I informed myself.
The white set lay folded with almost ceremonial neatness.
I touched it with my fingertips.
Lace, very soft, almost absurdly delicate. A bra that looked less engineered for support than for display. Tiny panties—though perhaps ‘panties’ was generous, given how little fabric appeared involved. Stockings too, sheer and white. There might have been a garter belt tucked beneath; I didn’t unfold everything fully because I suddenly couldn’t bear to see the entire extent of what he meant to put on me, or rather what he meant me to put on myself for his approval.