Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“Please, Monsieur,” I gasped, my voice breaking. “May I… may I come?”
“Look at you,” Pierre said, his tone a mixture of amusement and approval. “Already learning to ask permission. Yes, ma petite, you may come. Come hard for me while I train your virgin ass.”
His words were the final push I needed. The orgasm crashed over me like a tsunami, more powerful than anything I’d yet experienced. My inner muscles clenched rhythmically around the plug, intensifying the sensation as surges of pleasure radiated outward from my core. I cried out, a sound I barely recognized as my own, as my body convulsed with the force of my release.
Pierre continued to move the plug inside me, prolonging my climax until I collapsed forward, utterly spent, my face pressed against the bed, my body trembling with aftershocks. I felt his hand stroking my back soothingly, a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the crude dominance he’d displayed moments before.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice soft with what sounded almost like reverence. “You’re even more responsive than I hoped.”
I lay there, catching my breath, my mind struggling to process what had just happened—what I had just allowed to happen. The plug remained inside me, a terrible reminder of my submission, of the promise I’d made for tomorrow.
Pierre carefully eased me off his lap and onto my side on the bed, positioning me so that no pressure was on the plug. He stretched out beside me, his hand stroking my hair with surprising tenderness.
“You did very well,” he murmured into my ear. Then he took my face in his hands and kissed me so deeply that every sensation except his lips on mine and his gentle tongue inside my mouth, where he had taken such rough pleasure with his rigid penis, faded away. He broke the kiss at last, leaving me breathless, brought his lips to mine again, even more gently, then pulled his face to a few inches from mine. “You’re becoming a very good girl indeed.”
“Thank you, Monsieur,” I replied in a whisper, before I could consider what it meant to express gratitude for all the shameful things he had done to me.
I considered that the next morning, though, from the moment I awoke and remembered the degrading promise I’d made. I lay in bed, my body feeling like a map of contradictory sensations. The soft sheets soothed the soreness I felt between my waist and my knees so that I had to ponder whether I could even call the welts from the martinet and the ache in my pussy and anus truly uncomfortable.
My fingers rubbed against my upper thigh, trembling with the effort of restraint. The mere memory of last night—of Pierre’s commanding presence, his skilled hands, his cruel martinet, his huge, hard manhood—had awakened an insistent throbbing between my legs. I wanted desperately to touch myself, to ease the ache that had built overnight.
I can’t, I thought. He’ll… he’ll whip me. He’ll know, and he’ll whip me, because I did the naughty thing my sponsor told me I mustn’t do.
I snatched my hand away and pressed it flat against the mattress. Pierre’s warning echoed in my mind: no touching except to keep myself clean. Not just myself, and not for my own purposes, either: I mustn’t touch my cunt except to keep it clean for him. The thought of disobeying him sent a chill down my spine that somehow transformed into heat by the time it reached my core. Would he use the martinet again? Would he find some even more humiliating punishment?
I shifted slightly, wincing as the movement reawakened real discomfort in my pussy and my anus. My bottom still burned from yesterday’s whipping, the welts tender beneath the weight of my body. I rolled carefully onto my side, trying to find a position that wouldn’t aggravate either sensation.
The SA app would be tracking me today. Pierre would know if I failed to visit the Jardins de Luxembourg this morning or the cinema this afternoon. He would know if I didn’t insert the plug, or removed it before he gave permission. He might even know, through those mysterious sensors Selecta had installed throughout the apartment, if I touched myself against his explicit instructions.
I was being watched. Monitored. Controlled.
One of the many voices in my head said that the idea should terrify me. Instead, it sent another pulse of forbidden heat through my veins.
With a groan of frustration, I threw back the covers and forced myself to get up. The simple act of standing sent a jolt through me as I had to use the muscles of my lower body. I gasped, steadying myself against the bedside table as I adjusted to the sensations reminding me that my sponsor had taken my virginity the previous night.
Walking to the bathroom was an exercise in careful concentration. Each step made me whimper as the discomfort reinforced Pierre’s ownership as well as the humiliation that awaited me outside these walls.