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Bound and Initiated by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview

Bound and Initiated by Emily Tilton

“Follow me, columba,” Claudia said in her authoritative tone. Sarah stood up, still holding the pen, noticed it in her hand, and put it awkwardly back on the coffee table. The irony that apparently she would be tied to the same table soon, where she had just signed away her freedom, struck her so strongly that her hands balled into fists and, as she looked up again from the table to Claudia, she froze.

She expected that Claudia would use more persuasive words on her, or even threaten her, but instead she just walked quickly toward Sarah and took hold of her elbow before Sarah could react. Sarah thought Claudia would simply start to march her out of the office, but instead, in what seemed the blink of an eye, Claudia had bent her at the waist, with left arm around Sarah’s back, and delivered three hard hand spanks to Sarah’s bottom.

Atop the welts from the strap, the spanks were pure agony, and Sarah cried out in anguish.

Claudia said, “Are you ready to follow me, columba?”

“Y-yes,” Sarah stammered.

Three more hard spanks, and Sarah was screaming now. “Yes, what, columba?”

“Oh, God… please… yes, domina,” Sarah wailed.

“Very good,” said Claudia. She released Sarah, then quickly turned and walked back to the door of the office. Sarah followed.

The strangest thing about the experience of walking down the hallway of a New York office suite wearing only lacy black lingerie that exposed Sarah’s punished backside was that it didn’t feel wrong. Shameful, yes: the receding back of Claudia’s gray dress, when compared with Sarah’s near-nakedness ensured that it felt shameful. But the various things that had happened over the last hour, above all including all the degrading things Claudia Monti had said to her, seemed to Sarah to have ensured that she understand herself as being destined, for the foreseeable future, to feel shame.

The examination room lay, apparently, at the end of the hall. As Sarah followed Claudia there, a door on the right opened and a man in a tailored charcoal gray suit stepped out just in front of them, turning as if to walk toward another of the doors Sarah and Claudia had just passed. He appeared in his late thirties, with straight, dark brown hair and blue eyes that seemed to pick up the blue of his Oxford shirt, which he wore under the gray suit without a tie. Sarah couldn’t help thinking him hot, in the way she seemed only to find really well-dressed men hot, and that of course made her blush fiercely as the shame came on again in a terrible wave.

It didn’t make her embarrassment any less intense that the man looked her up and down appraisingly before greeting Claudia. “Domina Claudia!” he said. “So nice to see you—and especially under these circumstances!” To Sarah’s distress, his eyes flitted again to her face, and he winked at her.

“Pater Robert,” Claudia replied in a voice that Sarah hadn’t yet heard from the woman; did she sound submissive? “I didn’t know you were in New York.”

Then, even more astonishingly, Claudia went down on one knee in front of the man in the suit, and quickly rose again. She turned to Sarah. “Do as I just did, columba, but remain on one knee until instructed to rise.” She gave the order in a tone that suggested she had given it many, many times before to young women who had just come into her power—and apparently the power of this man in the suit. Kevin and Alex might stand at the second degree, but this Pater Robert clearly stood much… farther? higher? than they did.

Sarah froze for an instant, taken by surprise, looking into the face of Pater Robert. Pater. Father? He winked again, and Sarah felt her jaw fall open as she tried to integrate all the various feelings, thoughts, and impulses that seemed to be at war within her.

Claudia’s voice came again, much more severe this time. “Sarah! Do not look Pater Robert in the eye! Kneel and ask his forgiveness with downcast eyes! Do it this instant!”

The sternness of her tone broke through Sarah’s momentary paralysis, and she sank onto her right knee, as Claudia had done. She turned her eyes downward to the polished black wingtips of the man in the charcoal gray suit. “I am sorry,” she said, not at all sure she used the correct words. “Please… please… I’m sorry.”

“Say Pater, I beg forgiveness, and I ask that you punish me as you see fit,” Claudia said, a little more gently but with an edge of something that sounded almost like anxiety in her voice, as if she might be punished herself if her new pupil did not behave herself properly. “Otherwise I shall have to whip you here in front of Pater Robert this instant.”

“That’s alright, domina,” Robert said. “Sarah here is nervous, and it’s all new to her of course.” The voice, coming from above her head, seemed so unexpectedly kind that Sarah felt tears welling up, of relief after the renewed fear of punishment, or perhaps just from extremity of her feelings.

“Say Thank you, pater,” Claudia said, also above her. Sarah wondered suddenly what looks might be passing between the two of them. In what relation did they stand to one another, exactly?

“Thank you, pater,” Sarah said softly to the man’s beautiful shoes.

“You are welcome, columba. For the good of your training, you had better learn to speak as your domina just commanded you. Go ahead.”

Sarah opened her mouth, trying to remember what Claudia had told her to say. “I… I beg…”

I beg your forgiveness, pater,” Claudia prompted.

“I beg your forgiveness, pater, and I… I ask that you…” Now Sarah’s hesitation stemmed from remembering, rather than from forgetting. Surely he could see, looking down at her backside—as he must surely be doing right now, for his shoes had moved around until they were lost to her sight—how severely Claudia had whipped her just a few minutes ago. His voice sounded kind—could he really want to see her punished again? “…punish me as you see fit,” she whispered at last.

“I shall see fit to punish you very soon, I think,” Robert said, his voice not quite as kind but somehow in its dominant quality conveying just the same the impression that the control he would exercise over Sarah would always flow from his considered judgment of what suited her best, as his possession and his plaything. To her distress, Sarah felt herself grow warm again between her legs.

The beautiful shoes came back around her and into her field of vision again, and stopped in front of her. She felt masculine knuckles brush against her cheek. She closed her eyes. A finger under her chin, lifting her face. A voice saying, “Open your eyes, columba. You may look me in the face.”

She obeyed, dazzled by the angle of his jaw and the blueness of his eyes. He spoke in a low murmur, as if he meant only Sarah to hear his words. “I am lucky enough to be the man who will soon begin your initiation, Sarah, because I am the senior pater here in New York. I will not be gentle with you, I am afraid, because I do not wish to be gentle and in any case my role in your new life is not a gentle one by its very nature.”

Sarah thought she might well faint. How could he say such terrible things—things whose meaning she could hardly guess but which must mean her utter abasement and subjugation—in such a caring tone? How could her body react to the thought of the barely guessed cruelties his words evoked with arousal that almost made her emit another of those horrible whimpers she had never given forth before today but now seemed unable to contain?

“Your role?” she whispered, knowing she shouldn’t speak but unable to keep her burning curiosity from spilling over into speech.

“Do not ask useless questions, columba,” Claudia admonished, and now Sarah understood that the sentence had a kind of incantation about it—it was a ritual formulation, designed to instill reverence in new initiates.

Robert, still holding her chin up to look at him, turned to look at Claudia, standing just in front of where Sarah knelt, to the left. “She’s on her way to the instructional exam?” he asked.

“Yes, pater.” Sarah noticed that Claudia’s eyes, too, were downcast. Was she not allowed to look him in the eye, either? Had she looked Kevin and Alex—the nymphobi? was that the word?—in the eye? Sarah hadn’t noticed and she found herself berating the lack of attention.

“The first degree beginning at sunset, then?”

“Yes, pater.”

He looked back down into Sarah’s eyes. “I shall see you then, columba, and, of course, I shall punish you then for looking me in the eye without permission. I’m afraid I don’t have time to toy with you right now, or I might take you into my office for a little preparation and even a preview of what I’ll be doing with your lovely young body tonight. As I said, I’m going to be a very important person in your new life—in some sense the most important person—so I advise you not to forget about me between now and when we meet again this evening.”

“Y-yes, pater,” Sarah managed to stammer. Robert had not adopted a threatening tone, let alone raised his voice, but her whole body had begun to tremble.

“You’re very lovely, Sarah,” he said. “I know I’ll have a good time with you.”

Then he had released her chin and stepped past her, bound for wherever he had been going when he left his office.

Sarah felt more desperate to know what all of it meant than she had ever felt to learn anything in her life.

“Rise, columba,” Claudia said, with what seemed at least a little bit of approval. “You do well not to ask useless questions. I may tell you, though, that Pater Robert will be your pater from now on. That means that for you he stands at what we call the first degree, and also at the last.”

Did Claudia say it just to make Sarah even more curious? Sarah rather suspected she did. What could the talk of degrees be if not a way to keep the initiate mystified? How many degrees? What did it mean, to ‘stand’ at one?

Sarah rose, and Claudia walked before her to the end of the hall, and opened the last door to reveal what seemed a normal medical gynecological examination room, with an exam chair to which plastic stirrups were affixed. With a thrill of fear, Sarah noticed that those stirrups seemed to have Velcro cuffs attached to them, and then that there were similar cuffs that must be for the patient’s wrists, to either side of the back of the chair.

“Go ahead and get undressed,” Claudia said, “and then hop up onto the chair. I’m going to secure you to it to get you ready for the examination. Then the doctor will come in.”

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Sarah complied, reaching back to unclasp her bra, then shrugging it from her shoulders. Claudia took it from her. “Lovely,” the elegant woman murmured, then, “And the panties, Sarah. I’ll be taking your underwear now; you won’t need it again.”

Her face hot once again, Sarah tugged the thong down, wincing a little as the fabric brushed against the welts Claudia had left with the strap. She bent and stepped out of the panties. Then she stood, looking down at the tiny garment in her hand, thinking about how, when she had bought these panties she had imagined a man—no specific man, just a hot, well-dressed one—lifting her skirt someday to reveal them, and understanding without needing to be told that though Sarah was a virgin, that was just because he hadn’t yet come along to discover that she wore lacy black panties. It was the kind of thought she imagined that the author of Forever Girl would have, really, but she had excused it to herself at the time, as she played with herself to the accompaniment of the fantasy, because Sarah herself had made the decision to buy the lingerie.

Claudia took the panties from her now. Sarah looked into the woman’s dark eyes, and saw in them that Claudia found Sarah pleasing. Distressed that the knowledge sent pleasure running through her nervous system, centered as always in the bud between her thighs that Sarah was increasingly coming to regard as treacherously independent of her rational mind, she turned to the exam table and, with the help of a footstool, clambered onto it.

She turned, but she kept her eyes lowered, unable to meet Claudia’s gaze. “Into the stirrups now, Sarah,” she said, and as the continual heat renewed itself in her cheeks, Claudia opened her, guiding first her right, then her left ankle into the cuffs, which she fastened securely. She looked down between Sarah’s legs. “Very cute,” she said. “Almost a shame to take away those golden curls.”

“Oh,” Sarah said in voice that sounded very forlorn to her own ears.

“Surely, Sarah,” Claudia said as she wrapped the other cuffs around Sarah’s wrists securely but not uncomfortably, “you’ve wondered what you would look like if someone should decree that you be bare down there.”

“No?” Sarah whispered. The way Claudia put it seemed so provocative that she didn’t know how to answer. She supposed she had imagined it, but she certainly hadn’t imagined that someone might decree such a thing.

“That sounds like more of a question than an answer, Sarah. Of course you’ve wondered about it. Every girl understands deep down that she looks more submissive once her pubic hair has been taken away.”

“Y-yes, domina?” Sarah’s face seemed to go hot and cold alternately as she considered the degrading idea.

“Yes. Pater Robert wouldn’t be interested in enjoying a girl who wasn’t bare: like all the men of Ostia, he demands a nice smooth vulva, as is his right.”

Oh, God. The unguessed-at things, unguessed only because Sarah’s mind recoiled even as her body cried out, with furrowed brow and bitten lip, and with the terrible moisture that she felt sure must soon start to drip, trickle, gush from her pussy.

Claudia walked to the counter and opened a drawer. She took out a battery-powered hair clipper.

Now? “Oh, no,” Sarah said. “Please. I’m… I’m not ready. Please…”

“You’re ready when we say you are, columba.”

Then, with no further ado, Claudia turned on the clipper and began to remove Sarah’s pubic hair. She said nothing. She simply took advantage of Sarah’s splayed thighs and raised knees, and harvested the little golden crop. Sarah’s brow knit, and much as she tried she couldn’t hold down the little sobs as she watched herself laid bare between her legs and even between her bottom cheeks.

She knew that Claudia could see much more than she herself could, and she felt obscurely that that fact enhanced the shame. Her pussy seemed somehow to have exposed itself lasciviously to the gaze of the elegant woman who in fact did the exposing, once again taking erotic control of Sarah James, a girl who had always thought she would always be in charge of her sexual fate.

Then, from a cupboard, Claudia brought out what could only be a pot of hot wax, which she plugged in, still saying nothing.

“Oh, please…” Sarah finally said, as her heart began to thud wildly.

“Don’t be silly, Sarah. Did you sign the contract or not? You must be prepared according to our specifications. You’ll be amazed how smooth and soft your vulva and anal area are after I wax them.”

It hurt terribly; there was nothing arousing about it. Nevertheless, as the strips of cloth were peeled away quickly and efficiently, and Sarah gave little shrieks of pain, she could feel that it had a terrible eroticism to it as well, for she could not stop thinking about what Pater Robert would see when he laid eyes on her bare pussy for the first time. He thought her pretty in her lingerie, with a whipped bottom. Would he think her pussy pretty when he… when he did whatever he would do? When he enjoyed her?

She closed her eyes and cried out, and then suddenly Claudia was saying, “It’s done, columba. Open your eyes.” Sarah obeyed, and found that Claudia was holding a hand mirror up so that she could see what she looked like now. The sight seemed so shameful: cute pink lips peeping out saucily, and even a hint of the bud of her clit at the top, but Sarah couldn’t look away, even from the sight of the little pink anus nestled in between the well-punished cheeks, where the waxing had made her face flush so very hot.

“There, now. You’re ready for your instructional exam.” Claudia put away the clipper and the wax pot. “I’ll see you in a little while, Sarah, for your final preparation before you’re taken downstairs to be initiated. You remember—on my coffee table.” She smiled in a way that almost struck Sarah as hungry. “Don’t worry, columba. I’ll take your mind off your coming ordeal, if you’re a good girl for me.”

Sarah’s mouth hung open as Claudia held her gaze for a long moment. She worried suddenly that she was expected to say Yes, domina. How she might be punished if she failed to say the right thing, and the knowledge of how open she lay to further discipline, bound to this exam table, made her flinch.

But Claudia’s strange smile broadened for a split second, and then she turned and went out, her feet stirring a few of Sarah’s lost yellow curls where they lay on the linoleum floor.

There Sarah waited for the doctor. She had no way to measure the passage of time, but it seemed to her that her wait exceeded by a long way every other wait for a doctor in an exam room she had had in her life. To remain on the table, held open, affected her strangely. Something in her mind seemed to be going through a kind of radical reorientation, so that she even began to wonder whether she, the trained CIA intelligence analyst, might really be the kind of girl who wrote romance novels about billionaires.

She didn’t think she had written those computer-generated books: she wasn’t losing her mind. She did start to wonder, however, whether she could have written them. She thought of the absurd plot of Meeting Steven, the first of the two Forever Girl books: the small-town girl who came to photograph the billionaire and ended up stealing his heart. She thought of the first love scene, where Steve Billionaire pushed Sara Jane up against the wall and kissed her so hard that Sara Jane thought the earth shook under her feet.

She thought about Pater Robert pushing her against a wall and kissing her. Kissing her, and a very great deal more: touching her pussy and murmuring approvingly. She thought about Kevin and Alex holding her between them so that she couldn’t get away as they explored every secret of her body. She thought about Claudia’s coffee table.

There was a quick knock on the door, and it opened. A white-coated doctor of about fifty stood there, wearing a shirt and a tie under the white coat. He looked like any other avuncular doctor you might see in a hospital, making rounds.

Then had come the installation of her IUD, and the humiliating introduction of the girl-trainer in response to her questions, along with the promise that she must now take the dildo in her mouth.

When Sarah had considered oral sex under the heading of blowjobs, she had decided she probably didn’t want to do it, even if she loved the guy. The demeaning nature of the act, which Dr. Adams now reinforced so very emphatically, had struck her as basically unacceptable. When, in movies, a villainous guy had indicated—by a push on a girl’s head or even by a finger pointing to the floor—that a girl must suck his cock, Sarah had always told herself that what she felt in response merely showed the strength of her revulsion for such inequality.

Dr. Adams put the head of the dildo to her lips. It felt cool and rubbery. It must feel nothing like a real cock, of course, right? But the symbolism, and the idea that there was in fact a strong resemblance between the plastic thing and the cock of the man who would, Sarah recalled with a shiver, apparently soon make her suck his real cock, seemed to make her pussy flow even as it made her heart quail.

“Open your mouth, Sarah,” said Dr. Adams. “We must silence that unruly tongue of yours.”

Unruly tongue: another ritual phrase? It certainly sounded strange coming from a doctor. As she hesitated, he rubbed the artificial cock’s head along her lips, then slapped it very gently against her cheeks, saying, “A man will often do this with his penis, if you keep your mouth closed. He enjoys seeing the way his penis looks up against your face. But if you keep refusing to give him his rights, he will soon become angry, and he’ll whip you, Sarah, until you do. I don’t think you want me to whip you, do you?”

Sarah gave a little sob as she opened her mouth, and Dr. Adams thrust the dildo inside.

“There,” he said with satisfaction. “Now try to relax your throat as I begin the thrusting. Note that the latex is firm, but not terribly hard. A man’s penis is similar, though not, of course, exactly the same. You must be careful to hold your teeth as widely apart as you can.”

It was so thick, and its thrusting length so long. Sarah supposed she had imagined that a cock might feel like an overlarge mouthful of food, but it wasn’t like that at all. It felt, whether because the idea had lain latent in so many of the things everyone she had encountered so far at Ostia had said or because something about it simply inhered in the act, like the latex cock mastered her, thrusting hard and deep and fast. She strained against the cuffs that bound her wrists as she gagged for the first time, forgetting that she could not use her hands to ward off the cock.

Above her loomed Dr. Adams, the twinkling smile still on his face as he thrust the dildo savagely into Sarah’s mouth as if to say, That’s alright, Sarah. All girls have trouble with their first penis-training. Sarah’s eyes watered, and she tried desperately to relax her throat. Wet, struggling sounds came from her mouth along with her gasps.

“Don’t worry,” the doctor said, “dominant men like the members of Ostia like to make a girl gag a little.” More thrusts. More gagging. Sarah labored to keep herself breathing through her nose. “Just relax and try to take it, Sarah. Think of yourself as a receptacle for a man’s penis. That will make it easier.”

Suddenly Sarah seemed to find a place in her mind that actually would let her take a control over the muscles of her throat she had never known she could exercise, and she did relax those muscles, and felt the dildo go in deeper than it had before. A new sound, somehow wetter accompanied this opening, as the artificial phallus came and went.

“Good!” Dr. Adams said, with a little surprise in his voice. “Very good, Sarah. Most new girls don’t learn how to do that so early. I think you’ll be in high demand, once your pater tells his brothers that you can give the penis its way so nicely.”

His brothers. Not real, familial brothers, surely. Brothers in the cult: red-robed brothers.

The dildo left her mouth.

“Alright, Sarah.” Dr. Adams sat down again on the stool and Sarah heard him returning the dildo to the drawer and removing something else. “You did well with the girl-trainer. We’ll verify the presence of your hymen now. You’ve had a gynecological exam before, of course.”

“Yes, doctor,” Sarah mumbled.

“No need to answer,” Dr. Adams said. “We have your chart.”

The speculum. There in her pussy, opening. A little flash from the doctor’s penlight. Sarah bit her lip.

“Yes, very nice,” the doctor said. “When I use the girl-trainer here, it will stretch you out a little, and that may make it a little less uncomfortable when your pater has first coitus with you tonight.”

There. The confirmation of what would befall her, beginning at sundown. So casual: first coitus for Sarah. First fucking. Because that was how her new life worked.

I’m doing this for my country. Why did her mental voice hesitate over the first syllable of country? Or had it? What did Sarah imagine about herself, about sex, about her cunt-ry? What was real? It was all real, and what did that say about Sarah James, whose cunt got wet when a doctor told her that a man—an incredibly hot man—she had just met in the past hour would deflower her tonight?

“There,” the doctor continued conversationally. “You’re getting aroused. Good. I’m just going to take a peek inside your bottom now, and then I’ll use the girl-trainer, which will feel much nicer than the speculum. As I said, your body is made for the male penis, but—” he chuckled, “—it’s certainly not made for the speculum of course.”

Sarah’s breathing came harder and faster as the thing closed and left her pussy, then almost immediately began to push inside her anus.

“Just relax, Sarah. It’s a little like relaxing your throat; these are muscles that we don’t usually think about. With practice, though, we can control them.”

“Oh, God,” Sarah whispered. In her mind the video of the cardinal fucking the bottom of the blond girl atop the mosaic played in a horribly arousing endless loop. She tried to find the control over the muscles in her mind, but something seemed to be keeping her from relaxing them.

“Hush, Sarah,” the doctor said. “The difficulty is that you associate these muscles with something else, something shameful. You know you can open here when you have to.”

She understood, and it sent the blood rushing to her face. She pushed, and she felt herself opening as the speculum pushed in and Dr. Adams squeezed it open.

“Very good,” he murmured. “Thank you, Sarah. You look just fine in here. Remember what you just did when the time comes in a moment to introduce the girl-trainer.”

The speculum closed, departed. Sarah heard Dr. Adams drop it into an unseen waste receptacle.

Receptacle. How could it possibly turn her on to think of herself as a receptacle for men’s cocks? And yet… and yet it did. Sarah simply had too much intelligence, and had grown too used to using her reason upon the evidence of her senses as corroborated with the evidence of the data. Fine, she had known of the existence of women like the sort of woman who wrote Forever Girl. It even seemed like Claudia, and Robert, and Dr. Adams wanted Sarah to think that all women harbored these strange submissive desires.

Fine: when Dr. Adams said she must think of her mouth, her pussy, and her anus as places where a penis should enter, to provide its owner with the pleasure he had a right to expect from a pretty girl he wanted to fuck, Sarah’s nipples tingled, and her pussy clenched in erotic excitement. She didn’t have to like it, though, and she didn’t have to yield to it.

“Tell me about your masturbatory habits, Sarah,” the doctor said conversationally.

“What?” He had been so entirely uninterested in any contribution Sarah might make to the strange, progressively more degrading ‘examination’ that the question took her aback, not only because of the embarrassment it evoked but also because it took her a moment to return from the place in her mind where she had buried herself so deeply in her struggle to resist the strange attraction the proceedings held for her. As always, it appeared, here at Ostia, her failure to comply immediately received immediate remediation, this time in the form of an extreme increase in the level of humiliation visited upon her by Dr. Adams.

“You know what masturbation is, Sarah,” he said. “Pretending you don’t isn’t the sort of thing I’ll tolerate.” To her surprise, he reached to her right side and unfastened the cuff that bound her wrist. “Show me how you masturbate, Sarah.”

“B-but…” she stammered.

“Or do you do it some other way? In that case, I want you to rub your clitoris with your two middle fingers now, while you tell me about that. I’ll put the girl-trainer in the entrance to your vagina at the same time, to start getting you used to the idea that a man’s penis is the most important thing where your pleasure is concerned now.”

Sarah’s hand, bound for so long helplessly by her waist, came up, and she watched her middle fingers press together, the little round tips of her fingers forming a single plane, as they had always seemed to know how to do because that felt best. She closed her eyes. “I lie on my side,” she said softly, hoping desperately that maybe he wouldn’t make her show him how her fingers touched her clit. “I pull my one knee up.” She felt her face once again blaze like the sun.

Dr. Adams said, from the darkness that she had made by shutting her eyes, “I imagine you touch your anus then, too, Sarah. The side-lying position makes that very easy, and we find that many girls who employ it practice frequent anal masturbation in addition to their clitoral habit. Go ahead and show me the clitoral component, please. You do it every day? Every morning perhaps, upon waking?”

“How…?” Her eyes flew open to see him looking back at her with what seemed an understanding expression.

“How do I know? Again, side-lying masturbators tend to practice their self-pleasure frequently, and with a strong tendency to do it on waking up. The research suggests that it’s a healthy way for a young woman to regulate her arousal cycle. Go ahead and stimulate your clitoris. I want to see how you behave when you do.”

Sarah felt her nostrils flare as she closed her eyes again, her face terribly hot. She moved her right hand and felt for her clit, the way she did every morning when she didn’t have to rush. In fact, she set her alarm fifteen minutes early so that she could have the lovely period in the warmth of her bed, with her full bladder always adding its own naughty urgency as she raised her left knee, and reached down with one hand and back with the other…

She gave a little whimper when her fingertips found their place, in this strange manner she didn’t think she had ever used even when she first began to play with herself, before she became set in what the doctor called the ‘side-lying practice.’ And he had known about her bottom—the way she touched herself there so very shamefully, in search of an illicit pleasure that was the greater because she knew that if anyone should find out that Sarah James, brilliant linguist, touched her anus every morning, they would cry out in horror.

“There we go,” Dr. Adams said. “Now the girl-trainer, to stretch you out and get you ready.”

She felt the head of the dildo press against the lips, and she cried out as the doctor thrust it gently in an inch, then two. She rubbed frantically, suddenly close to orgasm. Stretch me out. Get me ready. For a cock. A big cock that will tear through my maidenhead. Oh, God.

“Do not orgasm, Sarah,” the doctor said, “or you will be severely punished.” Sarah’s fingers froze on her clit. The threat of punishment had almost sent her over the edge, but ceasing the stimulation had kept her just on this side of climax. The dildo went gently in and out, and then Dr. Adams pushed a little further, and Sarah cried out because it hurt. Instinctively, she rubbed again with her fingers, and the pleasure in her clit seemed to assuage the pain in her pussy a little. It would keep her from orgasm, though it felt also almost as if now an enormous climax loomed in front of her, of a sort she had never felt before: made of pleasure and pain together, blended to loosen the very fiber of her sinews.

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