Thoroughly Trained by Emily Tilton – Extended Preview

When he returned, carrying the wax pot. Martin paused in the doorway of the bathroom, enchanted by the sight of his bathing beauty. She took a few moments to notice him standing there; she had her eyes closed as she reclined, bubbles surrounding her and some of her yellow hair clinging to her temples with the perspiration from the very steamy bath she had drawn. On the bench lay the towel, adorned with shorn, wiry curls of the same lovely color.

Her eyes opened, and widened to see him. “Sir,” she said.

“Anna,” he said.

She started to rise from the tub but he said, “You may stay there for a couple of minutes while the wax heats up.” He put the pot on the counter and plugged it in, then drew the bench a little closer to that side of the room.

Then he walked over to the tub to look down at her, unable to keep a contented smile off his face. She looked up into his eyes and said, softly and very unexpectedly, “Why are you smiling, sir?”

No traditional concubine would ever have dared ask the man engaged in breaking her such a question. It proved yet again that the Thoroughly Trained program would make a new sort of bed-girl, and it also made Martin think about the tactic he had floated for Charlotte and the assessment teams just before he had gone to get the wax.

Her answer about doggie-style, Charlotte had written back, makes me think you’re right about the visual. Joseph and Stephanie both think you should trust your instincts.

It was settled, then. “This afternoon,” he said to Anna, as an answer to her question, “you’re going to have sex for the first time. I want to be sure you know now that I’ve found a way to make it very special for you and for me. I’m going to invite some friends to watch.”

Of course the assessment teams were always watching, and prospective buyers would have access to that footage in the near future, but Martin hadn’t called attention to that fact. His proposal to Charlotte had involved making Anna exquisitely aware of this terrible violation of her modesty, as a way to complete the first stage of her training. The way her sweet little breasts began to heave as she nearly hyperventilated at the image he had called up in her mind told him that he had hit the mark.

Martin squatted next to the tub and reached his hand out and down into the water, between Anna’s legs in the warmth of the bath, bubbles parting around his muscular forearm. He pushed her thighs apart and claimed the tender cleft of her cunt with his fingers. The shortness of her hair there, and its softness after long minutes in the warm water, tugged at his heartstrings even as it stiffened his cock in his pants. Anna cried out with unambiguous pleasure and threw her head back, eyes closing as if in utter surrender.

“Oh, God,” she whimpered. “Oh, sir, please.”

“You told me that the reason you should lose your virginity doggie-style was that girls like you shouldn’t be allowed to see what their masters are doing when they have their first fuck.” In the soapy water Martin rubbed firmly up and down and around her clit so that Anna gave keening little cries as he addressed her with these degrading words.

“Yes, sir,” she sobbed.

“Shouldn’t their masters get the pleasure of letting other men and women watch that first fuck?”

Silence, then. Martin let the question go unanswered, and concentrated on using all his consummate skill to keep the pleasure flowing through her body so that she couldn’t think of anything but the imaginary scene, so that she would never be able to deny how arousing she found it.

Anna came, finally, sobbing and screaming, “Yes, sir! Yes!”

As the shudders of her orgasm left her body, Martin kissed her gently, still soothing her slippery inner lips in his fingers. “Alright,” he said, “let’s get you nice and bare, so that my friends will be envious that I get to have this innocent little cunny for the first time.”

The sob that came from Anna’s throat sounded much softer, and she nodded, her eyes still closed. Martin put his left arm around her shoulders, keeping his right hand between her legs so that he could lift her that way, as she cried out in alarm and clung to him. He loved picking naked girls up thus; it conveyed so beautifully to them their need to yield themselves up as Martin knew suited their submissive natures.

Carefully he set Anna down on the bench, on her back. “Hold your knees in your hands,” he said, “and keep them spread nice and wide for me.”

She had opened her eyes in alarm when he picked her up; now those beautiful cornflower blue orbs showed the modesty that more and more appeared a pearl of great price, as together she and Martin burnished it through these terrible, wonderful moments of shame.

“I can’t,” she whispered, keeping her feet on the floor at the end of the bench and her knees tightly closed. With both hands she covered the little cleft of her cunt that peeped out from between her thighs. With her skin all rosy from the tub she looked so adorable, trying to hide her private parts, that Martin couldn’t muster any sternness.

He smiled. “I know it’s hard, darling, but remember that you’re a taken-in-hand bed-girl now. You don’t get to make that kind of decision. Lift those knees and show me your cunt and your anus, so I can wax you, or there will be some serious consequences.”

“Like what?” Anna compressed her lips into a tight line. The crease on her brow redeveloped, very deep.

Martin felt again the thrill of journeying through new territory. With a traditional concubine, he would have instantly gotten rope—would have had it in his pocket, in fact—and tied her neatly into position for the waxing. Then he would have caned her before proceeding.

Little steps backward like this one for Anna represented a normal and entirely healthy part of the breaking process. Like every new bed-girl taken by a dominant man for his pleasure, Anna needed regular reminders, especially here at the very beginning, that her innate submissive desire to do her master’s will and, for example, to spread herself open on a bathroom bench to have her cunt waxed bare found a sympathetic correlation in her master’s ability to force her to do that, if he decided that he wanted to fuck a hairless cunt rather than one that still had the curly fleece that marked a girl not fully taken in hand.

Martin thought of this idea sometimes as the whip of the heart: the installation inside a girl like Anna of the assurance that if she covered her private charms the way Anna had covered them now, she would receive swift discipline of a nature so severe that the next time she considered disobedience she would think much better of it.

But the whip of the heart seemed to cut against the idea behind Thoroughly Trained. To cane Anna savagely now would lead to her abandoning the modesty that had caused her to hide her cunny from him. If Martin were to show Anna in his deeds as well as in his words that he treasured her modesty, he needed a different policy now, and he didn’t have time to go back to his office to confer with Charlotte and the assessment teams. He had to get creative, and he found that his growing affection for Anna as his ‘bride’ pressed him in what seemed like exactly the right direction.

“Well, darling, I think you know that I have to spank you for this disrespect, but clearly the fear of a spanking alone isn’t going to make you the obedient girl you need to be right now, or you wouldn’t be making this fuss about opening your knees and showing me the places on your body that you know belong to me now. You already know that when you have trouble obeying me, where your sweet body is concerned, I won’t hesitate to take you over my knee the way a husband should, to teach you a lesson, just as if you’d bought an expensive piece of jewelry without my permission, or had too much to drink.”

Anna’s jaw dropped, and her rapid breathing came through her mouth at this declaration. A quick glance at her little pink nipples showed them standing straight up. The success of this relatively gentle speech suddenly reminded him of something he had found rather cryptic in Charlotte’s last message.

As you know, the futurist team’s predictions for the New Modesty are impeded by the manipulation they’ve been observing in the energy markets. Heather, from the futurist team, messaged me to let her know she’s been watching your feed, and it occurred to her that whoever is doing the manipulation might be exactly the kind of powerful, dominant person/people who would want a Thoroughly Trained ‘bride’ like Anna. Heather thinks the way you’re managing the visual element of Anna’s modesty is strikingly akin to the delicate hand on the knob of the party or parties adjusting energy prices. Just thought I’d let you know. Heather thinks that if we float Anna on the high-end ‘net we might get a bite from that quarter that could help us learn more about this mysterious force that’s clouding the Institute’s future.

Reading it the first time as he got ready to return to the bathroom and wax Anna, Martin hadn’t really absorbed Heather’s meaning. Now, though, he thought he could see it: Anna’s modesty could be shored up or diminished by Martin’s words and actions, to a very fine degree. Really, they would have to stop calling this stage breaking, wouldn’t they? Adjustment seemed much more accurate.

“I could have you get over the bench, I suppose, and spank you, or put you there if I had to and hold you down while I warmed your backside for you, but that’s not convenient right now, and I don’t think it would teach the lesson as effectively as I want to teach it. The important thing that you seem to be having trouble grasping right now is that even though we haven’t been to a church or a courthouse or even a wedding chapel, you are to regard yourself as my bride, and conduct yourself accordingly. I have taken you in hand as a bridegroom takes his new wife in hand, and although I treasure your modesty as the most wonderful gift a sweet young bride like you could give, you have given it to me, and I own it now.”

Anna held the inside of her cheek in her teeth now. Her hands trembled. “Please, sir,” she whispered.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for when you say please, do you, Anna?” Martin asked softly, stepping to the wax pot where the wax now had reached the perfect temperature, and stirring with the paddle. He fixed his attention on the pot for a moment, knowing that Anna would gather that he had no intention of interrupting the process of preparing her cunt for a good, hard, bridal fucking.

“No,” she conceded in the same whisper to Martin’s back.

“If I want your sweet, virginal cunny bare for me, I need you to hold yourself in the right position, don’t I?” He turned back to her, some of the wax on the paddle, ready to apply to the place where she had cut her curls away.

“Yes, sir.” Her eyes looked into his, fearful at the admission she had made.

“And do I or don’t I deserve to deflower a bride who looks the way I want her to look, in the place where I put my manhood, both today and from now on, whenever I want?”

“Please… sir, when I…”

Martin turned and put the paddle back in the wax, because it had cooled, and put a little exasperation in his tone as he said, “You’re going to ask me about what will happen when you’re allowed to go out in public again, aren’t you?”

The startled look on her face showed that he had anticipated her thoughts exactly, and that she had not expected him to know that the reason she still held her hands over her privates was her worry that he might want to make a display of her submission, in public. The information that her defloration would be watched by friends of Martin’s, together with the command to hold herself open for the waxing, had created a jumble of submission and repression that naturally led her to wonder about how this would change the Anna she presented to the world.

Here, Martin would resolve her backward step and get her progressing again. “You’ve lost the privilege of wearing panties for today, Anna. We’ll be going out to lunch and to a matinee today, and you’ll do it in a skirt with no panties or tights. You’ll wear a garter belt and stockings, and your bare cunny will be on display, if I decide to lift your skirt to show someone the place I’m going to put my cock, after the show. Hopefully that will cure this disobedience for good. If you would like to wear panties tomorrow, raise your knees and spread them for me right now.”

Anna took a deep, sobbing breath through her nose and raised her knees, grabbing them convulsively with her hands and closing her eyes tightly so that she wouldn’t see her cunny as the upturning of her legs brought it—and, she imagined, even the little flower between her stretched-apart bottom-cheeks—into view. She even managed to block out the warmth of the wax, and the feeling of the first cloth strip, and she only gave a little yelp when Martin ripped the cloth, with the hair, away in what felt like a sharp, expert fashion.

Still she kept her eyes closed, but now she had a terrible dilemma, because on the backs of her tight-shut eyelids she saw the scene, at the matinee, in the lobby, with all the people at intermission.

Anna loved shows: plays, musicals, operas, concerts, revues, anything. They always seemed to take her away, out of the life which she had to spend every day pretending hadn’t boxed her in at the age of twenty. She loved the lobby at intermission, because you didn’t have to talk, you could just watch other people look up at the beautiful decorations that so many theaters still had.

She loved matinees, because you could have a nice lunch, go see it, and then you had the whole evening to yourself to think about the show. If she went with Violet, they would usually go window shopping and have coffee until they were good and hungry, and then they would have a cheap, filling dinner, still talking about the show.

Martin had seen all the matinee tickets in her profile, she realized. That should make her feel paranoid, she supposed, but instead it made her feel cared for—taken in hand. Who cared if her ‘husband’ had a corporation doing data analysis to tell him that Anna liked matinees? He would take her to lunch and a matinee! Today, before any of the… other stuff.

With no panties. With a bare cunny. Under threat of having my skirt lifted in the beautiful lobby, so that discerning gentlemen, nicely dressed for the theater, can get a good look at my bareness, and wink at Martin to congratulate him on acquiring such a pretty cunt and preparing it so well for defloration.

Defloration to which, apparently, friends will be invited, to observe how decisively my bridegroom bends me over the bed, still in my garter belt, and spanks me for my disobedience before he puts his cock at the cringing pink slit of my virginal pussy, and pushes in with that same manly grunt he made when I had to take his penis in my mouth. Anna Greenway, bare-cunted wanton bride, screaming as she takes in her pussy what she has earned, what she deserves, what she needs: her master’s big, hard cock. Her face turned down, away from the observers who comment admiringly on Martin’s technique, on how strenuously he rides the girl who must look only at the bedspread as her bridegroom takes his rightful place inside her cunt.

She couldn’t bear it; couldn’t bear to see, so clearly behind her closed eyelids, how much she wanted that terrible, degrading scene. Anna opened her eyes to see Martin finishing up the waxing by taking away the last of the furry yellow hair that had grown so sparsely and embarrassingly around her anus.

His gaze fixed itself on his task, and he had a look of concentration on his face that seemed to Anna terribly endearing, and terribly shameful: he wanted to take good care of her, and make sure it didn’t hurt too much when he did what he needed to do. But he needed to do that because he claimed the right of making Anna look, between her legs and bottom-cheeks, the way he liked a girl to look when he anticipated taking her maidenhead and opening her there forever.

After today, Anna would never be a virgin again. She would be a girl who had sex. Who had sex with a man who hadn’t married her, no matter how persuasive Martin was about her need for some status beyond marriage and for a life different from that traditional married one. Martin was going to get the milk for free today, bending Anna over and having his masculine way in the pussy he had just finished preparing for sex.

The competent, masterful look on his face made her moan softly, because the fantasies she no longer seemed able to hold at bay for a single moment had sent the warmth once again to her cunny, and her clitoris began to ache. She tried holding her knees more tightly, spreading herself more fully, in hope that concentrating on that would drive the excitement away and the lewd mental pictures along with them, but the renewed tension in her legs just made her moan again, louder.

Martin’s eyes went to hers, saw that she looked back at him. He smiled. “I’m all done, darling,” he said gently. “You’re ready for your wedding night.”

Anna emitted a little sob. Oh, no. Her wedding night: always, her wedding night. In the days of Sade, and the books, the vaguest of images—a white gown on the floor; a girl in a bed, with a man standing over her, looking down with a smile, yes, but a smile of… of mastery, like Martin’s smile. The man saying, “I know you’ve been very naughty, Anna, and we have to get this marriage started right. I’m a man with very specific tastes, and you need to learn what I like to do with naughty girls as soon as I can teach you. Our honeymoon is going to be very different from what you were expecting, I’m afraid.”

Specific tastes. Very different. First, on the wedding night, the terrible things a man can do when he has a girl in his power. Pleasures he can take in the degradation of his young bride. Ways he can enjoy her. Then, on the honeymoon, the others. Other men, other women. Their power over the young bride. The lascivious things they demand of her. The young bride, bound. Whipped. Used by as many men and women as her husband chooses.

Could Martin see all these things, inside her mind, as she kept her knees spread? She felt the heat rush to her face, and she started to lower her legs, but he said, “No, darling. You’re going to look at yourself in the mirror, first.”

That was when she realized he was holding the kind of mirror hairdressers use, to hold behind your head so you can see the back of your new hairstyle.

“No, please, sir,” she pleaded, looking into his eyes and trying with every ounce of her will not to lower her gaze to where she could see that he had positioned the mirror perfectly already.

“Anna, how will you understand how important it is to me to have you bare down here, if you don’t get a good look at how pretty your cunny and anus look without their fur? You have the sweetest little cunt, and I want you to be proud that your master finds you so attractive, in the places that are most important to me.”

Exquisite degradation: so beautifully spoken, in Martin’s cultured voice, and so terribly arousing that she couldn’t resist. He would spank her if she didn’t look, wouldn’t he? And she wouldn’t be allowed to wear panties tomorrow. She had to look, even though you were never supposed to look at yourself in the mirror like that.

Filthy. Immodest. Shameful.

She gave a whimper at the sight of the pinkness: creamy outer lips and coral inner ones, only peeping out a very little. Tiny flower of her bottom, where nothing should ever enter, but where a strict husband had the right to punish and to take his pleasure, because the law of his desire superseded every other law.

“Look what happens when I touch your cunt, darling,” he said, reaching out casually with his right hand, the mirror held in his left. Anna felt her breath come quick and harsh as she watched and felt. The fingers in the mirror touched the girl in the mirror wickedly, arrogantly. The girl’s cunny got wet; in the mirror, Anna could see the man’s fingers had gotten very shiny. The girl had to hold her knees wide open because the man wanted to use his fingers shamefully upon her this way; to make her moan as the fingers rubbed firmly at her clitoris; to make her scream and buck against the towel-covered bench as two fingers entered her cunt and pushed in until they met the painful resistance through which the man’s cock must soon tear.

All in the mirror. In the mirror. Not… her.

She cried out and came, and in the moment of her climax she became the shameless, filthy, immodest girl in the mirror.

“There you go,” Martin murmured. “There you go, darling. Such a nice, tight little cunt. Aren’t you proud that it looks the way I want it to look?”

Not… her.

But… “Yes, sir,” she whispered. “I’m so proud. I want my cunny to look nice for when you show it to other men, and when you… when you…”

She looked desperately into Martin’s eyes, trying to learn from them whether she should say the terrible world that began with F that she had never said. He had made her say cunny, yes, but that was different, because it was like a modest little version of the worst word, and it was a part of her. It seemed different, anyway. But the F-word meant a girl needed spanking. At the colleges that used the New Modesty guidelines, one of the things girls got paddled for was saying the F-word. Anna had seen it on a news video, when the first colleges pledged to work with the government and its corporate partners. There had even been a picture of the regulation paddle, made of clear plastic with holes cut into it, to be used over the panties, on girls who said bad words.

Martin’s gentle smile didn’t change. “Say have, Anna. You’re right to hesitate. Someday I may have you say naughty words, but for now it’s a very important sign of your modesty that you say have instead of fuck.”

The sound of the F-word, which seemed to come out of Martin’s cultured mouth with an elegant sound that Anna hadn’t ever suspected that word could achieve, renewed her blush.

“What were you saying, then, darling? You may lower your knees now that you’ve come.” He put the mirror back on the counter, next to the sink, then turned back to her.

But Anna didn’t lower her knees. Instead, she whispered, as if in a trance, “I want my cunny to look nice when you have me, sir.” Still she didn’t lower her knees. She felt shameless. This was what it was like to feel shameless, wasn’t it? To want to show a man your cunt. To want to tell him to fuck it. To be the girl in the mirror.

She closed her eyes, though, as she whispered the shameful things that seemed to flood from her heart, and from lower regions. “Is my cunny pretty? Does it look tight? Will it give your cock as much pleasure as it should?” Then, helplessly, Anna moved her hands from her knees down to her thighs, and reached her fingers around, feeling the softness of the skin and the lingering soreness of the welts from the strap. The combination made the warmth flow back instantly, and the wetness to begin again. Lewdly she opened her cunt to him, hardly believing she did it.

“Lower your knees at once, Anna,” Martin said in a very different voice. Her eyes flew open, and saw that his smile had vanished.

Anna took her hands off her knees, and let them drop until her feet came to rest on the floor again, but she hardly noticed the movements of her body because her eyes, very wide, were so captured by her master’s.

“You need to learn what’s appropriate and what isn’t, young lady,” he said. “When I tell you to do something sexual, that’s my right as your master, and you are permitted to enjoy it. But what you just did was immodest, and I have to punish you for it. Get up and go to your room, and lie on your bed, with your pillow under your hips. I’m going to whip you as you deserve for that shameless display.”

Again she had taken him by surprise, but again Martin knew exactly what she needed. It had required every bit of self-control he had at his disposal not to drop his pants right there in the bathroom and give Anna’s cunt what it deserved, atop the bench, his cock gripped snugly in her virginal tightness, pounding hard while she cried out in regret for the shameless display that had brought on her maidenhead’s ruin. He could turn her over and take her from behind later; to make her keep her knees up and open, giving him the fairest prospect for hard fucking he had ever seen, would provide dominant pleasure so great that his arousal at the thought nearly overcame his judgment.

But just as only a few minutes before, when Anna had covered up the pretty pink pout between her thighs, she had craved his guidance, so now when she wantonly gave Martin the enticing glimpse of the secret depths where he would soon thrust his hardness, she needed to have her modesty given back to her. Stern, bare-bottom punishment was the only way. Martin found himself dropping easily into an old, old patriarchal role that didn’t truly represent his opinions about the relation of the sexes but would serve Anna’s training very well: girls who showed even their husbands such a lascivious sight, without permission, needed the family strap to keep them in line.

When they went out to lunch, Anna would sit on a backside that reminded her that she must behave like a lady—like a demure young bride. Her cunt might be bare, as her husband required, and she might not be permitted panties, but dressed to the nines, with a lacy garter belt under the white dress that would soon be sent up from a boutique downstairs on Newbury Street, she would show the world what a good girl looked like, on the arm of a powerful man who knew how to take her in hand, even if that meant whipping her bare bottom over her bed before they went out.

He turned and left the bathroom as she wailed, “Sir, please! Not the strap, please! I’m so sorry! I’ll never do it… I’ll never…”

But Martin walked resolutely to his office.

A message from Charlotte waited on his screen.

Serious bite on Anna’s contract that Heather thinks is from an energy manipulator. Arranging for him to meet Anna on Saint-Stephane. The no-panties discipline was brilliant. Will send him feed of wedding night.

In Anna’s room, five minutes later, when he arrived with the punishment strap, he found her in position over the pillow, looking back at him with a tear-stained face. She had gathered her hair back into a ponytail, but he could tell how distracted she had been while making it, since her hair still looked quite disheveled.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t whip me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I knew I shouldn’t touch myself like that, or keep my knees open when you told me I was allowed to put them down, but I thought… I thought you’d like it, I guess?” She sniffed away a tear. “You said I looked pretty, and I thought you’d want to see… um… even more of me? Down there?”

Martin held the strap in his right hand and tapped it against his left. Anna winced at the sound.

“I know what’s wrong with you, darling,” he said, sternly but not angrily. “And it’s not truly wrong. It’s your natural womanly affection, and your natural womanly desire, coming out at last. I certainly do want to see very much more of your little cunny. I’m going to see much more of it today, and enjoy it as well, when I claim it for my own with my cock. But you need to learn that your modesty doesn’t come to an end when your innocence does. You know now what it feels like to want sex: that was something you never let yourself feel, or know about, before. You know what it feels like to want to worship my cock, and even what it feels like to want a man to bend you over and fuck you hard.”

“Oh, God,” Anna whispered, the sweet crease appearing very deeply between her eyebrows.

“You’ve had a man’s penis in your mouth, now, and soon you will have a man’s penis in your vagina and your anus. Your life is different now from what it was yesterday, before I took you in hand and taught you to worship my penis. To make yourself happy, and to make your master happy, now that a man has begun to have sex with you, you must learn to let your master decide about your vagina: whether I want to bare it, or touch it, or put my cock inside it, those are my decisions to make, because my girl is a modest girl, and even though she loves to serve my cock she knows she must not show that craving unless I tell her she may. That’s why I have to whip you now, so that you understand that I won’t tolerate displays like the one you made. Your punished bottom will remind you, all day and most of all as you lose your virginity in a few hours, how great a treasure your modesty will always be to your master.”

In her eyes he saw understanding. She swallowed hard. He thought he could see, racing through her mind, just the idea he had hoped to put there: traditional brides didn’t have welts from the punishment strap across their bottoms when their husbands enjoyed them for the first time. Anna would be different, in this respect as in so many others.

“Six lashes, Anna,” he said, advancing to the bed. “Prepare yourself. Get on your elbows and push this up.” He tapped the sweet little globes that swelled out so pertly from her thighs. Happily, the welts from the previous night had nearly vanished.

With a sob she obeyed, and rounded out her backside even more fully. Martin tapped with the strap again, and then Anna whispered, “Oh, no.”

A less skilled dominant might not have understood, but Martin knew precisely what had just happened in Anna’s mind: the little piece of her perspective that had flipped over, under the influence of the warmth and wetness flowing to her cunt. To push up her bottom that way served as a precise analogue for the sort of behavior about which Martin had just lectured her, and would now whip her.

On the bench in the bathroom Anna had opened herself in a shameless display, presenting her little cunny for fucking. That sort of show in fact represented exactly the kind of thing Martin might himself require of her, to illustrate how thoroughly her body belonged to him, and to teach her not to try to hide even her most private parts from his eyes. To do it on her own, however, even if she thought she did it for him, claimed back something Martin wanted to keep in his possession.

Now, instead of opening her cunt of her own free will, for sex, Anna must raise her bottom because Martin commanded it, for punishment. Her oh, no meant that she had realized that fact, and that it had aroused her greatly.

Martin raised the strap and brought it down sharply. Anna screamed and squirmed from the very beginning of the whipping, shamelessly wriggling her backside and clenching her bottom-cheeks to try to ease the pain from the strap. Between her thighs, Martin had a cock-stiffening view of her pouting cunt-lips that he didn’t mind at all, and instead of reprimanding her for moving her rear end over the pillow, Martin simply kept bringing the strap down harder, to show her that when a husband put a wife over the bed that way, her protests and attempts to escape would get her nowhere.

After the third lash, though, Anna turned on her side, and Martin had to rearrange her over the pillow, after giving her a welt across the flank. “That one doesn’t count, darling,” he said patiently as he guided her back into position, his hands on her naked hips. “You must learn to accept the strap as your guide to a happier life. Your master knows when you need bedroom discipline, and he won’t hesitate to give it to you.”

“Yes, sir,” Anna sobbed. When she pushed up her bottom again, he could see the sheen on her sweet private lips, and the scent of her arousal hung enticingly in the air.

She remained in position for her final three lashes, though her little bottom bounded delightfully at each one, as she cried out to match the sharp crack of the leather on the tender flesh of her taut rear cheeks. Thoughts of having her anally, of holding those pale hips tightly and surging into the tiny flower concealed between the sweet peaches he was whipping, filled Martin’s mind and made his cock so hard he again had to fight the urge to fuck her right then and there.

“Most traditional husbands,” he said after the third lash, “enjoy their wives after bedroom discipline.” Anna lay with her face in the covers and her shoulders heaving. Her ragged breaths told him everything he needed to know about her arousal. “It’s a husband’s traditional right, of course, to have sex with his wife whenever he wants, and whipping his wife arouses a man very extremely. Soon enough, you’ll know what that’s like, because I plan to have sex with you after I punish you, once I’ve claimed you between your legs.” Martin put the strap down on Anna’s back, and she greeted the sensation with a highly ambiguous whimper.

“Many husbands like to have anal sex after punishment, too, to provide their wives with an extra bit of discipline in their rear ends. Once I’ve opened your bottom and started to break you in back here…” He laid his left hand on her bottom decisively and worked his middle finger in, despite her cry of alarm and her attempt to wriggle away up the bed. “Hold still, Anna,” he said, and touched her there, on the wrinkly dimple of her anus.

“As I was saying, once I’ve started to train you here, I’ll usually have anal sex with you after a punishment. For now, you’re going to have my finger inside, as a first step.”

“What?” she cried, then, twisting her head frantically so that her ponytail threshed from side to side.

When Martin responded only by pressing with that middle finger against the resistance of her tight ring, though, Anna stilled her body and bowed her head, and, with a tiny sob, received her master’s finger in her most shameful place.

“Do you understand?” Martin asked quietly, then, moving his finger gently in and out of her deliciously tight bottom-hole. “Do you understand why you will have my cock here, after I discipline you?”

“Yes, sir,” Anna whimpered.

Martin pulled his finger out. “Alright, darling. You will stay here like this for five minutes. The clothes you’ll wear for our date are in the closet. You may rub your bottom, but you may not, of course, touch your cunny. That will be very difficult, I know, though perhaps you don’t, yet. Please do your best to respect your master’s rights; I don’t want to have to punish you again so soon after what I just gave you.”

“Yes, sir.” Turning her cheek to the covers and looking up at him with what seemed a mixture of penitence and alarm, she put her hands behind her and began to rub.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh.”

“Do you see what I mean?” Martin asked drily. He watched with an iron-hard cock as his bed-girl rubbed and squeezed, parting the cheeks to show him yet another alluring glimpse of the delights that awaited him.

“Yes, sir.” Anna’s voice sounded strained and distant, as if she could barely keep herself from moaning.