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)
“Nor I,” added Madame Dubois, her head tilted slightly as if studying a curious specimen. “Is it something to do with how Mademoiselle is being trained?”
I moaned as Pierre thrust particularly deep, my head falling back against his shoulder as he continued to control my movements.
“Indeed,” Pierre replied, his voice steady despite his exertion. “It’s a relatively new initiative—clearly a very American idea—but one that appeals to me greatly. Selecta has implemented it to help stabilize the energy markets, which is admirable enough, but what truly interests me is how it reflects the proper dominance of a husband over his wife.”
My entire body flushed hot at the word ‘wife,’ my mind reeling at the implication even as my body moved helplessly, hips jerking at the ecstasy of being filled by my master’s hardness where I needed it the most.
Madame Dubois asked, clearly surprised, “Does that include anal training, Monsieur? That seems much more a European practice than an American one.”
The question hung in the air for a moment, my embarrassment reaching new heights. Before I could process the mortification, Pierre’s hands tightened on my hips, lifting me completely off his cock. I felt suddenly empty, but only for a moment.
“An excellent question, Aimee,” Pierre replied, his voice thick with desire. “Let me demonstrate.”
I cried out as Pierre repositioned me, the head of his cock now pressing against the tiny pucker of my rear passage. His fingers gripped my hips firmly, holding me in place as he began to push inside. The pressure was intense, the stretch burning even with my previous training. I could see the scene perfectly in my mind’s eye: me riding my master’s lap with his penis slowly penetrating my anus, my bare, wet, well-fucked pussy on full display for his servants’ voyeuristic pleasure.
“Oh, God,” I sobbed as he sank deeper, impaling me on his rigid shaft. My hands clutched desperately at his knees for support as my most private place was invaded before the watchful eyes of the Duboises.
“Yes,” Pierre told them, his voice strained with pleasure but still maintaining that conversational tone, “the philosophy behind the New Modesty embraces a husband’s complete control over his wife’s body. It even specifically encourages anal sex as a means of discipline—a way to remind a woman of her place and purpose.”
I whimpered as he began to move me on his cock, lifting and lowering me with deliberate control. Each thrust sent conflicting sensations of pain and pleasure radiating through my core. I couldn’t bear to look at the Duboises, couldn’t face seeing their reactions to my complete degradation.
“Fascinating,” Monsieur Dubois murmured, his voice carrying a note of approval. “The Americans are finally beginning to understand what Europeans have known for centuries.”
“Indeed,” Madame Dubois agreed, her tone equally approving. “A woman properly disciplined in her bottom becomes much more docile and attentive to her duties.”
Their casual discussion of my anal subjugation as if it were the most natural thing in the world pushed me further into that strange headspace where shame transmuted into desperate arousal. I felt my inner muscles clench around Pierre’s invading shaft, my body betraying me yet again.
Pierre’s rhythm increased, his thrusts becoming more forceful as his pleasure built. His breathing grew heavier, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my hips as he drove deeper into my helplessly yielding body.
“You see,” he gasped, clearly approaching his climax, “how… completely… she submits.”
With a final, powerful thrust, Pierre buried himself fully in my anus, my punished bottom coming up against his muscular lap. I felt his cock pulse inside me, filling me with his hot seed.
Madame Dubois cleared her throat delicately. “Monsieur, would it be alright if dinner were a few minutes late? I’d like to bring Mademoiselle upstairs to help her clean up and put herself to rights.”
I remained frozen in Pierre’s lap, his softening cock still inside my bottom, his seed leaking from me in a warm flow that seemed to embody my shame and my master’s ownership. The casual way Madame Dubois had made her request—as if what had just happened were perfectly normal—left me disoriented, hovering between mortification and a strange, floating acceptance.
“Yes, of course, Aimee,” Pierre replied, his voice warm with satisfaction. “Take good care of her. Mademoiselle will wear only her lingerie at dinner, however, please.”
His hands loosened their grip on my hips, allowing me to rise shakily from his lap. The sensation of his withdrawal from my well-used bottom made me whimper. I stood trembling before them all, naked and thoroughly debased, unable to meet anyone’s eyes as evidence of Pierre’s claim on my most private place trickled down my inner thigh. His words about my dinner attire finally penetrated my thoughts then, and I bit my lip, letting out a tiny sob.
“Come, Mademoiselle,” Madame Dubois said gently, retrieving my blue dress and my lingerie from where she had laid it. She put her arm around my waist, as if to provide me with some modicum of comfort as she guided me toward the door.