Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to look at him. “I… I don’t remember.”
“Another lie.” His voice carried disappointment now. “Try again.”
My hands moved lower, following the familiar route down my stomach. The soap made my skin slippery, and I could feel my body beginning to respond despite my mortification.
“I thought about…” I started, then stopped, my voice catching in my throat.
“About what, Heather?” To my surprise, Master Paul’s voice had gotten a little gentler, as if he thought I’d begun to learn my lesson. “No need to name names, right now.”
The thought of having to say the name Chad brought a sob from my chest, but the respite Master Paul had just given me—as I felt certain he thoroughly intended—made the next part much easier. Too easy, the resistant voice said, inside my head. Don’t fall for it.
But it seemed I couldn’t help it. The words flowed out.
“About being… about someone being… oh, God… being… rougher with me. Rougher than Ryan.”
“And,” said Master Paul, “doing what to you?”
My breath caught in my throat as I realized what he was asking me to detail. The water continued to cascade over my trembling body as I struggled to find words for things I’d never spoken aloud.
“About being… taken,” I whispered. “About someone not asking permission, not being gentle. About being…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Being used,” Master Paul supplied. “Being dominated. Being fucked the way your body craves.”
The crude words made me gasp, but I nodded miserably. My hands had continued their familiar path during our conversation, and I was horrified to realize I was already becoming terribly aroused despite my humiliation.
“Show me exactly how you touched yourself,” he commanded. “Don’t leave anything out.”
My hand moved between my legs almost of its own accord, following the routine I’d performed countless mornings while Ryan slept peacefully in our bed. The bare skin felt strange under my fingers after so many years of having hair there, but the sensation was immediate and devastating.
“I would think about…” I started, then stopped, biting my lip hard enough to taste blood.
“About what, Heather?”
“About being held down.” The confession tore from my throat. “About someone not caring what I wanted, just taking what they needed from me. About being paddled until I couldn’t fight anymore, then being…”
My fingers found the rhythm I remembered so well, and despite everything—the watching eyes, the humiliation, the wrongness of it all—my body began to respond with familiar hunger.
“Being what?” Master Paul pressed.
“Being fucked,” I sobbed, the word feeling dirty and wrong, but undeniably true. “In my… in… everywhere. Being used like a… like a…”
“Like a whore,” he finished for me, and the word sent a jolt of electricity straight through my core. “That’s what you thought about every morning while your caring, lenient husband slept nearby. You fantasized about being treated like a whore, getting it in the ass despite your protests.”
I couldn’t deny it anymore. My body was betraying me completely now, responding to both the physical stimulation and his degrading words with a desperation that terrified me. This was exactly what I’d craved during all those frustrating nights with Ryan, when his tender lovemaking left me empty and wanting.
“Please,” I whimpered, though I wasn’t sure what I was begging for. My fingers worked with increasing urgency, following the pattern that had brought me relief so many times before.
“You’re close,” Master Paul observed clinically. “I can see it in your face, in the way you’re moving. This is how you looked every morning, isn’t it? Desperate and ashamed, but unable to stop yourself.”
I was climbing toward the edge now, my body tensing with familiar anticipation. Just a little more, just a few more seconds and I could have the release that had been denied to me all night.
The sharp beep of his handheld device cut through the sound of the shower, and my blood turned to ice. I knew what that sound meant—the sensor was telling him I was about to climax.
“Stop,” Master Paul commanded, his voice slicing through my desperate haze.
My hand froze between my legs, my entire body trembling on the very edge of release. The denial was devastating, worse than the night before because this time I’d been so close, so desperate, so ready to finally have the relief my body screamed for.
“No,” I sobbed, my legs nearly giving out. “Please, I was right there, I need—”
“What you need,” Master Paul said calmly, “is to learn that your pleasure belongs to your husband. You don’t get to take it whenever you want anymore.”
I stood there under the spray, my body shaking with unfulfilled need, soap still clinging to my skin. The ache between my legs was unbearable, made worse by how close I’d come to satisfaction. My hand started to move again instinctively, seeking the relief I’d been denied.