Page 21 of Shameful Addictions

His voice went sharp, cold, like a knife. “You aren’t thinking of breaking it, are you? The repercussions would be fearsome.”

“That’s what I need to talk with you about! Please, please. Just five minutes. Two minutes!”

“Do you think I’m so fast as that? I assure you I tend to all my… dealings… with finesse and attention, and that takes time which I can’t afford to waste on you.”

“Please,” she whispered. She slid off her chair and onto the floor, kneeling at the feet of the man on the other end of the phone. “I’m begging you.”

Begging, like Katerina had begged for more when Charlotte was holding the remote to her vibrator. She felt sick, her stomach tingling. Other parts of her tingling too, in an inexplicable turn of events. She had never submitted to a man before like this and it was getting to her, and it was horrifying, mortifying. Her only comfort was that he couldn’t see her.

“Beg,” Mamba said flatly. “Beg me, Charlotte.”

Her sinuses burned as tears stung her eyes, threatened to escape. Lowering her head, she pressed her lips close to the phone and choked out, “I’m begging you to let me come and see you. I’ll come straight to you. I’ll wait hours outside your office. I’ll do anything. I just need to speak with you today. I know I have no right to ask that, but I ambegging…”

Mamba spoke over her. “You will arrive at the door to my office in two hours and knock, exactly as the minute turns. You will enter when I call you in. We will discuss then. If you are even a second late, you will have missed your chance.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her.

“Two hours,” he repeated, and hung up on her.

Charlotte let her phone drop to the floor and hugged her arms around herself, trying to pull herself together. Her breasts felt sensitive and hot as her arms slid over herself. Her nipples protruded, twin turgid peaks beneath her bra and shirt.

Guilt stole through her at her arousal. Begging like that was so shameful and to be turned on like that from it made her a traitor to her own beliefs. The more she thought about it, the hornier she got, the harder her pussy pounded for attention.

It’s only hormones. Adrenaline. My body reacting to increased blood flow. I don’t have to have enjoyed what just happened for me to be feeling this way.

She did have two hours to spare…

Charlotte got to her feet and padded out of her home office to her bedroom. She went to her dresser and opened the underwear drawer and pushed all her modest panties aside to reveal a slender pink cylinder. She lifted the dildo out and took it over to the bed with her, and held it in her lap while sitting on the edge of the mattress. She had chosen this one many years ago because it was smooth and didn’t look anything at all like an actual dick, having only a few ridges and a bulb on the one end for added enjoyment. It hardly got any use these days.

Everything else in her life had changed, so why not this?

Charlotte lay back on her bed and lifted up her hips to slide down her pants and panties. Her pussy was hit with a cold draft when exposed, causing her muscles to contract and her labia to curl inward. The tension felt good and she kept her muscles tightened, squeezing her inner walls, while pulling a blanket over her lower body to keep the cold out. She didn’t want to watch, anyway. When encouraging young girls to explore themselves, using delicate language, Charlotte encouraged them to get familiar with what they looked like down there. Use a mirror. But she had seen it all and found it boring and not particularly pleasing to see.

Charlotte spread her legs and ran the rounded tip of her dildo down her inner thigh to her clit, caressing the sensitive nub of flesh. She worked her dildo in circles around her clit, pressing on it from all angles. Every press sent a nice wave of heat to her core. She felt herself starting to get wet, her body preparing to be entered. She held off, knowing herself well enough to recognize that she wasn’t quite there yet.

Instead, she positioned the length of the dildo against her clit and started rubbing in strokes that ran parallel to her slit. She angled her wrist so the dildo’s girth also glided between her lips, creating a terrific back-and-forth of friction that had her hips starting to wiggle along.

A moan rose up the back of her throat. She restricted it, thinking such guttural sounds to be unattractive.

After a certain point, the rubbing stopped doing much for her and seemed boring. She could rub and rub all day, she felt, and never get anywhere, which was strange because this was often all she needed.

I wanted this, didn’t I?

She thought back, through the haze of sexual desire clouding her mind, to what had aroused her in the first place.

Begging Mamba to let her come and see him.

“Please,” she whispered aloud, to see how it felt. She closed her eyes and imagined his flat stare pinning her from above.

That strange and mortifying tingle from before swept through her, causing her pussy to spasm. She gasped, couldn’t help it, and spoke another, more breathless plea to the apparition of Mamba in her mind. Her hand seemed to have a mind of its own, angling the dildo towards her pussy entrance. She thrust the rounded end inside herself and bucked on it, taking it in her, shoving it deeper each time until the heel of her hand struck her clit with each push. Her body exploded. She gritted her teeth around a yell. A newer, hotter wetness coated her pussy lips, wet her fingers as she continued thrusting.

Finally, the tremors stopped and she pulled the dildo from her tremulous interior. When it was out of her, the realization of what she had done hit her. The guilt from before returned and she cringed, curling up on her side. She hid her face, but she couldn’t hide from herself. She couldn’t lie to herself.

Being disgraced had turned her on. She could say it was hormones and such all she liked, but she’d only been able to orgasm when she returned to the subject. That said something about her and she didn’t like it, not at all.

Tears trickled down her face. Charlotte rolled over onto her stomach and pulled a pillow over, and cried against it as the shame wracked through her. She was becoming someone unrecognizable. She hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

When at last the tears had run their course, she felt empty, drained. Or maybe that was her recent orgasm. Either way, she felt worse rather than better and so regretted what she had done.

---