Page 34 of His to Enjoy
I set the tablet aside with trembling hands, my whole body thrumming with frustrated arousal. Three more days of this. Three more days of watching without any possibility of relief. The thought made me want to scream. Already I could feel how swollen I was beneath the belt, how desperately my body craved the touch that the leather denied.
I clenched my fists, stretched them over my head, crossed my arms over my chest and squeezed.
I can do this,I told myself. Then, to my surprise, that same determined voice inside my head added,Iwantto do this.
Why, though? The answer came in an unexpected flash.For me. For myself—yes, for Scott, too… because he’ll spank me if I don’t do as he says, and… and he spanks my bare bottom so hard when I’m naughty… but…
But… really… for myself.
To understand myself. To learn about what kind of person I am—what Jacob couldn’t teach me, because he didn’t know either.
Scott, though…I felt my cheeks heat as if someone had just lit them with a blowtorch.
I had to distract myself from those thoughts. They seemed too real, too revealing of a truth I wanted to keep at arm’s length. I needed… I needed some way to deny it, some way to maintain a resistance—to Scott… and to myself.
I can do this.
I picked up the tablet, and noticed thatLeah’s First Cocknow had an icon I didn’t think I’d seen before—a pencil icon that must meanEdit. I tapped it.
The screen changed to show the video timeline with editing tools along the bottom—trim, cut, add text, export clip. My tummy fluttered as I realized what Scott had given me access to. I could create clips, add captions, make trailers from the raw footage.
Of course. This was my assignment—to identify the moments that would best capture viewer interest. But giving me the tools to actually create those moments myself? That felt like another test entirely.
I scrolled through the timeline, watching the preview thumbnails flash by. There—Leah’s face when she first saw Brian’s cock. The mixture of fear and fascination would definitely draw viewers. I selected a five-second clip, then hesitated over the caption options. What words would make someone desperate to see more?
Virgin soon-to-be bride meets her first cock, I typed, my face burning. Too clinical. I deleted it and tried again.Innocent Leah discovers what she’ll be swallowing every night. Better, but still not quite right. The caption needed to capture both the corruption aspect and the domestic sweetness that NMB viewers craved.
Watch sweet Leah learn why good wives always say thank you with their mouths full.
Perfect. Horrible and perfect. I saved the clip and moved on, the belt pressing against me with every shift of position as I worked.
The next clip I selected showed Brian holding Leah over his lap, her bottom pink from spanking. The caption came easier thistime:Naughty girls who use teeth get their bottoms warmed before trying again.
I found myself getting lost in the work, my analytical mind taking over despite my body’s constant state of frustration. Each clip needed to tell a mini-story, to promise both punishment and pleasure. The moment when Brian made Leah rub his seed into her breasts like lotion—that would definitely sell subscriptions.
A good girl’s moisturizer comes fresh from her suitor, I typed, then immediately deleted it. Too crude.Learning to be grateful for every drop of her suitor’s attention. Yes, that captured the psychological element better.
By the time I’d created six clips from the first video, my fingers were flying over the tablet’s interface. I understood now why Scott had given me this capability. It wasn’t just about identifying good moments—it was about understanding how to frame them, how to present the degradation in a way that felt both shocking and inevitable.
I saved my work and set the tablet aside, suddenly exhausted. The sun had set while I worked, and my apartment felt too quiet, too empty. The belt’s constant pressure had become a dull ache, a reminder that I had no way to relieve the tension that had been building all day.
My handheld buzzed with a message.Scott: Excellent work on the clips, Grace. I particularly enjoyed the one about gratitude. You have a natural talent for this.
CHAPTER 18
Grace
I spent the next thirty-six hours working on the trailers forLeah’s Story. Saturday blurred into Sunday in a haze of video editing and desperate arousal. I watchedTraining Dayat least a dozen times, forcing myself to analyze each scene with clinical detachment even as my body betrayed me with every viewing. The episode focused on Brian teaching Leah both to deep-throat, using a training dildo first before moving to his actual cock, and to accept her first butt plug. The way she gagged and cried while he patiently but firmly pushed deeper made my own throat constrict in sympathy, and the sight of her adorable bottom with the pink plastic base of a training plug peeping out made me swallow so hard it hurt.
The belt had become my unceasing tormentor. Every movement reminded me of its presence, the leather growing slick with my arousal, but never providing the friction I craved. I’d taken to sitting with a pillow between my legs, pressing against it futilely while I worked, seeking any relief from the maddening pressure.
Every time I had to text Scott for permission to relieve myself or to shower felt like an impossible task, even though he was so responsive to my messages that I wondered if he had set some kind of bot up to just okay my requests and release the clasps. The mere sound of them unfastening, with a tiny but distinctly audibleclickbegan to make my clit throb with helpless anticipation of a release my master had forbidden me.
By Sunday afternoon, I’d created fifteen trailer clips, each one more degrading than the last.Good girls don’t need to breathe when their mouths are full.Watch Leah discover why wedding nights require anal training.A bride’s body belongs to her husband—see how deep that truth goes.
I was adding captions to a particularly intense scene where Brian made Leah practice saying “I love you” with his cock in her mouth when my phone rang. Scott’s name on the screen made my heart skip.
“Hello, sir,” I answered, my voice hoarse from disuse.
