Page 46 of His to Enjoy
Grace
I had no idea how I got through the rest of the day. Every movement sent a surge of sensation through me as the dildo and plug shifted inside my body. The belt held them perfectly in place, ensuring I couldn’t escape the constant fullness, the reminder of my punishment and my master’s control. I tried to focus on the editing software, on crafting Debbie’s psychological journey, but my own psychology kept intruding.
As I worked through the footage, adding layers of meaning to each scene, something strange began to happen. I felt myself floating above my own body, watching myself the way I watched Debbie on screen. There I sat, a young woman clad in a conservative gray dress, but at the same time locked in a chastity belt with both holes filled, editing pornographic content for her dominant boss who would whip her pussy tonight. The sheer degradation of it should have horrified me. Instead, I felt a strange sense of rightness that troubled me almost as much as it soothed me.
This was nothing like what I’d had with Jacob. With him, submission had been a performance, a role I played because it was expected. Part of me had known that I had a deep need to serve the man I loved, but I could see now that Jacob had never been that man, so I’d told myself that I wasn’t really submissive, whatever the New Modesty program thought.
So I’d gone through the motions of being a traditional wife without ever truly understanding what it meant to submit. Jacob had spanked me, yes, had used my body according to the program’s guidelines, but it had all felt hollow somehow. Like actors reading from a script neither of us had written nor fully understood.
But with Scott… I shifted in my chair, gasping as the movement made the dildo press against something deep inside me. With Scott, every moment felt charged with meaning. He saw through my compliance to the desperate need beneath. He didn’t just want my obedience; he wanted my authentic surrender.
I pulled up a new sequence fromLearning to Please, my fingers moving almost automatically as I worked. On screen, Debbie knelt before Mark, tears streaming down her face as she thanked him for her punishment. But I wasn’t really seeing Debbie anymore. I was seeing myself, kneeling before Scott tonight, my pussy burning from his whip, thanking him for teaching me what I truly needed.
The realization hit me like a physical blow: I was having my own ‘Secret Gardenmoment.’ Just like the women in Melissa’s reimagined stories and just like the marketing materials, I was discovering that my submission wasn’t something imposed on me, but something that arose from deep within. The wetness soaking the dildo inside me wasn’t just physical arousal—it wasmy body’s honest response to finally, finally finding what it had been searching for.
My hands trembled as I added another voiceover to Debbie’s scene: “I used to think submission meant becoming less. But kneeling here, marked by his discipline, filled with his seed, I’ve never felt more myself. This is who I was always meant to be.”
The words would be Debbie’s, but they were mine too. I thought about tonight, about the whipping Scott had promised. My insides lurched with genuine terror at the thought of leather striking my most sensitive flesh. I’d seen it in the videos—the way women screamed, the way their bodies convulsed with pain. But beneath the fear lay something else entirely.
The feeling of detachment, of self-observation, took me all the way through the work day, onto the shuttle, into my apartment. It truly seemed like a different girl who stripped all the way down to the belt and stood looking at her lewd reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of my closet door. It was definitely a different girl—I told myself—who texted Scott to beg him to unlock the belt so I could pee.
The dildo goes right back in that naughty pussy when you’re done,he texted back right after I heard the beep that meant my master had disengaged the lock.Eight p.m. sharp for your lesson in self-control.
The other girl, the other Grace, shuddered and looked at the time on her phone—my phone, I recognized from someplace else.
6:43.
I barely registered the journey to Scott’s apartment, the doorman smiling so knowingly that the other girl’s face got hot.The trip up in the elevator seemed to last a millisecond. My mind remained caught in that strange floating space where I watched from above as Grace Whitcomb, her holes full of what her master had put there, journeyed to what felt like the sacrificial altar. The innocent white dress clung to my trembling body as I knocked on his door at exactly eight o’clock. When he opened it, his expression was stern, controlled—nothing like the passionate kiss from the night before.
“Inside,” he commanded, stepping back to let me pass. “Bedroom. Now.”
I walked through his apartment on unsteady legs, suddenly back in my body and hyperaware of the dildo and plug shifting inside me with each step. Once we had reached his bedroom, he crossed to stand by the massive bed, arms crossed, watching me with those dark eyes that seemed to see straight through me.
“Take off the dress.”
My fingers fumbled with the zipper, and the white fabric dropped to the floor around my feet. I stood before him in just the belt, my skin prickling with goosebumps despite the warmth of the room.
“On the bed,” he said, his voice carrying that edge of authority that made my insides clench around the toys he had put there. “On your back at the edge. Hold your knees up and apart.”
I climbed onto the soft sheets, positioning myself as instructed. I felt how the posture rendered me fully exposed, completely vulnerable, my legs spread wide with my hands gripping behind my knees. I couldn’t bear to look at him as I held myself open like this, offering myself up for whatever he planned to do.
Scott moved between my spread thighs, his fingers going to the belt’s clasps. The soft beep of the lock disengaging made me whimper. He peeled the leather away slowly, revealing my stuffed holes to his intense gaze.
“Such a lovely sight,” he murmured, his fingers tracing around where the dildo disappeared into my pussy. “So full. So wet.” He gripped the base of the dildo and began moving it slowly, just tiny movements that made me gasp and arch. “Did you think about this all day? Being stuffed like the greedy little slut you are?”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, my voice breaking as he twisted the dildo slightly.
His other hand found the plug in my bottom, pressing against it, making me cry out at the doubled sensation. He played with both toys, moving them in tandem, then alternating, creating rhythms that had me sobbing within minutes, my hips bucking with need, my bottom squirming against the mattress. But he never let me come, always pulling back just when I approached the edge.
“Please,” I begged, my thighs trembling from holding the position.
“Please what?” He pushed both toys deep, holding them there.
“Please, sir, I need?—”
“You need to be punished first.” He withdrew the dildo in one smooth motion, leaving me gasping at the sudden emptiness. My vagina clenched on nothing, desperate for something to fill it again. The contrast of that void with the enforced presence of the plug in my bottom made my cheeks burn with mortification.
Scott’s fingers explored my empty pussy first, two then three sliding easily into my drenched channel. “So ready now,” he observed clinically. “The dildo stretched you nicely.” His thumb found my clit, circling it once before withdrawing. He turned his attention to my bottom, moving the base of the plug to make me whimper, testing how well the shameful toy had prepared me for his huge, rigid tool.
