Page 40 of Innocence Tamed
“That’s it,” Pierre encouraged, his voice thick with arousal. “Show me how badly you need to come while I fuck this tight little hole.”
He began to work the plug more vigorously now, pulling it almost completely out before pushing it back in, establishing a rhythm that mimicked what he meant to do to me tomorrow. The fullness, the stretch, the forbidden nature of it all combined with my own fingers on my clit to create a raging storm of sensation.
I circled the tiny bud frantically, my hips moving of their own accord, caught between pushing back against the plug and pressing forward into my own touch. The twin stimulation was overwhelming, building toward a crescendo I couldn’t fight.
“Please,Monsieur,” I gasped, my voice breaking. “May I… may I come?”
“Look at you,” Pierre said, his tone a mixture of amusement and approval. “Already learning to ask permission. Yes,ma petite, you may come. Come hard for me while I train your virgin ass.”
His words were the final push I needed. The orgasm crashed over me like a tsunami, more powerful than anything I’d yet experienced. My inner muscles clenched rhythmically around the plug, intensifying the sensation as surges of pleasureradiated outward from my core. I cried out, a sound I barely recognized as my own, as my body convulsed with the force of my release.
Pierre continued to move the plug inside me, prolonging my climax until I collapsed forward, utterly spent, my face pressed against the bed, my body trembling with aftershocks. I felt his hand stroking my back soothingly, a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the crude dominance he’d displayed moments before.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice soft with what sounded almost like reverence. “You’re even more responsive than I hoped.”
I lay there, catching my breath, my mind struggling to process what had just happened—what I had just allowed to happen. The plug remained inside me, a terrible reminder of my submission, of the promise I’d made for tomorrow.
Pierre carefully eased me off his lap and onto my side on the bed, positioning me so that no pressure was on the plug. He stretched out beside me, his hand stroking my hair with surprising tenderness.
“You did very well,” he murmured into my ear. Then he took my face in his hands and kissed me so deeply that every sensation except his lips on mine and his gentle tongue inside my mouth, where he had taken such rough pleasure with his rigid penis, faded away. He broke the kiss at last, leaving me breathless, brought his lips to mine again, even more gently, then pulled his face to a few inches from mine. “You’re becoming a very good girl indeed.”
“Thank you,Monsieur,” I replied in a whisper, before I could consider what it meant to express gratitude for all the shameful things he had done to me.
I considered that the next morning, though, from the moment I awoke and remembered the degrading promise I’d made. I lay in bed, my body feeling like a map of contradictory sensations. The soft sheets soothed the soreness I felt between my waist and my knees so that I had to ponder whether I could even call the welts from the martinet and the ache in my pussy and anus truly uncomfortable.
My fingers rubbed against my upper thigh, trembling with the effort of restraint. The mere memory of last night—of Pierre’s commanding presence, his skilled hands, his cruel martinet, his huge, hard manhood—had awakened an insistent throbbing between my legs. I wanted desperately to touch myself, to ease the ache that had built overnight.
I can’t,I thought.He’ll… he’ll whip me. He’ll know, and he’ll whip me, because I did the naughty thing my sponsor told me I mustn’t do.
I snatched my hand away and pressed it flat against the mattress. Pierre’s warning echoed in my mind: no touching except to keep myself clean. Not just myself, and not for my own purposes, either: I mustn’t touch mycuntexcept to keep it cleanfor him.The thought of disobeying him sent a chill down my spine that somehow transformed into heat by the time it reached my core. Would he use the martinet again? Would he find some even more humiliating punishment?
I shifted slightly, wincing as the movement reawakened real discomfort in my pussy and my anus. My bottom still burned from yesterday’s whipping, the welts tender beneath the weight of my body. I rolled carefully onto my side, trying to find a position that wouldn’t aggravate either sensation.
The SA app would be tracking me today. Pierre would know if I failed to visit theJardins de Luxembourgthis morning or the cinema this afternoon. He would know if I didn’t insert the plug, or removed it before he gave permission. He might even know, through those mysterious sensors Selecta had installed throughout the apartment, if I touched myself against his explicit instructions.
I was being watched. Monitored. Controlled.
One of the many voices in my head said that the idea should terrify me. Instead, it sent another pulse of forbidden heat through my veins.
With a groan of frustration, I threw back the covers and forced myself to get up. The simple act of standing sent a jolt through me as I had to use the muscles of my lower body. I gasped, steadying myself against the bedside table as I adjusted to the sensations reminding me that my sponsor had taken my virginity the previous night.
Walking to the bathroom was an exercise in careful concentration. Each step made me whimper as the discomfort reinforced Pierre’s ownership as well as the humiliation that awaited me outside these walls.
I caught sight of myself in the mirror, and just below the reflection I saw the butt plug on the counter where I had left it. I had slept in the babydoll nightgown, unable to think of changinginto my usual sleep tee after Pierre had helped me expel the plug, then bidden me good night with a humiliating reminder to clean the plug thoroughly. My face scalding, I had obeyed, then put the plug on the counter before simply tumbling back into bed and falling instantly asleep.
I felt my forehead crease as I considered, and then I bit my lip as I gave into the impulse: I turned around so I could see my bottom. I let out a tiny, helpless sob at the sight of the martinet’s work. I raised the hem of the nightgown so I could see better, and I turned my head over my shoulder. Hardly conscious of the movement, I started to rub my punished bottom with my other hand, tracing the welts with my fingertips. A low, keening moan came from my throat at the sight and the sensation.
I heard a bell sound, as if out of thin air.
“Warning,” a cool female voice said. “Masturbatory activity detected. Sponsor Pierre Lemieux has requested that you not masturbate without his permission. Should I message Sponsor Pierre Lemieux to ask for permission for you?”
CHAPTER 19
Audrey
“No!” I exclaimed, pulling my hand away from my backside as my face flared with heat. “No… don’t. Please?”
I stared wildly around the room, my heart hammering against my ribs. Where had that voice come from? There were no obvious speakers, no visible monitoring devices that I could see. Yet somehow, the apartment—or rather, the SA app—had detected what I was doing and intervened.
