Page 50 of Innocence Tamed
I didn’t let myself think about either of those terribly powerful words as I lowered my eyes and went into the bathroom, my bottom burning as I imagined so many brides’ did, when their husbands decided they needed a lesson in obedience. I found the large purple plug in the black box on the counter. The mere sight of it—its sheer size—made my bottom clench in reflexive fear.
I picked it up with trembling fingers, then reached for the lubricant. As I turned to leave, I caught sight of myself in the mirror—naked, tearstained, my bottom glowing red from Pierre’s punishment. The stark reality of what I’d become staredback at me. I tried to stop thinking about Pierre telling me he meant to treat me like a New Modesty bride, but the more I pushed the thought away, the more insistently it came back.
Did the New Modesty recommend anal training—analpunishment, even—for new brides? I shuddered. Suddenly I felt quite certain that they did. The thought sent a terribly unwelcome pulse of heat through my core, making me press my thighs together.
“Audrey!” Pierre called from the bedroom, his voice sharp with impatience. “Hurry up, unless you want more whipping.”
With a little whimper, I grabbed the plug and the lube and hurried out, wincing at the sting in my bottom and then suddenly realizing how very wet I’d gotten since my sponsor had whipped me. The evidence of my arousal was unmistakable, slick moisture gathering between my thighs as the painful glow from the martinet seemed to keep making its way forward as something very different.
I stood before Pierre, naked, the plug in one hand and the lubricant in the other. My sponsor sat on the edge of the bed, his expression a mixture of stern authority and hungry anticipation. My cheeks burned with humiliation as I felt a droplet of wetness slide down my inner thigh.
Hesitantly, heat flooding my cheeks, I asked, “May I… may I masturbate while you put the plug in,Monsieur?”
Pierre’s eyebrows rose slightly, surprise flickering across his handsome features before his lips curved into a knowing smile.
“So the little whore needs to come while her ass is being trained,” he mused, his voice rich with amusement. “That’s very honest of you, Audrey.”
I lowered my eyes, mortified by my own request, yet unable to deny the throbbing need between my legs. The combination of the burning in my bottom and the anticipation of being filled again had awakened a desperate hunger I couldn’t suppress.
“I would have allowed you that pleasure if you had obeyed me from the start,” Pierre said, his voice smooth, but unyielding. “But your defiance has consequences. Your real punishment is that you’re not going to come for a long time,ma petite.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he pointed to the bed. “Now present your anus for training.”
My face burning with shame, my bottom still aflame from the martinet, I crawled onto the bed on trembling limbs. I knelt with my face down against the comforter, then reached back with both hands to spread my buttocks. The position was so utterly humiliating that I whimpered, feeling the cool air of the room against my most private place.
“Beautiful,” Pierre murmured, taking the lubricant from where I’d placed it on the bed. I heard the cap snap open, then felt his slick finger circling the tiny bud, the little hole where he had opened me on his manhood. Despite my embarrassment, my body responded eagerly to his touch, my inner muscles relaxing as he worked the lubricant inside me with methodical patience.
When he was satisfied with his preparation, I watched from the corner of my eye, my heart racing, as Pierre picked up the purple plug. Then I whimpered softly as I felt the cool, blunt tip pressing against my entrance, so much larger than the one I’d worn before. He pushed forward steadily, giving me no chance to resist or hesitate. The stretch was immediate and intense, burning as the widest part breached my tight ring of muscle.
“Breathe through it,” Pierre instructed as I gasped in discomfort. “Accept what your master gives you.”
I sobbed as he continued to press the plug deeper, feeling impossibly full as my body struggled to accommodate the intrusion. When it finally slipped fully inside, my anus closing around the narrower neck, I collapsed forward onto the bed, overwhelmed by sensation.
I felt like a naughty little girl who’d been taught a terrible lesson. The burning in my bottom from the martinet combined with the profound fullness of the plug created a swirling mass of concepts and sensations, all orbiting a hot, central star—the idea of disciplined submission. In that moment of complete vulnerability, with nothing hidden from the man who had claimed every part of me, words spilled from my lips before I could stop them.
“I love you,” I whispered, then froze in horror at my admission.
Pierre’s hand, which had been gently caressing my punished flesh, stilled for a moment. The silence stretched between us, heavy with significance. Then I felt the mattress dip as he leaned over me, his lips brushing against my ear.
“I love you too, Audrey,” he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth I hadn’t heard before.
The words made my heart leap in my chest. I turned my head to look at him, searching his face for any sign of mockery or manipulation. Instead, I found only intense sincerity in his hazel eyes. Something shifted between us in that moment—not erasing the power dynamic that defined our relationship, but somehow deepening it, giving it new dimensions.
“Now,” Pierre said, “You may get up and put your dress on. It’s time to go.”
On the drive from Paris to the Loire, I had terrible trouble sitting still. The seats of Pierre’s Jaguar were luxurious, but my bottom squirmed constantly thanks to the welts from the martinet and the presence of the huge plug. Every bump in the road sent a jolt through my core, making me gasp involuntarily. The leather seat beneath my bare thighs felt decadent and forbidden—nothing between it and my most intimate places except the thin fabric of my sundress.
To distract myself from the constant reminders of my submission, I found myself asking questions about the thing that had been occupying my thoughts more and more.
“Pierre,” I ventured, my voice smaller than I intended, “would you tell me more about the New Modesty?”
He glanced at me, his lips curving into a knowing smile as he returned his attention to the road. “What would you like to know,ma petite?”
I shifted in my seat, wincing as the movement caused the plug to press deeper. “I… I’m curious about it. How it works, what it means for women.” The admission felt strangely naughty, as if by asking, I was acknowledging my interest in something I should rightfully condemn.
“You’re beginning to embrace your curiosity about this,” he observed, his voice warm with approval. “That’s good. The New Modesty isn’t what feminist propaganda has painted it to be. It’s about acknowledging natural hierarchies and finding peace within them.”
I bit my lip, gathering my courage. “How often…” I hesitated, my cheeks burning. “How often do New Modesty brides get punished? And how?”
Pierre’s hand moved from the gearshift to rest on my bare knee, his touch sending electric currents up my thigh. “It depends on the couple, of course,” he replied, his thumb tracing small circles on my skin. “But the New Modesty Authority recommends weekly discipline at minimum. It keeps the relationship balanced.”
