Page 21 of Shameful Needs
“Please,” she gasped, her hips moving frantically now. “Please, I need?—”
A sharp beep cut through the audio feed, and I saw Paul reach into his pocket with his free hand. “That’s the feed from your sensor,” he told her calmly. “The alarm means you’re about to come.”
A second later, Heather exploded. Her entire body convulsed as she screamed, her pussy clenching visibly around Paul’s fingers, her sweet pink bottom squirming lewdly in her ecstasy. The orgasm seemed to go on forever, endless thrills that made her shake and sob with relief.
The sound hit me hard. In all our months of marriage, I’d never heard Heather make that sound. Never seen her body respond with such raw, uncontrolled need. The quiet moans she’d given me, the gentle gasps and sighs I’d thought were satisfaction—they’d all been lies.
She’d been faking it. Every single time.
My hand moved faster on my cock as the realization sank in. My beautiful, modest wife had been performing for me, pretending to enjoy my gentle lovemaking while her body screamed for something rougher, more demanding. Something I’d been too kind to give her.
“There’s my good girl,” Paul said, his voice filled with satisfaction as Heather’s orgasm finally subsided. “That’s what you needed all along, isn’t it?”
The shame and relief on her face told me everything I needed to know. This wasn’t abuse or coercion—this was revelation. Paul had given her what her body craved, what I’d been too hesitant to provide.
I pumped my cock faster, thinking about all the times I’d held back, all the moments when I’d wanted to be rougher but had convinced myself she was too delicate, too pure. The way she’d said ‘that’s off limits’ when I’d accidentally touched her ass—now I understood. She hadn’t been protecting her modesty. She’d been protecting her secret.
Dr. Hamelin had been right. The examination had revealed that Heather had been fucked in the ass before, probably by whoever she’d been with before me. The man she’d dismissed as ‘not good’ and ‘didn’t mean anything.’
Bullshit. He’d trained her body to crave exactly what I’d been denying her.
No more.
I watched Paul help Heather to her feet, her legs shaking from the intensity of her orgasm. She was completelytransformed—her modest facade stripped away to reveal the desperate, needy woman underneath. This was who she really was. This was what she’d been hiding from me.
When she came home, things would be different. No more gentle requests. No more asking permission to touch my own wife. No more letting her dictate what was ‘off limits’ in our marriage bed.
She’d spread her legs for me whenever I wanted. She’d kneel and suck my cock when I told her to. And yes—she’d bend over and take my dick in her ass, the way she’d done for her previous lover. The way her body was clearly designed to do.
The image hit me like lightning—Heather on her hands and knees on our bed, her face pressed into the pillows while I pushed into her tight little asshole for the first time. The way she’d cry out, not with pain, but with relief at finally being used properly. The way she’d push back against me, begging for more.
“Please fuck my ass harder, sir,” she’d whisper, just like she had in the shower fantasies they’d recorded. “Please use me like the slut I am.”
My hand moved rapidly on my cock as the fantasy consumed me. I grabbed some tissues with my other hand; I had no qualms about coming as I thought about the way I would dominate my bride from this point on. I’d make her admit everything—every lie she’d told, every fake orgasm, every secret she’d kept. I’d spank her ass red and then fuck it until she screamed. I’d show her what real discipline felt like, what real authority looked like.
The orgasm hit me with devastating force, my cock pulsing as I came harder than I had in months. Rope after rope of semen shot into the tissues.
When it was over, I sat there breathing hard, my laptop screen showing Heather being guided along a corridor, maybe to the cafeteria. The woman on that screen wasn’t the modestwife I’d married. She was a sexual creature who needed to be controlled, dominated, used.
And I was going to be the man to do it.
Heather
Master Paul guidedme down the corridor, his hand firm on my shoulder as my legs still trembled from the intensity of what had just happened. The aftershocks of my orgasm were still coursing through me, making every step feel unsteady. I could feel the heat radiating from my freshly spanked bottom, and the way my bare feet moved silently on the cold linoleum seemed to emphasize just how exposed and vulnerable I was.
“That was an important lesson,” Master Paul said, his voice carrying that same calm authority that had broken through my defenses so completely. “Your body doesn’t lie, Heather. It tells us exactly what you need, even when your mind fights against it.”
I wanted to argue against this umpteenth repetition of what was apparently their favorite piece of folk wisdom. I wanted to maintain some shred of dignity, but the words wouldn’t come. The truth was too devastating to deny. The way I’d responded to his dominance, the way my body had exploded under his touch after he’d spanked the arousal right out of me and then built it back up again—it had been more intense than anything I’d ever experienced with Ryan. More honest than anything I’d felt since Chad.
“The other wives will be gathering for dinner,” he continued, guiding me toward the dining area I’d seen during my tour.“You’ll meet them properly now. They’ll help you understand what this place is really about.”
The dining room looked exactly as sterile and institutional as it had earlier, but now there were other women seated at one of the two tables. Three of them, all completely naked like me, their conversations stopping as Master Paul led me inside. I felt my face burn with shame as their eyes took in my appearance—my tearstained cheeks, my swollen lips, the obvious signs of recent discipline written across my body.
“Ladies,” Master Paul announced, his voice carrying easily across the room. “This is Heather. She’s just beginning her program with us.”
The women’s expressions were a mixture of sympathy and recognition. They’d all been where I was now—stripped naked, broken down, forced to confront truths about themselves they’d tried to hide. The understanding in their eyes was almost worse than judgment would have been.
“Heather,” Master Paul said, his hand moving to the small of my back in a gesture that was both protective and possessive. “I’d like you to meet your fellow wives.”
