Page 27 of Shameful Needs
I reached for the soap with shaking hands, working up a lather. As I ran my hands over my body, I was hyperaware of his gaze following every movement. When I reached my breasts, he said, “You’re going to show me how you masturbate in the shower at home.”
CHAPTER 13
Heather
My hands frozeon my breasts, soap suds dripping down my skin as his words registered. “What?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of the spray.
“You heard me,” Master Paul said, his voice carrying that same calm authority that had become so distressingly familiar. “Show me exactly how you touched yourself in those morning showers. The ones your home’s monitoring system recorded.”
The humiliation felt overwhelming. Bad enough that they had audio recordings of my private moments, but now this man wanted me to recreate them while he watched. My face burned with shame as I shook my head frantically.
“I can’t,” I gasped. “Please, I can’t do that.”
“I’ve told you to stop being foolish, Heather,” he replied matter-of-factly. “You need to learn obedience. I’ve already spanked you, and I’ll punish you as many times as I have to until you get it. Your husband needs to understand what his wife was doing while he slept peacefully in his bed. He needs to know what you were thinking about, what you were craving. Betweenyour trainers and Ryan, we’ll make sure you see the importance of honesty and attention to your wifely duties.”
My hands trembled as I stood there under the warm spray, water streaming down my naked body. The memory my morning sessions flooded back—the desperate need that would drive me to the shower before Ryan woke up, the way I’d bite my lip to keep from moaning too loudly, the fantasies that would consume me as I brought myself to the release my marriage bed couldn’t provide.
“I was just… I was just washing,” I lied weakly, my voice cracking.
Master Paul’s expression didn’t change. “Heather, we both know that’s not true. The audio recordings make what you were doing very clear. The question is whether you’re going to be honest about it now, or whether you need additional motivation.”
The threat in his voice was subtle, but unmistakable. I thought about the cane Lisa had mentioned, about the purple stripes I’d seen across Joann’s bottom. My resolve crumbled.
“Please,” I whispered, tears mixing with the shower water on my cheeks. “It’s so embarrassing.”
“Shame is good for you,” he said simply. “It’s honest. It’s real. Now show me.”
With shaking hands, I began to soap my body more deliberately. My fingers moved over my breasts, and despite my mortification, I felt my nipples harden under the attention. Master Paul watched with calm but evident interest as I traced the same paths I’d followed in countless morning showers.
“What were you thinking about?” he asked. “When you touched yourself like this, what images filled your mind?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to look at him. “I… I don’t remember.”
“Another lie.” His voice carried disappointment now. “Try again.”
My hands moved lower, following the familiar route down my stomach. The soap made my skin slippery, and I could feel my body beginning to respond despite my mortification.
“I thought about…” I started, then stopped, my voice catching in my throat.
“About what, Heather?” To my surprise, Master Paul’s voice had gotten a little gentler, as if he thought I’d begun to learn my lesson. “No need to name names, right now.”
The thought of having to say the nameChadbrought a sob from my chest, but the respite Master Paul had just given me—as I felt certain he thoroughly intended—made the next part much easier.Too easy, the resistant voice said, inside my head.Don’t fall for it.
But it seemed I couldn’t help it. The words flowed out.
“About being… about someone being… oh, God… being… rougher with me. Rougher than Ryan.”
“And,” said Master Paul, “doing what to you?”
My breath caught in my throat as I realized what he was asking me to detail. The water continued to cascade over my trembling body as I struggled to find words for things I’d never spoken aloud.
“About being… taken,” I whispered. “About someone not asking permission, not being gentle. About being…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Being used,” Master Paul supplied. “Being dominated. Being fucked the way your body craves.”
The crude words made me gasp, but I nodded miserably. My hands had continued their familiar path during our conversation, and I was horrified to realize I was already becoming terribly aroused despite my humiliation.
“Show me exactly how you touched yourself,” he commanded. “Don’t leave anything out.”
