Page 45 of Shameful Needs
My hands trembled as I reached for the hem of my blouse, the simple cotton fabric suddenly feeling foreign against my fingers. Just days ago, I’d been his modest wife who insisted on privacy even when changing clothes. Hours ago, I’d felt grateful to put on the clothes Ryan had brought to the Selecta Solutions facility, for me to come home in: a pink top, a blue skirt, my everyday beige bra and white panties. Now I was stripping naked in our living room because my husband had decided I no longer deserved the dignity of clothing in my own home.
“All of it,” Ryan said when I hesitated after removing my top, his voice carrying that new authority that made my knees weak. “Bra, skirt, panties. Everything comes off, and you’ll ask permission before putting anything back on.”
I unhooked my bra with shaking fingers, my breasts spilling free as the garment fell to the floor. The cool air made my nipples harden immediately, and I saw Ryan’s eyes track the movement with obvious satisfaction. My face burned with shame, but underneath the humiliation was that treasonous heat I could never control.
The skirt pooled around my ankles next, followed by my simple white panties—the modest cotton underwear that felt like a lie now after wearing the red lace lingerie at the facility. I stood there completely naked in our living room, my arms instinctively moving to cover myself before Ryan’s sharp look stopped me.
“Hands at your sides,” he commanded. “I want to see all of you, whenever I want. Your body belongs to me now, and I’ll look at it as much as I please.”
I let my arms fall, exposing myself completely to his hungry gaze. The way he studied me—not with the gentle appreciation I was used to, but with the possessive assessment of ownership—sent mixed mortification and lust through my core.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, stepping closer to run his hands over my bare skin. “This is how you should have been greeting me every day since our wedding. Naked, available, ready to serve.”
His touch was confident now, claiming, nothing like the hesitant caresses I’d grown accustomed to. When his fingers found my pussy, I gasped at the contact, my hips bucking involuntarily against his hand.
“Already wet,” he observed with satisfaction. “My little ass girl likes being displayed for her husband, doesn’t she?”
The degrading pet name made me whimper, but I couldn’t deny the truth of his words. Standing naked before him while he remained fully clothed made me feel completely vulnerable, completely owned. It was exactly what I’d craved during all those frustrating nights when I’d touched myself in the shower.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I like it when you look at me.”
“Good,” Ryan said, his fingers continuing their exploration. “Now, since you’ve been home for less than five minutes and you’re already wet, we need to do something to make sure you remember what you are.”
My stomach dropped at his words, even as my body responded with shameful heat to the promise in his voice. Before I could ask what he meant, his strong hands were turning me around, positioning me so I faced the back of our couch.
“Bend over,” he commanded, his palm settling on my lower back to guide me forward. “Hands on the cushions.”
I obeyed without thinking, my body moving of its own accord as I leaned over the familiar furniture. My bottom rose high in the air while my face came to rest against the soft fabric where we’d watched television together like a normal married couple just days ago. Now I was naked and bent over it, waiting for my husband to remind me of my place.
“Spread your legs wider,” Ryan said, his voice full of authority. “I want full access to what’s mine.”
I whimpered as I complied, my thighs parting until I felt completely opened to my husband’s gaze. The cool air moved between my legs, and I knew he could see everything—my dripping pussy, the tight ring of my anus that he’d claimed so thoroughly at the facility. The memory of how he’d used me there, how he’d made me confess everything while his massive cock stretched me beyond my limits, sent fresh heat flooding through my core.
I felt his warm hands settle on my bottom, his palms spreading my cheeks as he examined me to his obscene satisfaction. The casual way he displayed me, as if my body was simply an object for his inspection, made my face burn with humiliation even as my pussy clenched with need.
“This little hole,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over my anus, “belongs to me now. Doesn’t it, ass girl?”
“Yes, sir,” I gasped, my voice muffled against the couch cushions. The light touch sent electricity through my nervous system, reminding me of how completely he’d dominated me just hours ago.
Without warning, I felt his finger press against my cringing anus, not entering, but simply resting there like a promise. The contact made me shiver, my body instinctively trying to clench against the invasion even as part of me craved it.
“I’m going to put my finger in your ass,” Ryan said matter-of-factly. “To remind you that this part of you—all of you—is mine to use whenever I choose.”
I bit my lip as I felt him begin to push forward, his thick digit working past the tight ring with steady pressure. The burn was immediate and overwhelming, but not entirely unpleasant. My body remembered how to accept this invasion, how to relax and submit to his claiming.
“Oh,” I whimpered as he slid deeper, his finger filling me completely. The sensation was different from his massive cock—more intimate and more personal. This wasn’t about his pleasure, but about establishing his ownership.
“That’s it,” he murmured, beginning to move his finger in and out. “That’s my sweet little hole.”
The degrading words sent a jolt straight through me, and I couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped my lips. My body was responding to his finger with shameful eagerness, my hips pushing back against the invasion despite my mortification.
“Actually,” Ryan said, his finger stilling inside me, “Selecta Solutions sent you home with a souvenir. Something to help you remember your training.”
My blood turned to ice at his words. “What do you mean?” I whispered, though I dreaded the answer.
I heard him moving behind me, his finger still buried in my bottom as he reached for something. When I craned my neck to look back, I saw him holding a small velvet box that I hadn’t noticed him carrying into the house.
“They want to make sure you don’t forget what you learned,” he said, opening the box with his free hand. “So they’ve given you something to wear.”
