Page 26 of Shameful Needs
The pressure became unbearable. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to pretend he wasn’t there, and finally let go. The sound seemed mortifyingly loud in the small tiled space, and I felt my face burn with shame so intense it made my skin tingle. But underneath the humiliation, I felt something else—the unwelcome warmth spreading through my core at being so completely exposed and vulnerable.
“Good girl,” Master Paul said when I finished, his voice carrying that same approving tone that had broken me the night before. “See how much easier things are when you stop fighting?”
I couldn’t look at him as I cleaned myself, my hands shaking with the combination of embarrassment and unwanted arousal. The casual way he’d watched such an intimate act made me feel utterly owned, completely at his mercy.
After I washed my hands, he led me to the dining room where the other wives were already seated. I took my place beside Elizabeth, grateful for the cushion that was still there from the night before. The conversation was muted this morning, and I noticed Lisa looked particularly tired, dark circles under her eyes.
“Rough night?” Joann asked her quietly.
Lisa nodded. “Master James decided I needed some… additional instruction about… well, you know… taking it… back there.” She shifted uncomfortably on her own cushion. “I’m not supposed to talk about it, but let’s just say he taught me a lesson.”
I ate my breakfast in silence, my mind racing with what that might mean. The eggs and toast tasted like cardboard as I thought about what lay ahead for me.
After we finished eating, Master Paul appeared at my side. “Come along, Heather. Time for your physical conditioning.”
He led me to the gymnasium I’d seen during my tour. The space was empty except for us, the equipment gleaming under the lights. From a cabinet, he retrieved a white sports bra and handed it to me.
“Put this on,” he instructed. “We can’t have you bouncing around during exercise.”
I slipped the bra over my head, grateful for even this small covering. The fabric was soft and supportive, but I was still acutely aware of my bare bottom and legs as he guided me to a treadmill.
“We’ll start with a warmup,” he said, adjusting the settings. “Five minutes of jogging, then twenty at a moderate pace.”
As I began to run, I felt exposed and vulnerable with my bare legs pumping and my bottom completely uncovered. But gradually, something shifted. The rhythmic movement, the steady beat of my feet on the belt, the way my body began to warm and loosen—it felt good. Better than I’d felt in months.
After the treadmill, Master Paul led me to a series of weight machines. My legs felt shaky from the run, but he was relentless in his instruction.
“Leg press first,” he said, adjusting the weight. “Your body needs to be strong, Heather. Strong enough to serve your husband properly.”
I positioned myself on the machine, acutely aware of how exposed I felt with my legs spread wide. The weight was challenging, but manageable, and I found myself focusing on the burn in my muscles rather than my embarrassment.
“Good,” Master Paul said, watching my form with clinical attention. “Now squats.”
He guided me through a series of exercises—squats, lunges, arm curls. With each movement, I felt my body awakening in ways I’d forgotten. The endorphins began to flow, and despite everything, I felt stronger, more alive than I had in months.
“Notice how good your body feels,” Master Paul said as I finished the last set of bicep curls. “This is what happens when you stop fighting against your nature and start working with it. Your body responds to discipline, to structure, to being pushed.”
He was right. The exercise had cleared my head, made me feel centered in a way I hadn’t experienced since before my marriage. My skin glowed with perspiration, and I could feel the pleasant ache of well-used muscles.
“Time to clean up,” he announced, leading me toward the showers.
The shower area was tiled in white, with multiple heads along the walls. Master Paul turned on one of the faucets, testing the water temperature with his hand.
“Go ahead,” he said, stepping back but making no move to leave.
My stomach dropped. “You’re… you’re going to watch?”
“Your body belongs to your husband, Heather. I’m acting on his behalf.” His voice was matter-of-fact, as if this were perfectly reasonable. “Besides, after what happened yesterday, you can’t be trusted alone.”
I stood there frozen, my arms crossed over my chest despite the sports bra. The thought of him watching me shower sent conflicting thrills of shame and arousal through my body.
“I’m waiting,” he said calmly.
With trembling hands, I pulled the sports bra over my head, my breasts spilling free. The cool air made my nipples hardenimmediately, and I saw Master Paul’s eyes track the movement with professional interest.
I stepped under the spray, the warm water cascading over my skin. I tried to turn away from him, to hide my body, but there was nowhere to go in the open shower. Every movement felt lewd, exposed.
“Wash yourself properly,” he instructed. “All of you.”
