Page 28 of Shameful Needs
My hand moved between my legs almost of its own accord, following the routine I’d performed countless mornings while Ryan slept peacefully in our bed. The bare skin felt strange under my fingers after so many years of having hair there, but the sensation was immediate and devastating.
“I would think about…” I started, then stopped, biting my lip hard enough to taste blood.
“About what, Heather?”
“About being held down.” The confession tore from my throat. “About someone not caring what I wanted, just taking what they needed from me. About being paddled until I couldn’t fight anymore, then being…”
My fingers found the rhythm I remembered so well, and despite everything—the watching eyes, the humiliation, the wrongness of it all—my body began to respond with familiar hunger.
“Being what?” Master Paul pressed.
“Being fucked,” I sobbed, the word feeling dirty and wrong, but undeniably true. “In my… in… everywhere. Being used like a… like a…”
“Like a whore,” he finished for me, and the word sent a jolt of electricity straight through my core. “That’s what you thought about every morning while your caring, lenient husband slept nearby. You fantasized about being treated like a whore, getting it in the ass despite your protests.”
I couldn’t deny it anymore. My body was betraying me completely now, responding to both the physical stimulation and his degrading words with a desperation that terrified me. This was exactly what I’d craved during all those frustrating nights with Ryan, when his tender lovemaking left me empty and wanting.
“Please,” I whimpered, though I wasn’t sure what I was begging for. My fingers worked with increasing urgency, following the pattern that had brought me relief so many times before.
“You’re close,” Master Paul observed clinically. “I can see it in your face, in the way you’re moving. This is how you looked every morning, isn’t it? Desperate and ashamed, but unable to stop yourself.”
I was climbing toward the edge now, my body tensing with familiar anticipation. Just a little more, just a few more seconds and I could have the release that had been denied to me all night.
The sharp beep of his handheld device cut through the sound of the shower, and my blood turned to ice. I knew what that sound meant—the sensor was telling him I was about to climax.
“Stop,” Master Paul commanded, his voice slicing through my desperate haze.
My hand froze between my legs, my entire body trembling on the very edge of release. The denial was devastating, worse than the night before because this time I’d been so close, so desperate, so ready to finally have the relief my body screamed for.
“No,” I sobbed, my legs nearly giving out. “Please, I was right there, I need?—”
“What you need,” Master Paul said calmly, “is to learn that your pleasure belongs to your husband. You don’t get to take it whenever you want anymore.”
I stood there under the spray, my body shaking with unfulfilled need, soap still clinging to my skin. The ache between my legs was unbearable, made worse by how close I’d come to satisfaction. My hand started to move again instinctively, seeking the relief I’d been denied.
“Don’t,” Master Paul warned, his voice sharp. “Put your hands at your sides and keep them there.”
I obeyed, my arms falling to my sides even as every nerve ending in my body screamed for touch. The water continued to cascade over me, but I barely felt it.
“This is what honesty looks like, Heather,” he continued, his voice taking on that instructional tone I’d come to dread. “You’ve just shown me—and through the video feed, your husband—exactly what you were doing every morning. How you were dishonoring your husband by seeking carnal pleasure without his permission.”
The shame was overwhelming. I’d just masturbated in front of this stranger, confessed my darkest fantasies, revealed the depth of my deception. And Ryan could be watching it all, seeing his modest wife transformed into the desperate, needy creature I really was.
“Turn off the water and step out,” Master Paul instructed.
I turned the handle with shaking hands, the sudden absence of the warm spray making me shiver. He handed me a towel, and I wrapped it around myself gratefully, though it did nothing to hide the flush of arousal that still burned through my body.
“Come with me,” Master Paul said, his stern voice making my stomach flutter despite everything I’d just endured.
I clutched the towel around myself as he led me from the shower area back to my little room. My legs felt unsteady, my body still humming with the denied arousal that seemed to intensify with each step. When we reached my door, he gestured for me to enter first.
“Drop the towel,” he commanded once we were inside.
My hands trembled as I let the terrycloth fall to the floor, leaving me naked and exposed once again. The cool air made my still-damp skin prickle, and I wrapped my arms around myself instinctively.
“Kneel on the towel,” Master Paul said simply.
I sank to my knees on damp terrycloth, my heart hammering as I watched him begin to unfasten his belt. The sound of the leather sliding through the loops made me shiver, but not with fear. With something darker, more shameful.
