Page 34 of Shameful Needs
Ryan said nothing as he continued the slow, methodical punishment. Each blow was calculated, timed to let the previous one reach its peak of agony before adding to it. The silence was almost worse than if he’d been lecturing me—there was something coldly professional about his approach that reminded me uncomfortably of Master Paul’s techniques.
I closed my eyes, shutting out the sight of Master Paul and Dr. Hamelin standing in front of me, calmly observing. I tried to pretend it didn’t hurt, tried to keep my breathing steady and my body still. In my mind, I pictured myself as stoic, unaffected, proving to these men that I was stronger than they assumed. But with each carefully placed swat, that facade became harder to maintain.
The paddle found new spots—the tender crease where my bottom met my thighs, the sensitive outer curves, the very center of each cheek. Ryan’s aim seemed perfect, methodical, covering every inch of my backside with precise, punishing strokes. Still he said nothing, and somehow his silence made everything worse.
I lost track of how many times the paddle had fallen. The pain began to blur together into one continuous burn that consumed my entire world. My resolve started to crack as tears leaked from my eyes despite my efforts to stay strong. I couldn’t pretend anymore that this was tolerable, that I could endure it with dignity.
“Please,” I finally whimpered, my voice barely audible. “Please, Ryan… sir, I can’t?—”
But he didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge that I’d spoken. The paddle continued its relentless rhythm, and I realized with growing desperation that my pleas meant nothing to him. This was going to continue until he decided it was over, not when I begged him to stop.
The breaking point came suddenly, without warning. One moment I was gritting my teeth and trying to breathe through the pain, and the next I was screaming at the top of my lungs, my body bucking wildly against the restraints as the agony overwhelmed every rational thought. My bottom was in flames, squirming lewdly in a vain attempt to quench a little of the agony.
“Stop! Please stop! I can’t take anymore!” The words tore from my throat in ragged sobs as I thrashed helplessly against the leather bench. All pretense of stoicism had vanished from my mind and my body as I seemed to ride the bench like a fiery steed, writhing obscenely under Ryan’s controlling hand. “No… please… sir, please… no more… It hurts so much…”
The paddle continued its relentless descent, and I felt something inside me shatter completely. All the walls I’d built, all the lies I’d told myself about who I was and what I needed—they crumbled under the weight of Ryan’s methodical discipline. My body convulsed with each blow, and I could hear myself making sounds I’d never made before, animal noises of pure desperation.
“I’m satisfied with the color of your bottom,” Ryan said finally, his voice cutting through my sobs. “Your punishment for lying and crashing the car is over.”
Relief flooded through me so intensely I nearly passed out. It was over. The terrible burning would start to fade, and I could begin to recover some shred of dignity. But even as that hope flickered to life, Ryan’s next words destroyed it completely.
“I’ll stop when you’re ready to tell me everything about your sexual history.”
My blood turned to ice. Through my tears and the haze of pain, I understood what he was saying. This wasn’t over—it was just beginning. He would keep paddling me until I confessedeverything about Chad, about what I’d done, about what I’d let him do to me.
“No,” I sobbed, my voice raw from screaming. “Please, I can’t. You don’t understand what you’re asking.”
But the paddle fell again, harder than before, and I shrieked as fresh fire bloomed across my already tortured flesh. He wasn’t going to show mercy. He wasn’t going to let me keep my secrets. My chivalrous husband had been replaced by someone who would break me as thoroughly as Master Paul had, who would strip away every lie until nothing remained but the truth.
“I’m waiting, Heather,” Ryan said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Tell me about the man who taught you to suck cock like a whore.”
The words hit me like a sledgehammer, and I felt what remained of my composure shatter completely. He knew, now. He’d watched me with Master Paul—or Dr. Hamelin had told him about it. My mind dwelt on that, as I tried to find a way to pretend it hadn’t happened, that everything hadn’t already fallen apart.
It didn’t work. However the information had reached him, Ryan knew about my mouth, about what I’d learned to do with it. How a dominant man could use me for his crude enjoyment the way Chad had taught me to give head. The brutal way Ryan had phrased it made my stomach lurch with shame even as my body responded with that familiar, unwelcome heat.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I lied desperately, my voice breaking on the words. But even as I said it, I knew how pathetic it sounded. The skill I’d displayed with Master Paul had been too practiced, too eager. There was no way to pretend I was inexperienced.
The paddle crashed down again, and I screamed, my body convulsing against the restraints. The pain was beyond anything I’d ever imagined, but worse was the knowledge that Ryanwould keep going until I told him everything. Until I destroyed whatever remained of his love for me with the truth about what I really was.
“His name was Chad.” The words tore from my throat before I could stop them. “His name was Chad Morrison, and he was my boyfriend before I met you.”
I felt Ryan’s hand pause against my back, the paddle hovering just above my burning flesh. The silence stretched out, and I could hear my own ragged breathing echoing in the sterile room.
“Go on,” he said quietly, and there was something in his voice that made my chest tighten with terror. Not anger, exactly, but a kind of warm—gentle, even—satisfaction that told me he’d been expecting this confession.
“We dated for a year,” I sobbed, my face pressed against the leather bench. “He was… he was different from you. Rougher. He liked to… to control me.”
The paddle fell again, not quite as hard as before, but still enough to make me cry out. “I said everything, Heather. Don’t make me drag it out of you piece by piece.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the last of my resistance crumble. There was no point in fighting anymore. He was going to know it all.
“He… he… I guess he trained me,” I whispered, the words feeling like poison on my tongue. “I mean… not like here, but…” I bit my lip, but I couldn’t keep the sob back. “I don’t know… kind of like here? He… he taught me how to… how to please him with my mouth. He said good girls learned to take it deep, to swallow everything he gave them. He made me practice until he could fuck my face without me gagging.”
My voice broke completely as the memories flooded back. Chad’s apartment, the way he’d grab my hair and force me to my knees, the pride I’d felt when he called me his good littlecocksucker. I’d loved it then, loved the way he’d used me, but saying it aloud to my husband made me want to die of shame.
“What else?” Ryan’s voice was steady, relentless. “What else did he teach you?”
“I don’t want to say it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of my own ragged breathing. The leather beneath my face was damp with tears, and I could taste salt on my lips. “Please, Ryan. Please don’t make me.”
