Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
The cursor blinked at me like an accusation. My brain felt like mush, every attempt to focus sliding away into thoughts of the medium plug, of Friday, of Mike’s hands on me. After twenty minutes of staring at the same paragraph without comprehending a single word, I gave up.
I needed a distraction. Something mindless.
I moved to the couch and pulled up Selecta Streaming on the TV, scrolling through options without really seeing them. Finally I settled on some romantic comedy I’d seen before, something that wouldn’t require actual thought. The familiar dialogue washed over me as I curled into the corner of the couch, trying to ignore the constant awareness of my sealed pussy.
By the time the credits rolled, my stomach was growling again. I wandered to the kitchen and opened the fridge, the display lighting up with helpful suggestions. Grilled chicken with roasted vegetables, 427 calories. Pasta primavera, 612 calories. I grabbed chicken breast and asparagus, following the recipe instructions that appeared on the screen with mechanical precision.
I was halfway through eating when I heard it—a soft beep that made me freeze with my fork halfway to my mouth.
Then the unmistakable sound of a latch clicking open.
My head whipped toward the sound. The sponsor’s cabinet. The door had swung open on its own, revealing the contents inside.
Seven o’clock. He’d said seven o’clock, and I’d completely lost track of time.
I set down my fork with trembling hands and stood, my legs feeling unsteady as I crossed to the cabinet. My breath caught when I looked inside.
The two remaining plugs sat in a neat pair—medium, large. The tube of lubricant beside them. And there, hanging from a hook on the inside of the cabinet door, was something I hadn’t noticed last night on the quick glance I’d gotten in my overwhelmed state.
A whip.
My stomach lurched violently. The implement looked deceptively innocent—a wooden handle with multiple thin leather tails hanging from it. But I knew what it was for. I’d seen pictures. It was for discipline. For punishment.
For girls who disobeyed.
I tried to look away, but my eyes kept darting back to it. The leather tails seemed almost to speak to me, promising pain if I stepped out of line. If I touched myself without permission. If I failed to please Mike in some way I didn’t even know yet.
Would he use it on me? The thought made my sealed pussy clench hard, a confusing mixture of fear and arousal flooding through my system. My bottom still ached from last night’s spanking—would he escalate to this if I misbehaved? Would those thin leather tails leave humiliating marks on my bare backside, for me to look at in the mirror… the way I hadn’t been able to help looking at the cane welts the orderly had made across my bottom?
I forced myself to look away from the whip—the martinet, some dark corner of my mind supplied—and focus on what I was actually supposed to be doing. The small plug sat on my nightstand where I’d left it this morning. I retrieved it quickly, my hands shaking as I returned it to the cabinet.
The medium plug was noticeably heavier when I picked it up. Thicker. I grabbed the tube of lube with my other hand and closed the cabinet door as quickly as I could, grateful to hide that terrible leather implement from view.
My heart hammered as I carried both items to the bedroom. I set them on the nightstand and stared at them for a long moment, my breath coming faster. The medium plug looked impossibly large now that I was actually going to have to put it inside me. I didn’t know, now, how I had managed the small one last night, and this one was so much bigger.
But Mike expected it. He’d told me to do it. And he would punish me for disobedience. The martinet flashed into my mind and I had to bite my lip to keep from letting out an audible whimper of mingled fear and need. My sponsor knew how to punish a naughty girl.
I stripped off my yoga pants and panties with trembling hands, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Then I did what Mike had taught me last night—positioned myself at the end of the bed, bent forward with my palms flat on the mattress, knees spread wide.
The vulnerability of the position hit me all over again. I was offering myself, presenting my bottom for training, and he wasn’t even here. But he could see. The thought made my sealed pussy clench hard. He could be watching through the cameras, seeing me obey his command, and that knowledge sent a rush of heat through my core.
I squeezed a generous amount of lube onto my right hand, then reached back between my legs. The moment my slick fingers found my anus, I gasped. The sensitivity was even more intense than it had been last night, every nerve ending hyperaware after sleeping with the plug inside me.