Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
After drying off, I stood before the bathroom counter, staring at the plug. I had promised—no, I had been made to promise—to wear it all day. The thought of walking through the Jardins with it inside me, of sitting in a dark cinema with nothing between my bare skin and the seat except the thin fabric of a skirt, made my stomach flutter with dread and shameful anticipation.
With shaking hands, I prepared the plug, coating it generously with lubricant. I bent slightly at the waist, positioning it against my tender entrance. The pressure as I began to push it inside made me sob quietly, the stretch painful yet somehow necessary. I chewed the inside of my cheek as I pushed the widest part inside me. At last the little ring of my anus closed around the narrower part, securing it firmly in place—widening me, keeping me open to teach me how to obey when the time came.
The chime of an alert from the SA app made my face go hot. With a deep crease in my brow at the way the plug subtly changed my movements, I walked, still naked, from the bathroom to pick up my phone from the nightstand.
I stared at the screen, my chest tightening as I read Pierre’s message: Remember: no panties. My face burning with humiliation, I put the phone down, annoyed at the trembling of my fingers. The thought of going outside with nothing beneath my skirt except the plug nestled in my bottom made my knees weak.
I dressed with painstaking care, selecting a modest knee-length skirt in navy blue and a light blouse that buttoned to my throat. The conservative outfit felt like armor—a pretense of respectability that unfortunately only heightened my awareness of what lay beneath. As I stepped into the skirt, letting it settle around my waist, the feeling of the fabric against my bruised buttocks made me gasp. I pressed my thighs together, acutely conscious of my nakedness and the fullness in my bottom.
Every movement as I finished dressing reminded me of my state: my status as Pierre’s no-longer-virgin fuck toy. The brush of the skirt against my sensitive flesh. The slight shift of the plug when I bent to slip on my shoes. The knowledge that anyone who looked closely might notice something different in my gait, might somehow sense the lewd secret I carried inside me.
With one final glance in the mirror—at a girl who looked outwardly ordinary, but whose flushed cheeks and overbright eyes hinted at hidden truths—I left the apartment.
The walk to the Jardins de Luxembourg felt eternal. Each step sent a ripple of sensation through me as the plug shifted subtly within my backside. The morning air felt unnaturally cool against my exposed flesh beneath my skirt. I kept my thighs pressed tightly together, terrified that somehow my state of undress would become obvious to passersby.
A man in a business suit brushed past me on the sidewalk, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Did he know? Had he heard through some network of wealthy men about how Pierre Lemieux had fucked a virgin and then made her go outside with a plug in her bottom? My heart hammered against my ribs as I forced myself to keep walking, one careful step at a time.
When I finally reached the gardens, I found a secluded bench beneath a spreading chestnut tree. I sat down gingerly, wincing as the pressure forced the plug deeper. The sensation made me bite my lip to stifle a moan—part discomfort, part forbidden pleasure. I crossed my legs tightly, trying to maintain whatever dignity I could manage in my compromised state.
Around me, the gardens unfolded in their spring glory. Children played on manicured lawns while their mothers chatted nearby. Elderly men hunched over chess games with intense concentration. University students sprawled on the grass with books and laptops. Normal people living normal lives, while I sat among them having my anus trained for my sponsor’s cock, and nothing beneath my skirt but bare, sensitive skin.
I tried to distract myself by watching a young couple looking at the boats sail across the central pond. Their faces glowed with innocent joy as the breeze caught the tiny sails. A pang of something like envy struck me—how simple their happiness seemed.
I spent as much time as I could bear in the gardens, my mind drifting between acute embarrassment and unwanted arousal. Eventually I gathered my courage and made my way to the cinema on Boulevard Saint-Michel. I’d seen the comedy advertised—something light and American, with French subtitles—and thought it might distract me from my predicament.
The theater was mercifully dim as I purchased my ticket and found a seat near the back. I lowered myself gingerly onto the plush velvet, a small gasp escaping my lips as the plug shifted inside me. The feeling of the seat almost directly against my bare bottom and pussy made me press my thighs together tightly, terrified someone might somehow notice my state of undress.