Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“And you’re okay with that?” I couldn’t hide the desperation in my voice. The thought that Ryan might actually come to the facility to watch… I didn’t even want to consider it.
“I think so,” she said softly. “I mean, it’s scary, but also… relieving? I don’t have to pretend anymore. He knows what I need, and he’s not afraid to give it to me.”
Lisa nodded emphatically. “That’s exactly it. David was so careful with me before, so worried about hurting my feelings or pushing too hard. But now he understands that being gentle was actually hurting our marriage.”
I thought about Ryan, about his hesitant touches and apologies—and how I’d made it worse with my talk of my bottom being off limits. Warmth crept into my cheeks, and I looked down at my plate.
After lunch, while I sat in my room with butterflies in my tummy as I wondered what my first real training would be like, Master Paul entered with a slim box in his hands. My heart began to race as he set the box on my desk and turned to face me. The way he looked at me—calm, assessing, completely in control—made my stomach flutter with a mixture of fear and unwanted anticipation.
“This is for you,” he said simply, opening the lid to reveal delicate red lace nestled in tissue paper. “Put it on.”
I stared at the contents, my breath catching in my throat. It was lingerie—real lingerie, not the simple cotton undergarments I’d always worn. The bra was barely there, all sheer lace and satin ribbon, designed to reveal rather than conceal. The matching panties were equally scandalous, a lacy thong that would hide nothing.
“I… I’ve never worn anything like this,” I whispered, my hands trembling as I lifted the delicate fabric. The material felt foreign against my fingers—expensive, sensual, meant for a different kind of woman than I’d ever allowed myself to be. Chad had never given me anything of the sort, or shown the slightest interest in me wearing anything sexy; he had just told me to take off my clothes when he decided to use me, or to show me off to his friends—then kept me naked as long as he felt like it.
“I thought that was probably the case,” Master Paul replied. “Your husband deserves to see you in proper feminine attire for the bedroom, when he chooses to exercise his marital privileges and enjoy you. This lingerie will help you understand the punishment you’re about to receive as an important moment for you.”
Punishment. The word sent a chill through me even as my body responded with unwelcome need. “What kind of punishment?”
His brown eyes studied my face with an assessing gaze. “You’re going to fully reveal your sexual history, Heather. Everything you’ve been hiding from Ryan. Every lie, every deception, every shameful secret you’ve kept locked away. Then you’re going to be punished for your dishonesty.”
My blood turned to ice. “No,” I said, shaking my head frantically. “I won’t do it. I can’t tell anyone about…” I couldn’t even finish the sentence.
“About your dominant boyfriend?” Master Paul supplied quietly.
The words hit me like a punch.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied desperately, but my voice cracked on the words.
Master Paul’s expression didn’t change. “Put on the lingerie, Heather. Now.”
My hands shook as I lifted the bra, the red lace feeling like sin against my palms. I’d spent my entire adult life in modest white cotton, telling myself that anything else was improper for a good wife. But as I fastened the delicate clasp, I couldn’t deny how the fabric made me feel—feminine, sensual, desired.
The panties were even worse.
The tiny triangle of lace barely covered anything as I pulled the thong up my legs. The narrow strip of fabric settled between my cheeks, like a reminder of how exposed I was, how little separated me from complete nakedness. As I adjusted the delicate straps on my hips, a wave of recognition washed over me that made my stomach clench with shame.
I looked like a whore. The thought hit me with devastating clarity as I caught my reflection in the small mirror mounted on the wall. The red lace against my pale skin, the way the bra pushed up my breasts while revealing more than it concealed, the scandalous cut of the panties that left my bottom completely bare—this was exactly the kind of lingerie worn by the kind of woman I’d always told myself I wasn’t.
But God help me, I loved how it felt.
The admission burned through me like poison. I loved the way the lace caressed my skin, the way the thong made me hyperaware of every movement. I loved how it made my body look—sensual, available, designed for a man’s pleasure. It was everything I’d denied myself, everything I’d convinced Ryan I was too modest to wear.