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)
I caught sight of myself in the mirror, and just below the reflection I saw the butt plug on the counter where I had left it. I had slept in the babydoll nightgown, unable to think of changing into my usual sleep tee after Pierre had helped me expel the plug, then bidden me good night with a humiliating reminder to clean the plug thoroughly. My face scalding, I had obeyed, then put the plug on the counter before simply tumbling back into bed and falling instantly asleep.
I felt my forehead crease as I considered, and then I bit my lip as I gave into the impulse: I turned around so I could see my bottom. I let out a tiny, helpless sob at the sight of the martinet’s work. I raised the hem of the nightgown so I could see better, and I turned my head over my shoulder. Hardly conscious of the movement, I started to rub my punished bottom with my other hand, tracing the welts with my fingertips. A low, keening moan came from my throat at the sight and the sensation.
I heard a bell sound, as if out of thin air.
“Warning,” a cool female voice said. “Masturbatory activity detected. Sponsor Pierre Lemieux has requested that you not masturbate without his permission. Should I message Sponsor Pierre Lemieux to ask for permission for you?”
CHAPTER 19
Audrey
“No!” I exclaimed, pulling my hand away from my backside as my face flared with heat. “No… don’t. Please?”
I stared wildly around the room, my heart hammering against my ribs. Where had that voice come from? There were no obvious speakers, no visible monitoring devices that I could see. Yet somehow, the apartment—or rather, the SA app—had detected what I was doing and intervened.
“Warning acknowledged,” the female voice responded, sounding almost satisfied. “Sponsor Pierre Lemieux will not be notified at this time.”
At this time. The implication was clear: future infractions might not be so easily dismissed. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling exposed despite being alone in the bathroom. The constantly refreshed knowledge that I was being watched—not just in a general sense, but in intimate detail—sent contradictory shivers of fear and excitement through me every time.
I felt tears trickle from the corners of my eyes. Not of sadness, though, I understood with an inner jolt of awareness that put a furrow in my brow. Of… well, of frustration that I wasn’t allowed to give myself the pleasure that I’d always treated as my right, but also…
I wiped angrily at my eyes. The frustration had more to it. I felt an irrational, but absolutely real irritation at Pierre and at Selecta. Not the frustration at them having the ability—which I had given them—to control me. That would have at least a little logic to it. No—I felt mad that I couldn’t pretend any longer, to myself anyway. I couldn’t tell myself that Pierre and Selecta didn’t know more about my needs than I did—nor could I deny the humiliating nature of those needs any longer.
I turned to face the mirror fully, keeping my arms firmly across my midriff. The girl staring back at me looked different from the one I felt like—the reflected blue eyes seemed wider, the cheeks flushed with a knowledge she couldn’t unlearn. I studied the girl in the mirror, noting how my blonde hair fell in tangled waves around my shoulders, how my small frame seemed both stronger and more vulnerable beneath the sheer white babydoll.
I couldn’t help it. I acknowledged to myself that somehow Pierre’s treatment of me—the way he had whipped me, the way he had fucked me, the way he had trained my bottom—had given me access to my real, bodily emotions on a level I had never expected. The sensation of the martinet striking my tender flesh had broken through barriers I’d constructed around myself, walls I’d built to deny the unsettling truth about what I truly craved. His domination had forced me to confront the person I actually was, not the person I pretended to be.
At the same time, this epiphany mortified me. I couldn’t reconcile the strong, independent woman I’d always believed myself to be with the submissive creature who had begged for permission to come while a plug stretched her virgin bottom. The contradiction felt impossible to resolve, a fundamental fracture in my understanding of myself.
I told myself that because the SA app couldn’t read my mind, I could at least keep from expressing my humiliating gratitude to Pierre for dominating me so thoroughly. That small rebellion felt important—vital, even—to preserving some fragment of my dignity. I could thank him for my allowance, and even for the enormous First Intimacy Premium, without thanking him for his strict New-Modesty-style guidance and all the objectification that came with it.
With a deep breath, I turned away from the mirror and stepped into the shower, stripping the nightgown off at last and trying not to think about everything it meant as I dropped it to the tiles. The warm water cascaded over my sensitive skin, making me gasp as it struck the welts on my bottom. I carefully washed myself, paying special attention to the places Pierre had claimed as his own. My fingers shook as I cleaned between my legs, the mere touch sending unwanted sparks of pleasure through my core.