Chapter 13
Heather
My hands froze on my breasts, soap suds dripping down my skin as his words registered. “What?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of the spray.
“You heard me,” Master Paul said, his voice carrying that same calm authority that had become so distressingly familiar. “Show me exactly how you touched yourself in those morning showers. The ones your home’s monitoring system recorded.”
The humiliation felt overwhelming. Bad enough that they had audio recordings of my private moments, but now this man wanted me to recreate them while he watched. My face burned with shame as I shook my head frantically.
“I can’t,” I gasped. “Please, I can’t do that.”
“I’ve told you to stop being foolish, Heather,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“You need to learn obedience. I’ve already spanked you, and I’ll punish you as many times as I have to until you get it.
Your husband needs to understand what his wife was doing while he slept peacefully in his bed.
He needs to know what you were thinking about, what you were craving.
Between your trainers and Ryan, we’ll make sure you see the importance of honesty and attention to your wifely duties. ”
My hands trembled as I stood there under the warm spray, water streaming down my naked body.
The memory my morning sessions flooded back—the desperate need that would drive me to the shower before Ryan woke up, the way I’d bite my lip to keep from moaning too loudly, the fantasies that would consume me as I brought myself to the release my marriage bed couldn’t provide.
“I was just… I was just washing,” I lied weakly, my voice cracking.
Master Paul’s expression didn’t change. “Heather, we both know that’s not true. The audio recordings make what you were doing very clear. The question is whether you’re going to be honest about it now, or whether you need additional motivation.”
The threat in his voice was subtle, but unmistakable. I thought about the cane Lisa had mentioned, about the purple stripes I’d seen across Joann’s bottom. My resolve crumbled.
“Please,” I whispered, tears mixing with the shower water on my cheeks. “It’s so embarrassing.”
“Shame is good for you,” he said simply. “It’s honest. It’s real. Now show me.”
With shaking hands, I began to soap my body more deliberately. My fingers moved over my breasts, and despite my mortification, I felt my nipples harden under the attention. Master Paul watched with calm but evident interest as I traced the same paths I’d followed in countless morning showers.
“What were you thinking about?” he asked. “When you touched yourself like this, what images filled your mind?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to look at him. “I… I don’t remember.”
“Another lie.” His voice carried disappointment now. “Try again.”
My hands moved lower, following the familiar route down my stomach. The soap made my skin slippery, and I could feel my body beginning to respond despite my mortification.
“I thought about…” I started, then stopped, my voice catching in my throat.
“About what, Heather?” To my surprise, Master Paul’s voice had gotten a little gentler, as if he thought I’d begun to learn my lesson. “No need to name names, right now.”
The thought of having to say the name Chad brought a sob from my chest, but the respite Master Paul had just given me—as I felt certain he thoroughly intended—made the next part much easier. Too easy, the resistant voice said, inside my head. Don’t fall for it.
But it seemed I couldn’t help it. The words flowed out.
“About being… about someone being… oh, God… being… rougher with me. Rougher than Ryan.”
“And,” said Master Paul, “doing what to you?”
My breath caught in my throat as I realized what he was asking me to detail. The water continued to cascade over my trembling body as I struggled to find words for things I’d never spoken aloud.
“About being… taken,” I whispered. “About someone not asking permission, not being gentle. About being…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Being used,” Master Paul supplied. “Being dominated. Being fucked the way your body craves.”
The crude words made me gasp, but I nodded miserably. My hands had continued their familiar path during our conversation, and I was horrified to realize I was already becoming terribly aroused despite my humiliation.
“Show me exactly how you touched yourself,” he commanded. “Don’t leave anything out.”
My hand moved between my legs almost of its own accord, following the routine I’d performed countless mornings while Ryan slept peacefully in our bed. The bare skin felt strange under my fingers after so many years of having hair there, but the sensation was immediate and devastating.
“I would think about…” I started, then stopped, biting my lip hard enough to taste blood.
“About what, Heather?”
“About being held down.” The confession tore from my throat. “About someone not caring what I wanted, just taking what they needed from me. About being paddled until I couldn’t fight anymore, then being…”
My fingers found the rhythm I remembered so well, and despite everything—the watching eyes, the humiliation, the wrongness of it all—my body began to respond with familiar hunger.
“Being what?” Master Paul pressed.
“Being fucked,” I sobbed, the word feeling dirty and wrong, but undeniably true. “In my… in… everywhere. Being used like a… like a…”
“Like a whore,” he finished for me, and the word sent a jolt of electricity straight through my core. “That’s what you thought about every morning while your caring, lenient husband slept nearby. You fantasized about being treated like a whore, getting it in the ass despite your protests.”
I couldn’t deny it anymore. My body was betraying me completely now, responding to both the physical stimulation and his degrading words with a desperation that terrified me.
This was exactly what I’d craved during all those frustrating nights with Ryan, when his tender lovemaking left me empty and wanting.
“Please,” I whimpered, though I wasn’t sure what I was begging for. My fingers worked with increasing urgency, following the pattern that had brought me relief so many times before.
“You’re close,” Master Paul observed clinically. “I can see it in your face, in the way you’re moving. This is how you looked every morning, isn’t it? Desperate and ashamed, but unable to stop yourself.”
I was climbing toward the edge now, my body tensing with familiar anticipation. Just a little more, just a few more seconds and I could have the release that had been denied to me all night.
The sharp beep of his handheld device cut through the sound of the shower, and my blood turned to ice. I knew what that sound meant—the sensor was telling him I was about to climax.
“Stop,” Master Paul commanded, his voice slicing through my desperate haze.
My hand froze between my legs, my entire body trembling on the very edge of release. The denial was devastating, worse than the night before because this time I’d been so close, so desperate, so ready to finally have the relief my body screamed for.
“No,” I sobbed, my legs nearly giving out. “Please, I was right there, I need—”
“What you need,” Master Paul said calmly, “is to learn that your pleasure belongs to your husband. You don’t get to take it whenever you want anymore.”
I stood there under the spray, my body shaking with unfulfilled need, soap still clinging to my skin. The ache between my legs was unbearable, made worse by how close I’d come to satisfaction. My hand started to move again instinctively, seeking the relief I’d been denied.
“Don’t,” Master Paul warned, his voice sharp. “Put your hands at your sides and keep them there.”
I obeyed, my arms falling to my sides even as every nerve ending in my body screamed for touch. The water continued to cascade over me, but I barely felt it.
“This is what honesty looks like, Heather,” he continued, his voice taking on that instructional tone I’d come to dread.
“You’ve just shown me—and through the video feed, your husband—exactly what you were doing every morning.
How you were dishonoring your husband by seeking carnal pleasure without his permission. ”
The shame was overwhelming. I’d just masturbated in front of this stranger, confessed my darkest fantasies, revealed the depth of my deception. And Ryan could be watching it all, seeing his modest wife transformed into the desperate, needy creature I really was.
“Turn off the water and step out,” Master Paul instructed.
I turned the handle with shaking hands, the sudden absence of the warm spray making me shiver. He handed me a towel, and I wrapped it around myself gratefully, though it did nothing to hide the flush of arousal that still burned through my body.
“Come with me,” Master Paul said, his stern voice making my stomach flutter despite everything I’d just endured.
I clutched the towel around myself as he led me from the shower area back to my little room. My legs felt unsteady, my body still humming with the denied arousal that seemed to intensify with each step. When we reached my door, he gestured for me to enter first.
“Drop the towel,” he commanded once we were inside.
My hands trembled as I let the terrycloth fall to the floor, leaving me naked and exposed once again. The cool air made my still-damp skin prickle, and I wrapped my arms around myself instinctively.
“Kneel on the towel,” Master Paul said simply.
I sank to my knees on damp terrycloth, my heart hammering as I watched him begin to unfasten his belt. The sound of the leather sliding through the loops made me shiver, but not with fear. With something darker, more shameful.
“You’re going to show me another skill you obviously learned before your marriage,” he said, his hands moving to his zipper. “And you’re going to show your husband what he’s been missing.”
I stared up at him, my mouth suddenly dry. “What do you mean?”
His pants fell to the floor, followed by his underwear, and I found myself face to face with his erect cock.
It was enormous, much larger than Chad’s, thicker.
I felt my pussy clench involuntarily at the sight even as my face burned with the realization that I hadn’t ever even looked at Ryan’s penis close up.
It had felt large, almost uncomfortably so—but God help me, that had been practically the one thing I had enjoyed about sex with my husband.
Was it as big as Master Paul’s? Suddenly I desperately wanted to kneel before Ryan this way and worship him like the dirty little slut I’d tried so hard not to be, tell him how beautiful his cock was, how much I wanted him to fuck me so hard with it that I couldn’t walk straight for the rest of the day.
“Open your mouth,” Master Paul commanded.
I shook my head frantically. “I can’t. I’m married. I can’t—”
“Your husband gave me permission to use you however I see fit,” Master Paul interrupted. “And right now, I see fit to teach you some honesty about your oral skills. Open your mouth, Heather.”
The authority in his voice broke through my protests. My lips parted almost of their own accord, and he stepped closer, his hand tangling in my damp hair.
“That’s better,” he murmured as he guided himself between my lips. “Now show me what that boyfriend taught you.”
The taste of him filled my mouth, and suddenly I was transported back to Chad’s apartment, kneeling on his carpet while he used my mouth for his pleasure. My body responded with muscle memory, my tongue moving instinctively as I took him deeper.
“Excellent,” Master Paul breathed, his grip tightening in my hair. “Look at that technique. You’re far too skilled for someone who claims to be modest.”
Shame burned through me even as I continued to work my mouth along his length. He was right—I knew exactly what I was doing, exactly how to use my tongue and lips to drive a man wild. Chad had trained me well, and my body remembered every lesson.
“Tell me, Heather,” Master Paul said, his voice strained with pleasure, “do you think it’s right to deny your husband this pleasure?”