Chapter 31
Alex
The first stroke of the cane landed with a thin, cutting agony that tore a cry from me instantly. It was not like a spanking, not like the belt. It was narrower, sharper, more exact, as if pain itself had been distilled to a line of fire and laid across my flesh.
“Oh… God…”
“Count,” Porter said.
“One,” I gasped, “sir.”
He did not give me the second immediately. He let me feel the first stripe bloom and deepen, let me lie there shaking over the desk while Gowry watched.
Then the second stroke came. The crack echoed in the corners of the hideaway, and the agony took my breath away, before I cried out, louder, “Two, sir!”
Porter’s voice behind me remained entirely composed. “She takes it beautifully when she understands she has earned it. That’s one of the more pleasing things about her.”
I heard Gowry say, “Is it?”
“Yes. And she’s learned remarkably quickly what can be done with proper incentives.”
The third stroke landed lower. I sobbed and writhed over the desk, nearly losing my balance and catching myself with my spread fingers. “Three! Sir!”
Porter went on as if discussing some elegant but slightly indecent acquisition. “She was tight in the ass at first, of course. When I plugged her the first time it was very difficult for her. She was frightened. Proud. Now she opens much more sweetly… when handled correctly, anyway.”
My whole body jolted with humiliation. He was discussing fucking me in the ass… while whipping my bare bottom in front of the man with whom he might soon share the most intimate parts of my body.
The fourth stroke fell. I screamed. “Four, sir!”
“She clenches less now,” Porter said. “And when she’s really submitting, she gets very wet from it. It’s extraordinarily enjoyable to fuck her there.”
I could hear my own ragged breathing and nothing else for a second. Then the fifth stroke cut across the burning lines already there, and I cried out helplessly, tears spilling onto the polished wood.
“Five, sir!”
My legs trembled violently. My poor bottom clenched and unclenched as if in a shameless invitation that made the blood rush to my face’s cheeks.
Porter let me endure that one a little longer too. “Especially after discipline,” he said. “Her body understands the sequence. Correction, surrender, and then anal use. It suits her.”
Gowry’s answer came low. “I can imagine.”
The sixth stroke landed with merciless precision. I shouted the number and then bucked over the desk, trying to soothe the agony a little, sobbing openly now, my bottom a field of blazing fire.
For a few seconds nothing happened. I could only breathe and feel and try not to pass out.
Then I sensed Porter close behind me. He laid the cane lightly across my back, and the incongruous gentleness of the gesture after that pain made me shudder.
“Well,” he said after a moment, “how are you feeling about the assistive tech bill now, Senator?”
There was a silence long enough to make me painfully aware that I remained spread and naked under both their gazes.
At last Gowry said, “I think there’s a case to be made for it.”
A wave of dizzy relief and degradation washed through me together. This was happening. It was actually working.
“Good,” Porter said.
Then, to me: “Get on your knees in front of the senator.”
For one terrible second my body balked—not in disobedience, but in sheer overwhelmed sensation. My bottom ached. My cunt throbbed. The room felt far away and too close at the same time.
“Now, Alex.”
I pushed myself upright, trying not to whimper at the movement of the striped flesh, and turned. Gowry stood only a few feet away. His face looked composed, but his interest no longer needed any interpretation. I dropped to my knees in front of him.
Porter’s voice came from just behind me, calm and decisive. “Open your mouth. Tongue out.”
Heat flooded me all over again. I obeyed. I watched as Gowry undid his trousers. My mouth remained open because Porter had told me to keep it that way. My jaw already ached in anticipation.
“Alex will make the argument for me,” Porter said.
I felt my pulse jump in my throat.
“If you’d care to use her mouth,” he added, with that same terrible composure, “I think you’ll find her body more eloquent than any budget projection. The pleasure she gives is often highly clarifying.”
Gowry looked down at me, then at Porter, and something grimly amused touched his mouth. “Is that so?”
“It has been my experience.”
Gowry’s hand came to the back of my head. His hard manhood loomed in front of me, brandished casually, moving inexorably forward.
The first touch of his cock against my tongue made me moan before I could stop myself. That little sound humiliated me utterly. It told both of them too much.
The senator did not rush. He let the blunt head rest there for one second, as if reacquainting me with the weight and heat of him, then he pushed in.
I took him, with a whimper that would have humiliated me all by itself, even if the very idea that I had gotten so aroused at being shared this way hadn’t already thoroughly degraded me.
My lips stretched around him, my already aching jaw opening wider, the salty masculine taste filling my mouth while my whipped bottom burned and burned.
I tried to do what Porter had taught me—relax my throat, breathe through my nose, keep my tongue soft and useful, receive rather than flinch.
I heard Porter move somewhere behind me, and that seemed to steady me, though the idea I could find refuge there mortified me all on its own.
With both hands on the back of my head, Gowry began to fuck my face in measured strokes. He had clearly decided to use me deliberately, which felt even more shaming. Each thrust made me rock a little on my knees.
I realized with an absurd new blush that I had put my hands behind my back without being told. To my dismay, it seemed right, even once I had noticed it. Better. More obedient. More what I was for.
“Well trained,” Gowry said after a few thrusts, his voice still remarkably even despite what he was doing to me. “You weren’t exaggerating. She’s much better than she was a few weeks ago.”
“No,” Porter said. “I tend not to.”
I felt absurd pride flower in me at that, right in the middle of the degradation.
My eyes stung. I looked up as much as I could, and saw only pieces: Gowry’s broad torso, the line of his open trousers, one of Porter’s hands resting lightly against the edge of the desk as if he had only a casual interest in how I performed this humiliating service in the interest of his bill.
Gowry pushed deeper. I gagged around him, tears springing to my eyes, and then I forced myself to take it better on the next thrust of his massive penis. Porter had taught me that too: not to panic at the shameful reflex, not to make drama of it, but to open and yield and try again.
“There,” Porter said quietly. “That’s my girl.”
The words went through me like an electrical current.
My pussy clenched so hard it almost hurt.
I knelt on a senator’s carpet with my face turned into a tool to secure legislation, my ass freshly caned, my body reduced in every conceivable way to function and service, and all I could feel, suddenly and shockingly, was safety.
Not safety in the ordinary sense. Not comfort. Not gentleness.
Safety in structure. In being directed. In knowing exactly what I was supposed to do and that Porter would not let the scene become anything he had not chosen—and he would never choose anything truly harmful to me.
Safety in not having to defend myself from what I wanted anymore because he was already using it, framing it, making it mean something.
Gowry’s pace increased a little. His fingers tightened in my hair, with unmistakable ownership, if only for the moment.
He used my mouth more firmly now, and with a jolt of wayward need I let him.
I tried to please him, telling myself I was doing it for Porter’s bill, but knowing it had at least as much to do with the shameless, helpless need Porter had brought out in me.
My bottom throbbed with each movement. The combination of pain and oral submission and Porter’s watchful presence made the room feel dense, overfull, almost unreal.
“She likes it a lot more now, too… more than she did the last time I saw her anyway,” Gowry said.
“Yes,” Porter replied. “She understands her role better.”
I moaned around the cock in my mouth at that, to my dismay, and Gowry let out a low breath through his nose.
“Yes,” he said. “I can tell.”
I tried even harder after that. I hollowed my cheeks when he withdrew far enough. I let my tongue move where I could. When he thrust more deeply, I took it, choking only a little, blinking tears from my eyes while my body blazed with humiliation and something darker and sweeter.
He fucked my mouth for long enough that I lost track of time. There was only the rhythm of him, the humiliating wet sounds, the ache in my knees, the fire in my bottom, the wetness gathering shamefully between my thighs, and Porter’s presence like a wall at my back.
Then I heard a change in Gowry’s breathing. It deepened, as his thrusts lost a little of their jackhammer cadence and gained a shade of urgency. The hand in my hair held me more definitely. He was close; I knew it as surely as if he had announced it.
Porter knew too, obviously.
“Senator,” he said, in that maddeningly level tone, “before you give Alex the reward she’s earned—shall I take it that you’ll support the bill?”
Gowry gave two more heavy thrusts into my mouth. I felt him at the back of my throat, forcing a helpless little gag from me, and then he drew back just enough to answer.
“Yes,” he said. “You’ll have my vote.”
Something hot and bright went through me that had nothing to do with orgasm and everything to do with accomplishment and achievement, as crazy as my remaining rationality found that.
He had said yes. While using my mouth, he had said yes.
My shame expanded to fill the whole room and then changed shape until it almost felt like triumph.
“Good,” Porter said.
Gowry pulled out abruptly, pumping his glistening cock in his left hand.
“Let’s put a pearl necklace on you,” he growled, “to mark the occasion.”
For one confused instant I remained there with my mouth open, flushed and breathing hard, looking up at him. A thread of saliva clung obscenely between us before breaking as the vigor of his self-stimulation increased.
I swallowed. My lips felt swollen. My jaw ached. My bottom burned in six precise lines.
And all at once I knew, with a certainty more frightening than any of the pain, that I didn’t want the scene to end, even with the degradation of the senator shooting his seed onto my little breasts, so exposed in the pretty red lace bra.
I wanted more.
Not later. Now, in this room, while I was still raw and stripped open by what had happened. The want rose in me so fast and so shamelessly that before I had even decided whether I could possibly say it aloud, I heard my own voice.
“Sir,” I whispered.
Porter looked down at me. “Yes, Alex?”
My face flamed. There was no dignified way to ask such a thing. Perhaps there was no sane way either. But sanity had become much less important to me than the pressure in my body and the unbearable need to go farther while I still had the courage that humiliation had apparently given me.
“Please,” I said, and then had to force the rest out. “Please, may I try… both?”