"This is the speech they delivered to her then," I couldn't stop thinking, as Charles started to do likewise. (It's a great moment in Story of O, after they've, er, ravished her. . . emphatically, and are about to whip her for the first time, at Roissy. I give fantasy-Charles a similar speech in Emily's Naughty Classmate.)
"You are here, Miss Tilton, to learn to submit to a man."
"Glug," I replied. (Remember, that's my "I'm too aroused to articulate words" sound.) He almost lost it and started to laugh; I saw the corners of his mouth twitch. I wanted to scream "Don’t you dare lose it on me, asshole!" but he kept it together.
"You may think you have submitted to a man in the past, but I can assure you that what you did then was not true submission. Your husband has for example informed me that you. . . er. . . broke a wine glass last week." (Weak, but I suppose playable.) "And then you failed to tell him about it because you feared his justice!" (Much better.) "Once you have learned to submit fully to a man, you will never think of disobeying your husband that way. Here, as you are used for my pleasure, as I fuck your cunt, and your mouth, and your ass, whenever I want, when I teach you to pleasure me with every part of your person, when I beat you simply because it is pleasant to beat a girl, you will come to realize that a man's pleasure is your proper function."
So hot, and so very, very wrong. "But. . . Sir," I ventured.
"Yes, Miss Tilton?"
"Will my husband not be angry. . . that you are. . . usurping his rights?"
Charles can be such a goofball, sometimes. "I have in my briefcase," he said, sternly, "a letter from your husband telling me that he is most happy that I should fuck you in any way I choose, provided it is recorded on video for his viewing pleasure."
I nearly fell down at that--did actually sway a little.
"I can tell," he said, "that that thought makes you wanton, Miss Tilton, but I can assure you it will be no pleasant thing when I have you on my training horse!"
Improvising myself, mostly because I couldn't stand up, I was so aroused, I fell to my knees.
"No, please. . . Sir. Not. . ."
"Ah, Miss Tilton. I know you far, far too well to be persuaded by this feigned dread. I don't even have to feel your naughty little pussy to know how wet it just got, when I said 'training horse'!"
I whimpered in response, of course, and my trainer chuckled.
"Yes. . . my training horse." I rewarded him, despite myself with another whimper. This was getting ridiculous. "Now, slut, for a little test of honesty. I know precisely what you want to ask me, and I know that you, in your feigned dread and feigned modesty, think you would rather die than ask it. The next thing out of your mouth will be that question, or your bottom will pay a terrible price."
He stood again, and picked up the paddle, and moved to put his left hand atop my head. "Bottom up, Emily," he said. "Cheek on the carpet. Knees spread." Making my usual little noises, I complied. "Higher, sweetheart," he said, tapping my right buttock for emphasis.
"Before you so rudely interrupted me" (here he gave me a tremendous spank, right in the center, at which I cried out, and bucked and squirmed) "I was telling you about how I will train you to submit by using whatever part of your charming body I wish, with the full. Knowledge. Of. Your. Husband." (You can imagine what happened at the periods: there was squirming and moaning and, above all, heat and wetness.)
"He will see everything, including your rides. On. My. Training. Horse."
"Ahhh! Sir, what does your training horse look like?! Please!"
"Why do you want to know, Miss Tilton?"
"Because I want to ride it, Sir!"
"Very good," my trainer said. "And your husband will see your wantonness, even as I train you. My establishment, you should know, is equipped with many cameras, concealed in the. . . er. . . wainscoting."
(OK, to be completely honest, we did lose it at that point, collapsing in giggles. "Asshole," I said, and kissed him as hard as I could, having come over to join him on the throne, which is, like all good thrones, big enough for two, and even big enough for two to fuck, in certain positions, which we then did, after I had ripped my jeans all the way off. He made me keep the red lace on, and pulled the gusset aside so that I could slide deliciously onto his cock, holding my burning, punished ass in his hands so that the warmth spread everywhere.)