"You, Miss Tilton, have a great deal to learn!" my trainer said, as he beat me. "You are a foul-mouthed slut, and you will be treated as such until you have learned to submit to your husband properly!"
He grabbed my hips from behind. "Oh God," I thought, "please let the angle work." And then he had me on his cock, stretched out as on a rack, feeling as I never had before like I was being broken, and trained. He had spread my knees, and bent his own, his feet inside mine and my ass against his lap. It was magnificent, for about ten seconds, but there was no chance it could last any longer. I was too stretched out, and his thighs weren't sumo grade.
But Charles Smith, my trainer, my husband, my master, my beloved, improvises well (see for example Emily's Naughty Classmate).
"Miss Tilton, I am sorry to say that you are not yet worthy of having me finish in your cunt, or even in your asshole. I will now teach you a lesson by using your luscious bottom cheeks to pleasure myself, and deny you your wanton pleasure."
"Gah!" was my articulate reply as he withdrew, and put me in a more sustainable position, firmly (more or less) on the floor (Jesus, I hoped he had bought a lot of these stockings, because the feet of this pair were already shredded as fuck).
Then I felt his cock in my ass, but not in my ass, the way it was supposed to be. He was jerking himself off in the furrow of my bottom. It was incredibly, deliciously humiliating, to be used like that, and I needed my pussy touched very badly indeed but I had no way at all to accomplish it. Charles held my punished cheeks one in each hand, and moved them around his hardness, and moved his hardness within them. "Yes. . . nice. . ." he said. "It's a nice bottom, Miss Tilton. I'm sure your husband likes to fuck you in this little ass, doesn't he?"
I played reluctance to speak, and as a reply only squirmed back against him.
"Answer me, Miss Tilton!" he insisted, and gave me one of those demeaning little sex-spanks for emphasis. "Are you an ass-wife?"
"Yes!" I finally responded, after three more spanks.
"And you. . . huh. . . you like it, don't you?"
"No! It's. . . shameful!"
"Yes, you do, Miss Tilton--I know you do. Your husband tells everyone that you're a good piece of ass."
(He knew me so well now--he knew that that phrase was a direct line to my pussy.)
"Dammit, Charles, Sir. . . I. . ." His seed spurted up my back at that point, making me feel so perfectly, disgracefully, achingly dirty I could scarcely believe it. In its naughty frame of garter-belt, suspenders, and stockings my cunt was literally dripping, now: I could see a little pool of my arousal on the basement floor, and the thrill of shame increased.
Charles seemed to have disappeared for a moment, and then I heard a sound--a particular buzzing sound that I knew very well indeed, and that made me, yet again, blush to the roots of my hair. He had found my magic wand at last.
"I. . . I can explain."
"Hush, you bad girl," said my trainer softly. "There will be time for explanations, and for discipline, later. For now, your training regime will benefit most particularly from the use of this indecorous device you seem somehow to have secreted in my establishment. We are going to see, once and for all, just how wanton you are."
Leaving the vibrator on, he came around in front of me. He was carrying a low stool, and he put the vibrator, attached to a very long extension cord, on it. Then he moved to a dark corner, and pulled something out. It was a full-length mirror, which he placed in front of me. The first thing I noticed was that there was also now another mirror, behind me, so that I could see my bright red bottom inside my suspenders, redder even than my braid, and the sperm dripping down the fair skin of my back, in addition to my breasts and bare, glistening pussy, the whole framed in my training uniform of garter-belt and stockings. My arms, stretched above my head and chained to the ceiling, made me look so much like a captive slave that I gasped at the sight.
Charles picked up the magic wand and sat on the low stool.
"Miss Tilton, you are to try as hard as you can to keep your modesty. A good wife, subjected to this treatment by her trainer, is able nonetheless to retain her dignity. I fear, however, that an ass-wife like you may be incurable."
Slowly, so slowly, he brought the vibrator's buzzing massager towards the aching center of my lustful being.
"Oh, no. . . oh, Sir, I don't think I can, oh. . . aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!"
Yes, it's stupid to try to render the sound I made typographically; it's just the least ineffective way to capture a moment that typography just can't render. That is to say, from the moment when I watched, in the mirror, the vibrator touch the tip of my cunt, peeping out lewdly from between my thighs, to the moment when I came, maybe twenty seconds later, I emitted a single continuous (albeit rising and falling at semi-regular intervals) scream of pleasure, pausing only to take air into my lungs so that I could keep screaming.