(We're continuing from here.)
The next week saw me in the same position, praying fervently that my big trainer, the holy obturamentum whose length I was forbidden to know, only had three segments. I thought I could probably take another one, though the struggle (the wonderful, awful struggle) would be mighty. Longer than that, and I would begin to fear for my intestines, not to mention my rectum.
Who was I kidding? I longed to take another segment.
"Nates parvae meae uxori meo sunt. . . my little ass-cheeks are for my husband," I said dutifully, if in a somewhat strained voice, as Charles pushed, and turned, and pushed again, and I tried, even more dutifully, to open to his infernal, sacred toy.
"Good girl. . . mea puella bona. . . tace. . . recipe. . ." (my good girl. . . be silent. . . receive) (for I was making quite a bit of noise). Something about "tace. . . recipe" was harsher, more dominant than his usual "Shh. . . open up"; it was on the road to "Shut up and take it," and goodness help my submissive heart, it made me flow down there as I bit my lower lip to try to obey.
A sob escaped me as the first segment--pars prima--entered me.
"Bene. . . bene. . ." (Good. . . good. . .) My trainer-husband stroked my hair; then, with the back of his hand, rubbed my cheek to comfort me. He was on form tonight: treating me like a combination of a child and a pet, with that condescending pity I can never resist whimpering at, as if to say "I'm so sorry I have to ruin your anus this way, but my pleasure demands it, and my pleasure reigns over you tonight, as it always must."
I sobbed again at the thought and at the stretching of my poor bottom, and was gratified to hear him swallow hard--he was rock hard, I could tell just from the sound of that gulp.
I went further, just for the sake of the moment, and said, in a choked voice, "Sir, it's too big! Please don't make me!"
"Shh. . . be a good girl for me now, Miss Tilton. I don't want to have to spank you. You know your ass is going to be trained tonight, so you had better make up your mind not to fuss, since all it will get you is a beating."
"Ask for the next part, now, sweetheart."
"Oh. . . please. Don't make me ask, Sir."
"Repeat after me, Emily: Domine, si placet. . ." (Sir, if you please. . .)
"Domine, si placet. . ."
"Impone partem secundam" (Impose the second part.)
"Impone partem secundam."
"Do you remember what to say now, when you take it?" He was putting on more lube, and turning, a bit, and pushing.
I gasped, "Yes, Sir."
"Say it, then."
"Natis m--mea ap--aperit cui--cumque. . . quod dominus m--meus imponat." I pushed, and pushed, and pushed, making my little submissive noises, and then the second part was in me at last, and Charles was stroking my cheek again.
"Shh. . . such a good girl. . . such a little girl to have such a big plug in her bottom." Now he stroked my bottom, too, and then, ever so lightly, my poor tingling pussy, to make me sigh and plead.
"Oh, Charles, please. . ."
He kissed my bottom, once on each cheek, and I pictured it, creamy and pink and little, with what I thought must be the enormous black plug enclosed between its dainty rounded cheeks.
"Oh. . ." I gave a little resigned sigh, and continued, "please. . . Domine, si placet. . . impone partem tertiam." And I wriggled my backside in what I hoped was more or less a seductive manner, to show that he was my beloved trainer, and I wanted to please him more than anything, even if it meant the ruination of my girlish bottomhole.
"But you don't know the words, little girl."
"Please, Sir, teach me the words."
More lube, and the pressure, beginning again, so, so gently at first. "Very well. Natis mea. . ."
Well, that part was obvious by now: "Natis mea. . ." (my ass)
". . . pandenda est . . . "
That made me shudder: ought to be spread open. ". . . pandenda est . . ."
". . . tam lata quam dominus cupit."
As wide as my lord desires. Something about the formulation caused a spark of rebellion deep within me; it seemed to want to go beyond our play, beyond the bedroom. Perhaps it was the sheer prevalence of the "Bend over and grasp your ankles" turn-of-phrase in everyday life, for any situation where one was bound to assume the passive (eromenos, if you want to get classical about it) position.
I started to struggle, against the pressure of the third segment, and I felt my sphincter tighten around the narrow part between the second and third. My head bucked back with the discomfort of that tightening, and I felt my mouth open in a rictus of pain, and my whole face screw up with the feeling. In that moment, my ass was being trained against my will; my backside was being ravished by a big black butt-plug.
I felt the pressure stop, and I knew Charles was waiting for the safeword.
But the incredible access of shameful, submissive pleasure at the thought of my anal-ravishment was so overpowering that at that same moment I choked out "tam lata quam dominus cupit," and my bottom, yearning for more ravishment, for utter domination, gave a tremendous push, and Charles, owning his role, pressed hard. . .
And I was trained, and my ass was open to my lord, spread as wide as he wanted it spread, ready for him.