Learning Discipline
In A Very Personal Trainer, by Justine Elyot, our heroine’s life was so out of control she hired a life coach whose stern methods, although most unconventional, won’t shock anyone who frequents these pages. What started with a few simple spankings soon got a whole lot more complicated:
“I can’t help noticing,” he said, placing a palm against a very damp inner thigh, “that you can’t seem to control your response to discipline.”
“I…don’t mean to…”
“I know. You mean well, don’t you? But your body betrays you. Let’s have a little lesson in the art of self-control. A little practice. Shall we?”
“May I ask what sort of practice, Sir?” I asked, the sub-speak coming easily to me in this over-the-knee, hot-bottomed position.
“Yes, you may ask. I’m going to touch you, Lara, in a way that will give you pleasure. But you are not permitted to come. As soon as you feel that orgasm is inevitable, you are to do your very best to head it off.”
“I…won’t be able to do that!” I squeaked.
“Maybe not straight away. But you will learn. You don’t come now without my permission, my dear, and I think we should extend that even to times when I’m not here. No sneaky masturbating in the shower. I’ll ask you at each meeting, and don’t forget, I know when you are lying. I think this will teach you to achieve a level of focus that has been sadly lacking thus far.”
I gasped. A level of focus? This was going to be torture. Ever since Dexter had come into my life, my fingers had seemed connected to my pussy as if by a force of gigantic magnetism. I had to wrench them away sometimes. He knew it! He must!
“Spread your legs for me now,” he commanded quietly.
Pouting, although he couldn’t see it, I let them scissor apart, feeling him jolt my pelvis up with a knee, so that my bottom and sex were high, wide and open to him. The side of his hand brushed my lips and clit. I almost combusted on the spot. I was dripping, hot, sweaty, squirmy, and milliseconds from coming.
“You need a good seeing-to,” was his assessment. “Perhaps one day I can give you that. Perhaps.”
In the fug of lust and humiliation, my heart found space to leap. He was thinking of a future, however vaguely.
“Of all the greedy little quims I’ve ever known,” he said, gently, hypnotically, rubbing the sweet spot into a fat bloom of need, “I think this must be the greediest. What kind of girl gets wet from being punished? Eh? The kind of girl that needs more punishment, I think. The kind of girl that needs to be taken in hand.”
He pushed a finger up inside me and rotated it. It was useless to deny it, I was going to come soon, and hard.
I screwed my eyes shut and tried hysterically to think of boring and disgusting things. Nothing occurred. My consciousness was as full as my pussy, now with three probing fingers inside, full of him and his diabolical workings on my sex. I jiggled my bum frantically, trying to push him away, but there was no chance of that. He had me in a strong and capable grasp, one hand on the small of my back, massaging me into helpless compliance while the other finger-fucked me with exquisite finesse.
Mustn’t come, mustn’t come, mustn’t come.
“If you come, I’ll have to use my belt on you, you know.”
I came.
He used his belt on me. It left a sharp, sweet, hot sting and neat, red lines on my backside, lines that I would touch and gaze at in my bedroom mirror for a long time that night. But I wouldn’t follow my urges and masturbate over it. Oh no. I wouldn’t dare.
“You’re doing well, Lara,” he said gravely, once I had sat my aching behind down on the chair next to his, hands folded demurely in lap, flaming face pointing down. “Don’t think that you aren’t. I’m delighted to see how much you’ve achieved in this relatively brief space of time. But there is always room for improvement—and sustaining this level of improvement is very hard. I will expect a few falls from grace along the road. Just remember to be honest with me about them, or it will certainly go worse with you. Let’s say that I know of things that are a lot worse than the palm of my hand, or even my belt.”
I yipped and looked up at his face, so placid in its sternness, so relaxed in its authority. He meant it.
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