Chapter 20

Grace

He didn't speak again for a few moments. He let his breathtakingly skillful right hand do the talking. I could tell he meant me to remain hyperconscious of the thick fabric of the humiliating panties while at the same time he gave me a little of the friction I so desperately needed, close enough to the place I really needed it to make my breathing ragged and labored. Mortifying little jerks from my hips, moving me over his thigh, revealed far too much about the effect his hand had on me, but I couldn't stop the tiny spasms no matter how hard I tried.

No, said that distant observer, resuming her place to the side. You're not really trying, are you? It feels way too good, doesn't it?

"Please," I whispered. "Please… don't…"

"Don't what, darlin'?" Cal asked, his voice soft but still so deep it made me feel faint. He spread his hand, so that he could hold my whole bottom in its gentle grasp, and squeezed softly. The keening, whimpering noise that came from my throat sounded like a kitten mewling for milk.

"Don't do this?" he said in that same low rumble, and he moved his hand. He put two fingers further down, and his thumb up against the place where the training panties covered the valley between my whipped bottom cheeks. He squeezed again, more firmly this time, and he moved the tips of the two fingers right where I needed them so badly—the spot I had both hoped and feared he would put them—rubbing urgently so that even through the thick white cotton I could feel the longed-for friction against my tingling clit.

I cried out, and the bucking of my hips over Cal's knee up to that moment seemed like nothing compared to the way I moved at this new, terribly possessive caress. I thrust my backside up into his hand, feeling the tension in my bent arm, my captured legs. To my dismay the sensation of restraint, of being held immobile and vulnerable by the muscular body of a gorgeous man, brought its own fierce surge of arousal.

"Should I take your training panties down, Grace?" he asked. "Will you be a good girl for me when I teach you about your pussy and your little bottom?"

"Oh… oh… oh, God…" I sobbed, because Cal hadn't stopped moving his fingers over my clit as he asked me this utterly degrading question. "Oh, no… oh… oh, please…"

"You'd better go ahead and start calling me sir," he instructed me. "Same as you do with your foster father."

I closed my eyes and just breathed, panting, gasping, because I couldn't think straight enough even to muster words like oh and please. My body had betrayed me completely, and I shamelessly tried to ride Cal's hand, moving my hips over the rock-hard solidity of his thigh in a rhythm that I knew must seem to him unmistakably sexual. My face burned as I pictured him looking down at the mortifying spectacle of a virgin on her first date with an older man, moving her pantied backside lewdly in his grasp, demonstrating precisely how badly she needs fucking.

Teach you about your pussy and your little bottom… you better start calling me sir.

The shameful memories from the night before, in Jake and Shelly's living room, rose into my mind to resonate humiliatingly with what Cal was doing to my pussy here over his knee, in his own living room.

I sobbed as I remembered, and compared. My pussy? But wasn't Cal already showing me that it wasn't really my pussy—not anymore? Had Jake told him that the pussy I had called my own had come into my foster father's possession last night, and Cal should feel free to share it with him, as my approved suitor?

"Oh, God…" I whispered. "I'm… I'm…"

Words had returned, but they were even more humiliating. I had no idea how it could possibly be true, but I could feel a climax coming, despite the infuriating thickness of the training panties and the way they kept Cal's fingers from doing what I really wanted them to do.

He took his hand away. I cried out in mid thrust, and then I went completely limp over his thigh. Cal let go of my wrist, and instead of struggling I brought it forward so that I could cover my burning face with both my hands, even though I knew he couldn't see me. I sobbed into my hands, in embarrassment but also, and much more, in frustration and desperation.

"That's your first lesson, darlin'," Cal said quietly, and he put the hand that had just almost made me come on my back, under my dress, and rubbed a slow circle there, as if comforting me at having lost a toy, or having two scoops of ice cream fall off their cone into the dirt. "Would you like to ask me for your second one?"

I shook my head violently, feeling the backs of my hands move against the slightly scratchy wool blend of the couch's upholstery with the motion of my face.

Cal chuckled, not a mean sound but rather a gentle, sympathetic one.

"I'm pretty sure that's not true," he said, and kept rubbing my back. "If you want your second lesson, all you have to do is say Sir, please take my panties down and teach me my lesson."

Oh, no. How could he… how could he possibly put it that way? I could never speak those words. Never. I felt my face crumple into a theatrical pout. To my horror, my hips decided to have their wordless say: they jerked again, seeking for the hand that had deserted my pussy and sending the ghost of a jolt of pleasure traveling out from my clit as if to tell me how badly I needed to come.

I thought again of Jake and Shelly, of how she had had to beg for her husband's hard cock in her pussy. I thought of how the sound of her plea had driven me frantic with my own need down there, where part of me had begun to yearn for Cal to put his own rigid penis.

I'm pretty sure that's not true. He hadn't said, You're lying when you shake your head, because I could feel the heat of your pussy through your panties.

Oh, God. Had I gotten them wet? Had I soaked through even that thick fabric?

He shifted his left arm to put it across my back and take hold of my waist under my dress, lightly but with enough firmness to make me feel that he intended to keep controlling my movement as necessary. The combination of the idea—control, training—with the touch of his fingers on the soft skin of my hip sent an electric shiver through me.

That little tingling sensation, though, gave way an instant later to a surge of helpless need and pleasure as Cal's right hand went back between my thighs, with much more force than he had used before. I cried out as he took me into the grasp of his strong fingers, his thumb pressing even more firmly against the cotton that hid the dark crease of my ass, going so far that I felt the fabric against the tiny pucker of my anus. At the same time he rubbed my clit, and I sobbed both at the rough caress and at the unmistakably wet sound it made.

I rode his thigh like a jockey on a racehorse, it felt like, my backside obeying the urgent rhythm of his fingers.

"Oh… oh… oh, God…" I whispered. "Please… please…"

He stopped again. The delicious, shameful pleasure it seemed he could give me even in my training panties went away. I cried out pitifully in frustration and unsatisfied need.

"Is there anything you'd like to say?" Cal asked quietly. I could imagine another man—Jake, even—saying it teasingly, or even mockingly. Cal just asked it as a question. A very important question, from the gentle seriousness of his tone.

"Oh, God," I repeated. "Oh… I…"

My voice fell to a whisper, as if I wanted to make sure even I couldn't hear my words.

"Please, sir…" I bit my lip. I couldn't really say it, could I? I couldn't beg to have my panties taken down, could I?

"Yes?" Cal asked quietly.

"Please…" I swallowed very hard, then breathed, as rapidly as I could, "Takedownmypanties andgivememysecondlesson."

His right hand returned to my bottom, but only to hold the little cheeks, possessively but without any of the friction my body so desperately longed for. Now his voice became just the tiniest bit teasing—but not to make fun of me, I could tell; more as if he wanted us to share a naughty secret.

"What's that, darlin'?" he asked. "I couldn't really hear."

I squeezed my eyes shut even harder. My heart pounded so hard in my chest I felt sure Cal could hear it. I bit my lip and heard a little whine come from my nose. I heard the words as if they came from another girl who had happened to end up over her suitor's knee. The girl's voice sounded tiny, but nevertheless distinct.

"Please, sir, take down my panties and teach me my second lesson."

I felt the words before I heard them; I didn't know if that was because I wanted Cal to say them so badly that I somehow started to hallucinate his voice or simply because my body had fallen so thoroughly under the spell of his that the special, crucial phrase had become as physical as it was verbal.

"Good girl."

He said the words slowly, softly, and very distinctly, and he rubbed my bottom cheeks through the training panties at the same time. It felt so controlling, patronizing, and possessive that my face flashed as hot as the inside of a star. At the same time, abandoning any attempt at keeping myself in check, I arched my back and shamelessly pressed my ass further into his grasp—his mastery, his dominance, his training.

He moved that hand, and he took the waistband of my underwear into the grip of his fingers. I whimpered as I felt it, the most intimate skin-to-skin contact he had made with me. The sound from deep in my throat brought a word floating up into my consciousness, because I didn't think another term existed that could describe it properly.

Submissive. I had just made a sound so submissive, so compliant and yielding, that I knew Cal could be forgiven for taking it as permission to do with my body—with my mouth, with my pussy, with my anus—whatever he chose, whether or not he meant to make me feel good, whether or not he intended to teach me anything when he used my body's virgin openings to make himself feel good.

He pulled my panties down, and I let out another of those mortifyingly submissive whimpers as I felt the air moving against my still-sore bottom and the valley between its little cheeks and even the cleft of my pussy, thanks to the separation of my knees as I lay over Cal's knee.

I heard a soft tsking come from above me, as Cal took in the sight of my bruised bottom. I bit my lip and let out a whine, from higher up in my head than the place the whimpers had come from, but just as submissive. My hips jerked, and my right hand went reflexively behind me to try to cover my bottom. Once more Cal took hold of my wrist and bent my arm behind me. He obviously had no intention of letting me get in the way of his view of my private places and the marks left by my first old-fashioned punishment.

I had looked too, in the mirror that morning at the department store. I hadn't been able to help myself, even though Shelly had come into the dressing room to ‘help' me try on my embarrassing new clothes. I had looked back over my shoulder, trying not to let my foster mother see my curiosity, and I had swallowed hard at the unwelcome jolt of need that had surged between my thighs at the sight: the purple welts that covered my backside from the correction Jake had given me with the strap.

"Well," Cal said, beginning to rub three fingers gently over the bruises, "you got what you deserved from your foster daddy, I can see. I don't want to hurt you too much, darlin', so I'm not going to spank you tonight. We need to find a different way to teach this lesson, don't we?"