The humiliation lingered for days, becoming a mainstay in her fantasies. She revisited that evening often in her mind, fondling her breasts on long afternoons while she remembered how it felt to push herself onto the dildos while Anthony forced orgasm after orgasm from her body.
On weekends, they often went out together, to exotic restaurants or to movies or plays. Anthony became skilled with the remote control to the vibrator, able to cause it to buzz madly at its highest setting the exact moment she stepped from the car or was distracted for the tiniest instant. He learned exactly what to do to force her to come, often just as she reached the front of the ticket line or the server came by to take her order.
He seemed to take a great delight in exposing her in ever more creative and unusual ways. He bought a slinky black dress for her, cut low in both the front and the back, which seemed carefully crafted to slip off her shoulders without provocation. She felt extremely self-conscious whenever he made her wear it; no matter how carefully she attended to it, it would slide down off a shoulder at least once or twice a night, exposing her breast to view.
He made a game of it, using a sudden jolt from the vibrator to catch her off-guard whenever it started to slip, forcing her to either ignore the vibrator and risk a quick and intense orgasm, or ignore the dress and risk having it slide down to flash her breast to anyone passing by.
The days grew shorter. A chill crept into the air. Eileen found that another prediction came true; no matter what she was doing, a part of her was always focused on sex. There was never a time when she was not aware of her pussy; she fantasized constantly about having it filled and used.
A day came, some three months after they had returned home from the honeymoon, when Anthony surprised her. They had just finished their regular morning ritual, and Eileen, still steaming from their shower, sat on the bed with her legs apart to let Anthony lock the device inside her.
He shook his head. “No vibrator for you, little whore! You have reached the next level in your training. I do not think you have anything more to learn from this device.” He smiled at her crestfallen expression. “It was never going to be permanent. It was only intended to condition you to keep your mind on sex all the time, like any good sex slave should. I think you have reached that point. That means you no longer need it.” His grin grew broader. “Though from your expression it looks like you’re going to miss it. Get up! Help me find my tie. I have an important meeting with the client who’s been driving me crazy for the last twelve weeks. It’s a big day for both of us! They’ve signed off on the project, so now there’s nothing left but the actual building of it. Where’s my tie?”
Eileen looked up at him, barely hearing what he’d said. She felt that she should be happy he wasn’t going to force her to wear the hateful, degrading, tormenting thing, and yet…
What is wrong with me? she thought.
He smoothed down the front of his shirt. “We’re celebrating tonight. The client is hosting a huge banquet downtown. All the engineering teams will be there. The people from the office, too. Ah, there it is.” He knotted the tie around his neck. “You’re invited. It should be fun.” He gave her a sudden, impish grin and winked. “In fact, I think I can guarantee you’ll have fun. What am I forgetting? Oh, right, briefcase. It’d be a short meeting without that. Okay, time for me to go!” He bent over to kiss her cheek. “And my sweet, darling, precious little whore, one more thing. Don’t think that just because you’re not wearing the trainer, that means you can spend the day in masturbatory excess. You’re still on restriction. If you make yourself come before I get home, I will punish you, oh yes. Goodbye!”
He gave her another quick kiss and scooted out the door.
All that morning and afternoon, Eileen felt achingly, agonizingly empty. She would not have thought that not wearing the device could possibly be more distracting than wearing it, but she was constantly aware of its absence. Every so often, her pussy twitched, without warning, drawing her attention to the empty space within her. Several times during the day, she caught herself unconsciously slipping a hand between her legs, just to feel the touch of something there.
Anthony didn’t come home for lunch that day. Eileen found herself waiting for the sound of his car in the driveway. She desperately wanted him to walk through the door and use her roughly without a word. She visualized him pressing her to the wall, lifting her skirt, entering her…but as the afternoon slipped by, it became obvious that he wouldn’t be there.
She fixed herself a late lunch of leftovers, alone. While she waited for it to heat up, her eyes caught sight of a wine bottle, mostly empty, sitting alone on the rack at the far end of the counter. A thought crept into her head, so filthy and debased that made her blush. She tried to push that vile image from her mind, but it clung tenaciously. Her hand caressed the neck of the bottle, stroking it obscenely. When she realized what she was doing, her blush deepened, and she snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned.
The microwave dinged. Eileen jumped. On the way back through the kitchen with the warmed-up leftovers, she cast her eyes back on the bottle. Her hand reached out to touch it. I am not going to do that…that thing, she told to herself. I am just going to pour myself a glass.
There was not quite a full glass left in the bottle. Eileen sat at the small table in the kitchen, thinking of all the obscene things Anthony had done to her there. Her pussy burned, vacant and hungry. The secret thought crept back into her mind, shameful and erotic, as her eyes ran up and down along the wine bottle. She felt herself grow wet.
She picked it up and ran her fingers over it. The open end of the bottle felt smooth and hard. The image came again, even stronger, bringing with it a wave of arousal so intense she shuddered. Her nipples tightened. Her breath caught in her throat.
Slowly, she watched herself spread her knees apart. She tipped the wine bottle over, and watched a drop of wine hang shivering from its mouth. Still moving as if in a dream, she brought it to her lips. Her tongue spiraled around the lip of the bottle, lapping up the last droplet of wine.
With one hand, she slid her skirt up. The emptiness became a raging need. Eileen brought the bottle down between her legs. Cool glass touched her wet entrance.
It was far easier than she thought it would be. A quick motion of her wrist, and the neck of the bottle penetrated her deeply. Eileen cried out. It felt so good, hard and smooth inside her. Her pussy closed hungrily around it, embracing it. The lip of the bottle sent incredible shudders of pleasure through her. She moved it rapidly, shoving it in and out of her with abandon, head thrown back, fingers playing over her clit…
An orgasm began to build. Anthony’s warning came to her, sudden and sharp. She stopped, panting, feeling herself squeeze around the smooth hard neck of the wine bottle. Her heart pounded.
The near-orgasm ebbed. The hunger rose. Eileen, what are you doing? she asked herself. This is obscene! Take it out! She slid it slowly away from her. Her pussy clenched at it, not wanting to let go. She paused just before she withdrew it completely. Do it! Take it out!
Arousal screamed through her. She shoved the bottle deeper. Her back arched with pleasure. She thrust it in and out, again and again, until she trembled, shuddering, on the brink of orgasm. Over and over she pushed herself to the edge, until her legs trembled and her heart pounded, caught between her body’s yearning and the fear of being punished if she disobeyed Anthony.
A new thought crept into her head. She wondered, suddenly, if Anthony knew what he had done to her. She wondered if he realized that the device was no longer necessary, that she had been so enslaved by her own base desires that she would do its job herself, masturbating into a frenzy like some sex-starved tramp.
The thought frightened her. Had she really been so thoroughly trained that she would now become a party to it herself? Had she really been reduced to a sex slave, so needy that she would even help enslave herself? She wanted to pull the bottle from her and fling it against the wall, watch it shatte
r into a thousand pieces…but oh, God, it felt so good! She impaled herself with it and moaned. It felt so wonderful to have it inside her, to use it to ride the wave, to balance carefully right at the peak without letting herself slide into orgasm. How could she stop, when every stroke brought such exquisite pleasure?
Eileen panted, sweat beading between her breasts. How could she even want to stop? Even if Anthony walked through the door right now and caught her here, would she want to stop? Or would she want to display herself to him, to show him what kinds of filthy things she did to her body in his absence? Would she keep going, letting the orgasm crash through her, her eyes on Anthony the whole time, begging him silently to punish her?
Her hands moved faster. Could she keep this up all day? Could she hold herself here until he came home, waiting for that moment when he walked through the door before she let herself come, so that he would know she had to be punished? She moaned. She could imagine the look in his eye, the instant she showed him her disobedience, letting him see her body racked in ecstasy, so that there could be no mistake, no doubt about what would have to happen…
Her body convulsed. She screamed, battling with herself to keep control. Too close! she thought. Her legs trembled. Too close! For a long moment, she thought she might not be able to stop it, that she had taken herself too near the edge to prevent the orgasm.
Finally, she had it under control. When she had backed away from the cliff of ecstasy, she pulled the wine bottle out with a wet sucking sound. She was horrified by the amount of white creamy fluid that covered the neck in a thick layer. More wetness dripped from her and spread on the chair.
Now that the moment had passed, she sat there shuddering, feeling shame and disgust at what she’d just done. Her trembling subsided. The aching need ebbed with it. She picked up the bottle, her face wrinkled with distaste, and carried it to the recycling bin under the sink.
Darkness was already settling when Anthony finally came home from work that evening. By the time he arrived, the need was back again. Her body remembered how the bottle had felt, and several times she had had to stop herself from going to get it or finding another. When she finally heard the sound of his car in the driveway, her pulse quickened and her pussy clenched.
When he walked through the door, she was already breathless. He smiled when he saw her. “Did you have a good day, little whore? Get yourself into any trouble?”
Her guilty expression gave her away. He smiled. “Any trouble you need to be punished for?”
She shook her head mutely. Inside, her emotions churned. She reached out to him, ran her fingers through his hair. His arms slipped around her body, hands running up her back, under her shirt. The feel of his warm hands on her bare skin raised goose bumps.
“So what did you do while I was gone, that you don’t need to be punished for?” His lips caressed her ear. “Tell me.”
His hands slid up her back. She raised her arms compliantly. He lifted her shirt over her head and let it drop with a soft sigh. Color touched her face.
“I…I used a wine bottle.” The words came in a rush. She pressed her body to him, urgent, hungry. “I sat at the kitchen table and put it inside me. I didn’t come, but I needed it so badly.” Hot shame crawled down her neck. “God, it felt so good! I needed it inside me. Please, I still need it!” She kissed his mouth, desperately, roughly. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home all day.”
He kissed her cheek softly. “I would love to spend the next hour giving you what you need, pet, but duty calls. The project is finished, and we have a banquet to go to. The client’s going to be there, everyone from the firm will be there, it’s kind of a big deal. Black tie. We only just have time to get changed.”
Eileen followed him into the bedroom, disappointed. He chose a flowing gown for her, cream colored and sleeveless, high in the front but swooping low to the middle of her back. She slipped off the skirt she’d been wearing, remembering lucidly how she had slid it up her leg to make way for the bottle. Her pussy twitched.
Anthony changed quickly. When he was finished, Eileen felt her breath catch in her throat. Familiarity made her forget, sometimes, how handsome he was; but seeing him dressed this way, in a severely formal coat and tie, brought it back to her. He grinned boyishly. “What?”
“I—” She shook her head. “Nothing.”
A knock came at the door. Eileen jumped. Anthony grinned wider. “Probably the limo driver.”
“Limo?”
“Oh, yeah. The client is very happy. Shall we go?”
Chapter 19
The limo whisked them away in silence. Outside, the interstate slipped by. Inside, they were wrapped in luxury and comfort. A small door yielded a bottle of champagne and two tall, fluted glasses. Anthony poured for each of them. Eileen felt her arousal stirring again. She could almost feel him pressing her down into the expensive leather seat, feel his hands sliding up her thigh, the sharp urgency of his need as he entered her…
She sipped her champagne and looked away. The last few remnants of golden light touched the sky and were gone.
They made their way along the waterfront toward the outskirts of the downtown district. Eileen watched through the window as the driver pulled up in front of a large, low, sprawling hotel, incongruous in its Mediterranean styling. Yellow light glowed from windows along the hotel’s pink and white façade. Limos vied with exotic sports cars for parking.
She finished the glass. Anthony escorted her by the arm into the soaring lobby, flanked by its tall round columns. She felt vaguely self-conscious, like an imposter who had taken the place of a fairy-tale princess and was now not quite sure what to do.
The elevator lifted them up. He regarded her with a twisted little smirk, a look that hid some devilish thought. She shivered.
He ushered her through tall doors into a huge, windowless room filled with round tables. The sounds of talking and laughter washed over her. At the far end, a podium had been set up, guarded by tall speakers. Champagne flowed.
They sat at a table with several other people, all in dark suits or flowing evening gowns. Eileen’s heart thudded; she recognized three of the men there, from the party Anthony had thrown when they arrived back home from London. Two of the men sat close to their wives; the third sat a little apart, a glass in his hand.
Anthony held her chair out for her. “I’m sure you remember my wife Eileen,” he said to the others. Her heart beat faster. The people seated around the table greeted her warmly. Her mind swam. Are these the ones? Did these people have sex with me that night?
Anthony poured champagne for each of them. Eileen struggled to retain her composure. There, at the next table over, was someone else she recognized from that night. Had he been one of the ones? How many had there been, holding her down, doing things to her? She found herself staring at him, searching her memory for something, some small detail that might identify any of the people who had done those…things to her.
Time passed in a blur. Dinner was brought out; Eileen could barely taste it. She responded absently when spoken to. Anthony poured more champagne. Someone important came out to the podium and spoke about something important—a new skyscraper, going up somewhere downtown. People clapped. Eileen sipped her drink and thought furiously. How many men had taken her? Did that number include one of the people sitting nearby? Two of them? Three? Were they gloating at her, right now? Could they see her uncertainty? Did they relish their secret knowledge?
More applause broke out all around her. Anthony stood. Eileen looked around in a panic. He squeezed her shoulder briefly and winked. She rewound the last few seconds in her head and realized that the person at the podium had called him up to the front. The panic grew stronger as he walked away, leaving her at the table alone with her perhaps-rapists.
She tried to focus on what was happening at the podium. The man up there was talking about Anthony’s work on the project, congratulating his success as lead architect. Her head felt full of champagne fumes. She
kept stealing glances at the people around her, wondering if they had seen her naked, if they had taken her body and…
The man at the next table leaned over toward her. “Eileen, is it? We met a while back at your coming-home party. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” His voice sounded familiar. Her mind replayed that night, seeking out the things that she had heard. Was it him? Was he the first one who used me? He said something. ‘Maybe this will get her to open up.’ Was that the same voice? Her pussy moistened. Was he the one who held me down and offered me to the others?
The man leaned closer. “You look very lovely this evening.” His voice… Was it you? she thought. Did you hold me down and force yourself into me? Did you feel me come when you were raping me? She felt her breathing quicken. Did you use me more than once? Did you put yourself in my mouth and make me taste my own pleasure all over you? Shame twisted around inside her. Did you think I wanted it? Did you like seeing me come from being raped?
“I bet I know exactly what you’re thinking,” he said.
She jumped. “Do you?”
“Oh, yes. I’m thinking the very same thing.”
Her heart fluttered. Had it been that obvious? She struggled to compose herself. “What is that?”
“You’re thinking these business things are dreadfully dull.” He turned his glass between his fingers. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s good champagne and all, but on the whole I can think of a lot of things I’d rather be doing.” He grinned and moved away.
Eileen shivered. Her heart pounded. She looked around and caught the man seated across from her, the one she recognized who was here alone, staring openly at her. Fire colored her face. He winked and turned toward the stage.
Evocation (The Training of Eileen) Page 20