Filthy Secret

Dad didn’t even spank me growing up, much less use a belt on me. He didn’t need to. Even after Mom died, I kept up with my grades, helped out around the house, and didn’t party. Hell, in many ways, I was more mature than Dad. The very thought of this stranger using a belt on me sends bile racing up my throat.

“N-no, Sir. Please. I’m sorry, Sir. Twenty-two!” I purposefully raise my voice when I state my age, not wanting to be told or threatened again.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, hanging the belt on my left leg. “How long ago did you turn twenty-two?”

“I don’t know.” Bile rises again as my heart jackhammers out of control. “How do you not know?”

“I don’t know what fucking day it is!” I scream out, hysteria forcing my mouth open. Instead of paying me any attention, he makes a few notes on his paper.

“Language. I promise you, you will not like what we do to wayward tongues. A ballpark, if you will.”

“About a month?”

“Father’s name?”

“Jack Evans, Sir.”

“Are you aware that your father frequents gambling halls all across the city?”

I want to hang my head, to hide the shame from this man, but the strap holding my forehead doesn’t let me. “Not for certain, Sir. But I’ve had my suspicions.”Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

“I see. Virginity status?”

My jaw drops as I stare at him, unable to answer for a moment. Why type of question is that? He doesn’t even look up from his papers, but his hand starts to inch towards the belt.

“I’m a virgin.”

That gets him to look up at me. “Toys? Masturbation? Dildos?”

“I don’t underst-.”

“Fortunately for you,” he pauses for a moment and puts the papers down in his lap. “You’re not here to understand. Now answer the question. And make sure you speak up for the camera.”

I swallow, looking down to avoid his heated gaze. Unfortunately, that shows me just how naked and vulnerable I am. “Fingers only. I don’t dare

get a vibrator while I’m still at home with Dad.”

“I see. So, a college girl and a virgin. Seems highly unlikely.” Again, he pauses, but this time, he places his hand against his ear and looks up at a

spot high on the wall. “Did you ever insert your fingers inside?”

Heat engulfs my face. “Y-yes, Sir.”

“Did anyone else insert their fingers into you?”

“Yes, Sir.” I glance away, unable to meet his unyielding gaze. It’s bad enough that the fun I did have left me feeling ashamed and used.

“Did you enjoy it?”

Fuck. How do I even answer that one? The few men that took advantage of me didn’t seem to care if it hurt or not. They just shoved their fingers right in, grateful to be allowed any sort of access.

“Look at me.” The bite in his tone is acidic, forcing my gaze upward. “Don’t you dare lie.”

“No.” Just that one word and shame fills me to the brim. I hated what they did to me, but in return for their fumbling, I got a few precious moments where someone wanted me. If I closed my eyes tight enough, I could convince myself they even loved me.

He shuffles forward, his eyes gleaming. “Did you get wet though?”

Did I? I honestly don’t know. Everything was always over so quickly. “I don’t think so.” More tears fall as the depressing state of my romantic life comes into full view. Here with this stranger, I can no longer hide from myself or the deluded truth.

“Shh. Don’t worry. We’ll find out sooner or later. Commencing examination.” He stands up and walks over to the side before wheeling a cart into view. Some of the shiny, metal objects on the tray look familiar, but several don’t. Once the tray is where he likes it, he brings over a large light and shines it down on me, illuminating my pussy.

It’s so disconcerting having something I’ve hidden away to be put on such a vulgar display. In high school, I’d race to the single shower, just so I wouldn’t have to share. When I’m with the frat guys, I insist they keep the lights off. It’s not that I’m exactly ashamed of my body, I’m more ashamed of the things I feel and the sensations those errant thoughts cause.

Even now, with this stranger looking at me, I can feel that niggle of arousal fluttering through my stomach. It’s sickening. I’m ashamed of the needs that no man seems to be able to satisfy. The guys I’ve fooled around with stir up all the wanton feelings, but none of them have been able to really give me what I need.

Instead of pleasure, I get pain. What’s worse is, it’s the pain that seems to ramp things up even more for me. I don’t dare tell the man in front of me. He asked if I enjoyed it. The honest answer is no. I was always left unsatisfied.

Groaning, I let my head rest against the padding and close my eyes. Maybe if I don’t watch him, it won’t be so mortifying. His hot breath against my lower lips has me squirming against the leather in a desperate attempt to get away, but the straps don’t budge.

“She’ll need to be cleaned up before the presentation. Commencing hair removal now.”

Kill me. Just kill me.

I kept things trimmed to make sure nothing really poked out around my underwear, but I never felt the need to remove everything. Cold cream is a sharp contrast to my sensitive skin, and soon, the unmistakable scrape of the razor as it goes through my hair fills the room.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

He pauses for a moment before removing the razor from me and clinking it against a glass. “You really want to ask me questions when I have something so sharp near something so delicate?”

Unfortunately, he has a point. Biting down on my lower lip, I let him resume, willing the lulling scrapes to soothe me enough to put me to sleep. Maybe then I can wake up from this nightmare. Bile rises up my throat as his hands move over me like he owns me. So far, he hasn’t caused me any harm, but who knows how long that will last?

The stranger slides something under me before pouring water over the shaved area. It’s already far more sensitive than I could have anticipated. Once more, arousal curls through me as the warm water washes over my skin. I groan as unmistakable need fills my body. Why am I responding to this? I guess Dad is right. I’m just a little slut.

It doesn’t matter that I haven’t had actual sex. I was a slut ever since I got enough curves to make men notice. Somehow, it was always my fault. Is this my fault too? Yeah, I probably had one too many drinks, but does that make this just? Fitting?

Soon, his fingers skim my mound, searching out any errant hairs. Once that passes inspection, they start to drift lower, spreading me apart to get to my inner lips. Again, I hold my breath, praying he doesn’t cut me.

“Your pulse just spiked. You okay?”

His deep voice startles me, and I flinch at the words. “I’m not okay. You’re doing things to me that are wrong. You have no right to be down there and touch me like this.”

“Ah. But that’s where you’re wrong. I do have every right. Now keep still.” I let him go about his work, terrified of distracting him. As the razor scrapes against my skin, arousal starts to build once more. “I think someone likes this,” he murmurs, clinking the razor in the glass again. “You’re so very wet.”

Heat engulfs my face at his words. I’m not trying to get turned on. It’s just happening! I can’t be at fault for something my body chooses to do! Without a word, he goes to the other side and starts all over again. Thick, rough fingers slide between my lips, pulling and stretching the skin. Again, I groan, unable to restrain the lurid sound from spilling out.

“Such a naughty, filthy little girl,” he replies, smacking his fingertips against me. “Just how I like them. And I’m only preparing you. We haven’t even begun the examination yet. Tell you what. You make it through

without creaming yourself, and I’ll tell you why you’re here.”

There’s no way I can orgasm. Not with some stranger touching me. He’s crazy if he thinks that’s going to happen.