The wood was cool against her left cheek, her eyes opening at every creak, at every sound from downstairs. She'd left the bookcase open, wanting to feel exposed to anyone who might come upstairs.
Anyone!
She smiled inwardly at the idea that 'anyone' would be anybody other than Cos. Caroline was at work. Steph had a thing. Naomi was with her family. Nobody was going to suddenly show up and see her stretched out on the table, presenting her naked cheeks like an exotic dessert, the bunnytail a decoration on top. She sighed for the ten millionth time, working her breathing to keep the anxiety down.
She'd probably started too soon, but she didn't want to be late. And It was only a little uncomfortable, the table's edge pushed into the tops of her thighs, her legs long enough to let her feet rest on the floor. And, she realized, her thoughts flowing, she wanted this.
I can't believe I really want this!
Thinking back again to how this whole thing started, flipping her face to look at the closet doIt feels so fucking good. She shifted, feeling the plug press into her.
Except for that.
That
was not feeling as good as she had expected: she'd graduated up to the next size, and pushing it in had been painful. When it stretched her ring, it felt like it wouldn't go in. She almost stopped, worried she might tear something, but the searing burn had quickly quieted, replaced by a quiet throbbing in synch with her heartbeat. And then she worried about how she was going to take it out. She couldn't afford to worry, the black dot swelling each time she thought about what she had done, subsiding when she inhaled, feeling Complicit inside her.
She closed her eyes again, recalling how she'd spent the last few hours. Hanging out with Naomi until her friend had to leave and then...nothing. Emily knew she should get out of the house, get out of her head, find something to distract herself from what Cos was planning for her. She gathered up clothes and the sleeping bag to make a run to the dry cleaners. She had to do grocery shopping. And then, her mind focused on small mundane things, she got into the groove, picking up, putting down, cleaning. At one point she remembered, while standing at the sink washing dishes, she'd actually forgotten about the butt plug. It was still the smaller one, and she'd become accustomed to it...at least as long as she wasn't moving.
But when she was out, driving, at the dry cleaners, at the grocery, it distracted her, pushing against her muscles, her sphincter trying to push it out. She'd worn jeans, and had left the tail off; there was no way it would work inside her jeans, in spite of how much Naomi seemed to enjoy it. By the time she'd gotten home, put everything away and made lunch, she was completely focused on it. Her pussy had swollen, her clit rubbed against its hood, even her cheeks, sensitive against her underwear, were talking to her. She kept looking at the clock; time seemed to have stood still.
Two more hours!
She couldn't sit any longer; she needed to
do
something, or her anxiety would overtake her. She eventually found herself in front of the bookcase, reading through Abby's pamphlets, still hoping she was wrong about Complicit; that it wasn't an accident, and somewhere in all of her writing, Abby had left a clue to what was going on.
Cos's voice downstairs talking to the crew brought her back to The Study, to her position stretched out on the table. She lifted her head slightly to hear better, the air cool against her cheek. He was at the back door, but she couldn't make out the words. Her heartrate quickened anticipating what they would be doing, her legs shifting wider, opening herself more for him, the air barely moving across her butt cheeks.
And then he was at the door, staring at her, his face lit up by a smile. "Nice job, cunt."
She closed her eyes, the word still too crude, too new for her to hear without cringing. When she opened them again, he was behind her, the breeze from his passing drifting across her back. She twisted her feet around the base of the table and breathed, waiting.
"How's the plug doing?" Before she could answer he slipped his fingers beneath the plate, his skin rough against hers.
"Ahhh!" He had pulled it back, straining against her sphincter, recalling the pain she'd had putting it in. "FUCK! Hold on, hold on. I think I may have pushed it a little too far." She had lifted her head off the table to turn and look at him. "I went up to #5 today and it might have been too soon? You don't see anything wrong, do you?" She hadn't seen any blood, so she didn't think she'd really done any damage, but she was worried about how to get it out.
She's fucking insane!
"Hey, Em. Type 2 fun, right? Nobody's pushing you to go too far too soon. I want to feel your asshole squeezing on my cock, not make it impossible to fuck you there, right?" He pulled her cheeks apart gently inspecting around the plug. "Nahh. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a virgin asshole waiting to be fucked."
She exhaled at his tone: clinical, like a trainer, then blunt, uncensored. Working with her, helping her. She shook her head, offering him a weak smile and shrug. "I thought it was time. The other one kept going in and out pretty easily." She couldn't believe she was discussing it so matter-of-factly.
Fucking Complicit!
But she wasn't sure how long she could blame Abby for what was happening.
He gently pushed his fingers around and under the plate, depressing into the crinkly muscle around her entrance. "Does that hurt?" He waited for a response before pushing a little further around. "It doesn't feel like there's a problem. But, shit, Em, you need to chill out a little."
She nodded, putting her head back down, focusing on her breathing, responding to his touch, the gentle prodding sparking her arousal,
this was real
. "Okay. I get it. I think I'll be fine. I'm just a little worried about how I'll take it out." She gasped as his hand slowly stroked her skin, from her waist down to the inside of her thighs.
"I can help with that. How many, cunt?"
And we're back.
"30? In all? I don't know...You're the novitiate." She let the last part drift off, almost to a whisper.