Page 28 of Trained at the Office
“Back down. Tongue on my clit now. You feel that little nub? Higher. Higher. There—yes, right there. Small circles. Gentle. Don’t press too hard.”
I found it—the firm, swollen bead of her clitoris, and I circled it with the tip of my tongue the way she told me to. Penelope’s thigh muscles tensed against the sides of my face, and the sound she made—a low, shuddering exhale through parted lips—sent a pulse of heat between my own legs that made me squirm on my knees.
“Melissa saw me rubbing my bottom,” I continued, pulling back just enough to form the words, my lips brushing Penelope’s flesh as I spoke. “She said it was the… the whole campaign in a single image. And then Darlene lit me, and I had to stand there, naked, while they?—”
“Put your mouth back on me when you pause,” Penelope commanded, her voice suddenly harsh and hungry. “Don’t leave me empty, you little slut.”
I licked her. Long, slow, broad strokes alternating with the tight circles on her clit that made her breathing change. My jaw still felt sore from Master Paul—the ache lived deep in the hinge of it, a dull reminder of what his cock had done to me—but this was different. Softer. My tongue moved over yielding flesh rather than rigid hardness, and the rhythm Penelope wanted was gentler, more patient than the brutal pace Master Paul had set.
“Then what?” Penelope asked, her voice thickening.
I pulled back. A thin strand of her wetness connected my lower lip to her folds, and I watched it catch the light from the office window before it broke. “Master Paul told me to put on the baby doll. The pink one. And when I had it on, he… he started to inspect me.”
“Inspect you how?” Her hand in my hair pushed me back down, and I licked her while I gathered the courage to continue.
“He circled me,” I said against her terribly wet pussy. “He touched me through the nightgown. My shoulders. My arms. My breasts.” I gave her clit three tight circles and felt her hips buck. “He lifted the hem and looked at my bottom. At the marks from the spanking. And then he told me to turn around and face him, and he… he looked at my…”
“Your cunt,” Penelope supplied, her voice gone raspy. “Say it.”
“My cunt,” I whispered, and the word felt different this time—less like a grenade and more like a key, turning in a lock I hadn’t known I carried. “He looked at my… my cunt through thechiffon. And then he told me to lift the nightgown. To hold it up above my waist so he could see me properly.”
“And you did.”
“Yes… and he said I’d have to be…” I took a little breath through my nose and my tummy flipped at how naughty the scent between my face and Penelope’s pussy had become. The word came out in a sob. “…shaved.”
“Ooh, that’s hot,” Penelope said, with the air of a connoisseur. “Good girl. Suck on my clit now. Take it between your lips, very gently, and suck. Like you’re nursing on it.”
I did. The sensation must have been intense, because Penelope’s hand spasmed in my hair and her hips pressed upward against my mouth with a force that ground her pubic bone against my nose. The neatly trimmed hair tickled my upper lip, and I found myself thinking—with the dazed, dissociative clarity of a girl whose life had been turned inside out—about the difference between her body and mine. She had hair. I had hair. But hers seemed to be… allowed, maybe… and mine would be taken away tomorrow.
As if reading my thoughts, Penelope’s hand eased its grip, and she spoke in a voice that had gone slightly breathless but retained its instructional quality.
“You’re wondering why I’m allowed to keep my pubic hair, when yours is going to be taken away,” she said in a voice so knowing that it made me feel faint.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
Penelope’s hand stroked through my hair—a gentler motion now, almost petting. “It’s a matter of designation, Anne, aswe call it here. I’m registered as a switch within the Selecta hierarchy. Do you know what that means?”
“Sort of,” I whispered. “It means you can be… both? Dominant and…”
“And submissive, yes. Depending on the context and the partner.” Her fingers traced the shell of my ear, and I shivered. “A registered switch at my level is encouraged to maintain neatly kept pubic hair. It’s a marker of status, in a way—a visible sign that I hold authority over girls like you, even though there are people, men especially, who hold authority over me. The grooming reflects the position. Trimmed. Maintained. Present but controlled.”
Her hand slid back into my hair and guided me down again. I licked her obediently, tasting the increased slickness that told me our conversation was arousing her as much as my tongue.
“Girls like you, though,” she continued, and her voice had taken on the particular quality of warmth and instruction laced with something darker that I’d come to recognize as Penelope at her most dangerous. “Girls in your position—new, unattached, submissive by nature even if they haven’t fully accepted it yet—are strongly encouraged to be bare. Completely bare. Smooth as the day you were born. No hair, no hiding place, nothing between your skin and whatever your trainer or your suitor wants to put against it.”
She paused. Her hips rolled against my mouth.
“It’s not arbitrary,” she said. “The baring serves a purpose. When a girl has hair between her legs, she has… hmmm… psychologically, even if she doesn’t realize it… she has one last scrap of coverage. One last barrier. One final little way of sayingthis part of me is still mine, still private, still hidden. Taking that away… waxing her or shaving her smooth, making her feel the air and the fabric and every casual touch against bare, sensitive skin… oh… it… removes that barrier. It makes her feel her submission constantly. Between her thighs, every moment of every day. It’s one of the most effective tools in any Selecta training program, and it’s practically non-negotiable for girls at your level.”
My tongue had slowed against her. The words had settled over me with a weight that made my stomach feel hollow and my pulse race. I thought of Master Paul’s hands between my thighs, tugging at my pubic hair with that expression of displeasure. I thought of him sayingThis little cunt is going to be shaved. I thought of the bathroom set—the white tile, the claw-foot tub, the mirror—and the razor that would be waiting for me there tomorrow morning.
“I’m glad Paul is going to do it himself,” Penelope said. Her voice had become soft, almost confiding. “Tomorrow. Honestly, Anne, it’s better this way. Having a man shave you—having your trainer bare your pussy with his own hands while you hold yourself open for him—it’s… hmmm… faster, sweetie… oh, God… that’s it…”
Her hips bucked. She pulled my face against her. “…just like that… it’s not just about the hair. It’s about… surrender. It’s about letting someone take something from you that you can’t take back, and trusting that what he’s giving you in return is worth more than what you lost.”
Her hand pressed my face even more firmly against her, moved herself to rub her clit against my nose, then released me yet again. “What happened next?”
CHAPTER 17
