Fuck-Pet Training

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've tried for years to write a wife training short story. They never come out quite the way I'd like. I'm looking to write something that walks the fine line between good girl and unleashed naughty girl. This attempt went way off the rails. It's possible I don't have a clear picture of what I'm striving for. This story is fun, if, more than a little over the top.

I held my hair to one side. I spit. I rinsed. I put away my toothbrush.

Kev is in the shower. God, my man was tall, and strong, and musclely. Like really musclely. I swear he looked like an NBA player crossed with a Roman legionnaire. If this were old Rome, he'd be a praetorian. I couldn't imagine him as anything else. I'd be like his concubine, or slave. His helplessly in love with him slave. He isn't my husband. We aren't married. But we might as well have been.

I moved in with him six months ago. I moved in because I can't stand being apart from him. He let me move in so he could fuck-pet train me. Or so he says.

Slave comment aside, that's insulting. Like, a lot. Or a thing. He's not actually doing anything. But somehow it's working because I feel a little more like a hot puddle of girl juice every single day. But honestly, he let me move in because he likes me likes me. More like loves me, if the dumb lunk would figure out his feelings.

I leave the bathroom and round his--our--bed. My downstairs is tingling because I'm already pressing at my center through my sleep shirt. I lift the hem and run my finger up the center of my panties. I put them on less than twenty minutes ago and there's already a damp cleft. I find the bar of my VCH piercing. I rock it and--

Oh--

Oh--

Oh--

That feels good. I slap the wall. Lean over. Spread my stance and rock it some more.

Oh God. My nips pinch. My toes curl. I jill faster. My legs shake. I bite my lip to hold back my words. I've started announcing my orgasms. While the shower is running and Kev probably can't hear, I don't want him to know that this is my seventh orgasm today. But because I don't say it, I don't come.

God I want to.

I bend lower, leaning my head against the wall. I'm not jilling anymore. I'm just pressing the bar over my clit. I got it about seven weeks ago and, okay, it hurt a little the first day. But it's not like ear-rings that I sometimes forget I'm wearing. It moves. It slides. It lies against my clit. Direct contact. A little secret party all day. It's really fun. It's rather distracting.

"I'm coming," I whisper to the wall.

My hips thrust. Once. Little sparkles dance over my skin, toes to nose. I clench my teeth, so my moan isn't too loud. The heat in my core releases. I'm wet.

Dammit. I wish I didn't get so wet. It's inconvenient when I come seven times a day. I strip off my low-rise, micro back, g-string--because that's all I've been wearing lately--and throw them in the wash. I never wore them before. They cover next to nothing. Honestly, I don't want to bother with panties anymore but something has got to hold back my wet spots.

I slip into bed. There's no point in putting on more panties. I'll just make them wet too. Case in point, ten seconds after I pull up the covers, my fingers are downstairs again. I can't stop. I don't want to stop. I orgasm so hard, so easily. Who'd want to stop? Can you blame me?

But I do have to be careful, because it stings. I can't have Kev fuck me into the bed, or fuck me into the floor, or fuck me into the wall, or fuck me into a door, or fuck me in front of a window. Those are kind of my go to options lately. Fuck me hard or cowgirl. I woke Kev up with some reverse cowgirl this morning and that was fun!

But I had a wax today. Another new thing. A full Hollywood. So I'm not supposed to get fucked. Which is going to be a problem because when Kev leaves the bathroom I just stare. And whimper. And melt.

I mean, I've seen Kev naked before. Like every day. But he's got these muscles. These arms. These abs. This man-vee. His dick belongs on a god.

And in me. His dick really belongs in me.

"Hey, babe." Kev slides into bed next to me. He stopped wearing boxers to bed. I think it's because he's hoping I'll climb on his lap in the middle of the night. I've done that. I've been having dreams. Intense ones. I'm a little worried I'll sleep fuck him. I've heard that's a thing. I've read that it's a problem. Consent and all that.

"How are you doing tonight?"

I cycle a breath. I tease my middle finger up my crease, tickle my nub, bump the ball on the end of my VCH bar and slide back down. "Okay, a little tender."

Kev lifts a brow. It's black against his light mochaccino colored skin. His eyes are dark chocolate. I stretch forward and kiss his perfect lips. They're soft, warm and moist from the shower. I have to control myself so I don't, like, bite them. I cuddle into his big, and strong and, ohmigod, he's got muscles chest.

"I got a wax today." I have to stop myself from rocking my hips. I'm pressed up against his leg and I want to grind.

"Ah, so you're out of commission."

"For three days." I don't mean to pout, but it almost sounds like I do. Three days never would've been a problem before. Not before this. Before I moved in with Kev. Before he started fuck-pet training me. How the hell is he fuck-pet training me? Is it just that he's so good looking that I, like, juice all the time? He smells good too, like dry pine needs and...man. I'm probably not supposed to be jilling either, but that ship has sailed.

"Okay, naughty girl, then maybe it's a good time to kick off the next phase of your training."

Naughty girl. I love it when he calls me that. I don't actually know why. I mean, I have been kind of naughty lately, but that' a new thing. So many new things.

"You're not training me." He could be, I admit to myself, but--how?

"I'm not?" His voice is low and rumbly and there's a chuckle in it. It vibrates things in me that are better off not being vibrated right now.

"Um...maybe?" My head is on his chest. I tilt my face up towards him with my question.

"How many times have you orgasmed today?"

Heat blisters my cheeks. I rub my thighs together. The slide of my VCH makes my breath hitch.

"Thee." Not true. Seven. But I don't say that. Divide by two, round down. That's what you tell your man when he asks how many other men you've been with. This is kinda the same--amiright?

"How many times have you thought about coming today?"

More times than I can count. One of the seven times I came was in the bathroom right after Professor Logan's class. I squirmed all through class. We'd been discussing the anima and animus. Societal programming. The shadow. Stereotyping. Fantasies. Compulsions.

I'd fantasized. A lot. I have this fantasy where I'm a stripper. I have this other one where I'm a prostitute. These are apparently common female fantasies. Professor Logan mentioned that in class.

But fantasies are fantasies. Just because something seems desirable in our imagination doesn't mean it is. The right woman might enjoy acting on those fantasies. Many women wouldn't--even though they fantasized about it.

Except, I did act on those fantasies. Sorta. Kinda. In a way.

Right after class I bee lined for the nearest restroom and jilled myself to completion. God I was hot. And horny. I came so fricking hard!

"Um..." I bite my lip. My cheeks pink. I mean, I can't see them pink, but I can definitely feel them pink.

Kev grants me a smirk. It's not condescending or belittling, but it is knowing.

"How are you doing it?" I blurt. "I've picked through my computer, ten times. There's no subliminals. Your music is normal. The blue tooth speakers aren't playing any sub-hearing subliminal shit, because they're not on! I've checked. Every day! You're not training me...but, oh my God, I want to fuck--all the time!" I might be blonde, as if that had anything to do with it, but I've googled wife, and girl training, and slut training and many other trainings too. I know about the subliminals. I know about the hypnosis. I'm a PhD student of psychology! There's zero dumb in this lady's brain.

"I'm training you. You just don't remember."

"You--I...I don't?"

"Naughty girl, say nighty-night to good girl."

Oh, Kev's voice is deep and rumbly. Have I mentioned that before? I like it. It makes me feel good. It makes me feel really good. Like languid good. Like melty mess boneless good. I start to slide off his chest.

Wait? Was that a trigger? I've studied hypnosis in a psychology class. I've done hypnosis. I taught Kev how to do this.

To me. I taught Kev to do this to me! I wanted this. I want this. I obey my trigger. It's my choice. I think. Do I have a choice?

Regardless, good girl just...goes to sleep. I flop on my back. I scissor my legs open. I trace a circle around my entrance. Two fingers plunge into my fuck-me tunnel, because, of course, playing with my clit isn't enough for naughty girl. I curl my fingers inside my entrance. My palm grinds against my piercing. My back bows. My toes curl. My nips pinch. My core cinches down on my fingers. My clit is arcing and sparking and driving me insane. Sparkly heat sizzles in my spine and in the most primitive parts of my lady brain. I shoot a wild glance at my man and bite my lip. A moan slips out anyway.

"I'm coming!" I try to force an orgasm out.

"Naughty girl, don't misbehave. You know you can't come unless good girl is awake."

I hate that part of my training. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. Sometimes I think naughty girl is, like, four. She's not. I want to come, so bad! Kev is merging naughty girl and good girl and it's working--except, naughty girl knows what's going on. Good girl doesn't.

Kev strokes me. Kind of pets me. From neck to core. It's like he's gently stroking my energy and focus down, down, down until my entire being is gathered between my legs. I bite my lip. I whimper. I plead with my eyes. I'm right on the edge, and the edge keeps getting higher and higher and higher. I want to come so, so bad.

"Does that feel good?"

The answer pops out of my mouth. "Yes!" I almost shout it.

"Do you like what I'm doing to you?"

I squirm. I know the answer. I don't want to say it. Every time I say yes, I lose a little more control. Good girl loses a little more control. I want it, but part of me is scared. It's the part that wonders if good girl is wiser than naughty girl.

Kev settles his hand over mine, the one that's still fingering my fuck-me tunnel. I stare into his eyes. My mouth falls open. "Yes," I breathe.

"Does good girl like what I'm doing to you?"

Oh...my...God. I squirm. My hips are moving. My pleasure is climbing. It seems entirely impossible that I haven't come. Please, please, please, don't make me answer that.

"Yes." The word is barely a whimper.

"You are sure?" Kev's tone is serious. It's not a normal hypnosis question. It doesn't seem to matter.

My butt arcs off the mattress. I shift my hips through the air. I'm trying to escape. I'm trying to escape my hand. I'm trying to escape his hand. I'm trying to escape the inescapable pleasure that won't break.

"Yes." My mouth forms the word, but there's no sound. My eyes are locked on his. I see that he sees what I said.

"You will tell me, naughty girl, if that ever changes."

It's not a question. It's a command. I answer anyway. "Yes."

"I mean it, naughty girl, you will tell me if good girl stops liking this--the moment she stops liking this. Promise!"

"I promise," I sob. I know that's not entirely how it works. Once someone does something once, they're more comfortable doing it a second time. If he sends me to a strip club on armature night, I might go back, hypnotized or not. But Kev is giving me an out. That's so fricking hot. I'm insane, because I don't want to take it.

Kev's hand tightens around my hand--the hand still digging for treasure in my crotch. "Such a good, naughty girl."

Ohmigod. Ohmigod. Ohmigod! On a zero to ten point scale, my pleasure just hit four-million. I'm shaking. I'm squirming. I'm babbling. I'm squeaking. My clit feels like it's going to explode! Unicorn sparkles dance over my skin and my nips pinch so tight it seems like some kind of safety-pin bite. I'm ready to beg for a ruined orgasm. I still can't fucking come. There's heat trickling from my crease and it's running down my butt crack.

Once I've calmed down. A little. Once I can think. A little. In, like, two word sentences. Sometimes. Kev starts to speak again. Oh God, the man that looks like Sin is training me. No, he's programming me. I'm not going to be a fuck-pet, I am a fuck-pet.

"Amanda, focus." He digs a fat, manly-man finger under my shaking palm and shifts my piercing over my clit. "Right here."

Sparks are going off. My eyes roll up.

"Feel it."

"Oh God. Oh God. Oh God."

"Can you feel it?"

"Yes," I sob. I almost cry. There's tears in my eyes the pleasure is so intense.

"Good, because I'm going to tell you a story. There won't be a lot of details. You'll fill those in. In your dreams. In your fantasies. During your self-love orgasm sessions. The story will become a memory. The memory will become real for you. Every time you think about your new memory, you are going to get aroused, really aroused. It's going to feel like this."

"Oh God."

"Yes, Oh God. You want this, Amanda, don't you."

I whimper.

"Amanda, answer me."

My throat is constricted. There's this pain, right there, in my larynx. My voice is strained. "Yes."

"It doesn't matter that this memory doesn't fit into any part of your current life. It doesn't matter that you don't know how this happened, or how you got there. For you, this memory is real. You will brush off any discrepancies as not important. The only way out of this memory and the effects it will have on you is if you want out of it. Then, and only then, will you know this is fake. Then, and only then, will the way this affects you fall away. In short, if you don't like this memory, you will reject it. If you do like this memory, you will embrace it. If you embrace it, it will become a part of you. You will not need to act on it. You will think you already have. Do you understand, naughty girl?"

Kev is leaning over me. His weight, it's warm against me. His hand is still pinning mine. He's speaking mere inches from my face. I'm drowning, in his weight of his words, in the chocolate depths of his eyes, in the manly man pine needle sent of his skin, in this fuck-pet training I initiated.

I think.

Maybe.

Did I?

"Yes," I whimper.

"What do you understand, naughty girl?"

"You'll tell me a story. I'll make the story a memory. The memory will become real." Some part of me knows what this story is going to be. "I won't have to act on it, because I'll have already done it. It will become me."

"Only if you want it to."

I'm so gone. Naughty girl is a fuck-pet. Soon, good girl will be too. I can't stop this now if I tried. I know this. I can't speak. I just nod.

"Okay, naughty girl. You and good girl are at a gentleman's club. A nice one. You're not a guest. You're an entertainer."

My fingers, never really still, scrub at the rough tissue just inside my entrance a little harder. I moan.

"You're giving a lap dance."

I buck my hips.

"He's dressed sharply--nicely. He smells good. He's attractive. You feel safe." Kev pauses. "Naughty girl, Amanda, this is important, he feels safe. If he doesn't feel safe, you run the other way. Do you understand?"

"Oh God."

"Amanda?" My name is a growl. Kev is demanding an answer.

"Yes."

"The club, your moonlight employer, because this is not your full time job, it's just something you do on the side because you like it, fronts an escort service. Your dance partner, he wants a date. Do you understand? Do you like the story so far?"

Yes. The answer is yes. I just stare up at him. I'm so close to coming my whole body is shaking.

"Remember, you feel safe. He feels safe. You only agree to go with him because he feels safe."

"Okay." The word is a squeak. It's barely understandable.

"He's visiting from another city. Your date is in his hotel room. He fucks you in the butt. You come, so hard. Naughty girl, you always come when you're paid to fuck. Your cunt, your ass, your mouth, it doesn't matter. You come."

Um. Okay. That wasn't necessary. Anymore, I think I just come. Always. Unless good girl is asleep. But I'm squirming. And whimpering. And toe curling. And back arcing. My hand not in my fuck-me tunnel is crawling over the bed sheets seeking an anchor.

"Do you want this memory?"

How do I answer that? I love the story. It's my fantasy. Do I want to be a whore? A part time whore? No...but, yes?

"You can have the memory and never act on it. You'll have already done it. But you can, if you want. Do you want the memory?"

"Yes," I squeak.

"Very, very good, naughty girl. You're such a good naughty girl."

"Oh..." My brain just stops working. I can't even think of the next word I was going to say.

"Now let's make sure you get maximum fun out of your new hobby. Focus on the pleasure in your clit."

Now? What does Kev mean, now? I've not stopped focusing on the pleasure in my clit.

"Multiply it by two."

"Fuuuuuck!" My whole body arcs off the bed. "Oh God. Fuck me, Kev. Fuck me. Please, please fuck me." Naughty girl always wants fucked but this is too much. I'm desperate.

He pinches my clit. Not hard, but hard enough to pull, when he gives it a little tug. "I've got that little ball of pleasure. All that energy. All that focus. Right between my fingers."

I can't think. I can barely breathe. He's got all of me, right there.

"Double your focus, Amanda, double your pleasure."

My hips rise off the mattress. They shift through the air trying to escape his fingers, the pleasure, the intense, inescapable need to come.

"Is your pleasure doubled, naughty girl?"

"Yes. Oh God. Yes." God is long, and drawn out, so it sounds more like Goooood.

"Feel that tight ball of need, that intense pleasure, your whole focus, split. But they're still connected. What one feels, resonates in the other. Can you feel it?"

"Yes," I breathe. It's actually a relief, sort of. There're two balls of pleasure now. They both want to make me orgasm. One is right in my clit, the other is just...floating? But while they both feel really, really, really good and they seem to be almost resonating, building pleasure between each other, neither one of them is as intensely orgasmic as the one focus alone. Yet.

"One stays right here." Kev wiggles my clit, and the VCH bar, between his thumb and forefinger. "The other sinks down and finds a permanent home right inside your entrance. Right inside your pleasure tunnel. Right where your fingers touch."

I lay gasping. My fingers are in my tunnel. I shake as I try to hold them still. Sex ach radiates around them to suffuse my whole core. My tunnel is opening and closing and closing and opening in desperate hope to feel more.

"Touch yourself there, Amanda."

My fingers curl, feathering my g-spot. My thighs strain. My toes curl. Core clenches. My hips buck. Hot wet splashes from me and runs down my ass. Had good girl been awake I would've come so hard I passed out but naughty girl can't throw me into the abyss.

"Now feel it. Feel them. Feel the pleasure building again."

Like, um? Did it ever stop building.

"Feel the pleasure resonating between the two. They are connected. What you feel in one, you feel in the other."