A Fine Young Woman 
                   (part 2)

It was 10:30.  She had been sitting, watching TV.  
She always wanted to cross her legs while sitting, 
though, which was truly out of the question right 
now.

She found it easier, then, to lay on the couch.  To 
lay still, very still.

It might not be exactly ladylike, but she well knew 
she would not meet the minimum standards anyway ... 
not today.  No point trying to pretend.

She had taken pains, though, to make sure her skirt 
was not beneath her as she lay down.  She wasn't 
sure that requirement applied to *laying*, as well 
as *sitting*.  Maybe a lady wasn't supposed to lay 
down at all.

For some reason, she found it impossible to do 
anything outside his specific instructions.  He 
could not know either way, and yet she didn't seem 
to question whether she should or shouldn't.  She 
just did it.

The email had arrived at her account at 10:15.  He 
knew she would fail as much as she did, and wanted 
to make sure it was there when she checked ... 
making allowance for time differences, etc.

For the last hour, she had been attempting to lay 
still, but fidgeting uncontrollably.  The mix was 
both scary and delightful.  She felt warm, radiating 
from that certain place.  There were unpredictable 
sharp spikes ... irregular but frequent.  Her thighs 
twitched, and sometimes her knees.

She was barely able to hold herself back from 
exploring a little, touching, feeling.

It would have hurt her to masturbate, even the 
lightest caresses with only her fingers.  But she 
would have *loved* it.

To say she would have loved it is an understatement.  
It would have taken her totally ... utterly, 
physically, emotionally, in every way.  The wild mix 
of feelings would have enthralled her, until it 
seemed to permiate her whole world and fill it to 
glorious overflow.

It would've been *that* good.  So why didn't he just 
ask for that?

He had something else in mind, though perhaps for no 
good reason.

He explained.  

A nice young woman sometimes needs correction on a 
fairly regular and routine basis.

It isn't all that unusual.  She needn't feel 
embarassed or ashamed of herself.  But sometimes it 
takes more to push those feelings aside, to train 
the mind and guide it toward those lovely and 
pleasant places.

As a nice young woman, she was probably unfamiliar 
with the tools ordinarily used to deliver such 
correction.

This morning, she would acquire one such tool.

He assumed it would require, first, a little 
investigation.  She would need to get out the yellow 
pages.  

She needed to find a local adult bookstore.

She needed something only they would have.

She needed to go there.  It was something she needed 
to have today.

It's not easy to explain or describe how she felt.  
It's something you'll have to imagine.

You needn't see this lovely girl as having always 
been the sweet young thing before you on this, her 
special day.

You needen't accept the implied suggestion that she 
had never been to an adult bookstore.

You just need to know that in her mind, at that 
moment, she was *there*.  She was a lovely and sweet 
young woman.  

It's how she felt when she walked up to the door, 
when she turned the knob and self-consciously pulled 
it open ... when she sheepishly, if deliberately, 
walked through. 

He asked that she first take a quick tour of the 
store.  It would be unfamiliar, and quite helpful to 
survey the range of products available.

And so she walked slowly, all the way around ... the 
movies, the magazines, the novelties, the toys, the 
lingere, even the restraints, whips, paddles, 
blindfolds, etc.

You may imagine what kind of attention our lovely 
young lady received from the store's usual patrons.

She might then make her way to the toy section, and 
specifically to the area displaying the store's 
dizzying assortment of butt-plugs.

She should examine each of them.  It was important 
to make an informed choice.

As he had explained, there appeard to be a standard 
size for butt plugs -- something regular or average.  
He described it to her, and she was able to pick it 
out amongst the various sizes.

What he didn't say is that this "normal" size was 
pretty much geared toward men.  The majority of 
purchasers were men.

And he told her to select something larger than the 
normal size.

She must go up, at least a little, from the regular 
size, which was in the neighborhood of two inches 
wide.

She was to select at least two plugs that appeared 
to meet his requirements.

And she was to take them up to the counter.

She would explain to the store clerk that she was 
attempting to select a butt-plug.  That she had no 
experience with them, or with anal sex, and wasn't 
sure which model to select.

He'd be only momentarily startled, and would answer 
her questions as best he could.  He might even try 
to surpress his wry smile and the slightly bemused 
tone in his voice.

She found herself having to tell him more, in 
response to his suggestions.  What to say, exactly, 
when he makes the obvious point that it might be 
best to start small?

Well, she'd have to explain.

Explain that buying the plug was something her Owner 
required her to do.

Explain that it was to be used to punish her, and 
needed to make her quite uncomfortable.

Could he surpress his bemused smile then?  

What made it worse was that she could smell herself.  
She smelled it before -- in the car, in the store.  
But now she was leaking like a faucet, and it just 
seemed to fill the air around them.

She was still achy and faintly throbbing.  And she 
was truly, literally dripping.

Sweet and lovely, in neatly pressed clothes, and 
not a hair out of place.  But dripping, with no 
panties, and positively announcing herself via a 
certain unmistakable scent.

After discussing and selecting a plug, she was 
required to ask one more thing.  Could he recommend 
a lubricant that would make it easiest to get the 
plug up her bottom?

She would purchase the plug and whatever lubricant 
he recommended.

Home again.  She could carry out her requirement.  

The plug would be inserted, and stay in for 30 
minutes.  She would go about her normal business 
while wearing it, fully clothed, with the exception 
of absent panties.

It would then come out.

The plug would train her to associate something 
quite unpleasant -- the physical strain of getting 
the plug in, the time that it took, and the 
indescribable over-full and utterly stuffed feeling 
of having it in.

It was *not* comfortable, and was a constant 30 
minute reminder of how bad she had been.

It was, in essence, a 30 minute meditation on bad 
feelings, on what happens to girls who can't control 
themselves.  There was no question of pushing it 
from her mind at any point in the 30 minutes.

The plug would come out.  But if her feelings did 
not subside within the hour, or if she found herself 
tempted by them to do the most unladylike things ... 
then the plug would go in again.  This time it had 
to be worn in public for the full 30 minutes.

And there was no question, even when in public, of 
wearing panties over her stuffed little bottom.  The 
plug would not accidentally come out, due to it's 
size, but she would have to deal with the feelings 
... the sense that it might.

A little more shame is not a problem.  He hoped it 
would further help in adjusting her wayward feelings 
and attitudes.

Those were her requirements for the day.

Yes, she found herself wearing the butt-plug twice.  
Once at home, and once in public.

And though it may make you think less of her, we may 
pull the curtain back on a certain scene -- 
something that happened shortly after her public 
punishment.

You see her on the floor in her apartment, legs up, 
knees apart.  She couldn't even wait long enough to 
remove the massive plug, though the pain had grown 
by now to a constant raw throbbing.

And she has something else nice girls really 
shouldn't -- a startlingly well-proportioned 
vibrator, parting her labia and penetrating in 
full, deep, rapid strokes.

At that moment, she would've fucked an army, if only 
one were available.

She would've made no effort to pull her splayed 
knees together, to pull her pretty skirt down.  And 
if they seemed reluctant, she would in fact have 
begged, pleaded ... begged for the worst use ... to 
be bent over and taken.  Cocks shoved up her ass ... 
down her throat ... come spewing everywhere, in and 
on her.

She would have asked, and then begged, and then 
taken every bit of it with every ounce of enthusiasm 
in her sweet body.

Her 11-inch vibrator made for quite a substantial 
substitute for the lusty army now ravaging her in 
her mind.