Chapter 4: Size Training
The silence of Saturday morning was a different creature. It wasn’t the peaceful quiet of recovery, but a thick, anticipatory hush that clung to the loft’s polished surfaces. Ashley stood in the center of the master suite, naked. The air was cool on her skin, raising goosebumps. She focused on her breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth, a technique she’d read about somewhere for managing panic.
The bench was new. It sat squat and ominous in a patch of sunlight, upholstered in a deep burgundy velvet that drank the light. It wasn’t a piece of furniture; it was a device.
Carter entered first, dressed in simple black trousers and a tight gray t-shirt that stretched over his chest. He carried a small, polished wooden box. Dominic followed, leaning against the doorframe with a casualness that belied the focus in his eyes. He held a bottle of lube, idly turning it over in his hands like he was examining a fine wine.
“Posture,” Carter said, his voice flat.
Ashley straightened her spine, shoulders back, chin level. She kept her arms loose at her sides.
“Good. On the bench. Position one.”
She knew the positions. They’d been drilled. Position one was kneeling on the padded leather kneeler, torso laid forward over the main bolster, ass high, face turned to the side on the rest. She moved slowly, each movement deliberate, settling into the shape. The velvet was softer than she expected against her knees and chest. It made her feel more exposed, this luxury against her bare skin.
She heard the click of the box opening behind her. Her breathing hitched.
“Look at that,” Dominic murmured, coming to stand beside Carter. “Freshly waxed. Perfect blank slate.”
Carter’s fingers, cool and dry, touched the small of her back, then trailed down over the curve of her ass. It was not a caress. It was an inspection. “We start small. A reminder.”
The first plug was cool, smooth silicone. He lubed it with a clinical efficiency. The initial pressure was familiar, almost comforting. A slight burn as the widest part stretched her, then the satisfying, full feeling as it seated inside her. She let out a controlled breath.
“See? Easy,” Carter said. But he didn’t leave it there. He began to work it, a slow, in-and-out motion that was more intrusive than any thrust. “This is what the audience will imagine. They’ll see the empty hole and they’ll picture it filled. We’re just making the fantasy tangible.”
He removed it. The emptiness was immediate and shocking. Before she could process it, something larger, cooler—metal this time—pressed against her. The stretch was sharper. She dug her fingers into the velvet, her knuckles whitening.
“There’s the bite,” Dominic said, sounding pleased. “Watch her toes curl, Carter.”
She hadn’t even noticed her own feet. She forced them to relax.
Carter worked the metal plug in a slow, relentless circle, stretching the ring of muscle until it burned. “You’re taking it so well, Ashley. Such a greedy little receptacle. Always so ready to be filled.” His words were condescending, a velvet-wrapped insult. He pulled the plug almost all the way out, letting her feel the brutal stretch all over again, then pushed it back in with a firm, final shove. “But this is nothing. This is a child’s toy.”
He removed it. She was panting now, her ass throbbing with a hollow, open ache. Her pussy was slick, a traitorous flood of heat that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with brutal, reflexive submission.
The third plug was larger, a graduated obsidian shape that looked absurd, impossible. Dominic let out a low whistle. “That’s ambitious.”
“She can take it,” Carter said, lubing it generously. “She needs to understand the scale.”
The pressure was immense, a blunt, inexorable force. It wasn’t a sharp pain, but a deep, profound stretching that felt like it reached into her core. A whimper escaped her throat before she could cage it.
“Quiet,” Carter snapped, his voice like a slap. He didn’t pause, feeding the impossible width into her with steady, unforgiving pressure. Her body fought, clenching involuntarily, which only made the burn worse. “Relax. You’re making it harder on yourself.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, blurring the grain of the wood floor beneath her. She forced a breath out, willed her muscles to go slack. With a final, slick pop, the widest part passed through and the plug seated, a heavy, alien presence inside her. She felt obscenely full, stretched to a limit she hadn’t known existed.
Carter left it there, a dark intrusion. He traced the puffy, strained rim of her asshole with a single fingertip. “Look how tight you still are around the neck. After all this time. All our work. It’s like your body forgets. It needs to be re-taught. Every. Single. Time.”
The ache was settling into a steady, throbbing pulse. A different ache, higher up, was becoming unbearable. The slickness between her legs was a maddening tease. Her clit felt swollen, a tiny, desperate heartbeat of its own. Instinctively, her hand twitched, began to slide from the velvet rest towards the heat.
Crack.
The slap across her inner thigh was lightning-fast, shockingly painful. She cried out, jerking her hand back as if burned. A fierce, stinging handprint bloomed instantly on the pale skin.
“Did I say you could touch yourself?” Carter’s voice was dangerously calm. He placed his large hand over the stinging welt, fingers digging in. “You don’t get to decide when you feel good. That’s our decision. All of this,” he slapped the heavy plug, making her jolt and gasp, “is our decision. You are a vessel. Empty until we fill you. Understood?”
“Yes,” she choked out.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded, seemingly satisfied. He leaned down, his lips close to her ear. “This plug? It’s big. It’s stretching that pretty little asshole to its limit. But it’s not as big as my cock. Remember that. On Saturday, this will be nothing. A warm-up.”
The reality of it crashed over her. This was just preparation. The real event would be this, but compounded by the unseen eyes, the absolute silence, the prolonged exposure. Her cunt clenched violently around nothing, a fresh wave of wetness slicking her thighs.
Dominic had moved. She heard the rustle of his jeans as he knelt in front of her. His face appeared in her line of sight, upside down. He was smiling, but his eyes were intense. “Look at you. Dripping. You’re so fucking wet it’s running down your legs. And you haven’t even been touched there. You’re that turned on by being stuffed like a toy?”
She couldn’t answer. Shame and desire coiled together in her gut.
“You want to come so bad your teeth hurt, don’t you?” he whispered.
She gave a tiny, frantic nod.
“Not a chance.” He stood up. “That’s the point, Ash. We want you begging. By Saturday night, you’ll be so fucking desperate you’ll take anything we give you, in front of anyone, and you’ll thank us for the privilege. This,” he gestured to the plug, “is just to make sure you don’t forget what you’re built for.”
Carter finally removed the obsidian plug. The sensation of sudden, gaping emptiness was more shocking than the intrusion. She felt loose, used, profoundly open. Cool air kissed the stretched, sensitive ring, making her shiver.
“Up,” Carter commanded.
Moving was a struggle. Her legs were shaky, her core trembling. She managed to get off the bench, standing awkwardly, profoundly aware of the throbbing, empty ache in her ass and the relentless, unaddressed throb between her legs.
“Hands on your head. Stand at the mirror. Look at yourself.”
She complied, walking gingerly to the full-length mirror on the far wall. Her reflection was a portrait of deliberate frustration. Skin flushed, eyes bright with unshed tears and unspent need. The red handprint stood out vividly on her inner thigh. Her pussy lips were glistening, visibly swollen.
“Look at that desperate cunt,” Carter said, standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders. He met her eyes in the mirror. “That’s what we’re presenting. That specific, beautiful, frustrating need. We’re going to package it in white silk and put it behind glass. And you’re going to hold that need inside you for hours. You’re going to let it burn. And when we finally decide to put it out, it will be a mercy.”
He turned her around, away from the mirror, breaking the spell of her own image. “Now go shower. Cold. Don’t you dare rub one out. We’ll know.”
She walked to the bathroom, each step a reminder of the hollow, aching emptiness they had carved into her. The bathroom light was too bright. She avoided looking at herself in the mirror here. She turned the shower knob all the way to cold.
The icy blast was a shock, a physical violence that stole her breath. It did nothing to quell the heat between her legs; it just made her shiver violently around it. She stood under the punishing spray, teeth chattering, her body a confused map of cold skin and deep, internal fire. The preparation was complete. They had stretched her, denied her, and left her simmering.
They had successfully turned her into a perfect, trembling instrument of anticipation, already wound tight and waiting for the first, devastating note.
The intervening days were a cruel parody of normal life. They went to work. She cleaned the loft, the phantom ache from the plugs a constant, low hum. They ate dinners where the conversation never touched Saturday, the unspoken event swelling in the room like a toxic balloon.
Saturday arrived not with a bang, but with a quiet, focused efficiency. Carter laid her outfit on the bed: a simple, sleeveless white silk sheath dress. It was backless, knee-length, severe in its purity. It felt like a shroud. “No underwear,” he said, watching her slide it over her head. The silk whispered against her skin, clinging to her hips. She felt naked beneath it, more exposed than if she were bare.
Dominic drove, his fingers tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel to a song on the jazz station. Carter sat in the back with her, his hand a heavy, possessive weight on her thigh. The city blurred past, then gave way to an industrial district of repurposed warehouses. The car slid into an underground garage beneath a nondescript brick building. The air smelled of concrete and motor oil.
An elevator with mirrored walls took them up. Ashley watched their reflection: the two handsome men in dark, expensive casual wear, and the girl in white between them, her face pale, her green eyes wide. The elevator doors opened directly into a space that stole her breath.
It was a vast, stark white cube. The lighting was indirect, glowing from recesses in the floor and ceiling, eliminating shadows. In the center of the room stood a rectangular box of what looked like frosted glass. As they approached, she realized one side was clear. It was a room within a room, about eight feet by ten. Inside was a single, backless white leather bench.
A quiet click echoed. The clear panel became a mirror, reflecting the three of them standing outside it. “One-way,” Carter murmured, his voice full of quiet pride. “The gallery is on the other side of that wall. They’re already there. Watching this reflection right now.”
A wave of dizzying vulnerability washed over her. Unseen eyes were already on her, studying the line of her throat, the tremble in her hands. Dominic unlocked a nearly invisible door in the mirrored side. “In you go.”
The air inside the glass room was cool, sterile. The bench was cold against the backs of her thighs as she sat, per Carter’s silent gesture. The door clicked shut, sealing her in. The acoustics changed; her own breathing sounded loud in her ears. Through the mirror, she saw Carter approach the glass. He smiled, not at her, but at her reflection, knowing others watched him.
From his pocket, he produced a black leather panel gag. It was simple, with a solid rubber bit. He opened the door just enough to step inside. His fingers were gentle as he brushed her hair back. “Open up, princess,” he said, his voice soft, for her alone. She parted her lips. He fitted the bit between her teeth, the leather straps cool against her cheeks. He fastened it securely at the back of her head. “This will make sure you don’t make a sound,” he explained, his thumb stroking her jaw. “It’s more convincing than your willpower.” He stepped back, admiring his work. “Perfect.”
He left, sealing her in silence again. She was alone in the glass box, gagged, on display. She could see only her own wide, frightened eyes in the mirror. The anticipation was a physical pain, a wire pulled taut from her throat to her groin. Then the mirror in front of her turned clear.
It was not a room of leering strangers. It was a sophisticated, dimly lit lounge. Plush, low chairs were arranged in a semi-circle. The occupants, perhaps ten of them, were mostly dressed in elegant, dark clothing. Their faces were calm, attentive, like critics at a gallery opening. They sipped from crystal glasses. Their eyes were fixed on her. The absolute silence from their side was deafening.
The door opened. Both Carter and Dominic entered now. They didn’t look at the audience. Their world had narrowed to the glass box, to her. Carter’s hands went to the side zip of her dress. He pulled it down slowly, the sound stark in the quiet. He peeled the white silk from her shoulders, down her body, until she was naked on the bench, the dress a puddle at her feet. The cool air pebbled her skin. A soft, collective inhalation seemed to come from the other side of the glass.
Dominic knelt in front of her. He didn’t kiss her. He simply hooked his hands behind her knees and pushed her legs apart, exposing her completely to the watchers. “Look how wet she is already,” he said loudly, conversationally, his voice carrying. “Just from knowing you’re all there.” He dipped two fingers into her, curling them, and brought them up, glistening, to the light. He then slid those wet fingers into her ass, working them into the tightness prepared days before. She jerked against the bench, a muffled sound trapped behind the gag.
Carter unzipped his trousers. His cock, thick and already fully hard, sprang free. He positioned himself at her entrance. “Watch,” he commanded the room, though his eyes were on her. He thrust into her with one deep, unforgiving stroke, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden, brutal fullness after days of denial was an electric shock. Her back arched, her cunt clenching violently around him. A high-pitched whine escaped around the gag.
He set a punishing rhythm, each deep drive punctuated by the soft slap of skin. Dominic watched, stroking himself, then moved behind Carter. He spat into his hand, slicking his cock, and pressed the head against her other hole, the one he’d just fingered. The pressure was immense, a blinding, stretching burn. Carter held still, buried deep within her pussy, as Dominic began to push. The audience was utterly still, glasses frozen halfway to lips.
The double penetration was an impossible fullness, a splitting, consuming pressure that erased thought. Her body fought, convulsing around the twin invastions, her vision sparking at the edges. She was a vessel being overfilled. Dominic grunted, shoving forward the last brutal inch until his hips met Carter’s. They were both hilt-deep inside her, a devouring claim. A soundless scream tore from her throat. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
Then, a shocking, convulsive release tore through her. It wasn't a gentle orgasm. It was a violent, helpless expulsion. A clear gush of fluid sprayed from her overstretched pussy, soaking Carter’s lower abdomen and the bench beneath her with a sound like a sigh. She squirted, her body seizing, her cunt and ass fluttering wildly around their cocks. The watchers leaned forward, a ripple of movement.
Before the last shudder left her body, Carter pulled out of her. Dominic followed. The sudden, gaping emptiness was a new kind of agony. Carter flipped her off the bench, bending her over the cold leather. Her ass, pink and exposed, was presented to the glass. “Too soon,” Carter chided, his palm connecting with her cheek in a sharp crack. The pain was bright, clarifying. “You don’t come until we say.”
They took turns for what felt like hours. Dominic fucked her mouth, the rubber bit forcing her jaws wide, his cock hammering the back of her throat until she gagged, tears and saliva soaking the leather strap. Carter took her from behind, his hand fisted in her hair, his thrusts so deep her breath hitched. Each time the familiar, coiling tightness began to build in her core—a fragile, gathering storm—Carter would stop. He would pull out, deliver three or four sharp, stinging spanks to her ass or thighs, and make her beg with her eyes before starting again. Her need became a frantic, clawing thing, a live wire in her belly.
Finally, Carter pulled the gag from her mouth. Her jaw ached. Saliva dripped from her chin. “Clean us,” he said, his voice rough. He turned her around, pushing her to her knees on the cool floor. He and Dominic stood over her. She understood. She leaned forward, her tongue tracing the furl of Carter’s asshole first, tasting salt and skin. He groaned, his hand tightening in her hair. She did the same to Dominic, licking and probing with a desperate, focused energy. She heard one of the watchers whisper, “Christ.”
It pushed them over the edge. Carter came first, pulling her head back by her hair. Thick, hot stripes of semen painted her face, over her eyelids, across her parted lips. Dominic followed, adding his own load, spattering her forehead and chin. The warmth was shocking. It dripped, viscous, into her eyelashes.
They stepped back, tucking themselves away. She knelt on the glass box floor, naked, glistening with sweat and their spend, her body trembling with unspent, ruined climaxes. She was a used, exhausted canvas. Carter wiped his cock on a white towel from a discreet shelf, then dropped it in her lap. He and Dominic exited without a backward glance.
The mirror wall turned opaque again, plunging her into a reflectionless white silence. She was alone with the smell of sex and the taste of salt on her tongue. Outside, she heard the low murmur of approving voices, the soft clink of glasses, a smatter of polite applause not for her, but for the composition. The performance was complete. She was the masterpiece, shattered and gleaming under the lights, waiting for someone to decide what to do with the pieces.