To Friday Evening

Of course, nothing ever goes exactly according to plan does it? I suspected that she might try to dial it back at some point, but I think I was so excited about this change in her that I thought it was like flicking a switch – flick: new Megan. I thought that training would be not much more than a titilating game. The things is, Megan had been sleep deprived, pushed to her limits physically, and had been drunk on multiple orgasms for over a week when she made her decision. A shrink might have said she’d also been traumatized by the gangbangs, humiliation, and what amounted to a moral injury in breaking her own psychological and sexual limits. In other words, when she’d torn up the cheque, she’d hardly been in her right mind.

The rest of the week was almost normal, which didn’t help. I worked, she studied and went to class, and sometimes coming home with bags from the mall. In the evening we ate dinner, watched TV and fucked. The only difference was that she dressed a bit more slutty than before this began, even to school, and that our fucking was far more intense. But we didn’t really talk about anything important until Friday. Hell, I didn’t even make her watch her gangbang video while we screwed.

When I came home from work Friday I found her already home, unpacking her week’s haul of clothes, her old clothes in various piles on the bed and floor. She looked unhappy.

“Hey,” she said gently.

“Hey yourself. I’ll go get some garbage bags for these.”

“Wait,” she said, suddenly looking afraid, “I got lots of really slutty clothes for you. But I…”

“What?” I said, my voice growing a sharper edge.

“It’s just… I can’t wear this stuff all the time. Jane called me yesterday, wanting to have lunch next week, and Susan and Rich are in town and want to have dinner with us next Saturday… I just can’t wear this stuff around them. They’re my friends. I don’t want them to know about… you know.”

“That you’re a fucktoy and gave up your right to make decisions for yourself?”

“Yes. I mean, I need some friends… you know, people to talk to.”

“Are you going back on your word?”

“No! I don’t regret my decision, but I think maybe we should think it through. The things I said… I mean they were a little ****. I still want to be your sex ****, but I just don’t think I can just be a fucktoy 24/7. I don’t care what the neighbors think, but if I ever did what I said… sent the video to my father… I’d never be able to go home again. They’d never talk to me again. And neither would my friends if they knew. I mean, Susan was the President of the Women’s Society in undergrad… she’d never understand. I’ll still fuck who you tell me to, be your filthy whore and all that. I’ll even wear that stuff to school… but you wouldn’t really want me to drop out right? I mean, I’d make great money as a doctor, right? It would be good for you too… and you could do whatever you want to me when I get home from work.”

“That offer was a one-time deal Megan. You tore up the cheque.”

“Stop! I’m not saying I want to leave, and I don’t care about the money. I just want you to be more reasonable about this.”

“That wasn’t the deal Megan. You agreed to do whatever I said. You were the one who said you’d even ruin your career for my entertainment and, hell, you said you’d fuck your father.”

She turned a bit red at that. She was clearly embarrassed by her behavior. I could see in her face that she still didn’t understand why she said it.

“I know… but I was so fucking turned on and messed up… I’m sorry. Let me just keep a few of my old outfits so I can wear them when we see friends. I mean, you don’t want your coworkers to know I’m a whore right?“

Oh, if she only knew what I’d already planned.

“That’s not up to you anymore,” I said, showing no softness or flexibility. If I gave an inch… “Did you write the essay?”

“I… started it, and restarted it a bunch of times, but I wanted to talk to you about this first. I’ll write it this weekend.”

I nodded, not in sympathy, but in decision.

“And this, Megan, is why you clearly need training.”