Training Tom Ch. 05: Humility Pt. 04

"Now we'll finish at my urethra, cleansing any traces of urine last to avoid cross-contamination."

Her hands pressed him downward, and he reluctantly followed, still fixated on understanding the mystery of her engorged phallus. She made him rub for a moment, then she stopped.

"Now be a good boy and rinse your hands under the faucet," she instructed. "Then come back up here and show me what you've learned."

Tom hurriedly did as he was told and was soon wrapped around her again, eyes closed, eager to replay her teachings and show her what a good boy he was.

He quickly fell into a trance as his fingers skillfully retraced their steps, deftly attuned to her anatomy, as if he were on a footpath he had taken every day of his life. But even more deeply habituated - like he could walk the route backwards, blindfolded, in a thunderstorm.

Until he reached her clitoral hood. The path seemed to melt into the forest. Suddenly every ounce of him wanted to feel Her, reveal Her, to know if he was only imagining her size. To expose the answer that had vexed him since he first glanced it, and later when he felt it poking his forehead:

Was She bigger than him?

"You desperately want to know, don't you?" Sophie breathed, striding through his mind, keenly aware of his obsession. "That would be the most devastating humiliation possible, wouldn't it?"

Her hands moved over his, shifting him downward to his profound disappointment.

"I'm not sure you're not ready for that, though," she said goadingly. "You may think your little ego has submitted entirely before mine, but there are dimensions to your pride that remain stubbornly intact. Scaffolds we need to methodically dismantle together, in the proper order, and at the right times lest everything come crashing down all at once. Your mind is like a delicate game of Jenga. You're just lucky I have a sure hand. And a soft heart."

As she said the last words, she squeezed his fingers dotingly. Tom sighed and shivered, appreciating her affection, while antagonizing - wondering in what ways he had not submitted. He already felt consumed by her, broken, entirely at her mercy. What failings was he not seeing, what pride was he still displaying? And was his situation truly so precarious that one wrong move could prompt devastating collapse? Finally, he calmed himself with the reassurance of his belief in Her, that her training was delivered with immeasurable skill and infinite compassion. He felt fortunate, imagining what a brute like Gina might have done to him, had he instead fallen for her.

"The last part of the lesson," Sophie said, ignoring his cogitation, "Is the part few boys understand, especially those in the patriarchy of consumer-packaged goods, the misogynistic assholes who manipulate girls' minds to want to rinse away their beautiful, natural essence."

Tom tensed up as he sensed he was somehow to blame.

"Never clean inside a vagina," Sophie continued sternly. "She is a perfect self-cleaning machine, producing her own enzymes and lubricants, fostering a dynamic ecosystem of beneficial microorganisms, generating heat and peristalsis precisely tuned to cleansing and expulsion. Not to mention, if all else fails, her hallowed cycle of menstrual purification and rejuvenation..."

Tom visualized her descriptions, seeing her vagina in a whole new light, reorienting his lust into deep respect and admiration.

"Sometimes knowing how to clean is knowing what not to clean. Understanding that She naturally disposes of the impurities left by the cocks of my studs...the tongues of my slutty little friends...and the probing fingers of curious little boys lured down my rabbit hole..."

To Tom's utter astonishment, she pressed his fingers up and into her sodden, sweltering canal. Four fingers, the index and middle of each hand, penetrated simultaneously like a wedge, devoid of resistance, gashing through the open door of her cathedral, barreling deep inside her sanctuary, driving headlong toward the altar of his Rebirth - the Eden of her uterus...

He recalled that his fingers had once before been permitted entrance to Her, the night of the Homecoming dance. Vivid memories resurfaced: the contrasts of hot and cold, dark and light, and a powerful sensation of falling. She had told him he wasn't ready - and proved it with a vengeance.

But this time was different. His fingers detected her real temperature, his closed eyes could see her true shape and texture. Then his brain registered unfamiliar perceptions, as if he were gaining faculty of a sixth sense...

He was suddenly inside Her, suspended in bliss, experiencing the warmth of incubation in the nest of her womb, growing, transforming, becoming...

He felt powerful, brilliant, beautiful, passionate, confident...transcendent. Entirely unstoppable.

And then he realized the Truth of the new sensation:

That he was experiencing Her.

How it felt to be Her. How it felt to be an elevated being, a greater form of life, a superhuman, a Goddess. And he knew deep inside he wanted to feel that way forever. That he didn't just want to be a part of Her - he wanted to be Her. That it was the only way he could ever love himself...and the only way She could possibly love him.

Tom was shaken from his vision as Sophie's hands began guiding him in and out, shifting and spinning, enabling him to explore. Aided by her copious lubricant, he pressed outward with his fingers probing the inside of her vaginal wall.

He could sense its purity, the result of the constant renewal she described. He could feel the satiny texture of her skin interspersed with tiny bumps, perfectly placed to induce friction on her mates. Liquid streamed around his hands, and he visualized the equilibrium of her chemistry and the delicate cultivation of her ecology.

And he could feel the duality of their beings, the profound pleasure of penetration from both sides: the way he felt; the way She felt.

Without thinking, he swung a leg forward and hitched his heel around her shin. Then he lunged with the other leg and mounted Her, hanging on her like a baby monkey on its mother's back, wrapped around her giant ass. His hips swung forward, searching vainly for contact, thwarted by the depth of her haunches. Then he shimmied, trying to climb, seeking somewhere, anywhere, to shove his frisky little prick.

"You better not ask to 'squirt-squirt' so soon after being denied, boy," Sophie warned, breaking the thrall of passionate silence.

Tom felt as if her words hit him in the gut, leaving him breathless. To his horror and shame, he wouldn't have even remembered to ask.

Then his fingers felt a sudden pulse, and an unexpected painful squeeze. Her hands release his and he instinctively tried to pull out. But her compacting walls caved in, and the mighty strength of her pelvic floor held him firmly in place.

"Most boys I fuck never get past their first thrust," she sighed breathily as her vaginal muscles began to undulate rhythmically. "Instead, I trap them in the clutches of my velvet vise, lock them in my mesmerizing gaze, then milk them into an effervescent fervor until they can't stop crying my name."

Tom experienced her words...immobilization...captivation...pressurization until his body fizzed and his mind knew no other reality than Her!

He envisioned himself lying on his back, Sophie standing astride his hips, squatting down, taking his staff deep inside, then clenching, standing and lifting his body with only the Power of her Womanhood. Levitating him in the resplendent thrall of her Gynarchy.

"When I eventually extract their seed, they're forever bound to Me...and henceforth every other snatch they try to spear is second-class, an impostor, a cheap knock-off imitation of the only Real Woman they've ever had the privilege of entering. I'm so mind-blowingly addictive, my pussy fucking drives men insane!"

As she spoke, her Kegels pulsed in giant waves, teasing and stroking his individual fingers as if plush tentacles had descended from within and wrapped around him. If fingers could spurt, his surely would have gushed.

"I keep the best studs with the biggest cocks in my stable, foaming at the loins thinking of me, ready at my beckon call to indulge Me at my leisure. Until I bore of them, of course," Sophie explained flatly, feigning a yawn as Tom quivered with jealousy. "Even poor, confused Dirk is addicted to my hole. Although lately I just tell him to close his eyes and imagine it's Alice's tight little throat..."

Tom's breath caught at the lurid memory of sucking her gay boyfriend's horse cock at Homecoming while dressed in storybook drag.

"Of course, I have to wait to bring you up until I've had my fill...it makes him explode so goddamn fast."

Tom's entire body tensed at the thought of the ripped 6'8" jock pining for him, or at least a version of him, probably begging Sophie to arrange another rendezvous!

"But some boys get needy and greedy, failing to get it through their puny brains that I am the alpha, that booty calls are mine alone to make," she growled in a low voice, "And then I have to show them their place."

Her box abruptly contracted, and his fingers crunched, starting at the tips then rolling down each phalange, as if her cunt were a clothes wringer. He screamed, suddenly panicked that his bones would shatter into a thousand pieces. Sophie grunted loudly, bearing down even harder.

"Picture an inflated cock squeezed from tip to hilt, uh, vessels and veins popping like bubble wrap, errr, all the blood wringing out, gah, forced back into its wayward male host," she huffed and gasped, revealing her extreme effort as Tom's wails continued, "Until it's left dehydrated, flattened like a tapeworm, flaccid and flopping. Fuckin' A! Ahh! Pathetically...impotent."

Crack!

With a sudden burst of pressure, Tom felt and heard a finger snap. He screamed aloud at the initial shot of pain, then sobbed as her muscles continued to pummel it. He desperately wanted to ask her to stop but sensed it would only get worse if he did.

"Either way, the men I fuck are hopelessly ruined," she gasped brashly, before evoking a sentimental tone, "Which is why I'm so careful with you, my sweet boy."

Abruptly her pussy reverted to gentle rolls and pulses, finally relieving Tom's poor fingers, despite the ironic damage already done. She breathed deeply a few times, catching her breath, then stated impassively:

"I think it's time to continue with your work."

All her pressure released, and her body twisted, sending Tom flailing back into the tub. His shin hit the edge and his injured hand smacked the bottom, eliciting a screech. He looked at his hand to assess the injury and winced when he saw the last joint of his left middle finger grotesquely bent off to the side, dislocated.

"Fill your hands with soap and get to work on my crack," she ordered, devoid of mercy. "Both hands. Top to bottom. Give extra attention to my asshole. Press against it lightly but do not try to enter. And be careful not to venture too far down and contaminate the work you've already completed. Chop-chop, boy!"

Tom forced himself up and quickly went to work on her ass crack, pressing his flattened soapy hands in. His dislocated finger was painful to the touch, but fortunately the soapy lubrication let it sink in smoothly, reducing the discomfort. Within seconds, he was distracted from his suffering, enthralled by how much of his hand her tight cleft had swallowed without yet hitting bottom. A memory surfaced of hiking a glacier and nearly slipping into a deep crevasse that would have plunged him to an icy grave. He shuddered briefly.

Finally, in up to his wrists, he touched her rosebud. He recalled its symmetrical beauty, and the sensation of watching it expand before it gassed him a short while earlier. The taste of her tart vapors momentarily teased at his taste buds.

Coming back to reality, he pressed in a little further with his good hand, sensing the firm resistance of her sphincter, doubtful he could have penetrated it if he tried. Then he began to slide up and down, distributing the soap and scrubbing at the innermost surfaces, wincing each time he caught his damaged finger. To his surprise, he found it easy to precisely trace the boundary of her sacred zone, leveraging his sharpened mental map of her topography to avoid sullying her.

Once fully lathered inside, he dribbled scoop upon scoop of water into the gash, sliding his hands through to flush out the last of the soap.

"Stop!" Sophie interrupted him mid-slide. "Right there. Stay absolutely still."

Tom was confused but he knew better than to question her. He kept his hands as still as he could, buried deep in her crevice.

Her glutes abruptly tensed, and for a moment he thought his entire hands would be crushed. But instead, he felt a distinct pop, accompanied by a momentary sting, then a strange sense of relief.

"Ok, stand at attention," Sophie chirped.

Tom removed his hands and stepped back in front of Her. He dared a glance at his hands in the process and confirmed what he had suspected: She had reset his dislocated finger - with the deftness of her ass.

"I'd wager a million bucks you never saw that coming," Sophie remarked with a cocky smirk. "Now for my arms, shoulders, pits and neck. I want you to start by kissing my fingers then bicep, armpit then shoulder and neck, then continue across until you reach the other hand. Tap your memories and relive the special moments you've had with each. Then scrub them all, just as you washed my legs. To adequately reach and apply proper pressure you'll need to step onto the threshold."

Sophie extended a hand and helped Tom take the big step up onto the tile surface that was flush with the top of the large Jacuzzi tub. Then he watched as she raised both arms from her sides and bent at the elbows, flexing until her grapefruit-sized biceps bulged.

Tom gasped with awe, then leaned forward awkwardly and almost fell, grabbing her steady shoulder to catch himself. He kissed the long, finely manicured fingers on her right hand. His breath grew uneven as he was struck by the lucid memory of the first time she had stroked his penis, sliding two fingers along its bottom side until he came in his shorts.

With an uneven sigh, Tom continued to her bicep, now appearing even larger, reminiscent of a shot-put ball in shape, size, and hardness. As he kissed, he recalled sitting in a restaurant and wrapping his hands around the exact same lump at Gina's insistence, how it flexed and grew, breaking his grip.

Prodded by Sophie, he bent and turned his head to the side to nuzzle into her armpit, placing a slow kiss as her natural scent invaded his sinuses. He was suddenly transported to the first moment he accidentally brushed his nose against her sweaty orifice and reflexively humped her knee. Then to the time he climbed her leg and sucked her fragrant juices as he expelled his semen on her thigh. And to his feeding from her essence just minutes before. It all felt like a singular moment, an erotic logjam wonderfully piled up, damming the stream of his conscious.

"And that's only one side," Sophie laughed knowingly as she pulled him back, breaking the spell of her odors.

Each successive kiss elicited more reflections: holding onto her in piggyback nuzzling into her neck and smelling her sweet perspiration for the first time; riding on her broad shoulders and jabbing his Johnson into her nape; peaking his head over her shoulder and seeing his daughter's face as both clung to her while she squatted them over and over, as if they weighed nothing...

When he reached the opposite side, he experienced different reflections, as if an inborn tracking instinct suddenly activated, connecting each memory to an exact location on her body, precisely mapping their shared carnal explorations.

He recalled using her pits as smelling salts moments before, laying on her bicep as she spooned him at Homecoming, and magnificently, the first time she ever touched his bare penis, teasing him with her wondrous saliva under the bleachers at a high school football game. He briefly swooned as he re-experienced the sensation on his cock as if he were there again. Her hand nimbly caught him by the arm and arrested his fall - as if she had expected the reaction.

"Now clean," Sophie said softly.

He proceeded to cleanse from hand to armpit, shoulder to neck, then across. He stepped down several times to gather water and rinse, then stood back at attention on the threshold, careful to keep his eyes averted.

"I can tell you enjoyed your trip down memory lane. Vivid, wasn't it?" Sophie asked with a suggestive laugh, sending a tingle up Tom's back. "Speaking of which, remember that time at the restaurant with the girls, when I obliterated you in an arm-wrestling match?"

"Yes, Miss," Tom responded, feeling his cheeks flush at the memory of Sophie brutishly slamming both his right and left arms down in front of his daughter and their giggling friends.

"I'm going to give you a chance to redeem yourself," she spoke with bravado as she flexed and bounced her bicep. "You simply need to unbend my arm. And this time I'll give you an advantage. I'll permit you to use both hands and all your weight, no holds barred. If you win, I'll grant you one wish and do anything in my power to make it come true. If you lose, well, I may have you grant Me a wish - if I can think of anything you can offer that I couldn't already get Myself."

Tom felt electricity run up his spine at the tantalizing prospect of victory. Despite the plethora of possibilities, all he could envision was Sophie finally taking him in her mouth, blowing him and making him burst. His body shivered at the blissful thought.

Then his mind flickered briefly to her unyielding pull-up bar, and he was awash with anxiety. He internalized her jeer, fretting over what she could wish for from him that she couldn't just easily take.

Gathering his mental strength, he willed himself to cast aside his doubts, and replace them with Hope. Adrenaline suddenly coursed through his veins, steeling him for what he knew would be a monumental task.

"Reach up and grab my hand," she instructed.

He looked up and saw her forearm bent at a right angle, with her open hand ready for him. She quivered perceptibly, her bulbous muscle and taut tendons fully activated.

Freshly intimidated, he reached up slowly with both hands and wrapped them around her palm. Her fingers snapped down firmly on his, causing him to startle. She counted down.

"3...2...1."

Tom dove right in, yanking her with his whole body, applying every ounce of force he could muster, ignoring the pain in his finger, straining until his face turned red.

But his strength faltered, and his feet slipped on the tile. Her arm remained locked in place, and she laughed tauntingly:

"Nice try, squirt."

His body shook with frustration, and he considered giving up, then he had an idea and changed tack. Leaning back, he lifted a leg and placed his foot on the side of her solid thigh. Then he lifted the other, and walked up her leg, probing for steady footholds. He settled on an anchor point at her rib cage and another near her hip.

Then he redoubled his effort, pressing with all his strength, unbending his legs and straightening his back, levering himself against her solid frame, attempting to use her own rigidity against her. Sophie gasped, and for a moment he thought she might give.