So submissive. So broken. So degraded.
Her father would be so ashamed. Appalled. He will cry when he learns of the things I have done to his precious daughter.
“If you spill this, beauty, you go back to the piano room for two weeks. Do you understand?”
Again, her eyes shoot up to mine, terrified. Resistant. And determined. She really will do anything not to be alone. How confused she must be, to crave my company so.
I do not give her further warning. Instead, I set the hot plate onto the center of her back. And apart from a strangled noise in her throat, she does not move. Her body is rigid, her jaw taut. She is trying desperately to transcend the frayed nerves beneath her sensitive flesh.
I walk to the dining room table and sit down, gesturing for her.
“Come to me now, sweet Bella.”
She crawls towards me. Slowly and carefully. Her pale blue eyes staring up at me like a beacon in the night. And she really is stronger than anyone gives her credit for. Because she does not spill. She does not cry. She does not move, even after I’ve retrieved the plate from her back.
I spoon some of the pasta and chew while she watches. Her mouth is still watering.
Hungry.
Starving.
And I told her I would reward her.
“Are you hungry?” I ask again.
She nods eagerly.
“Then do I have a use for your mouth?” I tap the ball gag.
It takes her a moment to understand what I want. Her face falls, but still, she nods. What a pliable little fuck toy she will be. I remove the gag and watch her as I continue to eat.
She is confused. Unsure. Awaiting more of my instructions. But she needs to know that it won’t always be so clear.
“I thought I had a use for your mouth, beauty. Why are you just sitting there?”
She crawls beneath the table without further insistence and positions herself between my legs. My cock is so hard I will probably blow my load in the first five minutes. How long I have waited to have this from her. How much I have anticipated it.
She unzips my jeans with a trembling hand and reaches inside to retrieve my cock. I hear a small gasp from beneath the table when she sees it, and I smirk between mouthfuls of food.
It takes her a few moments to figure out where to put her hands, and I don’t help her.
I try to keep my distance. I try to focus on eating instead of her. I want to look. To watch. And this is how I know I can’t.
I shouldn’t want these things with her. She is nothing more than a toy to be used. A doll to play with. I must remember this. Even when she takes her first lick, and my balls squeeze and contract with the need to fuck her throat raw.
It is too soft. Too hesitant. This isn’t the way I like it. I let her get a feel for it before I start telling her so.
“Do better,” I demand.
Her nails dig into the material of my jeans, and she draws me deeper. But still too shallow.
“I thought I had a use for your mouth, beauty. Do I need to go elsewhere and send you back to your room?”
She makes another sound and drinks me all the way in this time. It feels like heaven. And now, now she is doing what I like. My dick lurches inside of her mouth, and I catch myself looking down at her when I shouldn’t be. Admiring the way her lashes look against her pale skin, and the way her silky black hair falls over her shoulders and tickles my balls. I imagine what it will feel like to have her lips on mine, hungry for me. And then heat flushes through my body.
These are not things I am supposed to think of. Confusion causes me to reach down and shove her face all the way onto my dick, choking her.
She coughs and sputters around me, drooling as I grip her hair and fuck her face like the toy she needs to be. I call her a filthy whore, and she does not flinch. She does not recoil or slow down but instead pulls me deeper.