The town car pulled away from the curb, and the city slid past the tinted glass in smears of amber and neon. Lia kept her eyes down, her thighs pressed together against the ache he'd left her with, the plug still a hot, insistent weight inside her.
Andrew settled into the leather beside her, one arm stretched along the backrest, his fingers trailing idly through the ends of her hair. She watched his profile in the passing lights—the strong line of his jaw, the close-cropped beard, the way his dark eyes tracked the street without really seeing it.
"You've been quiet since the office," he said. Not a question. A observation.
"Yes, Master." Her voice came out small.
"And what are you thinking about?"
She swallowed. The truth sat heavy on her tongue, and she knew he wanted it anyway. "Your cock, Master. The way it felt in my mouth. The way you made me wait."
His fingers tightened in her hair, just enough to tilt her head back. "And now?"
"Now I want to feel it again." Her breath caught. "I want to be good for you, Master. I want to earn it."
Something moved in his eyes—approval, dark and slow. He released her hair and let his hand fall to his thigh, a deliberate invitation. "Come here."
She didn't hesitate. She slid off the seat, the leather cool against her knees as she settled on the floor between his legs, her hands finding his thighs, her cheek pressing to the wool of his trousers. The heat of him seeped through the fabric, and she breathed him in—sandalwood, leather, the faint salt of the day's sweat.
"Good girl," he murmured, and the praise went straight to her cunt, a pulse of heat that made her whimper. His hand found the back of her head, guiding her, and she nuzzled into his lap, her nose tracing the outline of his cock through the trousers. He was already half-hard, thickening against her cheek, and she pressed closer, her lips parting against the fabric.
Outside, the city streamed past—bridges, towers, the river catching the skyline's glow—but Andrew's attention stayed on the window, one hand resting on the back of her neck, his thumb stroking the curve of her skull. He let her nuzzle, let her mouth at him through the cloth, and the casualness of it, the way he watched the city while she warmed him, made her knees weak on the floor of the car.
"You're desperate," he said softly, not looking down. "I can feel it in the way you're breathing."
"Yes, Master." Her lips moved against the fabric. "I'm always desperate for you."
"I know." His thumb pressed a little harder. "That's why I make you wait."
She moaned, low in her throat, and pressed her face into his lap, her fingers curling into the wool of his trousers. He let her stay there, let her grind her cheek against the ridge of him, and the car hummed on through the dark, carrying them home.
The town car pulled into the underground garage and stopped. Andrew's hand left her neck, and she felt the absence like a cold spot. "Up," he said, and she rose to her knees, then her feet, her legs unsteady as he opened the door and stepped out.
The garage was concrete and fluorescent, the echo of his shoes sharp against the walls. She followed him to the elevator, her heels clicking, her body thrumming with the knowledge of what was coming. The doors slid shut, and they rose in silence, his hand finding the small of her back, a brand through the thin silk of her dress.
The apartment door swung open into the dark. He stepped inside and flicked the lights, and the penthouse bloomed around them—floor-to-ceiling windows, the city spread out like a jewel box below. Andrew walked to the center of the living room and turned, his eyes finding her where she stood in the entryway.
"Strip," he said.
She obeyed without hesitation, her fingers finding the zipper of her dress, letting it fall to the floor in a whisper of silk. The lingerie followed—black lace, the collar still clasped around her neck. She unhooked her bra, let it drop, and stepped out of her panties, her skin flushing under his gaze.
"Kneel."
She sank to her knees on the hardwood, the coolness of it seeping into her skin. He walked toward her, each step deliberate, and stopped in front of her. She reached up without being told, her fingers working the laces of his shoes, sliding them off his feet. Then his socks. She set them aside and looked up at him, waiting.
"Jacket," he said.
She rose to her knees, her hands finding the lapels of his tailored suit jacket, easing it off his shoulders. The wool was warm from his body. She folded it over her arm, then knelt again, setting it on the floor beside her.
His wallet went into her waiting hands. His keys. She placed them in a neat row on the floor, her head bowed, her hair falling forward to curtain her face.
He looked down at her, kneeling in the wreckage of his day, naked and collared and utterly his. A slow smile curved his mouth.
"Look at you," he said, his voice low and rough. "Barely got you through the door and you're already on your knees like a good little cunt."
She shivered, heat pooling between her thighs. "Thank you, Master."
"You know what I love about you?" He reached down, his fingers finding her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. "You know exactly what you're for."
"Yes, Master." Her voice trembled. "I'm for your pleasure. Whatever you want, whenever you want it."
"That's right." His thumb brushed her lower lip. "And right now, I want dinner." He let go of her chin and stepped back, his gaze sweeping over her naked body with a possessive hunger. "Get started. Naked apron. You know the rules."
She rose, her legs unsteady, and padded to the kitchen. The apron hung on a hook by the stove—a thin, waist-tied thing of white cotton that covered nothing. She slipped it over her head, the fabric whispering against her skin, and tied it at her back. The hem barely reached her thighs.
She was reaching for the refrigerator when she heard him behind her. His footsteps crossed the kitchen tile, and then his hand was on her hip, turning her to face him. In his other hand he held the Lush—a sleek, curved toy of silicone, the bulbous head glistening with lube.
"You thought I forgot?" He smiled, slow and cruel. "You thought I'd let you cook for me without something inside you?"
She shook her head meekly, her breath quickening. "No, Master. Your slave knows better."
"Good." He knelt, one hand parting her thighs, and she opened for him willingly, her cunt already slick with need. He pressed the toy against her entrance, and she gasped as it pushed inside, the silicone cold and thick, stretching her around its girth. He seated it fully, the curved tip pressing against her front wall, and she whimpered, her fingers gripping the counter behind her.
He stood, his hand finding the hem of the apron, lifting it just enough to look at where the toy disappeared inside her. "There," he said, and the satisfaction in his voice made her clench. "Now you can cook for me, and I can watch you squirm."
He pulled a remote from his pocket. She saw it, the small black rectangle, and her mouth went dry.
"Get started," he said, and walked away.
She turned to the counter, her hands shaking as she pulled ingredients from the fridge. Chicken. Garlic. Olive oil. The motions were automatic, years of cooking for him making her body move even as her mind fixed on the toy inside her, the knowledge of the remote in his hand.
She heard the TV click on in the living room. The low murmur of a newscaster's voice. She set the chicken on the cutting board and reached for a knife, her fingers slick with nerves.
The first vibration hit her like a jolt of lightning.
She gasped, her hand jerking, the knife clattering against the counter. The Lush buzzed against her front wall, a deep, insistent hum that made her knees buckle. She gripped the edge of the counter, her head falling forward, her breath coming in short, sharp pants.
It stopped.
She stood there, trembling, her cunt clenching around the toy, aching for more. She heard him shift on the couch, heard the remote click against the side table.
"Don't stop," he called, not looking up from the TV. "Dinner won't cook itself."
She picked up the knife again, her hand unsteady, and began to slice the chicken. The blade moved through the flesh in even strokes, and she forced herself to focus on the task, on the weight of the knife, on the smell of the raw meat.
The vibration hit again. Stronger this time. A second longer.
She moaned, her hips bucking involuntarily, the knife slipping in her grip. She set it down, her palms flat on the counter, her head bowed as she rode out the wave. It stopped, and she let out a shaky breath, her thighs slick with her own arousal.
"Master," she whispered, but she didn't say please. She wasn't allowed to ask. Not unless he gave her permission.
"I can hear you thinking," he said from the couch. "You want to beg. You’re so close you can nearly taste it."
"Yes, Master." Her voice cracked.
"And you will." His tone was casual, almost bored. "But not yet. Not until I've eaten. Not until I've decided you've earned it."
She nodded, her throat tight, and turned back to the cutting board. She minced the garlic, her movements mechanical, her body thrumming with denied need. The Lush was a constant presence inside her, a reminder of his control, and every time she thought she might find her rhythm, his thumb would find the remote, and the toy would surge to life, and she would gasp and grip the counter and forget how to breathe.
She seasoned the chicken, her hands shaking. She heated the pan, the oil shimmering, and the meat hissed as it hit the hot surface. The smell of garlic and rosemary filled the kitchen, and for a moment, she lost herself in the familiar rhythm of cooking.
The vibration didn't stop this time.
It built, a steady, relentless hum that pressed against her clit and her front wall at once, and she cried out, her hand flying to the counter, her hips grinding against the toy of their own accord. She could hear the TV in the other room, the low murmur of his world, and she was here, naked in an apron, being fucked by a remote-controlled toy while she cooked his dinner.
The thought made her clench, made her whimper, made her want it even more.
The vibration cut off. She sagged against the counter, her breath ragged, her skin flushed.
"Check the chicken," he said. "It's burning."
She gasped and grabbed the spatula, flipping the pieces, the skin golden and crisp. She hadn't even noticed. She was so far gone, so lost in the ache between her thighs, that she'd almost ruined his dinner.
"I'm sorry, Master," she whispered.
"Don't be sorry. Be better."
She plated the chicken, her hands steady now, the storm inside her banked but not quenched. She carried the plate to the living room, kneeling to set it on the coffee table in front of him, her head bowed.
He looked down at her, his dark eyes unreadable. "Good girl."
The praise washed over her like warm water, and she felt her cunt clench around the toy, a pulse of want that made her thighs tremble.
"Thank you, Master."
He picked up his fork, took a bite of the chicken, and chewed slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. She knelt there, naked except for the apron and the collar, the toy still buried inside her, and waited.
"It's good," he said finally. "You cooked it perfectly."
Relief flooded through her. "Thank you, Master."
He continued to enjoy his food slowly, mindlessly fondling his slave’s tits as he chewed his food rhythmically. He took no notice at his slave struggling to stay in her kneeled position, juices running down her thighs, breathing heavily as not to betray his Master's training.
She looked enviously at the plate. Her mouth watered at the smell of food. She wasn't permitted to dine with her Master - she was his bitch, a pet that ate his scraps and licked his plate clean.
Finally, he set the fork down and reached for the remote. She watched his thumb, her breath caught in her throat, her body already bracing for the surge.
"You've been so good today," he said, his voice low and rough. "So patient. So desperate." He turned the remote over in his hand. "I think you've earned a reward."
Her heart hammered. "Master?"
He smiled, slow and cruel. "I think you've earned the right to come." He held up the remote. "But only when I say. Only when you beg for it properly."
She nodded, her throat tight, her body thrumming with anticipation. "Yes, Master. I'll beg. I'll beg for it. Whatever you want."
"I know you will." He pressed the button.
The Lush surged to life, a deep, relentless hum that made her gasp, her hips bucking, her hands flying to the floor to brace herself. She rode the vibration, her cunt clenching around the toy, her breath coming in ragged pants, and she heard his voice from somewhere above her, low and approving.
"That's it. Let me feel you fall apart. Let me watch you come apart on my command."
She was close. So close. The pressure built in her belly, a coiling heat that threatened to consume her, and she bit her lip, her eyes screwed shut, waiting for the words that would set her free.
"Please," she gasped. "Please, Master. Please let me come."
"Not yet."
The vibration cut off.
She sobbed, a raw, desperate sound, her body shaking, her cunt aching with denied release. She looked up at him, her eyes wet, her lips parted, and she saw him watching her with a hunger that made her shiver.
"Please," she whispered. "Please, Master. I need it. I need to come so badly."
"I know." He set the remote down and stood, looking down at her with a smirk of satisfaction that made her feel small and owned and utterly his. "But I'm not done with you yet. My slave only gets pleasure from pleasing me. And you only get to cum if it's entertaining for me"
He reached down, his hand finding her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. "Clean up the kitchen. Then come to the bedroom." He paused, his thumb brushing her lower lip. "And be grateful. You're about to get exactly what you've been begging for all day."
She nodded, her heart pounding, her body trembling with a mix of fear and want. "Thank you, Master."
He released her and walked away, and she watched him go, her cunt clenching around the toy, her skin flushed, her breath ragged.
She rose on unsteady legs and padded to the kitchen, her body humming with denied need, the Lush a constant, aching presence inside her. She cleaned up the dishes, wiped down the counters, her movements mechanical, her mind fixed on what was coming next.
The bedroom. His bed. His cock inside her, finally, after a day of denial and torment.
She was going to thank him for it. She was going to beg for it. And she was going to come so hard she forgot her own name.
She finished the kitchen and walked down the hall, her bare feet silent on the hardwood, her heart hammering in her chest. The door to the bedroom was open, light spilling out into the dark hallway, and she stepped through it, her eyes finding him where he sat on the edge of the bed.
He was shirtless, his broad shoulders bare, his dark eyes fixed on her. The remote sat on the nightstand beside him, and his hand rested on his thigh, casual, waiting.
"Come here," he said. "Kneel."
She crossed the room and sank to her knees in front of him, her head bowed, her body trembling with anticipation. She heard him shift, felt his hand on her head, his fingers tangling in her hair.
"My slve has served me well today," he said, his voice low and rough. "So obedient. So desperate for my cock." His hand tightened, tilting her head back. "And now you're going to thank me for it."
She looked up at him, her eyes wet, her lips parted. "Thank you, Master. Thank you for using me. Thank you for denying me. Thank you for making me wait."
He smiled, slow and satisfied. "Good girl." He released her hair and stood, his hand finding her chin, drawing her to her feet. "Now get on the bed. On your back. Legs open."
She obeyed, climbing onto the mattress, lying back, her thighs falling apart. The Lush was still inside her, a constant reminder of his control, and she could feel herself dripping around it, the sheets beneath her growing damp.
He stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at her, his gaze raking over her naked body with a possessive hunger. "Look at you," he said. "Spread open and dripping, begging for my cock without a word."
"Yes, Master," she whispered. "I'm yours. Use me. Please."
"I will." He reached down, his fingers closing around the base of the Lush, jerking it back and forth fucking her roughly, making his slave moan in surprise and pleasure. He knew she would get close in no time and just when she began gasping, Master pulled it out slowly, the silicone sliding free with a wet sound that made her gasp. He set it aside and looked at her, then looked down at his cock, hot, hard,straining against his trousers.
"Please, Master," she begged. "Please. I need you inside me."
"Of course you do." He unzipped his trousers, freeing his cock, and she moaned at the sight of it, thick and hard and beautiful “you've been trained to”. He knelt on the bed, his weight settling over her, his hands pushing her thighs wider apart. His hard bare cock just grazing her dripping entrance.
"Beg for it," he commanded, his voice low and rough against her ear. "Beg for my cock like the desperate little breeding slut you are."
She whimpered, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, Master. Please use me however you want. Please let my greedy holes please you. I need it so badly. I need you to take your pleasure from me. Please-"
"That's it." He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock pressing against her slick, swollen flesh. "That's my good little slut."
“Mhmm”
He pushed inside her in one slow, brutal thrust, and she cried out, senses overwhelmed with pleasure. her body arching, her cunt stretching and twitching desperately around him, the fullness of him almost too much after a day of denial. He bottomed out, his hips flush against hers, balls against the slave's bruised ass cheeks, and stayed there, letting her feel every inch of him inside her. Her wet tight cunt enveloped his dick perfectly.
"Look at you," he breathed. "So tight. So wet. So perfect." He pulled out slowly, teased her swollen pussy lips, wiped her wetness onto her clit, eliciting a gasp of pleasure, then thrust back in, a deep, grinding motion that made her see stars. “ You like this? Pathetic little slave. You were born to be my cum dumpster. Your body was made to please me as my personal piece of fuck meat."
"Yes, Master," she gasped. "I belong to you, all of me, all of my warm wet holes. I'm your sex slave. Your cum slut. All yours."
He began to fuck her with brutal precision, each thrust hitting that spot inside her that made her see white, his hands gripping her hips, his breath hot against her ear.
“Mhmmm ah!” She was lost, drowning in sensation, her body clenching instinctively around him, as if milking his cock, her eyes rolled back to her head.
Suddenly, a tongue attacked her nipples, licking sucking, nibbling and torturing her deliciously. Andrew felt more of her juices squirt out as her tortured. dark, hardened nipples bounced around vulgarly, glistening with her Master's saliva, and red with his teeth marks.
“Yes yes yeshh” Her speech slurred between wanton panting, and her moans and breaths collided as he fucked and used her over and over, forcing her hole to serve his cock and taking pleasure in her soft malleable body.
"Come on my cock, slut," he growled. "You're going to come on my cock, and then I'm going to fill you up with my cum. You're my hole, to use and cream pie whenever I see fit. You're not like those high value women that need to be wined and dined. You’re my slave. I'm going to breed you, fill your cunt with my cum, and you're going to beg me for it."
"Thank you, thank you," she moaned between gasps of pleasure "Please, Master. I need to come. Please let my unworthy cum hole come around your cock? Please fill me up."
"Come," he commanded. "Come for me now."
She shattered, her cunt clenching around him, her body convulsing, a scream torn from her throat as the orgasm ripped through her. He let himself go and followed her over the edge with a groan, his cock pulsing inside her, his cum flooding her, hot and thick, filling her to the brim. “Fuck, you're such a good slave”
He stayed buried inside her, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath ragged. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, slowly coming around from the intense pleasure. Drowsily, she removed her hand, still held abover her head, and cupped her Master's charming face. Her heart warmed at the thought that had he had chosen her, as unworthy as she was to serve Him. She gently began kissing the man she loved and belonged to, beginning at his cheeks, lips. Lia thanked her Master silently and dutifully as she felt his cum leaking out around him, felt the aftershocks rippling through her body, and she was still, utterly his.
"Thank you, Master," she whispered. "Thank you for using me. Thank you for filling me."
He pulled out slowly, his cum spilling from her, and she felt the loss of him like a wound. He looked down at her swollen, gaping hole, filled with him. He rubbed his semen around her pussy, satisfied at her disheveled, limp and lewdly displayed body, and reached for the Lush again.
"We're not done yet," he said, pressing the toy back inside heron the lowest setting, plugging her full of him. "I want you to feel me dripping out of you all night."
She whimpered, her body clenching around the toy, and he smiled, a slow, possessive curve of his mouth.
"Sleep," he said, his hand stroking her hair. "You've earned it."
She curled into the sheets, her body aching, her cunt full of his cum and the toy, and watched him as he walked to the window, looking out at the city lights. She was his. Utterly, completely his. And she wouldn't have it any other way.