The rug was a confession against his knees. Every shift of weight ground the weave into his skin, and he couldn't decide if the burn was penance or just more of the same punishment he'd been taking all night. His mouth was still pressed to Cassidy's cunt, his tongue moving in the same desperate lap, and the taste of himself was still there—salty and wrong and somehow exactly what she wanted him to swallow.

The red light blinked in the corner of his vision. Small. Unblinking. Hungry.

He tried to look away from it, but there was nowhere to go. His face was buried between her thighs, her slick heat against his chin, her fingers knotted in his hair so tight his scalp ached. Every time he slowed, she tugged. Every time he hesitated, she pulled him harder against her, and he had no choice but to keep licking, keep lapping, keep cleaning up the mess he'd made inside her.

"That's it, baby," Cassidy cooed, and her voice was honey and broken glass, the same voice she used when she was really enjoying herself. "Show Marcus how grateful you are."

The words landed like a slap. His eyes stung, fresh tears spilling over before he could stop them, and they dripped down his cheeks and onto her thigh. He couldn't tell if she felt them or if she just didn't care. Either way, she didn't stop him. She didn't pull him away. She just let him keep going, her hips tilting slightly, pressing her cunt against his mouth like he was made for this.

And maybe he was. Maybe this was all he was good for now.

The bed shifted behind him. Springs creaked, and he felt the weight of Marcus's gaze settle on the back of his neck like a hand. He didn't have to look to know Marcus was watching. He could feel it—the heat of it, the amusement in it, the way Marcus was probably smiling that lazy smile, enjoying the show.

"Make sure you get his face when he cries," Marcus said, his voice low and rumbling, full of mock sympathy. "That's the best part."

Cassidy laughed—that real laugh, the one that made Derek's stomach drop because he knew what it meant. She was having fun. She was genuinely, truly having fun, and he was the reason.

"Oh, I'm getting it," she said, and he heard the phone shift in her hand, the angle changing. "Every single tear."

Derek's tongue kept moving. He didn't know how to stop it anymore. It was automatic now, a reflex, his mouth working against her like a machine, tasting himself and her mixed together, the salt of his own shame coating his tongue. He tried to breathe through his nose, but all he could smell was her—the musk of her arousal, the faint perfume she'd put on hours ago, the evidence of what he'd done inside her.

He'd come so fast. He'd been so desperate for it, so hungry for the feel of her around him, and he'd ruined it in seconds. He'd pumped into her twice, maybe three times, and then it was over, his cum spilling into her like a pathetic apology. And now he was here, on his knees, licking it back out of her while another man watched.

The camera clicked. A soft, mechanical sound that cut through the silence like a blade.

His whole body flinched.

"Oh, that's a good one," Cassidy said, her voice full of delight. "Did you see that, Marcus? The way he jumped?"

"I saw it," Marcus said, and there was a grin in his voice. "Little man's got good instincts. Knows when to stay still."

Derek's face burned. His cheeks were wet with tears, his nose was running, and he was pretty sure there was a string of spit connecting his mouth to her cunt. He couldn't see any of it, but he could feel it—the mess of his own making, the evidence of how far he'd fallen.

Cassidy's fingers tightened in his hair again, pulling his face harder against her. "Don't stop, baby. You're doing so good."

The praise was worse than the cruelty. It was worse because it meant she was pleased, and her pleasure meant he was doing exactly what she wanted, and what she wanted was this—him on his knees, licking his own cum out of her, crying while she filmed it.

His tongue dragged up her slit, and he felt her shudder. A small, involuntary response, her hips pressing into his mouth. He did it again, slower this time, and she made a sound—a soft, breathy sound that might have been pleasure.

His cock twitched between his legs, soft and pathetic, still wet from earlier. The cage sat on the nightstand, unlocked and waiting, a reminder of what he'd earned and what he'd lost. He'd been so good for so long. He'd worn the cage for weeks, enduring the ache, the frustration, the constant, burning need. And then she'd rewarded him, unlocking it, letting him have her—and he'd ruined it.

He'd come in seconds. He'd been so desperate, so overwhelmed by the feel of her, that he hadn't been able to hold back. And now he was paying for it, licking up every drop of his failure while she watched.

The camera clicked again.

"Smile, baby," Cassidy said, and her voice was soft, almost tender. "You're on camera."

He tried to smile. He really did. But his mouth was full of her, and his face was wet with tears, and all he could manage was a pathetic, trembling grimace that made her laugh.

"Oh, that's precious," she said. "Marcus, look at his face."

"I'm looking," Marcus said, and Derek heard the bed creak as he shifted. "I'm definitely looking."

Derek's tongue kept moving. He didn't know how to stop it. He didn't know how to do anything except what she told him to do, what she expected him to do, what he'd been doing for months now—obeying, enduring, taking whatever she gave him and begging for more.

The carpet was rough against his knees. He could feel the individual fibers digging into his skin, the burn spreading up his shins. He'd been kneeling for so long now that his legs were starting to go numb, but he didn't dare shift. He didn't dare move without permission.

"You're doing so good, baby," Cassidy said again, and her voice was softer now, almost kind. "Just a little more. Just finish cleaning me up."

He lapped at her, his tongue dragging through her folds, collecting every last drop of himself. The taste was awful—salty and bitter and wrong—but he kept going, kept licking, kept cleaning, because she'd told him to.

And because some part of him, the broken part he didn't like to acknowledge, wanted to please her.

Wanted her to smile at him the way she smiled at Marcus.

Wanted her to look at him like he mattered.

The camera clicked again, and he heard Cassidy hum with satisfaction. "I'm going to keep this one," she said. "For later."

Derek's stomach twisted. Later. She meant she'd watch it later. She'd pull it up on her phone and watch him cry, watch him lick his own cum out of her, and she'd enjoy it. She'd enjoy it the way she was enjoying it now, with that lazy, cruel smile on her face.

His tongue slowed. Just for a second. Just long enough for her to notice.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, sharp and possessive. "I didn't say stop."

He flinched, his whole body jerking, and then he was licking again, faster now, desperate to make up for the pause. His tears were falling freely, dripping off his chin and onto her thigh, and he could hear the wet, obscene sound of his own mouth working against her.

"That's it," she said, and her voice was honey again. "That's my good boy."

Good boy. The words hit him somewhere deep, somewhere he didn't want to admit existed. His cock twitched again, a pathetic, half-hearted pulse of interest, and he felt his face burn with shame.

He was hard. He was crying, he was on his knees, he was licking his own cum out of his girlfriend while another man watched, and he was hard.

Marcus laughed. A low, rumbling sound that made Derek's skin prickle. "Look at that," he said. "He's getting into it."

Derek wanted to deny it. He wanted to pull back, to tell them both that he wasn't, that this was torture, that he hated every second of it. But he couldn't. His mouth was full of her, and his cock was hard, and the camera was still recording.

Cassidy's hips shifted, pressing her cunt harder against his mouth. "He always gets like this," she said, her voice lazy and knowing. "The more I humiliate him, the harder he gets. It's pathetic, really."

"It's something," Marcus agreed, and there was amusement in his voice. "Can't say I've ever seen anything like it."

Derek's tongue kept moving. He couldn't stop it. He didn't want to stop it. He wanted to hate this, wanted to hate himself for enjoying it, but the truth was there, hard and undeniable between his legs.

The camera clicked again, and Cassidy laughed. "Oh, I'm definitely keeping this one."

Derek's eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners. His mouth worked against her, his tongue dragging through her slickness, and he could feel the sob building in his chest—the first one, the one he'd been holding back all night.

It caught in his throat, a choked, pathetic sound that made Cassidy's fingers tighten in his hair.

"Aww," she cooed, and her voice was full of mock sympathy. "Is my baby crying?"

He couldn't answer. His mouth was full of her, and his throat was too tight, and the tears were falling too fast. All he could do was keep licking, keep lapping, keep cleaning her up while the camera's red light blinked in his peripheral vision.

"That's it," Cassidy said softly. "Let it out, baby. Show Marcus how much you love this."

And Derek did. He sobbed against her cunt, his whole body shaking, his tongue still moving, still working, still trying to please her. The taste of himself and her mixed on his tongue, and the camera caught every second of it—every tear, every choked sob, every pathetic, desperate lick.

The sob broke something loose inside him. Not the cage—that was still on the nightstand, waiting. But something in his chest, some wall he'd been holding up since the moment she'd led him into this room, and now it was gone, crumbling under the weight of her praise and the camera's red eye. His shoulders shook. His hands, braced on her thighs, trembled so badly he could feel the tremor running up his arms.

Cassidy's fingers loosened in his hair. Just slightly. Just enough to let him breathe, to let him think he could pull away if he wanted to. But he didn't pull away. He couldn't. His mouth stayed pressed to her, his tongue still dragging through her slickness, because stopping meant disappointing her, and disappointing her was worse than any of this.

Her thumb traced the shell of his ear, a gesture so gentle it made his stomach lurch. "Look at you," she murmured, and her voice was almost fond. "So eager to please. Even now. Even like this."

He made a sound against her—something between a whimper and a sob—and she laughed, soft and low. The phone shifted in her hand, and he heard the soft tap of her fingernail against the screen. Zooming in. Capturing every detail of his face, his tears, his open mouth working against her.

"Marcus," she said, and her voice carried across the room like a command. "Come see this. The way his tongue moves—it's like he was made for it."

The bed creaked. Derek felt the mattress dip, felt the weight of Marcus's body shift closer, and his skin prickled with the awareness of being watched from a new angle. Marcus was leaning over now, peering down at him, and Derek could feel the heat of his gaze like a physical thing.

"Huh," Marcus said, and there was genuine curiosity in his voice. "He really is. Look at that—he's not even thinking about it anymore. It's just instinct."

Derek's face burned. His tears were still falling, dripping off his chin and onto Cassidy's thigh, but his tongue kept moving, kept working, kept cleaning her like it was the only thing he knew how to do. Because it was. Because she'd trained him so well that even now, even with his heart cracking open in his chest, he couldn't stop.

Cassidy's hips shifted, pressing her cunt harder against his mouth, and he felt her shudder again. "That's it," she breathed. "Right there, baby. Just like that."

He did it again, exactly the same way, and she made a sound that might have been a moan. It was the first real sound of pleasure she'd made all night—not the cruel, amused laughs, not the mock sympathy. This was her body responding to him, and it sent a jolt through him that was almost pride.

Almost. Because the pride was tangled up with shame, with the knowledge that she was only moaning because he was licking his own cum out of her, because he was on his knees and crying and being filmed, because he was the pathetic one, the broken one, the one who couldn't even fuck her properly.

His tongue slowed. Just for a second. And Cassidy's fingers tightened in his hair, sharp and warning.

"Don't you dare stop," she said, and her voice was ice. "Not until I say you're done."

He flinched, his whole body jerking, and then he was licking again, faster now, desperate to make up for the pause. His nose was running, his face was a mess of tears and spit, and he could hear himself making small, pathetic sounds with every breath.

The camera clicked. The red light blinked. And somewhere above him, Marcus laughed—a low, rumbling sound that made Derek's stomach drop.

"He's really something," Marcus said. "You've done good work with him, Cass."

"I know," she said, and her voice was full of lazy satisfaction. "He just needs the right motivation."