Preston stretched the sleep out of his muscles. He sat on the mattress as he let out a morning yawn. His feet were planted on the marble floor. His elbows rested on his upper thighs. He combed his waves back and leaned forward, looking at the empty space before him. The panoramic view he’d become accustomed to had disappeared.
It’d been difficult to fall asleep without his slave by his side. With the blanket of the night, he was able to bear it. He could pretend she was there even though she wasn’t like monsters under a bed. Not now when the sun poked his finger, taunting the uninhabited space in the bedroom.
He missed the sight of her plump lips. How they slightly parted and how her tongue would unconsciously hydrate them. It was almost as if her mouth was always ready to take him. It pleased him to wake to that scenery.
Now it was gone.
Monday through Thursday he slept mostly on his desk with pencils as pillows and blueprints as blankets.
For two days and two nights out of the week he allowed himself to be Master Trice. He found a better place for his ties. He found a better use for his X-ACTO knives and rulers. He utilized the floor as a bed for his slave and now it was naked.
He stood up. A wave of vertigo tried to knock him off balance but failed. His body was too strong to be whipped away by lightheadedness.
He went to the bathroom and took a warm shower. As per the outside temperature, the current temperature in the apartment, and his body temperature, his smart shower turned the water to the degree most suitable for him.
The device was given to him by a famous Japanese online gamer who Preston had built a house for in the form of Pikachu. Knowing there were people out there with crazier kinks made him feel a tad better.
What an eclectic world this was.
Determined to make today a marvelous day, Preston made his way down the hall to welcome the new day inside his slave. He placed his ear on the door. The only sound came from the buzzing of the Slave Driver.
It had been roughly seven hours since he bound his slave and manipulated her body with post-orgasm torture. It was a brutal act he’d done out of spite. Nevertheless, she needed to be disciplined. Calling him by his name had been a blunt move on her part. How the fuck did she even know it?
Of course, Mother.
To this day the woman couldn’t stop talking about Abigail, putting her on a higher pedestal than Jesus. Mrs. Trice had never and would never meet her, so Preston didn’t understand what the fuss with a fictional person was about. If he held no respect for his mother, he would tell her he’d picked up Abigail in SoHo and paid her for a night of pleasure. That’s a whore, not someone who should be worshipped.
Preston inserted the key into the keyhole and opened the door with a soft push. As he pulled the cage up, his slave whimpered, raising her stomach off the floor as if to go with the spikes. He unplugged the vibrator and undid the restraints on her ankles but kept her wrists secured. The image before him drew all the blood from his body to settle in his cock.
Abigail laid comatose. Her full thighs quivered on their own as her eyes opened to the sound of his steps. Her lips were full and flushed. Her hair stuck to her damped cheeks. The spikes had dug into most of her stomach, forming crimson deltas on her body. Her skin was dotted with red streams that looked more like watercolor than anything else. Her pussy was large and swollen and pink.
Preston refused to feel any guilt.
Abigail shouldn’t have spoken to him like she did yesterday. She shouldn’t have spent the night moving and arching her back in ecstasy. If she didn’t like what he did then why had she come? Why was there a pool of pleasure under her ass? Why had she yet to use her safeword?
This was her fault. Not his.
Her doing. Not his.
Preston tucked away the smidgen of whatever it was he told himself he wasn’t feeling and hid it in a place deep inside him. Somewhere he’d never search again.
Bending down on all fours, he raised her hips with a grip on her ass and brought her pussy to his lips. He licked along her wet folds. It wasn’t his intention to make her come. Preston hoped some lubrication would alleviate the ache inside her. But it was the first time he’d tasted her, and he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting his tongue inside her opening.
She tasted like freedom and tears and submission and blood. It was the most intoxicating drink he’d ever had. One he was sure to be addicted to.
She tried to get away, but his hold grew stronger. He licked his way up her stomach, smearing his chin with her blood. He caressed her flushed lips. They tasted like blood and sweat and sin and heaven. They tasted right and wrong much like their relationship.
“Please,” she whispered against his lips.
“Was this not what you wanted? To come so loud I’d hear you from my penthouse. I’m only fulfilling your fantasy.”
“You’re cruel, Master,” she said, nuzzling her nose into the length of his neck.
It tickled.
Goosebumps erupted throughout his body. It was like a domino effect, starting on his widow’s peak and collapsing to his toes. He turned his face and kissed her forehead.
A smile formed on his lips as he said, “That’s the greatest compliment anyone has ever given me.”
Her wrists tied, made it easy for Preston to grab her ankles and flip her around. Now her front was to the floor, her ass perched for him to take.
“You are going to look at that camera—” he pointed at the corner, “—and you’re going to answer this question.” He aligned his erection to her slippery entrance and asked, “What’s your purpose in life, whore?”
“To be abused by you. Only you.”
He devoured her words, digesting each letter into his heart. Preston closed his eyes and gave a heavy groan that shook both their bodies. With a vicious push, he thrust deep inside her.
