Twenty
A good little slut asks to be fed.
I will never forget again.
- Arienna
I wake up alone, to the sound of the shower running full blast. Yawning, I sit up, only to immediately lay back down.
My ass is throbbing. He definitely bruised it, but having the reminder of his obsession for me so clear on my skin makes my pussy clench.
My thighs still wet from last night, I roll off the bed, then slowly stand.
The pain isn’t as bad when I’m on my feet, and I pad to the ensuite with another yawn.
The door is closed.
That’s weird.
The door is locked.
No.
I whine as I lean my head against the wood, pretty damn certain I know what today’s punishment is going to be. “I hate edging,” I mutter. Maybe I can convince him I love it though so he won’t do it. Didn’t he say punishments were not to be enjoyed?
I perk up, realising that can’t be my punishment because he loves edging. Doesn’t he?
If he doesn’t, he sure does freaking do it a lot.
I knock politely on the door. “My king?” I ask. “I need a shower too.”
“You can have one after I’m done.”
“But…” I try to think of another excuse. “Don’t you want me to clean your cock? With my mouth?”
There’s nothing but silence. Just as I’m about to think of something else to say, the door opens, and I preen.
Then deflate.
“You’re clothed,” I say accusingly. The shower is still running behind him, but he’s fully dressed in all black as per usual.
Rubbing a towel through his hair, he steps aside. “The shower is yours,” he says.
“Don’t you want to join me?”
“Yes.”
I smile. Then bat my eyes as I reach for his clothes. “Do you want me to undress you?”
“No,” he says as he steps back.
“So you want to shower in your clothes?” I ask, my head cocked to the side.
“No. I’m going to watch you.”
I blank. He continues to dry his hair.
“Go have a shower, my queen. We have a very busy day today.”
Blushing, I clear my throat. How does he make the tame, mundane things still sound so naughty?
My legs as wet as the shower’s about to make them, I walk towards the glass door.
I can feel his eyes on my ass, caressing the bruises he left on me.
As I pass the large mirror over the sink, I glance at my reflection.
Old bruises mar my front. New bruises mar my back.
Every part of my body has been claimed by him, and the thought of watching him watch me as I lather those marks… Fuck.
He is going to edge me. Worse, he’s not going to let me touch him while he does it. He’s put a whole freaking panel of glass in my way.
“Gods, I love edging,” I say as I reach the shower, but the joy I tried to push into my words sounds flat even to me.
He chuckles. “Wash your hair first as you face me. I want to see those tits lift as I imagine sucking on them.”
I breathe heavily as I look over my shoulder.
I expected him to have his cock in his hand, but he doesn’t.
The towel is now draped over his shoulders.
His arms are crossed. And he’s just staring at me.
But dear gods can I feel him fucking me with those eyes, and somehow, it feels hotter with him fully clothed while I’m in a state of naked vulnerability.
I stumble into the shower. The steaming water adds to the heat inside me, so I turn it down, knowing I will need a bit of reprieve to make it through this. Reaching for the shampoo, I start to wash my pink strands.
“Face me,” he demands.
A shiver runs down my spine. I turn around. His eyes land on my breasts while I stare at his cock, hard beneath his trousers.
“If you were a good girl,” he says as I lift my gaze to his, “I’d be in there with you. I’d have your back against that wall –”
I stumble back, feeling the shock of the cold tiles against my skin.
“– with my hands in your hair –”
My fingers tingle, feeling the phantom of his touch.
“– as I stroke those lips of yours with mine.” His jaw tics, but no other part of him moves. “I’d kiss my way down your neck.”
My hands wash soap suds across my sensitive skin.
“Between those gorgeous breasts.”
I trail my fingers along the path he’s painting for me.
“Down. Down.” My thighs clench as I touch my belly button. “Then lick my way up to your tits.”
I sag against the wall as I cup my breast and pinch my nipple. I half-expect Richard to order me to stop touching myself, but he just watches me, his arms crossed, his eyes hooded, his cock straining against his trousers.
“If you were a good girl,” he says thickly, “I’d be down on my knees with your legs on my shoulders.”
I slip my other hand between my thighs.
“Wash yourself well, my queen, and spread your legs for me.”
Whimpering, I do as he says. My blood runs hot. My skin grows flush. My soap-free fingers rub all around the outside of my pussy before diving in. My other thumb flicks suds across my nipple.
His nostrils flare as he watches me.
I rock my hips off the wall, chasing the pleasure of my fingers. But they’re not as good as he is. I want him in here.
“I’ll be a good girl,” I say. “Just please come join me.”
“Wash the rest of your front, then turn around for me.”
I quickly run my hands down myself before spinning against the wall. Leaning against it, breathing heavily, I cup my ass with both hands. I hiss in a breath at the sting of my bruises.
“Spread your legs for me.”
“I need help washing my back,” I say.
“Spread them.”
With a little moan, I shuffle my legs apart.
“Do you know how much I want to be in there with you? How desperate I am to bury my face in that perfect ass of yours?”
“You can.”
“I can’t, and tell me why.”
I whimper. “Please.”
“Tell me.”
“Because I’m a bad girl.” I shudder. “And bad girls don’t get to come.”
“No, they don’t. Now finish washing yourself, my queen, then come here.”
I grudgingly do as he says. It’s only when I turn the tap off that I realise I could’ve defied him and then he would’ve had to come into the shower to stop me. I eye the knob…
“Go ahead and do it if you want, my queen.” His voice is low and full of promise.
Jumping, I scurry out of the shower. He wraps me up in a fresh towel. As he towers above me, my toes curl. My lips part as he bends down to –
He stops a hair’s breadth away from me. I rock forwards; he moves back. My thighs clench on a shudder.
“Do you know how much I love making you come? How much those noises you make as you get close bring me to my knees? The colour your cheeks flush –” His hand trails down the towel, so light, I can’t feel it.
Can only see it, and I whimper over its absence.
“The way you look at me before you can’t keep your eyes open any more.
The way your hips lift up to meet mine, begging me, weakening me, making me feel so fucking feral.
Fuck, my queen.” He groans as he steps back.
His chest rises and falls rapidly, but he keeps his control bound as tightly as I want him to tie me up.
“Know that every day I deny you,” he says huskily, “I am suffering.” His eyes roam down my body, and even the thick towel feels paper thin.
“Even when I come on that perfect body of yours, know that I am aching with the need to fuck you properly. To watch you fall apart in my arms. I want to taste you.” He licks his lips before rolling the bottom one in-between his teeth.
A gasp leaves me shaking.
“I want to push into your tight little ass as you hang from the ceiling with your arms behind your back and your entire body tied up with rope, like the perfect little present for me to unwrap.”
He places his hands behind his back, as if he doesn’t trust himself to reach for me. Then he steps forwards, making my heart pound loudly as I tilt my head up to look at him. “But do you know what I want more, my queen?”
His breath whispers across my lips.
I shake my head. All of that sounds really fucking good to me.
“I want you…” His lips are so close, but I don’t dare lean forwards. I want to be good. I want to be rewarded. “To take care of yourself.” Straightening, he pivots, then strolls out of the bathroom. “Now come.”
It takes me a moment to breathe, let alone get my legs to work well enough to stumble after him.
By the time I catch up to him, he’s in the bedroom, carrying a dress from the closet.
He lays it down on the bed, spreading the full-length blood-red fabric out, its skirt trailing over the edge.
But as gorgeous as it is with the black thorns trailing up from the bottom and the twisty vines looping around the waist to make a corset, it is the rigid thong-looking thing beside it that grabs my attention.
“What’s that?” I ask as I step up to him.
“This is a chastity belt.”
My pulse skips a beat as I recall that’s what he called the thing I fashioned in an attempt to guard my pussy from his tongue and hands so I could think clearly enough to kill him. Mine did not work as well as I fear this one will.
“Ah,” I say nervously. “And how does it work?”
Picking it up, he turns to face me. “Drop your towel.”
Swallowing, I do so, and his eyes run hungrily down my body, trailing electricity across my skin.
“The leather has been made stiff,” he says tightly.
“There is padding along the inside edges” –he lifts it to show me– “so the only thing that touches you will be them.” He drops to his knees to slip it between my thighs.
Only the front of it is rigid, and the edges on the inside rest where my pussy meets my thighs.
It is clothing me without touching me. He adjusts the back strap up my ass, then the top one around my waist.
“How does it fit? Is it uncomfortable anywhere?” Down on his knees still, he looks up at me.
“Um… it’s different. But not bad.”
“How about now?” He presses his face against it.