Chapter 5 Paid on Day Six
The study door stood ajar when I reached it with the brush and oil tin Madame had sent me to fetch. I pushed it with my knuckles. Her desk sat under a tall window, ledgers open, ink still wet on one page.
I stopped at the threshold. My collar tag clicked against my throat.
The line was in her hand. PAID IN FULL. Anonymous wire. Day six of repossession. Sixteen days ago.
My knees went loose. I gripped the doorframe.
Sixty-eight days left on a clock that had already stopped mattering.
Every crawl, every thank-you on my knees, every time I spread for the wand or opened my mouth for her strap, I could have walked.
The latch on my cage had never caught. I had chosen the cage anyway.
Footsteps on the hall boards. Leather heels. She did not hurry.
Madame Corvi came through the door I had left open. She looked at the ledger, then at my white knuckles on the frame, then at my face. No surprise in her eyes.
"You read it," she said.
"I was bringing your things."
"Put them down."
I set the brush and tin on the side table. My hands shook. The shame hit before the words did. I had been playing victim for sixteen days while my debt was dust.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I wanted to see what you would do with a door that was always open."
The room tilted. I had nothing left to trade. No leverage. No story where she owned me because the numbers said so.
"You could have left on day seven," she said. "You stayed. You begged. You came on command. That was you."
"I had nowhere…"
"You had the gate. You had your name. You had your contractor's license in the safe I never touched." Her voice stayed flat, almost kind. "You wanted the kennel. You wanted me to make it clean for you."
My cock stirred against the thin training shorts. Betrayal and want in the same breath. The man who built houses for a living had let a creditor brush his hair and call him good.
"I hate you," I said. It came out thin.
"Say what you hate."
"That I stayed."
"Say why you stayed."
My throat closed. Bargaining died in my mouth. There was no deal left. Only what my body had already been doing.
Madame Corvi closed the ledger with one finger. "Strip. Kneel on the rug. Hands behind your back."
I pulled the shorts down. My dick was half hard, stupid and honest. I knelt on the Persian rug. The wool bit my welts from yesterday's grooming. Her praise still lived in my skin from warm oil and careful hands. That tenderness was the trap and I had walked into it twice.
She opened a drawer. Leather cuffs. She buckled my wrists behind me, tight enough that my shoulders pulled back.
"Open your mouth."
A rubber bit gag with a hole through the center. She worked it between my teeth and buckled the strap at my nape. My jaw ached. Drool gathered at the corners of my lips.
"You are going to listen," she said. "Not speak. Nod if you understand."
I nodded. Saliva slipped down my chin.
She pulled a black case from the same drawer. A prostate wand, thick at the base, curved, matte silicone. She clicked a small remote. A low buzz started inside the wand before she even touched me.
"Turn over. Ass up. Face on the rug."
I folded forward. The gag made breathing loud in my own ears. She spread my cheeks with two cool fingers. No lube yet. Just the air on my hole.
"You chose this hole," she murmured. "Say it in your head. Own it."
The wand pressed my entrance. Slow. The buzz vibrated through my rim. I grunted into the gag. Spit strings swung from my lip to the rug fibers.
She worked the tip in without mercy. Inch by inch. The stretch burned. My hole clenched and lost. She kept pushing until the curve seated deep and my prostate jumped under the vibration.
"Stay still," she said.
I tried. My hips twitched anyway. It hummed against that spot inside me. My cock leaked on the rug, a dark spot spreading.
She left it buried and walked around in front of me. Her skirt hem brushed my forehead. She held a second toy. A chrome wand head on a cord, the kind from the grooming room, the kind she had pinned between my legs until I sobbed.
She turned it on. High.
The first touch was my balls. I jerked. The sound was a muffled scream into rubber. She dragged the head up my shaft. Not enough to finish. Just enough to make my whole body beg.
"One," she said. "You do not come until I count five. Nod."
I nodded so hard my vision swam.
She pulled the wand from my ass halfway and shoved it back. The slap of silicone on slick skin was obscene in the quiet study. Ink smell. Old paper. My own wet squeak every time she worked the toy.
The chrome head circled my tip. Pre-cum smeared the metal. She pulled it away when my thighs shook.
"Two."
She fucked me with the prostate wand now. Steady strokes. The buzz never stopped. My hole made hungry noises, greedy and loud. I could taste copper and salt from biting the gag.
"Please," I tried. It came out as a choke.
"Please what? You cannot talk. Suffer."
She pressed the chrome head to my perineum and cranked it higher. My prostate and my balls fought each other for which would break me first. I rode the rug with my face, drool pooling under my cheek.
She stopped everything. Both toys off. Silence except my ragged breath through the gag hole.
"Look at the ledger," she said.
I turned my head. The open page still showed PAID IN FULL. Day six.
"You are not my debtor," she said. "You are my pet. Say it."
The gag stopped the words. She reached down and unbuckled it. Drool ran down my neck.
"Say it."
"I am your pet." My voice cracked.
"Louder."
"I am your pet. I chose it."
She shoved the gag back in before I could breathe twice. The chrome head returned to my cock. Low buzz. Tease only. The ass wand slid out until only the tip remained, then slammed home.
"Three."
I counted in my head with her. Three orgasms denied. My balls ached. Cum wanted out and she would not allow it.
She added a third toy. A small vibrating plug on a cord. She pressed it to my nipple. Then the other. The pinch and buzz wrenched me into an arch.
"Four."
I was beyond bargaining. Beyond the contractor story. There was only the rug under my face and her toys in my holes and the fact that I had stayed when the cage was open.
She ripped the gag out. "Beg for five in the filthiest words you have."
"Please let this hole cum. Please use your pet. I'm a slut for your toys. I need it. I'll do anything. I'm your whore. Five. Please, Madame, five."
She hit the chrome head full speed on my cock and drove the prostate wand hard and deep.
"Five."
I came so hard my vision whited out. Cum shot under me, splattering the rug, my hips jerking on their own.
She kept the wand on my tip through the spasms. Too much.
I sobbed. A second pulse rolled through me before the first finished.
My ass clamped on the silicone. Wet sounds. Shame and relief in one convulsion.
She did not stop.
"That was one," she said. "You owe me four more."
I moaned. My cock stayed hard, oversensitive, traitor.
She unbuckled my cuffs, flipped me onto my back, and strapped a leather harness around my chest and thighs so I could not close my legs. She stepped out of her heels. She unzipped a leather harness around her hips. A black cock jutted from it, thick, lubed, gleaming.
"You're going to take this in your ass while I count," she said. "You will thank me for each one."
She lined up and pushed. No warm-up beyond the wand already stretching me. The burn split me open. I gasped. Her hands pinned my shoulders to the rug.
"Count with me out loud."
She bottomed out. My stuffed hole throbbed around the strap.
"One."
She pulled almost out and rammed back. The slap of her hips on my thighs echoed off the bookcases. Papers rustled. I tasted her sweat when she leaned down to spit in my mouth. Salt. Heat. Ownership.
"Thank you, Madame."
"Again."
She fucked me like she meant to ruin the rug and me with it. Long strokes. My prostate screamed under the angle. Cum leaked from my cock without permission, smearing my belly.
"Two."
"Thank you, Madame."
My voice broke on the words. She hooked my legs over her shoulders and went deeper. I could not breathe right. The stretch was a fire I had walked into on day seven and every day since.
"Three."
The third orgasm tore out of me while she pounded. Cum striped my chest. She smeared it with her thumb and made me lick it off her finger.
"Thank you, Madame."
"Good hole."
She shifted the angle and found the spot that made my toes curl. The fourth built slow and brutal. She edged me with short jabs, stopping when my hole fluttered.
"Say what you are."
"Your pet. Your anal slut. A hole that stayed when the door was open."
"Again."
"Your pet. Your anal slut. A hole that stayed when the door was open."
"Four."
I came empty, dry ache and full-body spasm. She did not slow. The fifth she milked with her hand on my cock and the strap hammering my ass.
"Five."
I screamed. No cum left. Just pain-pleasure ripping through me. She held me through it until I went limp.
She pulled out. My asshole gaped and fluttered. Cool air hit slick skin. It made an obscene, wet, open sound I could not close.
She stood. Straightened her skirt. Looked down at me harnessed on her rug, covered in spit and cum.
"Get up when you can," she said. "Wash in the grooming room. Put the ledger back exactly where you found it."
I lay there. The study smelled like sex and ink. Sixty-eight days on the wall clock in the hall. None of it bought my freedom anymore.
She paused at the door.
"We are only just beginning."
She left. I listened to her heels fade. My ass throbbed. My cock twitched on nothing.
I could stand. I could walk to the gate. I could leave my collar on the desk and never come back.
I rolled onto my side and waited for my legs to work, because leaving was a choice now, and I had already made mine so many times she stopped counting.