Chapter 17 #3
Her lips are slightly parted, faintly stained with berry juice and cream. Her cheek bears the soft imprint of the bowl’s rim. There's a smear of white on her collarbone, and the chain of emeralds around her neck, the one I gave her, has shifted, caught in her hair.
She’s beautiful like this.
Still. Soft. Messy and vulnerable—exactly as I wanted. I rest my hand on the back of her neck, just for a moment, grounding her, grounding myself. She took the pill without hesitation, without needing my voice in the room. A low hum of satisfaction unfurls in my chest, deep, steady, proprietary.
I smooth her hair back gently, wiping cream from her temple with my thumb. She doesn’t stir.
Good girl.
That phrase lives in my blood now, like a pulse. It used to be a reward. Now it’s the truth.
I stand slowly, adjusting the chair beneath her, and signal to the staff just outside the door. They step in without a word, eyes lowered.
“She’s finished,” I say quietly. “Clean this.”
“Yes, sir.”
I reach down and slip one arm beneath her knees, the other behind her back. She’s light, pliant in my arms, her head resting against my shoulder like she was made to fit there.
“Turn down my room,” I say as I carry her past them.
None of them speaks; instead, they rush around in a flurry of movement around us.
I walk through the house with her in my arms, berry-stained and bare-faced, smelling like cream and champagne and obedience.
And all I can think is: She did exactly what she was told.
And I will reward her for it.
Her breath stays slow as I carry her through the hallways, past the dimly lit portraits and silent staff, up the broad staircase, and toward the east wing.
The door to my bedroom is already open. The lights dimmed, the fire low, and everything is prepared just the way I like it.
I cross the room and lower her onto the bed. She lands in the center of the mattress, limbs loose, head turned gently toward the pillow. There’s cream still clinging to her cheekbone. Her lashes are damp at the edges.
She looks undone. Fragile.
I sit on the edge of the bed beside her for a moment, just watching.
Then I start to undress her.
Slowly.
First, the cream silk blouse. I undo each button slowly, revealing the soft rise of her chest, the subtle curve of her ribs, and the chain that rests just above the hollow of her delicate throat.
Next, the trousers.
She is such an elegant woman. She dressed for me today. Not for Dale. For me.
I unfasten the side closure and ease the fabric down her hips, past her thighs, until she’s in nothing but lace, soft gray underwear, delicate as breath.
I don’t take those off. Not yet. I love to see the wet spot that blooms on them when she’s thinking of me, feeling me, craving me.
But tonight I don’t have her dark and twisted thoughts, no. Tonight, I have her complete surrender.
I draw the covers back and slide her beneath them. Her body shifts slightly at the temperature change, but she doesn’t wake. Her lips part with the smallest sigh, and I feel my chest tighten.
She trusted me enough to take the pill. To give herself over. Again.
I strip down to my shirt and slacks, sure to grab the knife I always keep in my waistband. I’ll be needing that.
I slide in beside her, careful not to disturb the way she’s folded into herself. She smells like champagne and berries, and something uniquely Martine —fresh, crisp, sweet with a sharp edge.
Her apple and honey scent calling to me like a warning, for how easily I could lose myself in her.
I rest one hand on her hip under the blanket. Light, protective, and pull her towards me. The smell of whipped cream mixed with her skin is intoxicating, and I lean forward and lick the side of her face.
I press a kiss to her temple, just above her brow, and whisper into the dark.
“You did so well following directions, darling.” I reach down into her panties, wanting to make her cum in them so many goddamn times, she wakes up in the morning sticky and satiated.
I roll her over as her head lolls and pull her back to my front, using my left knee to get in between her legs and spread her wide for me.
Getting it out of the way quickly, I use my knife to reopen the cut between her breasts, wanting to make sure it leaves a scar.
Satisfied that the scab is open, I rub a bit of saliva on my fingertips and press it to her wound. My cock is so fucking hard I can barely breathe, and her bleeding for me is almost too much to bear.
Clicking the knife closed and setting it on the nightstand, I continue with my plan. The one I’ve thought about all day while I was chasing answers.
I wrap my right hand around her throat and slide my left down into her panties, stopping on the way down to admire her beautiful pink nipples. Pinching them a few times until she puffs out some air in her sleepy, drug-induced haze of rest.
Leaving her gorgeous tits to dip my fingers into her panties, I circle and circle her clit, and then raise my hand to spit on my fingers to get her really wet and ready. I’m too hard to wait, too hard to play around with her. I need inside of her hot fucking body, now.
I smear my saliva and pull her delicate panties to the side and press my hard head at her entrance. I’m seated within her in seconds, fucking up and into her in one swift motion.
I moan out a bit at the sensation of bottoming out inside of her, finding it hard to do anything other than pause to revel in it. I hold us there, speared together, hilt to entrance. Just breathing in the scent of her hair, the soft berries on her skin.
Listening to the air huff out of her nose. She’s half asleep, half lost to the drugs.
She took it without question, because she now knows her purpose.
To be soft for me. The fact that she submitted without my hand, without my voice, makes me ache with pride.
That pill wasn’t just obedience; it was devotion.
She made herself useful to me, exactly how I like her: drugged, pliant, waiting.
And I’ll reward her for it, slowly, thoroughly, until she forgets what it ever felt like not to belong to me.
Satisfied with the soft little moan she huffs out at being full to the brim by me, I bring the hand that was toying with her up to her beautiful, pillow-soft, and pink lips.
There’s something in me that wakes up. Fully, violently, when she listens.
When she yields, when she looks up at me like I’m the only thing tethering her to this world, her obedience isn’t a weakness; it’s a gift.
It’s proof that she understands who I am and what I need.
And when she gives me that, when she follows the rules without hesitation, I feel it in my bones, like purpose, like clarity.
I’ve never been proud of anything the way I’m proud of her.
I slide my two middle fingers in her mouth, loving the feeling of the softness of her tongue on my fingertips as I feel her pussy ripple around my cock.
I start thrusting up inside of her, pulling back to only thrust back up halfway so I can rub the ridges of my dick against that spot she likes.
She does this beautiful little magic trick when her G-spot is stroked. If I hit that deep and curved spot just right, she lets out these tiny little squirts.
I know this pussy is capable of a tidal wave of cum, but just feeling those consistent strangling feelings of her walls clamping down and those small rushes of cum, is enough to send me over the edge, and I haven't even been inside of her for five minutes.
I slow my thrusts, just holding her while I pulse inside of her. Loving the choking sound she's making around my fingers that are shoved in her mouth.
“That’s it, darling, you’re doing so good,” I grunt in her ear as I feel her walls flutter around me. She’s so tight that when she comes, I have to hold my breath from how hard she clamps down on me.
“Give me your cum, darling, and then you’ll give it to me again, won't you?” I thrust up and up, rutting into her with each word, “Let me feel you cum all over me, let me feel it.”
Fuck it feels so good. I’m barely getting the words out to talk her through her orgasm.
Drool dribbling down her chin is my favorite. I wish I could put my belt back between her teeth. That was a gorgeous sight. I don’t trust myself to gag her while she’s out like a light. I don’t want my pleasure to kill her; I just want it to hurt.
I smell her hair as I thrust in and out, and it only takes me a few more pulses of her pussy and a dribble of her cum around my cock, and I’m feral.
My hands move to her hips in a bruising grip as I take what I need, barely constraining the intense power I feel having her in my arms.
I fuck her hard, harder than I should.
“I’m sorry, darling, I know it’s rough, but you’re doing so well,” I grunt out as she whimpers quietly. Confused.
I feel her clamp down again, and her cum shoots out in a hot rush and coats my pelvis. God, she’s perfect.
Her wetness makes it almost too slippery to stay inside. I praise her again for being such a well-behaved fuck doll, “doing such a good job coming in your sleep for me, darling.”
“Such,” thrust.
“A good,” thrust.
“Whore,” thrust.
“My whore,” I grunt. “That I’ll take care of,” I pant. “And cherish,” my voice wavers a bit on the last thrust.
Unable to contain myself any longer, I release on a yell. Careful to make sure I pump all of my cum up, and as deep as possible inside of her.
I’ll put a goddamn baby inside this woman just to see the results of being constantly stuffed with my cum. To watch her belly grow round from the deviance I put her body through. While she's tethered to me forever, it would be easier if she were pliant.
The way she looked at me this morning, I know what it means. She’s falling for me. And that sound I let slip when I came? It cracked something open. Something I’ve been fighting like hell to keep buried. I won’t name it. I can’t.
I pull my dick out of her, and a rush of our cum falls out. That will not do.
I take my hands from her mouth and go between her legs, scooping up as much as I can, shoving it back inside of her with my fingers, and then slide her panties back into place.
Satisfied, I use her tongue to clean my fingers.