11.
The rest of Saturday unspooled in a surreal, suffocating haze of quiet luxury.
Richard retreated to his study. He didn't lock the door, but the message was clear: he was working, and I was not to disturb him.
I kept opening my banking app, refreshing the screen, just to make sure the five thousand dollars was still there. Every time the green numbers appeared, a fresh wave of gratitude washed over me, so intense it made my chest ache. He had solved my entire life with a few keystrokes.
But it wasn't just the money. It was the way he had done it.
He hadn't asked for a thank you. He hadn't demanded a performance from me, although he could have had one. For that much money, I would have done almost anything. But apparently, that wasn’t his way.
He had simply assessed a problem and eliminated it, because he had the power to do so.
Seeing the feral bastard who’d pounded me into the rug act like a civilized, check-writing savior was utterly maddening. He had just rescued my roommate and me.
I paced the penthouse. I explored the massive kitchen, tracing my fingers over the marble countertops. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the sprawling city below, feeling like I was floating above the reality I had known just twenty-four hours ago.
And slowly, my gratitude began to mutate.
It started as a dull, gnawing itch at the base of my skull. A restless energy. He had given me thirteen thousand dollars. He had paid off Tyler's forty-thousand-dollar debt. He had offered me sanctuary.
What had I given him?
An hour. A blowjob and a desperate, tear-soaked fuck on a rug.
It wasn't enough. It felt obscenely inadequate.
I owed him. And I wanted to show him that I deserved what he had done for me.
For me and Jessica. I wanted to earn it.
I wanted to prove to him that I wasn't just a charity case he had bailed out.
I wanted him to look at me again with that dark, possessive hunger.
The distant respect he was showing me today was agonizing. It made me feel invisible.
By 7:00 PM, dinner arrived. A private catering service delivered perfectly seared filet mignon, truffle mash, and a bottle of expensive red wine. Richard emerged from his study to eat with me.
He was polite. He asked about my classes. He asked about my major. He treated me like a valued guest, a niece visiting from out of town.
He drove me absolutely crazy.
I sat across from him, wearing the plush white robe because I had nothing else to wear, hyper-aware that I was naked beneath it. I caught myself shifting my legs, hoping the robe would part, show him my bare skin.
But he didn't look. He finished his meal, wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, and stood up.
"I'm going to watch a film in my room," he announced calmly. "You have the run of the place. Goodnight, Sloane."
He turned and walked down the hall toward the master suite.
I sat alone at the massive dining table for ten minutes, my heart hammering against my ribs. The silence in the penthouse was heavy. I looked at the empty wine glass. I looked at the dark hallway.
I made a decision.
I stood up, pulling the sash of the robe tighter, and walked down the hall.
The door to the master suite was ajar. I pushed it open gently.
The room was vast, lit only by the massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
Richard was lying in the center of a sprawling California King bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows.
He was wearing dark silk pajama pants and a grey t-shirt.
He was watching some dense, subtitled European thriller.
He glanced over as I stepped into the room. He didn't look surprised.
"Mr. Davies? Richard?" I whispered, sounding small and nervous. "Can ... can I join you?"
He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes unreadable in the flickering light of the TV. Then, he simply patted the empty expanse of mattress next to him.
I walked over, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet, and crawled up onto the bed, moving close, until I was sitting right beside him.
We watched the movie in silence for twenty minutes. The tension radiating off my body was practically vibrating. I could barely focus on a single frame of the film.
I needed to cross the distance between us.
I shifted my weight, letting out a small, dramatic sigh, and slowly let myself slide down until my cheek was resting directly on his thigh.
I held my breath, waiting for him to push me away, to tell me to sit up.
He didn't. He just adjusted his position slightly, letting his hand fall to rest casually on my shoulder, his fingers lightly stroking my hair and the terrycloth of the robe.
I lay there, my face only inches from his groin. The faint, lingering scent of his expensive body wash mixed with his natural musk.
Ten more minutes passed. Maybe more.
And then, I felt it.
Through the thin silk of his pajama pants, right against my cheek, I felt a distinct, heavy twitch.
He wasn't as detached as he was pretending to be. My proximity, my submission, was having an effect. He was getting hard.
The thrill of that shot straight to my cunt. I didn't hesitate. Didn't ask for permission.
I turned my head slightly, pressing my lips directly against the growing bulge in his silk pants. He let out a sharp, quiet breath, but he didn't stop me.
I reached up with a trembling hand and untied the drawstring of his pajamas. I pulled the fabric down, freeing his cock.
It sprang out, thick, dark, and already rigid, slapping against my cheek.
I was going to give him a million-dollar blow job.
I opened my mouth and took him in.
I took it slow and easy while he watched the film.
I was meticulous. I swirled my tongue around the broad, sensitive head, tasting the salty pre-cum that leaked from the slit.
I used my lips, creating a soft, wet suction, sliding down the length of his shaft until my nose brushed the coarse hair at his base.
I bobbed my head in a slow deliberate rhythm. I used both hands to cup his heavy balls, massaging them gently, feeling the tension coiling in his muscles.
"Jesus, Sloane," Richard breathed, his voice a low, ragged rumble above me. His hand moved from my shoulder to tangle in my blonde hair, his grip firm, guiding my rhythm.
I looked up at him through my lashes as I sucked. He wasn't watching the movie anymore. His head was thrown back against the pillows, his eyes closed, his jaw tight with pleasure.
I wanted to make him lose that cold, perfect control.
I took him deeper, suppressing my gag reflex, letting him hit the back of my throat. I swirled my tongue around the frenulum, focusing entirely on his pleasure. I sucked him like a woman who knew exactly what she was worth and knew exactly how to pay her debts.
His breathing grew frantic. "I'm close," he said, his fingers tightening painfully in my hair. "Keep going."
I didn't slow down. I increased the suction, swallowing his length, working him with a desperate, hungry devotion.
His entire body went rigid. "Sloane," he hissed.
And then he emptied himself into my mouth and throat.
I refused to gag. I didn't pull away. I kept my mouth tightly sealed around him as the hot, thick jets of his cum flooded my throat. I swallowed in rhythm with his spurts, taking down every heavy, bitter pulse of his climax. It felt like a victory.
He stayed buried in my mouth for a long moment, panting, his chest heaving.
Finally, he slowly pulled out and I licked my lips clean, wiping a stray drop of his cum from my chin.
I looked up at him, my eyes shining, waiting for his approval.
Richard looked down at me. The distant, polite host was gone. The dark, predatory hunger from the night before was back in his eyes, burning hotter than ever.
"Take off the robe," he said.
“Yes, Daddy.” I didn’t know why I said it, but it felt weirdly right.
I sat up on my knees, my hands moving to the sash of the plush white robe. I untied it, letting the heavy fabric fall open and slide off my shoulders, pooling on the bed behind me.
I knelt before him on the California King mattress, completely naked. My breasts were flushed, the nipples hard and aching. My pussy, still slightly tender from the night before, was wet with fresh arousal. I felt incredibly small as he examined me.
When he was done, Richard looked down at his own softening cock, glistening with my spit, resting against his thigh. Then he looked at my mouth.
"Put it back in," he said, his voice a low, hypnotic murmur. "Keep it warm for me."
“Yes, Daddy.” I said it again. As an experiment. It still felt right to me. So, I leaned forward, parted my lips, and took his flaccid cock back into my mouth.
It felt entirely different soft. It was heavy, pliant flesh.
I didn't suck with the frantic, rhythmic urgency of a blowjob.
I held him gently, swirling my tongue lazily around the head, suckling softly on the loose skin, using his cock like a pacifier, a bizarre, deeply intimate act of submission that felt more degrading—and more thrilling—than swallowing his cum.
I lay my head back down on his thigh, my cheek resting against the silk of his pajamas, his soft meat secured in my mouth.
Richard’s hand returned to my hair, his fingers slowly, methodically stroking my scalp. He turned his attention back to the massive flat-screen TV.
For the next forty minutes, I stayed exactly where I was.
I watched the remainder of the subtitled thriller out of the corner of my eye, my mouth full of him, my jaw aching slightly with the effort of keeping him inside.
Every so often, he would shift his weight, or his hand would trail down from my hair to lightly trace the curve of my bare shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine.
It occurred to me that maybe he was conditioning me, retraining my brain, teaching me that my mouth, my body, belonged to him even when he wasn't using it. I was just a resting place for his cock.
I loved that idea. I felt anchored. I felt safe.
Finally, the credits began to roll on the screen. The room was plunged into the dim, shifting light of the scrolling names.
Richard reached down and hit a button on a remote on his nightstand. The TV clicked off. The room went pitch black, save for the faint, ambient glow of the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
His hand moved from my hair, gripping my jaw firmly.
"Get up," he said.
I pulled off his cock with a soft, wet sound, wiping my mouth as I sat up on my knees in the dark.
Richard shifted his body until he was lying flat on his back in the center of the bed. He looked up at me, a dark silhouette against the white sheets.
"Straddle my face," he said.
Well, what else could I do?
I scrambled over him, my knees bracketing his head. I hovered there for a second, my heart pounding, before slowly lowering my hips until my soaking wet cunt was hovering an inch above his mouth.
He didn't wait. He grabbed my hips, his thumbs digging into my hip bones, and pulled me down firmly against his face.
His tongue was a weapon.
He bypassed teasing my clit entirely and shoved his tongue straight up into my dripping slit, lapping up the musky wetness pouring out of me. He licked the walls of my pussy with long, aggressive strokes, devouring me.
"Oh god," I moaned, my head falling back, my hands bracing against his muscular chest.
He moved his attention to my clit, sucking the hard, swollen nub into his mouth, flicking it mercilessly with his tongue, forcing my body to respond to him.
My hips ground down against his face. My thighs clamped around his ears as my climax ripped through me. Richard didn't stop. He drank my juices as I came, swallowing my release just as I had swallowed his.
When the spasms finally subsided, he pushed me off him with a firm shove.
I rolled onto my back, panting, completely disoriented in the dark.
Before I could recover, he was over me. He crawled up my body, his heavy weight pressing me into the mattress. His cock, raging hard once again, brushed against my slick thigh.
He grabbed both of my wrists in one hand, pinning them above my head against the pillows. His grip was inescapable. With his free hand, he reached down and spread my legs wide.
"You’re not a cheerleader now, Sloane," Richard whispered, his breath hot against my ear. "You aren't a broke college girl trying to pay rent. You don't have to worry about Tyler, or bookies, or electric bills ever again."
He shifted his weight, lining the thick, blunt head of his cock against my dripping entrance.
"But the price for that," he growled, "is everything else."
He drove himself inside me.
I screamed, a long, high sound that was instantly swallowed by the vastness of the penthouse. He was so big, filling me completely, stretching the bruised walls of my cunt with a brutal, relentless force.
He started to fuck me. It wasn't the detached, transactional pounding of the night before. This was deep, filthy, and intensely passionate. He was claiming territory. He was claiming me.
"Look at me," he said.
I forced my eyes open in the dark, finding the outline of his face above me.
"You’re mine now," he said, slamming into me. "Every inch of this body belongs to me now. Every time you open these beautiful legs, it's for me. Every time you open your perfect mouth, it's for me."
"Yes," I sobbed, my hips bucking upward, desperately trying to take more of him. "I'm yours, Richard. Daddy, I belong to you."
He fucked me like a man possessed. He changed angles, lifting my legs and resting them on his broad shoulders, driving himself incredibly deep, bottoming out every time with a punishing rhythm that sent shockwaves of agony and ecstasy through me.
He talked dirty to me, his voice a constant, degrading commentary in my ear. He called me his whore, his slut, his perfect fucktoy. And with every filthy word, my arousal spiked higher and higher. I was being rebuilt in his image, I knew.
And then, I was crying, sweating, begging him for release.
"Please, Richard," I wailed, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, Daddy, ruin me! Fucking ruin me!"
"I'm going to," he promised. "I'm going to fill you so deep you'll never be clean again."
And then he groaned, his body going rigid above me.
He thrust home once more, bottoming out again, holding himself as deep inside me as physically possible.
And then, he dumped his load deep inside my guts, hot and heavy, flooding me completely. The sensation of his cum filling my aching cunt triggered my own violent orgasm. My pussy clamped down on his thick shaft, milking every last drop of his release out of him.
We came together in a chaotic, primal explosion of fluids, groans, and shrieks.
He collapsed against me, his heavy chest heaving, his heart hammering against mine. I lay trapped beneath him, my body shaking with aftershocks, feeling the thick, warm reality of his cum pooling inside me.