She lays back in the tub when I ask without protest.

And finally, the beauty is broken.

It took longer than I anticipated. She is stubborn. Strong.

Even now, when she looks up at me with misty eyes, it pains her to give in. To break down and need these things from me.

The monster.

The beast.

Her captor.

If I had any sympathy for the sweet girl, I would tell her she has no reason to be ashamed. It is a systematic destruction of the human psyche that anyone will succumb to, given the right amount of time and circumstances.

But I am not sympathetic to her plight, even as I wash her and she responds to my touch like a well-broken pet.

She is beautiful. Lovely. Even as messy and shattered and filthy as she is right now. But I won’t allow that to make me forget. She will pay. She has to.

It is the only way.

And so I wash her, but I do not comfort her anymore. Comforts must be earned. And right now, she still has much work to do.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she whispers so meekly as I wash her hair.

“To see if you are stronger than their words,” I tell her.

This is not the thing I should have said. But it is exactly the reason I chose the method that I did. And I must remember not to be so honest with her. Because now she looks at me differently.

She looks at me like I might care. Which I don’t. And she must never think otherwise.

“Bella,” I reply. “Do you remember what I said earlier about having a use for your mouth?”

She doesn’t answer me, so I tug on the wet strands of her hair until she squeezes her eyes shut.

I do not like her this way. Acting so delicate. Her nipples are hard, and I am certain if I were to thrust my fingers between her legs, she would be wet for me.

Little liar.

“Perhaps I was wrong,” I say. “Perhaps you need to spend some more time in your piano room.”

“No!” she cries and curls into herself. “Please, Javi. I will do anything. Anything! Just don’t send me back in there.”

Tears streak down her face, and they make me hard.

“You will do anything, you say?”

Her shoulders fall in defeat, and she nods. Her answer is quiet. Sullen.

“Yes. Anything.”

I want to play with her. I want to torture her some more.

“So, you will fuck me?”

She blinks up at me, and my words do not shock her as much as I had hoped.

My broken toy simply nods and gives me another meek yes from her dry lips. The angelic virgin, so easily offering up her virtue to a monster. She is ruining my fun, and she should not be so agreeable.

My methods have been too effective, it seems. Or perhaps I am just being too picky with her. This woman confuses me. And I need to stop thinking so much.

I squeeze her throat, and her eyes grow large as I remove the ball gag from my pocket and secure it around her mouth once more.

“Until I have a use for it.” I rub my fingers over her bottom lip.

She does not cry again. Even as I dry her and touch her with my bare hands. She does not try to move away, or even tremble beneath my touch.

My cock is still hard, but now I am angry too.

When she is dry, I drag her along to the kitchen where my dinner waits in the oven.

“Get on your knees,” I direct her.

She does as I ask without protest, the threat of the piano room still looming fresh in her mind when I remove the hot plate from the warming rack.

“Are you hungry, Bella?”

Her mouth waters and she does not need to answer verbally because the evidence is dripping down her chin.

She nods.

“If you want to eat, you need to earn it. Do you understand?”

There is the slightest flash of indignance in her eyes, which she snuffs out with a nod.

“Good girl,” I answer, soothing her with false security.

My dick wants a reaction from her, and I am determined to get it.

“Now get down on your hands and knees.”

She does as I ask, her eyes focused on the tile floor while she waits for her next instruction. I kneel down beside her, hot plate in my hand, searing my own skin. There is pleasure in the pain while I watch her this way.

So submissive. So broken. So degraded.

Her father would be so ashamed. Appalled. He will cry when he learns of the things I have done to his precious daughter.

“If you spill this, beauty, you go back to the piano room for two weeks. Do you understand?”

Again, her eyes shoot up to mine, terrified. Resistant. And determined. She really will do anything not to be alone. How confused she must be, to crave my company so.

I do not give her further warning. Instead, I set the hot plate onto the center of her back. And apart from a strangled noise in her throat, she does not move. Her body is rigid, her jaw taut. She is trying desperately to transcend the frayed nerves beneath her sensitive flesh.

I walk to the dining room table and sit down, gesturing for her.

“Come to me now, sweet Bella.”

She crawls towards me. Slowly and carefully. Her pale blue eyes staring up at me like a beacon in the night. And she really is stronger than anyone gives her credit for. Because she does not spill. She does not cry. She does not move, even after I’ve retrieved the plate from her back.

I spoon some of the pasta and chew while she watches. Her mouth is still watering.

Hungry.

Starving.

And I told her I would reward her.

“Are you hungry?” I ask again.

She nods eagerly.

“Then do I have a use for your mouth?” I tap the ball gag.

It takes her a moment to understand what I want. Her face falls, but still, she nods. What a pliable little fuck toy she will be. I remove the gag and watch her as I continue to eat.

She is confused. Unsure. Awaiting more of my instructions. But she needs to know that it won’t always be so clear.

“I thought I had a use for your mouth, beauty. Why are you just sitting there?”

She crawls beneath the table without further insistence and positions herself between my legs. My cock is so hard I will probably blow my load in the first five minutes. How long I have waited to have this from her. How much I have anticipated it.

She unzips my jeans with a trembling hand and reaches inside to retrieve my cock. I hear a small gasp from beneath the table when she sees it, and I smirk between mouthfuls of food.

It takes her a few moments to figure out where to put her hands, and I don’t help her.

I try to keep my distance. I try to focus on eating instead of her. I want to look. To watch. And this is how I know I can’t.

I shouldn’t want these things with her. She is nothing more than a toy to be used. A doll to play with. I must remember this. Even when she takes her first lick, and my balls squeeze and contract with the need to fuck her throat raw.

It is too soft. Too hesitant. This isn’t the way I like it. I let her get a feel for it before I start telling her so.

“Do better,” I demand.

Her nails dig into the material of my jeans, and she draws me deeper. But still too shallow.

“I thought I had a use for your mouth, beauty. Do I need to go elsewhere and send you back to your room?”

She makes another sound and drinks me all the way in this time. It feels like heaven. And now, now she is doing what I like. My dick lurches inside of her mouth, and I catch myself looking down at her when I shouldn’t be. Admiring the way her lashes look against her pale skin, and the way her silky black hair falls over her shoulders and tickles my balls. I imagine what it will feel like to have her lips on mine, hungry for me. And then heat flushes through my body.

These are not things I am supposed to think of. Confusion causes me to reach down and shove her face all the way onto my dick, choking her.

She coughs and sputters around me, drooling as I grip her hair and fuck her face like the toy she needs to be. I call her a filthy whore, and she does not flinch. She does not recoil or slow down but instead pulls me deeper.

It must be my imagination.

I tell her she needs to do better. That her only purpose now is to serve me and please me. I demand that she learn how to suck my cock and take me whenever I choose. I ask her if she can do these things, and she tries to nod. Then she murmurs yes around me, her voice vibrating against my dick. It sends me spinning out of control, and I pull away from the warmth of her mouth at the last moment to teach her one more lesson as I spill my come over her face and her lips.

I milk every last drop from my dick before I squeeze it back between her lips and tell her to clean me off.

She licks me clean.

Softly.

Gently.

Sweetly.

All while my come drips down her chin and her throat. When she is finished, she tries to wipe it away with her hand, and I stop her.

“No.”

She looks up at me, used and filthy and mine.

“Let it dry.”

The contempt flashes in her eyes again, but she only nods. And then a quiet question, spoken politely, the way a good girl should.

“May I have some food now?”

“When I have finished my dinner.”

She nods and remains on the floor between my legs while I eat the rest of my meal. And when I am done, I keep my word to her.

This time.

I allow her to make herself a tin of soup from the cupboard. She does not protest, and she eats too quickly, burning her tongue in the process.

I watch her eat like a wild animal, my dried come still on her face. Her body naked and available to me for whatever I may wish. And I feel the undesirable urge to hold her. To kiss her. To reward her in another way and tell her how good she is.

But I do not.

Instead, I wait until she is finished. And then I lead her back to the conservatory. Binding her to the bed for the rest of the night.