My spit mixes with his cum as it drips from my chin. I can't swallow with this thing in my mouth, not really, not with the way it pushes on my tongue. I want to beg him to remove it, to take it off. I want to scream and tell him he's a monster, and at the same time, I have to admit that I want him to fuck me. As he pulls on my arm, making me stand, all I can think about is his cock, not in my mouth, but inside me. Though this is all kinds of wrong, I’ve never been so wanton.

My legs collide with the bed as he moves me backward. He doesn't stop until I fall onto my bound hands, onto my back, and onto the mattress. I make the only sounds I can as I come to a stop.

“Spread your legs.”

I can't physically fight him, even if I want to. But my pride won't let me submit. I hold my thighs together, knowing that if I obey, not only am I allowing him to see me, but he'll also see how turned on I am.

Despite this terrible place he brought me and all the things here, all I can focus on is him. My gaze scans him from his long muscular legs up his toned body, his handsome face, all the way to his dark hair. When our eyes meet, I remember what he said, and lower my gaze.

He’s tall, at least ten inches taller than me. He probably outweighs me by nearly a hundred pounds, not of fat but of muscle. He's a brick house, and I'm no opponent. His fingers dig into my thighs as he pries them apart and easily lifts each of my feet to the bed. I turn my eyes away in shame as he continues to spread my knees, exposing my core.

“Holy fuck, kitten, you're soaking wet. Your cum is dripping all the way to your asshole. Damn, you're needy.”

He brushes his finger around my tight muscled ring and I writhe. I can't talk. All I can do is grunt.

“I know your tight hole wants my cock, but, kitten, you're going to need to wait—wait until you beg for it.”

His touch moves upward, his fingers plunging. It’s heaven and hell. With my hands behind my back, my ass is lifted. Though, my mind says to fight, my body wants what only Victor can give me. All I can do is arch my back, praying he'll go deeper, praying he'll pleasure my clit.

“That greedy cunt wants my cock, doesn't it?”

I can’t believe how he’s talking to me. I’ve never heard him speak this way. I shake my head, unwilling to tell him the truth.

Victor grimaces before he says, “Kitten, I warned you. Don't move.”

I shiver at the loss of his touch as he leaves me with the combination of my spit and his essence cooling on my skin. The echoing of his footsteps tells me that he's walking back to where he found this gag. I pray he's not going for the crops—or, God forbid, the canes. I've only read about them, but from what I've read, I don't think I can take a cane.

When Victor returns, he lifts my ass higher and slides something underneath me. It’s as if I’m a baby and it’s a diaper. It takes me a second to realize that it's a chastity belt. He's locking away my core...my clit.

I groan as the padlock clicks.

“Put your feet back on the ground,” he commands. “We're going into the shower and wash that shit from your face.”

When I stand, Victor does something to the gag—touching a side lever that releases the pressure and lets my mouth close. The immediate relief causes me to sigh. Once the gag is fully removed, Victor holds my arm and stares down at me. I try to keep my eyes down until he says, “Look at me, kitten.”

I do, but my gaze is veiled. In the last few hours the man with me has changed. He's so much taller, and his shoulders are broader than I realized. He's more of a man than I ever recognized, powerful and in control. With the scent of his musk covering my skin, combined with his clean masculine cologne, I’m lost in his aroma. It’s more than that. Perhaps it's because I'm naked, and he just fucked my mouth. Maybe it's because he's still mostly dressed, except for his cock, which is again standing to attention. No matter the cause, I'm fascinated by his presence.

He rubs my jaw joint, kisses my forehead, and asks, “What do you say? I just removed the gag.”

“Thank you, Sir.” There it is again, that tone I barely recognize. Even so, I can't believe how freely the words flow.

In the bathroom, he turns on the water and waits as it warms. Out of habit, I try to look in the mirror, but his presence blocks me. I can't see what I look like. I can't see if I've changed. Yet somehow I feel different.

As the water warms, he uncuffs my wrists, allowing my hands to fall to my side. I feel his gaze on my skin—every inch of it—watching my every move. Steam begins to fill the room when Victor speaks, his voice rumbling through me, like thunder through the mist. “Undress me.”

I don't hesitate as I lift his T-shirt over his head. It had been tight enough to showcase that his body is trim and fit, but without it I see the definition in his abs. I resist the urge to touch him and instead, kneel to remove his shoes and socks. Once he's kicked off his jeans, and I'm still on the ground, I look up. “Sir, I can suck you much better without that thing in my mouth.”

With an angry expression, Victor lifts me by the shoulders—as if I weigh nothing—and his tone is harsh. “No topping from the bottom, kitten. I'm in control.”

My insides clench at his words. He's right. I was trying to take charge. “I'm sorry, Sir.”

Not acknowledging my apology, he directs my moves. “In the shower.”

With my head hung in shame, I step behind the curtain. The warm water falls down, flattening my hair and filling the small space with the aroma of wet hairspray. For a moment, I worry about the makeup, the mascara that must be dark streaks, creating rivers running down my cheeks. And then I realize how much I've cried since we left the TV station and the way Victor's seed showered me—my face, my boobs, and my body. More than likely, I already have raccoon eyes and dark streaks down my cheeks.

I exhale as Sir suds a cloth and gently cleans my face. Instructing me to face the wall with my hands upon the tile, slowly, methodically, he washes my hair and body. Up my thighs, cleaning away not only the evidence of his arousal but my own as well. I moan as he washes near the belt.

“It's your punishment for lying,” he says.

I lower my chin. “I'm sorry.”

“Tell me what you lied about.”

“About wanting your cock.” Tears again prickle my eyes. “It's just wrong. I shouldn't want it, not like this.”

He brushes his finger along the edge of the belt, close, but unable to reach where I need him. I writhe, wanting him closer, needing him inside me.

“Does it feel wrong?”

His hands move to my breasts, cupping, kneading, and pinching. I push backward, searching for his hard dick, wanting it against me, wanting to feel it. It can’t be inside me with the belt, but I can relish its hardness against my lower back as it pushes and probes.

My head moves backward with the tug of my wet hair. “Does it?”

“No, Sir. It doesn't feel wrong.”

“I told you that I'd punish you for lying. Did you lie about your pussy wanting my cock?”

Again with the vulgar words. I swallow. “Yes, Sir. I did. I admitted I did.”

“Then tell me how I'm punishing you, what I'm doing to you.”

“Now,” I answer, “you're not letting me have it, nor are you touching me where I need you to.”

“Do you want me to touch you?”

My mind surrenders as my body electrifies. The droplets of water falling upon my skin are needles prickling my flesh. My Sir's voice is thunder. His hands are salvation. Only through him can I find relief. “Yes,” I admit.

He spins me around and lifts my chin. His eyes are black, his pupils dilated, only small brown circles like outlines. “Yes...?”

“Yes, Sir. I want you to touch me.”

“So you lied.”

“I'm ashamed.”

“We have all weekend, kitten. Here's your choice: either you keep the chastity belt on until tomorrow morning or you choose to take another form of punishment, and when I'm done with that, I'll fuck your needy cunt. The choice is yours.”