Tears of Tess

When I didn’t move, Q pushed his boxer briefs down, pulling his raging hard c**k from its prison. The tip glistened with pr**cum, his scent of musk and darkness spelled around me.

Fisting his thick length, he bit his lip, stroking. My stomach clenched; I closed my eyes. “Please—” I shook my head. “I can’t.”

He inched closer, practically pressing his c**k against my lips. “You can. And you will, esclave.”

I tilted my head away, hyperaware of the dampness of pr**cum as he ran his hot erection along my cheek. His hand lashed out, fingers bruising my chin, keeping me in place. “Open. And if you bite, I’ll hit you so hard, you won’t wake up for days.” His voice rasped with excitement, but there was something else, too. Something I recognised, but couldn’t place. Heat blazed all emotions to dust.

My body twitched as tears flowed. I needed help. I needed saving. Everything I felt suddenly boiled over, steaming with no outlet…then something happened.

Everything… stopped.

My mind shut down, body turned numb. Everything I battled… disappeared. I was left an empty shell—uncaring, blissfully vacant.

Calm descended as I accepted obedience like a balm against the hardship of fighting. In that moment, I became what he wanted: his.

Q didn’t seem to notice the epiphany I experienced, and when he tilted my head to take his cock, I let him.

He pressed the back of my head, entering my mouth with his long, velvety length. He moaned as I deep throated with no revolt at all.

I let him.

He groaned, flexing h*ps as my lips created a suction around hot flesh. He muttered something in French, bending forward, almost brushing my hair with his chest.

I let him.

In my untouchable cocoon, I would let him to anything.

He was male. I was female. That was all there was to it.

My hands moved on their own accord, reaching for him. One hand cupped tight, smooth balls, while the other stroked his throbbing length.

I floated on a cloud of indifference as I pleasured, touched, tasted. Nothing registered—neither scent, nor taste, nor sound. I was a robot, a perfect toy—my only purpose: to make him come.

Why did I ever fight? This was so much easier. Almost drug like. Dreamlike. I wanted to laugh. Freedom. I’d found it, in my mind.

Q stopped thrusting into my mouth; harsh fingers angled my throat to look up. I didn’t stop stroking, even as pale eyes delved into mine.

I blinked, not caring. If he wanted to rape me, so be it. If I was to be his for eternity, fine. He might own my body. He would never own my soul.

“What is your f**king name?” he muttered, French accent warbling the curse. He should swear in French. It sounded better.

I never dropped eye contact, still stroking, still working like a good wind-up toy.

He growled, knocking my hands off his cock. They landed limply in my lap.

Q stood, swaying slightly with his erection standing proud beneath the shirt, trousers puddled around ankles like shackles. My skin prickled with the force of his stare, but apart from that, nothing moved me. I didn’t care what he wanted. My name? I didn’t know my name.

Oh, I had to answer. He asked a question. I had to obey. “Esclave. My name is Esclave.”

He hissed between clenched teeth as I reached for his c**k again, dragging a fingernail up the length, pressing hard against the slit at the top.

Q’s fingers threaded through my hair, grabbing a handful. He yanked my head back, lowering his face to mine; we breathed each other’s breath.

I sat there, unmoving. I sighed, relief coursing through my heart. I no longer cared. I convinced my mind to leave, and it had. Everything that happened now didn’t matter. It wouldn’t stain my life, as it had been put on hold.

His gaze swelled with urgency, commandments. Then softened, churning into unhappiness, grief. Before I could figure out the puzzle, blankness came over his features and he kissed me.

His tongue plundered, and I opened wider, inviting him to take. I even licked him back, massaging his taste with my own. He groaned. It sounded tortured, as if he wanted to kiss but didn’t, like he fought against morals, choices.

My heart stayed an even rhythm, never rising, even as his hand dropped to my breast and twisted a nipple. Like the obedient slave he wanted, I opened like a sun-warmed flower, pressing flesh into his palm, arching my back.

He stumbled backward, as if I’d bit him, tripping over trousers. With angry jerks, he hoisted up his pants, wincing as he tucked his erection away.

I cocked my head, wondering, but not caring, why he pulled away. I’d done everything right. “Did I not please you?” My voice was odd—dead, lifeless, robotic.

Q froze, running hands over short hair. His darker skin whitened with what looked like fear. “What are you?” he demanded.

I didn’t hesitate. I knew the answer. It was easy. “Yours.”

He sucked in a breath, eyes flaring wide. He paced in front, never taking his gaze off mine. “You said you wouldn’t let me! You seemed so strong, unbreakable. You lied to me.” He bristled with anger. “I haven’t even f**ked you, yet you’re broken.” Guilt etched his livid tone.

I stayed unruffled, unworried. He raged because he broke me? Wasn’t that his goal? He should be pleased it took such little time. I thought I could last longer, but my mind no longer wished to fight. I refused to scream and cry when I found solitude and calm. Could he only get off on the sounds of distress?

I had no answer so I dropped my eyes, staring at my bound hands, waiting.

He stalked forward, undoing the tie around my wrists in angry movements. “You lied and I don’t like liars.”

I shrugged. What was there to say? He owned me—he could call me what he wished. “I’m yours. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He shook his head, temper flaring. “You’ve given up. You aren’t mine unless I make you mine!”

My mind hurt. I couldn’t unravel that. I was his. Undeniably. He knew that. My body screamed it loud enough.

“Take off your sweater.” His eyes dropped to the weight of my br**sts under the jumper. Rather than excitement, fear, anticipation, I felt nothing—heavenly nothing. He towered above like the God of sex, his erection straining against his trousers, calling to me.

I grabbed the hem and tugged the sweater over my head in one swoop. I stood and reached for his waist. His skin burned as I touched his hipbone.