As I step into the bathroom, he closes the door behind me.
Andre didn’t tell me to clean up and I don’t really want to. I like that I’m dirty. It feels right. But I do brush my teeth, wash my face, and comb myhair because I want to be pretty too.
And I am, I realize as I strap the collar around my neck and look at myself in the mirror. I feel like I see myself for the first time, like I’m finally fully visible. I’m beautiful with this black leather strap at my throat.
My cock stiffens fully again. I like this reality.
I even like the scratches marring my skin. I don’t know why. I just do.
I leave the bathroom and find Andre waiting for me in the middle of the office. He’s removed his jacket, exposing his white shirt sleeves with their cufflinks, his black vest and silver watchchain, and the hard ridge of his cock pressing against the front of his pants.
As I walk across the office to him, I catch my own movement in the wall of mirrors. I see our contrast: Andre in his beautiful clothes, his powerful body still, his arousal mostly hidden—and me, naked and collared, scratched all over, my hard cock bobbing freely as I walk.
I am, however, a little cautious. I haven’t forgotten how he reacted when I grabbed at him in the cell. This time, I show him that I’ll behave. He collared and claimed me. I don’t have to be as desperate now. I kneel at his feet. I look up at him.
He’s angry in spite of my submission. His blue eyes burn on me with a deep, simmering rage. I know he’s angry with me. I vaguely know why, but I’m not really thinking about it. I don’t want to. I don’t care right now.
Andre opens his pants and lets his stiff, engorged cock spring out. Veins thread heavily along his shaft to the fat, flared tip.
A shudder of pleasure goes through me. My mouth waters. My own stiff dick twitches. I’ve imagined his cock so many times, have felt it inside me—but I’ve never gotten to look at it before. I’ve never gotten to touch it.
Andre hooks his finger in my collar and pulls me forward. My lips part, and his hot, hard cock slides into my mouth. My eyelashes flutter at the slow filthiness of it as I take him to the back of my throat. I start to suck. A breath hisses into him. I glance up to see that his teeth are bared. His finger is still hooked in my collar.
He’s so scary. I love it. I lovehim. I meant it when I said that. I love him.
I reach up to grip the part of his cock that doesn’t fit in my mouth. He growls at me, but I keep going. I’m not afraid to make him angry. I’m only afraid to make him go cold.
“No,” he says through clenched teeth.
It’s not a safe word, so I ignore it. He doesn’t really have a safe word, I guess. He just has power. He can use it if he wants. Until then …
I stroke and squeeze his cock as I suck him. My other hand goes to his swollen balls. He growls at me again, but I roll and massage them anyway.
It’s strange for me to be so assertive, but it feels entirely natural in this context. Whatever he allows me, I can do. I don’t have to set boundaries for myself.
I’m so free.
He’s leaking in my mouth, twitching and pulsing. But he’s not thrusting into me, not moving at all.
My own cock is leaking and twitching too. I can feel it. I can see it when I glance sideways at the mirrored wall.
When I tug his balls, he lets out a rough groan and starts fucking my mouth, finally giving me what I’m asking for. I choke and gag. Tears leak from my eyes. He pulls harder at my collar and starts forcing his way deeper.
Fear flashes through me, lighting me up. I push back at him even as I tug harder at his balls. He starts to groan harshly, fucking my mouth until I lose awareness of everything except his cock and his dark, looming presence.
His balls draw up and tighten in my hand, then his cock kicks at the back of my throat. I choke on his cum as it pumps into me. I start to thrash. I can’t breathe. I can’t swallow.
Andre pulls free, releasing me. I pitch forward between his feet, catching myself on my hands, coughing as cum drips from my mouth to the hardwood floor.
Andre walks away. When I start to push myself up, he orders, “Stay like that.”
I settle back into my position on all fours, but I raise my head, blinking tears from my eyes until my vision clears. Andre is standing behind his desk, opening a drawer. He’s already zippedhis pants and looks polished and put together, like he didn’t just come down my throat.
He pulls out a black box and lifts its lid. From inside it, he draws out a bottle of lube and a purple silicone rod of anal beads with a flat base. He walks back to me. He kneels behind me. I turn my head to watch in the mirror.
He’s calmer now, which means he’ll be less forceful but maybe more cruel. He pumps lube onto his fingers. I can see him in the mirror, so I know he’s about to touch me, but I still jump when his fingers press against my hole. I relax as he massages me. I moan when he pushes into me. My stiff, aching cock twitches up and hits my belly.
I keep watching in the mirror. The scene is filthy. I’m naked and collared. Precum is threading down from my hard cock to the floor. Andre, fully clothed, is silent and businesslike behind me. He withdraws his fingers and pumps more lube, using it to slick the toy, which he then starts pushing into me. I whine as each new bead pops into me, pushing deeper, opening me wider. I’m gasping and quivering by the end. I’m hoping to feel the toy slide in and out, but I’m not really surprised when Andre stands up and simply leaves it there.
