She couldn’t see a clock. Had no idea how much time was left, but it felt like she’d kneeled in hell fordays.
He came to her, to tell her time was up. Helped her stand, made sure she had her balance.
But that was it. There’s no aftercare for punishments.
“Clean it up,” he said. “Every motherfucking grain.”
And that was another ordeal. She pulled rice from her skin and put every little evil bastard into the bag, then cleared floor space and went back to her bruised, aching knees. The grains scattered more when she tried to gather them. She’d gone beyond sobbing, just salty tears sliding quietly down her cheeks while she hunted rice and returned it to the bag.
When she could find no more, she sealed the bag and placed it where he’d instructed, beside the glass cleaner in his cabinet. And then she just stared at it, knowing it’d be there next time. And the time after that.
She used the glass cleaner on his desk and saw the rice again when she put the bottle away.
Before walking out the door, she checked the mirror to fix her makeup. No teary eyes while walking through the building.
And went straight to his home office when she arrived. He wanted her in there to write her lines. At the conference table.
Fucktoys must pay attention to the needs of the men who own her.
One hundred and fifty lines took two hours and ten minutes. Yeah, she timed it.
Her right hand was still cramping when Silas came home and told her to bend over the kitchen table.
No words of greeting. No pretense of affection. He just pointed to the table he wanted her over and ordered, “Dress up, legs spread, bend and grab your elbows.”
She did. Face flushed, legs trembling.
He unzipped, sprayed olive oil into his hand, rubbed it lazily over his cock, and then yanked the plug from her sore asshole.
“Poor little needy cunt.” His voice was mockery, not sympathy.
And then the sadist forced his slick cock into her dry, tight hole — too fast, too deep, no prep, no mercy.
She gasped, eyes wide, fingernails biting into her elbows as her ass stretched around him like it didn’t remember how to take him.
Pain flared sharp and immediate, her body clenching hard around the intrusion. She couldn’t stop the whimper that slipped free because itburned.
Silas pulled her a few inches away from the table, one arm around her waist while his other hand reached between her legs. Slick fingers found her clit, already swollen from denial, and rubbed with cruel precision — not to bring her pleasure, but to make herneedit.
“You don’t come,” he said, voice firm. “Not one fucking twitch.”
She whimpered with need, but she knew better than to beg for an orgasm after being told it wasn’t happening. She bit the inside of her cheek to ground herself. Focused on the pain instead of the maddening need, the pressure building in her cunt while her ass throbbed around every thrust.
When he came, he shoved deep and stayed there, pinning her with the weight of his cock as he emptied into her.
Then he pulled out and popped her ass with the wooden spoon — hard, fast, a dozen strikes that left her breathless and blinking back tears.
The plug went back in with no warning. No gentleness. Her muscles clenched around the invading shape, sore and aching.
She breathed through it. Grounded herself in the ritual of it.
And then dinner still needed to be made.
She turned back to the stove, ass still full and burning, the heat a steady reminder with every step. She reached for theboiling potatoes, but Silas stepped in and took over, ordering her around with quiet authority, treating her like his personal kitchen pet, keeping her close, kissing her forehead, her nose.
“Peel and crush some garlic for me,” and then, “Grab the cream and butter, get started mashing the potatoes.”
She obeyed without thinking, letting herself melt into the rhythm of it. Stir this, taste that, mash a little more, fetch the garlic. His voice was gruff but steady, full of comfort hidden under command.
