He adjusted — spread his legs wider, tilted himself up, exposing himself like it was nothing.
“If I have to tell you again there will be a clamp on your clit while you do this, you worthless cunt.”
Her mouth went dry, but her body moved. Because ithadto. Because he owned her. He could hurt her, sure, but this was about ownership. About orders. About obeying.
She dipped down, brought her mouth close enough to drag her tongue between his cheeks, breath hitching at the sharp scent of clean skin, musk, and the humiliating knowledge of what she was doing.
The raw truth of her tongue licking her owner’s ass for no other reason than she’d given herself to him and he’d ordered her to.
Every reason in her world, at the moment.
He let her work there, silently, for minutes. Her mind fractured under the weight of it — shame curling through her gut, heat blooming low.
“Inside,” he said, voice dead cold.
She worked her psyche up for it, the moment her heat would enter him, and he snarled, “Lazy-assed cunt! Don’t just lick around it. Stick your tongue in. Come on — deeper, you worthless fuckhole!”
Tears welled, but she obeyed. Trembling. Mortified. Her tongue pushed in, violating him while knowing the real violation was of herself. Her pride. Her sense of self. Herpersonhood.
This wasn’t about giving pleasure.
It was about proving she’d crawl into filth on command. That shewouldn’t stop herself.
“I can scent how wet you are,” he said, disgust curling through every syllable. “You get off on this, don’t you? Filthy little maggot, tongue-fucking her owner’s ass like the drooling fuckhole you are, crawling back to the filth where you belong. Stop trying to pretend you fucking hate it, and you aren’t just three holes with a pulse.”
She whimpered. Her face burned. Her thighs trembled.
Shedidhate it.
And still, her cunt clenched around emptiness, needy and aching. The shame tore through her like broken glass, but herclit throbbed in time to his words echoing in her brain,crawling back to the filth, three holes with a pulse.
“Get your motherfucking tongue deeper in my ass. Grind it. Don’t be such a miserable failure. Have some fucking pride in your work, fuckhole.”
Her tongue ached. Her jaw trembled. But she pushed deeper, flattened it, worked harder.
Because that’s what he wanted, and becausethiswas the mud, and she craved it.
She didn’t know how long he made her stay there — licking, tonguing, trembling on her knees — but when he finally said, “Stop,” her body sagged with relief.
He sat up, grabbed her under the arms like she weighed nothing, and lifted her to standing beside the bed.
“Walk.”
She followed on trembling legs, heart thudding like it wanted to escape her chest. Silas didn’t look back, just walked with the quiet command of someone who owned the air.
When she paused on the medallion, he grunted, “Enter,” without turning around. She followed him to the bondage table, where the fucking machine was already set up.
A wide, blunt dildo gleamed at the end, thick and impersonal and terrifying.
“If you want it lubed, you should do that.”
She scrambled for the bottle, hands shaking, terrified he’d change his mind. He hadn’t praised her for tonguing his asshole, hadn’t even acknowledged it, and her stomach still twisted from the sheer degradation of it. She hadn’t done it well enough. She hadn’t pleased him.
Now she had one more chance to prove she wasn’t a useless waste of holes.
The dildo dripped with lube by the time she finished, and minutes later she was fastened to the table on all fours.
The machine clicked on, and the dildo surged into her cunt.
