“It’s foreplay for me. All this preparation—cleaning you, dressing you, doing your hair and makeup—makes me think about when I’ll be doing the opposite. Like setting the perfect table, then smashing it all to pieces. Creation and destruction have a nice symmetry, don’t you think?”
“Barbies don’t think,” I remind him.
“You’re right about that. Show me your strut, Barbie.”
I slowly rise onto the thick carpet, a little wobbly in my heels. How women do this every day is a marvel. My gait is clumsy, and it definitely feels like something big has been shoved up my ass. Every once in a while, the plug will rub me just right so that I moan, and every time I do, Cassius smiles. What is Elliot going to make of all this? He’s definitely going to think I’m a freak, but if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…
My thoughts drift until sometime later when I’m sitting at his mother’s vanity and Cassius is fixing my face—long, curled eyelashes, foundation and powder, a thick layer of cherry-red lipstick coating my lips.
“Did you do this for your mother too?” I ask because he’s pretty good at it.
“Whenever she was too hungover to do it herself. If I didn’t, she’d get terribly cross with me.” I giggle at him. “What?” he asks.
“Terribly cross? You’re so fucking posh, Mr. Peacock.”
“Remember that when you have to play Tristan Ramsey. Now, for your costume.” He pulls out a red strapless dress and thong from the tissue paper where it was boxed. I’m useless to dress myself so Cassius guides my legs into the underwear and tugs the scrap of material so that it’s snug between my cheeks. The lace is itchy on my balls, but that sensation soon fades, replaced by other more pleasurable ones. “Suck in,” he says while zipping me into the tight dress, then smooths the material along my sides so that it lays flat. The stretchy fabric hugs me like a tight caress, the way Cassius sometimes grips me to him while we’re fucking. I really want him to top me tonight. I need to come so bad.
“I almost forgot.” He reaches under my dress to stroke my cock. My thighs tremble from the sensation as he slips something up around the base and leaves it there.
“What’s that?” I try to lift the hem of my dress, but Cassius smacks my hand.
“A cock ring. This performance will require some lasting power from you.”
I reach under my dress to grab for it, and Cassius slaps my cheek so hard I see stars. “What did I tell you about touching yourself? You’re going to ruin your makeup.”
“It’s hard to remember all your rules when I’m on drugs.”
“Then I’ll help you.”
When Elliot comes in sometime later, I’m kneeling on Cassius’s mother’s pristine white canopy bed in a tight mini-dress and matching pumps with my wrists tied up in a pretty, red ribbon. Everything matchy-matchy. Elliot’s expression is shocked, which makes me giggle again. He’s such a prude. Cassius smiles at Elliot’s reaction. He must feel the same.
“I gift wrapped him for you.” Cassius hands Elliot something mechanical, an old camera, I think. “I thought this might inspire you. He’ll do anything you tell him, Elliot. Well, anything I tell him on your behalf. Look at me, dumb Barbie slut,” Cassius commands and my eyes dart in his direction, focusing on his stern mouth first, and then his eyes as they slowly travel over me, appraising his work. My body shivers, even as my skin melts under his gaze.
“Let me see your tonsils,” he says so I open my mouth as wide as I can. “Now show us your hole.” I turn awkwardly and kneel on the soft bedding, using my elbows to prop myself up, careful to keep my face off the sheet so my makeup doesn’t smear. Cassius yanks up my dress and smacks my ass, then tugs away the string of my underwear to show Elliot my plugged hole. Elliot is silent while I grunt with a primal kind of desire.
“So very fuckable,” Cassius murmurs, somewhere near my ear now. “So slutty and so helpless. One of these days I’m going to run a train on you, Adam. A long line of Toms, Dicks, and Harries. Hogtie and gag you so you can’t say no.”
The idea of it appeals to me, but I can’t find the right words to express myself.
“Did you drug him?” Elliot asks, outraged.
“I drug him all the time. He begs me for it. I have to keep the pills in a locked cabinet.”
I have terrible willpower. I’m only allowed drugs as a reward for good behavior or if Cassius wants to play a game with me.
They start to bicker, and I lose focus, thinking about the tight piece of elastic between my ass cheeks and how if I move just so, it will snag on the plug. Cassius catches me and smacks my ass so hard that the noise echoes in the quiet room. “You’re wasting my time, Elliot,” Cassius says as he unties my wrists and squeezes my fingers. “You’re wasting Barbie’s time too.”
They stop arguing at last and it turns into something like a photo shoot with Cassius as the artistic director and Elliot the photographer. They tell me to bend over, to kneel, to open my mouth and my legs, to cross and uncross them.
“Give me Marilyn Monroe,” Cassius says, so I bend forward with my hands on my knees like her iconic photograph. “That’s a nice ass.”
“Do I look like her?” I ask.
“More like Madonna during her Blonde Ambition tour,” Elliot says.
“Tits up, Barbie,” Cassius says, so I pop my chest forward and stick out my rump. The dress gets pulled up in the back, then the front, then it’s over my head like a bandage around my arms. And that’s the last I see of it. Cassius tugs on my cock so much that it begins to hurt, but I can’t come because of the rubber ring around it. “He’s well-hung, isn’t he?” Cassius says. “Can’t wait to ride him.”
“You haven’t yet?” Elliot asks, and he sounds curious rather than bitchy.
