Keeper [4/4]
anonymous
April 12 2009, 02:04:29 UTC
She was not done with him, though; she’d not yet had her fill. She removed the milking machine and the gag from him, but left him plugged up for now. She separated his wrists from his ankles, though the limbs remained bound to each other, and by the hair she pulled him up onto his knees. “I’ll take it out of you,” she told him, “if you’ll lick me off.”
Looks of disgust, terror, and betrayal all crossed his face, but quickly they all faded into resigned acceptance. He bowed his head, briefly, and when Elizaveta pulled up her skirts and stood spread-legged for him, he dutifully went to work.
Already damp from the show and her own touching, Gilbert’s tongue introduced a fascinating new wetness. The tip of it dipped briefly into her, ran up between her labia and met the clit. The best part was that, hidden under her skirts, Elizaveta could not see his face nor hear anything but his lapping; he really was just a toy for her now.
Along with his tongue, Gilbert now introduced his lips, kissed and suckled at her. With the warmth of pleasure blooming between her legs, Elizaveta flexed her thighs and placed her hands behind Gilbert’s head, holding him close to her. He responded with one, hard lick from vagina to clitoris. She moaned and came, her legs tightening and fingers digging deep into his hair.
Satisfied and panting, she stepped back and went to retrieve her panties. Gilbert said nothing to her, and for this she was grateful. Grateful until she turned back around and saw him. He was doubled over where she left him, his bound hands clinging to each other, sobbing. He did not argue or shout, he had no smartass remarks, no insults, not a word for her. He only wept, and his tears ran freely down his face and dotted the floor.
Elizaveta gaped at him. Had she really broken him so completely already? The sound of his crying made her sick to her stomach. She always hated hearing the sound of a loved one crying. Loved one. Friend.
No, no. She did not love him. He was just her slave, a thing she kept to use as she pleased, and she was glad he was broken. The sooner she broke him in, the easier it would be to get him to please her. For so long as she was trapped in this hellhole, far from her beloved, she would need something to fill the void.
“Stop it,” she ordered him. “Stop crying.”
He did nothing to comply. Only bowed his head down further, sniveling, and cupped his hands to his face.
“I said stop crying!” she shouted and, sick of the sound of him, grabbed his hair and kneed him in the face.
He cried out once at the blow, then hit the floor and did the best to choke off his sobbing and be done.
When he finally quieted up like a good and obedient slave, she finally pulled the vibrator out of him and stowed it away. Before leaving, she paused to softly stroke his silver hair and wipe away the wetness from around his eyes. Even a slave deserved a little affection.
It should be time for bed now. Tomorrow would be another hard day of toil. She retreated from the cellar, made sure to lock the door up on her way out. Tomorrow, when she returned from the field, sore and weary, she could look forward to passing her weariness off on someone else. He wasn’t going anywhere. In a world where nothing was truly hers, she’d finally found something to keep.
Looks of disgust, terror, and betrayal all crossed his face, but quickly they all faded into resigned acceptance. He bowed his head, briefly, and when Elizaveta pulled up her skirts and stood spread-legged for him, he dutifully went to work.
Already damp from the show and her own touching, Gilbert’s tongue introduced a fascinating new wetness. The tip of it dipped briefly into her, ran up between her labia and met the clit. The best part was that, hidden under her skirts, Elizaveta could not see his face nor hear anything but his lapping; he really was just a toy for her now.
Along with his tongue, Gilbert now introduced his lips, kissed and suckled at her. With the warmth of pleasure blooming between her legs, Elizaveta flexed her thighs and placed her hands behind Gilbert’s head, holding him close to her. He responded with one, hard lick from vagina to clitoris. She moaned and came, her legs tightening and fingers digging deep into his hair.
Satisfied and panting, she stepped back and went to retrieve her panties. Gilbert said nothing to her, and for this she was grateful. Grateful until she turned back around and saw him. He was doubled over where she left him, his bound hands clinging to each other, sobbing. He did not argue or shout, he had no smartass remarks, no insults, not a word for her. He only wept, and his tears ran freely down his face and dotted the floor.
Elizaveta gaped at him. Had she really broken him so completely already? The sound of his crying made her sick to her stomach. She always hated hearing the sound of a loved one crying. Loved one. Friend.
No, no. She did not love him. He was just her slave, a thing she kept to use as she pleased, and she was glad he was broken. The sooner she broke him in, the easier it would be to get him to please her. For so long as she was trapped in this hellhole, far from her beloved, she would need something to fill the void.
“Stop it,” she ordered him. “Stop crying.”
He did nothing to comply. Only bowed his head down further, sniveling, and cupped his hands to his face.
“I said stop crying!” she shouted and, sick of the sound of him, grabbed his hair and kneed him in the face.
He cried out once at the blow, then hit the floor and did the best to choke off his sobbing and be done.
When he finally quieted up like a good and obedient slave, she finally pulled the vibrator out of him and stowed it away. Before leaving, she paused to softly stroke his silver hair and wipe away the wetness from around his eyes. Even a slave deserved a little affection.
It should be time for bed now. Tomorrow would be another hard day of toil. She retreated from the cellar, made sure to lock the door up on her way out. Tomorrow, when she returned from the field, sore and weary, she could look forward to passing her weariness off on someone else. He wasn’t going anywhere. In a world where nothing was truly hers, she’d finally found something to keep.
Reply
So, I apparently have a giant kink for Prussia bottoming hard.
Reply
I didn't think she could hurt him like this and still be psychologically stable--so she HAD to be detached.
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment