I’ve been here for ten weeks. The calendar above my cage marks the days with little hearts. I spent the first week of my time here staring at that calendar, mouth taped shut so no one could hear me scream, waiting for the next time he’d come to use me.
My motions are methodical, careful as I make his food. He trusts me not to run away now, having broken me of that habit with a cane and a shock collar.
He’s trained me to be ready for him, too. I divorce my mind from my body so that obedience becomes desire.
The training is working. I glance at the clock and see he’ll be home soon. My heart is not racing in fear so much as sick anticipation, and my cunt wakens to join the party.
I hate him for the way he’s changing me. Or I think I do at least.
Dinner is nearly ready.
Fried chicken, fluffy potatoes I mashed myself, fresh rolls, green beans I picked from the garden this morning. It’s what he likes and I find making his favorite things puts him in a good mood.
A wet cunt puts him in a good mood as well. I’m required to edge myself throughout the day. Stopping after I clean, between cooking, before I went to the bathroom. I have to fuck myself on the dildo mounted on the floor of the shower. I have to be wet and trembling for him when he comes home.
I have to be the girl he created.
The door opens and he enters, stepping over the threshold into the kitchen. He looks smart with his suit on, the picture of a good business man, but he was vile underneath. His eyes meet mine and I gasp before I drop to the ground, my bare ass facing him so he can see my holes.
“Were you a good girl while I was gone?”
Without warm up, two thick fingers spear my cunt. I bow my back and barely contain my moan.
“Good girl wants to get fucked, doesn’t she?” He finger fucks me hard, but I know not to move. “I’ll have my dinner before you get any cock.”
He removes his fingers and wipes them on my ass before smacking one cheek.
“Serve me, girl.”
I know what he wants. Plenty of chicken, a mound of mashed potatoes, some green beans, and a few biscuits. He also wants me at my place.
While he eats, I position myself under the table, his cock deep in my throat. Loud slurping, my saliva dribbling down his hard shaft to wet his trousers. My throat tight around him so he groans between bites.
I’m so wet. My hands are held behind my back so I can’t touch, but the wetness leaks from my body in strings that connect to the floor.
He enjoys this; his food prepared for him perfectly and his eager hole servicing him. I know the plans he has for me after he’s come down my throat and they make me suck him faster.
There’s a sound above me. He reaches beneath the table to grasp my head and hold me down on his cock. The sound comes again, a groan that morphs into a gurgle. His thighs tense and I feel a jerk as he shoots come into my belly.
He doesn’t release me. Instead I hear the loud thud of something hard hitting the table above. The wet squish and rattle that accompanies it is so satisfying I almost come.
His hand twitches reflexively before it relaxes and I’m free. I sit for a moment, listening to the last whistles of his breathing as he dies.
I’m still his perfect girl he created, my brain rewired for him, but I can’t be his any longer. I can’t be his.
