She knelt on the cold stone floor of the chamber, naked except for the heavy iron collar locked around her throat and the matching cuffs that pinned her wrists behind her back. He stood over her, fully clothed in black, the only light coming from a single lamp that threw his shadow across her body like a brand. She was his sex slave, bought and broken, and tonight he would use her mouth again.
"Open," he said, his voice low and absolute.
Her lips parted without hesitation. Months of training had stripped away resistance; now the command moved through her like instinct. He unfastened his belt slowly, letting her watch every motion, letting the anticipation coil tight in her belly. When he freed himself, already hard, she leaned forward on her knees until the tip brushed her lower lip. He did not thrust. He simply held still and waited.
She took him into her mouth, tongue flat, lips sealed tight around the shaft. The collar tugged at her neck with every forward motion, a constant reminder of ownership. He gripped the ring at the front of the collar, using it to guide her depth, pulling her deeper until her nose pressed against his abdomen and her throat convulsed around him. She gagged once, twice, but did not pull away. She was not permitted to.
Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. He watched them fall without mercy or tenderness. "Good," he murmured. "Deeper. Show me how empty you are without my cock in your throat."
She obeyed, relaxing her jaw, swallowing around the intrusion. Saliva spilled from the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin onto her breasts. The wet sounds echoed in the stone room. He began to fuck her face in measured strokes, never fast enough to let her catch breath for long, never so slow that she could forget who controlled the rhythm. Each time he withdrew, she chased him with her mouth, desperate to keep him inside, because that was what a good sex slave did.
His free hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back so he could see the strings of spit connecting her swollen lips to his glistening cock. "Look at me," he ordered.
She lifted her gaze. Her eyes were glassy, her expression slack with submission.
He smiled, the cold, satisfied smile of a man who knew he owned every inch of her.
"Again."
She opened wider. He fed himself back into her throat, this time holding her down until her lungs burned and her vision spotted. When he finally released her, she gasped for air, coughing, but immediately leaned in again, tongue licking along the underside, tracing the vein, worshipping the weight and heat of him. She sucked the head with hollowed cheeks, then took him deep once more, bobbing with single-minded focus. Her own arousal dripped down her thighs, but she did not touch herself. Slaves did not come unless permitted, and tonight permission had not been given.
He used the collar like a handle, dragging her forward and back, setting a brutal pace that made her jaw ache and her throat raw. She took it all, the roughness, the control, the degradation. Each thrust reminded her that her mouth existed for this purpose. She was a vessel, a warm, wet hole trained to milk him dry.
When he was close, he pulled out and stroked himself over her face. "Tongue out," he commanded.
She obeyed, presenting the flat of her tongue. He came in thick pulses across it, some landing on her lips, some on her cheeks. She did not swallow until he gave the word.
"Swallow."
She did, eyes never leaving his. Then she leaned forward and cleaned him with soft, careful licks, gathering every drop, showing him the empty mouth when she finished.
He fastened his trousers again and looked down at her ruined face, the collar, the trembling thighs.
"Tomorrow we begin the next stage of your training," he said. "You will learn to beg for it with your eyes alone."
She lowered her forehead to the floor in silent acceptance. She was his sex slave, and her mouth would always be ready.
