what do you think? has she earned an orgasm?
she did a very good job, Sir. but did anyone cum?
I came. but she didn’t make you cum.
still, she did so good. maybe she should be able to this time.
doll keeps her eyes down. it has been ten days. not that long anymore. but she has counted each one. days of messages, rituals, tasks and preparations. she pushes her head into the mattress and grips onto His thigh.
sometimes, the manipulation is subtle. like that time on the bus, stood next to His seat, waiting for permission which never came. hands still, mouth a little open. body embarrassed and wanting. His eyes on her making it worse. inspecting, observing, and undressing. the other eyes around her, she daren’t look to find.
she had followed what had been asked. it led her here, doused in oil, stood with a match, watching it burn down to her fingertips.
it’s harder still when the toying is obvious, when she crawls into the trap willingly, shrinking herself without Him having to trick.
let’s flip a coin.
she has never coped with uncertainty, like those early weeks of not knowing what she would be to Him. it is simpler to know and not question.
she feels the cheap electric fan blowing cold air onto her exposed back. listening to the steady hum, she imagines it could ring on forever – just here in the cramped dormroom, the three of us squished against the bed, not needing anything else. His slave could make breakfast in the morning. doll could make His coffee.
it is nearly time to leave. it will be another night on public transport, moving away from them. no matter how the coin falls, she braces for a comedown. doll holds herself in place, desperately wanting to wrap herself around Him, or to lie on His lap while He speaks soft and slow.
what’s her call?
heads, she answers, hugging into herself.
ach, hard luck doll.
maybe W/we should give her another chance to prove herself?
hmm. how would she do that? okay, let’s give her five more minutes. if she makes you cum, she can have another flip.
naked, she crawls into the trap.
an hour before, W/we had been talking and cuddling after dinner. His slave was trying on a new dress He bought for her, and making sure her new cuffs worked with her socks. she looked beautiful, stood there fidgeting with the fabric.
then, maybe you should both strip naked now. so casually said.
silently, we stripped. doll could feel the rising warmth, watching Him watch us.
I’d like to make use of her before she has to leave. is that okay? said so gently, but not said to doll. more warmth, as she dropped to the floor. He removed His belt without looking at her directly.
it’s hard for her to remember much between being used and the call of one minute left. just a hazy blur of eagerness and puddles of drool. and after the coin toss, panting and licking and sad, desparate moans.
that’s time up.
there’s a lump in her throat she can’t shake.
but she did do very well. should W/we give her a chance anyway?
she did do well. call it again, doll.
the words barely audible now.
what was that?
heads, she repeats.
He flips again, and holds His closed hand in front of her. she’s hit with a rush of euphoria seeing His open palm holding the answer. sitting in that feeling, her giddiness sours into a wave of embarrassment realising how reduced they have made her.
and then, His hand comes back into view, readying to wring an orgasm out of her head.
five.
first slowing her down, the word drawn out and deliberate, five fingers waving in front of her.
four.
the moment extended. being with Him. being with His slave. being so happy.
three.
the need building, contorted moans spilling out. bouncing knees and writhing hips.
two.
a thumb placed in her mouth to stifle the thank yous and warbled, wordless begging.
one.
so close, so good.
zero.
His closed fist, wrapped around nothing, and wrapped around her. watching all the muscles in His fingers tighten and shake like hands clasped around her throat.
held in place until it becomes painful.
release.
vision and thoughts rushing back as she clings onto His leg.
back to the hum of the fan, the air in the room, the smell of tea and sweat and sex. sighs. smiles. soft hands.
it is twelve minutes until her train. wiping away tears and spit, she takes more deliberate breaths until she is ready to look up at Him again. she finds her scattered clothes, and reassembles herself into a human shape.
I may have manipulated the coin flips a little there, He says, pacing the room to find His jacket, ready to make His own journey home.
somehow, she is comforted.