screamed 'sinner' more than a fresh tattoo ever could. My lips were spread, ready to take in oxygen or a nice, thick cock. Through the dress, my nipples threatened to cut their way out. It was the way I was rubbing my ass, grinding my hips, that was worst of all.
Brushing my blonde hair from my neck, Leonide spread his hand over my pale skin. His voice was a living cinder. "Lovely Celeste, a pretty little slut. Correct?"
Swallowing, I saw his hand—felt his hand—as it rested where it could kill me. A simple motion, he'd snap my spinal cord or strangle me just as quick. In that room of pale lights, my words were a frail butterfly wing.
"Yes, sir."
- Chapter Four -
Celeste
––––––––
T ime was funny. It was like oil on water; if you reached into the pot you'd never be able to grab the slippery bits from the rest.
Either way, whether I could make sense of it or not, it was always the same. Leonide took me from my room, made me serve him his meals every time—all but dinner. I never saw him at dinner. A woman who wouldn't look me in the eye would bring a plate to my room each evening.
The rest of the days were spent being his doll.
It was the worst of the 'training' as he called it. I felt so degraded, dressing as he decided, prancing for him while he judged my walk. He'd tell me to swing my hips more, shoulders back, show off my chest—my tits, he would declare.
Leonide was vulgar. When he called my body parts such obscene words in that heavy accent of his, I always felt a rush of excitement. I was worried for my mental health.
I'd gotten better at addressing him, being careful to not slip up. Even so, it was hard to bite my tongue. I suspected he was pushing me, prodding to test my resistance. Did he want me to rebel? Was that fun for the sick pervert?
It surprised me that he hadn't tried to fuck me yet. I'd seen how excited he got with me, trousers straining to contain himself... but still, nothing. He was keen to drive me wild, leave me panting and soaked and then shoving me aside.
By what I thought was the fourth—or fifth—day, my desire for release was making me antsy. It was late, hours after my dinner had arrived. In the darkened room, I tossed on my bed and felt my own sticky sweat.
Masturbation was no stranger to me. My parents hadn't started shaming me, talking to me about how to 'properly' behave with boys, until well after I'd started exploring my own body. Doing it here, though, in this place... It feels wrong. Deriving pleasure in this house, letting Leonide get to me, it was like giving up without a fight.
Chewing my thumb nail, I rolled on my back and stared at the ceiling I couldn't see. Without the single light on, the room was pitch black. I hadn't been allowed to keep clothes in my room, only what Leonide left me with after each 'dress up' session. Today had been a white sundress, a thing I'd pulled off an hour ago as I sweltered in my own heat.
He'd given me new lingerie, a lacy bra and matching ivory panties. Gliding my hand across my belly, I felt the dip of my muscles. No one will know. Lower, I flicked the hem of my underwear. He won't know.
That was enough to justify going for it.
Stroking over the top of my pussy was an electric spark. Days of being toyed with, of no release, I was sure this wouldn't take long.
Pushing my face into my pillow to muffle any sounds, my fingers dipped under the cloth. My inner thighs were a mess, panties soaked through to being sheer. Brushing the swollen node of my clit, I purred.
It had been far too long since my last time. When had that— No, fuck. That was Vegas. That was with... with him. I'd promised myself not to ever think of him. Not how his beard felt on my smooth skin, especially not how agile his fingers were when he explored my body.
Squeezing my knees together sent ripples to my belly. Blood was rushing through my ears, deafening me to my own sounds. I was so close, on the verge of cumming and letting myself escape
Brushing my blonde hair from my neck, Leonide spread his hand over my pale skin. His voice was a living cinder. "Lovely Celeste, a pretty little slut. Correct?"
Swallowing, I saw his hand—felt his hand—as it rested where it could kill me. A simple motion, he'd snap my spinal cord or strangle me just as quick. In that room of pale lights, my words were a frail butterfly wing.
"Yes, sir."
- Chapter Four -
Celeste
––––––––
T ime was funny. It was like oil on water; if you reached into the pot you'd never be able to grab the slippery bits from the rest.
Either way, whether I could make sense of it or not, it was always the same. Leonide took me from my room, made me serve him his meals every time—all but dinner. I never saw him at dinner. A woman who wouldn't look me in the eye would bring a plate to my room each evening.
The rest of the days were spent being his doll.
It was the worst of the 'training' as he called it. I felt so degraded, dressing as he decided, prancing for him while he judged my walk. He'd tell me to swing my hips more, shoulders back, show off my chest—my tits, he would declare.
Leonide was vulgar. When he called my body parts such obscene words in that heavy accent of his, I always felt a rush of excitement. I was worried for my mental health.
I'd gotten better at addressing him, being careful to not slip up. Even so, it was hard to bite my tongue. I suspected he was pushing me, prodding to test my resistance. Did he want me to rebel? Was that fun for the sick pervert?
It surprised me that he hadn't tried to fuck me yet. I'd seen how excited he got with me, trousers straining to contain himself... but still, nothing. He was keen to drive me wild, leave me panting and soaked and then shoving me aside.
By what I thought was the fourth—or fifth—day, my desire for release was making me antsy. It was late, hours after my dinner had arrived. In the darkened room, I tossed on my bed and felt my own sticky sweat.
Masturbation was no stranger to me. My parents hadn't started shaming me, talking to me about how to 'properly' behave with boys, until well after I'd started exploring my own body. Doing it here, though, in this place... It feels wrong. Deriving pleasure in this house, letting Leonide get to me, it was like giving up without a fight.
Chewing my thumb nail, I rolled on my back and stared at the ceiling I couldn't see. Without the single light on, the room was pitch black. I hadn't been allowed to keep clothes in my room, only what Leonide left me with after each 'dress up' session. Today had been a white sundress, a thing I'd pulled off an hour ago as I sweltered in my own heat.
He'd given me new lingerie, a lacy bra and matching ivory panties. Gliding my hand across my belly, I felt the dip of my muscles. No one will know. Lower, I flicked the hem of my underwear. He won't know.
That was enough to justify going for it.
Stroking over the top of my pussy was an electric spark. Days of being toyed with, of no release, I was sure this wouldn't take long.
Pushing my face into my pillow to muffle any sounds, my fingers dipped under the cloth. My inner thighs were a mess, panties soaked through to being sheer. Brushing the swollen node of my clit, I purred.
It had been far too long since my last time. When had that— No, fuck. That was Vegas. That was with... with him. I'd promised myself not to ever think of him. Not how his beard felt on my smooth skin, especially not how agile his fingers were when he explored my body.
Squeezing my knees together sent ripples to my belly. Blood was rushing through my ears, deafening me to my own sounds. I was so close, on the verge of cumming and letting myself escape
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