Page 11 of Brutal Surrender

Irene once said that my embrace made her feel safe, as if my arms could protect her against anything. But she was wrong. She perished because of me. Someone found out about us. They took her out to get to me.

This “Irene” knows the truth: that my touch is deadly.

But she hasn’t failed to come for me anyway.

I flip the bottom of the cloth over her mouth to let her suck in air and answer me. Rolling my fingers over her clit, I ask again, “That feel good?”

After whimpering and sniffling for a few minutes, she’s able to answer. “Yes.”

Walking over to the chest of drawers, I pull out the oscillator. After placing it to her clit, I turn it on. She squeaks at the concentrated vibrations and starts to pant and grunt, groaning when I turn off the device.

“I want you to tell me how much you like being molested by your master,” I tell her.

“I like being molested by my master,” she whispers without much hesitation, a far cry from her first day filled with defiance.

I stroke her with the oscillator. “Tell me in dirty details what a slut like you wants.”

“I want—”

“Start with ‘a slut like me wants.’”

“A slut like me wants you—”

“My master,” I correct.

“My master to—”

“Start over.”

“I want— A slut like me wants my master to turn the vibrator back on.”

I wait for her to elaborate.

“That vibrator felt so good,” she adds.

“You can be more creative, more dirty than that.”

“I like that vibrator. I’ve never felt anything like it before. I’m horny for it.”

“Have you always been such a horny little slut?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me more. Tell me how you’re a horny little slut.”

When she doesn’t respond, I prompt her by turning on the oscillator for a few seconds.

“I once masturbated twenty times in a single day.”

“Twenty? How slutty. No wonder your daddy fucked you all the time.”

She frowns.

I know she hates it when I say things like that, so I continue. “Your daddy the one who popped your cherry?”

“You’re so fucking disgusting,” she murmurs.

“Then who got to pop your cherry?”

---