Page 10 of Little Puppet

I leave the door open, hoping she will follow.

And she does.

When I turn back, I watch her as she tries to get used to her strings. She’ll never be able to put her arms down at her sides, and for the first few days, her hoops will be too fresh to let her arms dangle against them, so I watch as she winces in pain as she tries.

“What is my first task?” she asks me, finally resting her arms awkwardly. She looks like the perfect puppet already as her bare body teases me delicately from across the room.

“Dance for me.”

Her lookof confusion only lasted a moment before she began to twirl.

I dropped into the chair before the fire, taking a glass of whiskey with me as I settled in to watch her twirl and spin.

She grinds her hips this way and that, swaying on them when she gets a bit dizzy—aftereffects of the drug I’d used to put her under.

Her full, curvy body sashays and teases as she moves closer, her arms moving on her strings the best they can.

Her nipples bead as she dances closer to me and the chair.

When she turns around and swivels her hips, her generous ass jiggles and teases.

I’ve never had a puppet come around and try to survive me so quickly, and I can’t say I mind it.

It’s sexy, even.

I know she will eventually turn and start to fight me. She’ll eventually break a rule or try to run, and it won’t end well, but I might as well soak it up while she’s cordial.

While it lasts.

“Face me, puppet,” I order, voice filled with gravel and heat.

She listens immediately, stepping even closer to themonster in the mask that has captured her, bringing her beautiful curves to a stop between my splayed legs.

My toes wiggle in my boots, anticipating what Grace will do next, and I lick my lips.

Though she can’t see my face, I wish she was looking atmeand not this damned mask.

“Give me your foot,” I command, and she lifts a brow.

Without another word, she balances on one foot, lifting the other in the air with great effort, pointing her toe as she presents her foot to me.

Sitting forward, I let her foot rest on my chest as I lift my whiskey over her knee.

With my free hand, I lift her big toe toward my open mouth, using it to tip the mask up a bit as I pour the liquid fire down her leg and let it dribble onto my tongue. Her taste imbues with the malted drink, flavoring it slightly before it cascades off her toe and down my throat. Some of it dribbles over her thigh and hits the floor, but I don’t pay any attention to that. When the glass is empty, I close my lips around her toe, reveling in the soft squeak that comes from her lips as I suck all the whiskey off her flesh.

When I’m done, my hand splays over the inside of her alcohol-covered thigh, sopping it up before I take my hand back to my mouth, tongue darting out to lap at my palm.

Her breathing is erratic, and I can almost taste the fear permeating her flesh, but she doesn’t let it show enough for me to care.

No. She pushed past her fear and allowed me to see how good she could be for me.

She rose above.

And for that, she’ll be rewarded.

Her master will show her what good little puppets get for behaving.

“Go to bed and wait for me,” I tell her dismissively, and it’s all I can do to make my tone sound bored and even.

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