Page 51 of Tangwystle
She sat back on her knees in the middle of the kitchen, a few feet away from us, as she waited for our orders.
“I couldn’t help it.” I struggled to hear her, she spoke so softly.
“Gretel?” I asked sharply.
She let out a sigh. “I had to touch myself.”
I arched a brow at her, not that she saw. She was remarkably docile now that she appeared in front of us.
“Your ass is already red. And your cunt is dripping onto my clean floors.” She squirmed at my words.
“Baz says you deserve to punish me too,” she said in that same quiet voice.
But I knew our filthy pet wanted it. She knew the consequences if Baz found her touching herself, and I was willing to bet she placed herself in a spot where he would find her.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“You’re sorry you got caught,” I retorted, still working on my bread. Baz tried to press a finger to the dough, and I shot him a warning. “And now your dripping pussy is ruining my clean floors, and I’ll be behind on my task, and then who risks getting in trouble?”
Baz played with the ends of my hair and feigned the air of an innocent man as he leaned against the counter.
“You’ve gotten us both in trouble,” I told Gretel.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured again, eyes cast down, hair falling into her face. What a fucking beautiful woman, her full tits on perfect display, her pink nipples hard.
“Sit up,” I ordered, wiping flour from my hands and walking to the center of the room. I made sure to keep away from her, though, so she knew she was on her own.
Gretel remained on her knees, but shifted so her ass was off the floor.
“Look up.”
Green eyes found me, a severe figure with my hands on my hips.
“Did you come?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“So you just played with yourself, pretending it was one of us with our fingers in your cunt. Or perhaps you thought about Baz’s cock filling you up.” I loved seeing the pink flush on her cheeks deepen. “Who were you thinking about?”
She shook her head, curls flying. “No, both of you,” she whined in that obnoxious, bratty voice. Her thighs quivered, her pussy begging for stimulation.
I let her. “Touch yourself.”
She hesitated, biting her lip.
I wasn’t setting a trap, though.
“Touch yourself like the dirty little whore you are,” I said. “Show me how good you are at making yourself come. Show us.”
Baz had remained relaxed, almost dismissively watching us as he leaned on the counter. He thought he was clever sneaking bits of fruit to eat. But his gaze cut to Gretel, who for a second sagged back onto her heels, before picking herself back up. She knew by now that the consequences of not following orders led to far worse punishments than being told to touch herself.
Her palm splayed against her belly, eyes wide as she stared back at us. Slowly, she moved her hand, her fingers drifting over the patch of light colored hair on her pubic bone.
At our silence, lower she went. Her fingers skimmed her folds, and she bit the inside of her cheeks.
“I know you touch yourself. I don’t know why you’re being shy about it,” I said. I stood completely still, not about to let on about the growing wetness sticking to my own upper thighs. “Play with yourself, Gretel.”
She flushed further, her hips rocking back for a second before she stroked herself.
