Page 34 of Devoured
His shoe slapped down hard on the concrete, and he lunged forward, instantly slapping my face and grabbing me by the throat. I sucked in a gasp.
“I will do whatever the fuck I want to you. Do you understand? You agreed to these terms. So if you want your precious little brothel, you’ll lick my shoe.”
My neck tingled at every point of contact where his hand was holding me, his presence magnetic. He let go of my throat, and for a second, I wished he hadn’t. It was easier to give in if I could pretend it wasn’t my choice. I closed my eyes. This wasn’t like me. I wasn’t supposed to like the way he touched me. I wasn’t a submissive.
But I opened my mouth. Stuck out my tongue. Barely opened my eyes to find his shoe. Then I licked. The material was plastic, synthetic, rubbery, reminding me of layers of hard, dried out condoms, but I kept licking, all over his shoe like a slobbering beast, and when his hand cupped my breast over the shirt, I shuddered, as if his entire power was emanating through those five fingers.
“That’s my girl,” he said. I whimpered at the words, then squinched my face shut. No. I couldn’t let go. Not when we were doing this.
He stood and walked towards the back of the room.
“Crawl,” he said.
I huffed, then immediately flinched, afraid that he might have heard me, but he was walking ahead, carrying the stool with him. I got on all fours, tiny pebbles sticking to my palms, even when the staff must have recently cleaned the room. Roland stopped in front of a black Sybian, a large cylindrical machine with a ribbed section near the top, and a small, but wide handlebar in front of that. I knew we had one at the club, but I had never seen it in this room before.
Because I was always on top. I had never needed one in here. It was positioned in front of the mirror, the double-sided one.
“Someone could be watching,” I said.
“Already took care of that,” he said. “I told you. I don’t like sharing.”
I stared at the mirror, my fishnet shirt bunching around my waist, the black bra riding up over the small curve of my breasts.
“I don’t like waiting, Iris,” Roland hummed. Hesitantly, I got on the machine, sitting on it like a horse’s saddle. I moved my pussy against the ribbed section, clenching up, waiting for that inevitable hum of vibration. Roland put the stool in front of me again and leaned forward.
“You want this club,” he said. “You hate me for doing this to you. And you know what?” A smirk formed on his lips, but it was different this time, filled with malicious intent. “I don’t care. In fact, I relish it. Each time you resist me, each time you prove that you don’t really want this place you call ‘home,’ is another step closer to destroying it, and destroying you.” Chills ran down my spine. He pinched my chin. “I’m going to enjoy this, Iris. Every single second of it.”
I grit my teeth. “You’re a fucking pig.”
The Sybian turned on and I cried out, the vibrations shaking me out of my response. The machine was powerful, making me instantly pull back, but Roland grabbed me by the neck and shoved me down onto it.
“Do you think you can come?” he asked. “Are you capable of coming when you’re on the bottom? When you’re not in control?” The movements rubbed me, so powerful that I couldn’t help it anymore; pleasure swelled at the contact, warmth spreading through me slowly, like molasses. I couldn’t transport my mind anywhere. Why did it feel so good?
It was then that his words hit me:Do you think you can come?
He had been watching me with Sweetie Pie.
“I own you, Iris,” he murmured, “Show me that you can come.”
I held onto the Sybian’s handle and let the waves of pleasure run through me. Each chaotic burst of blazing light bit through me, making me shiver and quake, heat flushing through all the way to my fingertips, making me burn with desire. I opened my eyes. Roland was staring at me, his brown eyes locked on mine, intense and smoldering.
He said something, but it didn’t register. I closed my eyes, rubbing myself on the machine. Suddenly, it turned off, falling to stillness. Bewildered, I clutched for the handle.
“What? I don’t—”
“Give me your phone,” he repeated.
The pleasure was built up in me, so overwhelming that I didn’t think about it, didn’t think about the gravity of a request for my phone, a possession as private as that. Lust-filled madness, the absolute need to come, was burning inside of me. I skittered over to my pants on the other side of the room, found my phone, and brought it to him, a bounce in my step, eager to obey. Then I got back on the Sybian.
What the hell was wrong with me?
He smirked, thinking the exact same thing. Then he pulled me by the hair until I was off of the machine, then forced my head down to it.
“Clean it up,” he said. I hovered, but he shoved me closer, the smooth rubber material soaked with my juices, rubbing against my face. “Go on. You want to feel it again, don’t you?” He laughed. “I can’t have my fuck doll rubbing herself against a dirty toy now, can I?”
Pleasure and denial warred against each other. I closed my eyes and tried to remember that this was it. This was another step closer to having the Dahlia District, of calling it my own. The apartment would be my actual home, and the club could have a new beginning, one where I could protect my family, make sure that each server graduated out of the club, and made it into a good home. And Roland would be a thing of the past.
If only I could get through this. If only I could convince him of my submission.
