A Friendly Conversation?

You laze about the next day, stomach bulging slightly under the weight of the sloshing, potent seed inside it. Despite your obvious imprisonment, you feel strangely at ease with the state of things. You’re well nourished, with a warm roof over your head, and not a care in the world. All of that in exchange for the small price of your submissive service to a magnanimous Mistress. What’s not to love?

You recline against the back wall with your head in your hands, and let out a deep, disturbed sigh. This place has set its hooks deep in your pliable mind. There’s no one around to blame; no corrupt aura that might call into question the stability of your own perception. Those thoughts were unmistakably your own.

To make matters worse, your days spent here seem to only increase your passive state of arousal. Even now, your small, needy cock stands fully erect with pulsating lust. You feel hot and bothered by the unbidden thought of gleefully gulping down torrents of thick, creamy spunk. Your hand delicately moves down to caress the length of your stiff shaft. Up until now, you hadn’t even considered masturbating in this place. The conditions didn’t exactly attend to your sense of arousal, but now--well, things have changed. You’ve changed.

The Mistress has never strictly stated that you cannot cum, but she also hasn’t given you express permission. The last thing you want to do is disappoint her. Your lewd reverie is suddenly disrupted by the sound of light footsteps on stone. You shove your hands into your crotch, hoping to hide your throbbing erection from the passerby.

The figure peeks around the hall fleetingly before crossing fully into view. You squint your eyes momentarily, attempting to size up the individual. Minerva!

“Hey, friend…” She fidgets nervously with the bottom of her thigh-high dress. “Look, I know you told me last time that you don’t trust me, and I get that. I haven’t proven that I’m trustworthy…but I’d like to.” She looks over at you with a solemn expression.

You contemplate her words for a moment, considering how you ought to reply. You still feel guarded around this girl, but you aren’t entirely closed off to the idea of making a friend on the outside.

“And how are you gonna do that? How can I know for certain that this isn’t some sort of test or trap?”

She looks over at you with frustration. “The Mistress doesn’t play stupid mind games. Not ever. She delights in personally breaking her slaves. There’s nothing she loves more than watching the light leave their eyes.”

Minerva puts her hands on the bars of your cell and looks sternly across the room. “If she wants your ass, or your throat, or your loyalty, she’ll take it--and when she does, it won’t be through clever means.”

She sighs. “If you don’t want to make a friend, I’ll respect your wishes. Just say so, and I won’t come around again.”

Something about the tone of her voice leads you to believe that she’s telling the truth. Yet still, you aren’t sure if you even want to make friends with this demonic looking creature.