Nope!

You continue to stroke until both men slap your hands, off their cocks and take over. You plant your hands on the floor and arch your spine as Allie pulls your hair, forcing your face into a better position.

You breathe in their scent, so close to you, unable to see with a thick load of cum already on your eyes. Then you feel a pulse of cum hit you in each eye, and another, and another, as the milkboy and the paperboy unload directly against your eyes.

You mindlessly keep your eyes open, simply taking it as your eyes are drenched in cum. As you breathe, you feel the tip of the crown of each cock brush across your nose, and you inhale the last drops of their release. You **** and cough, as you get cum in your lungs, but you remain mindlessly still, your reprogrammed body not able to resist or object.

You hear Allie, Edmund, Sam, and Zeke, all laughing at you, but it just sounds like music to you. Humans are happy with you. That means you have value and you're fulfilling your purpose.

Allie pulls your hair hard and you walk backwards on your hands and knees, until you hear the door shut. The weight on your shoulders lifts as someone picks up the milk and the newspaper. Allie pulls your hair, pulling you into a kneel as she stands over you, you can breathe in the scent of her in front of you and you can imagine her looking down at you.

“You're such a disgusting cum-drenched mess, faggot,” she says, liking what she sees, “This is all you're good for. All you'll ever be good for. You're getting better at it, though. You're earning well for me so far.”

You kneel in silence before her, head tilted up toward her but unable to see her with your face so utterly soaked in cum. She stands silently over you for a few long minutes, seeming to enjoy the view, before she walks you to the bathroom and pushes you into the shower, “Bathe, and report to me when you're done, faggot. I'll be in my room.”

You immediately turn on the water and stare up at the warm rain falling from the shower head. Your eyes clear as you rinse the jism off of them, and then you go through the motions, mindless and broken. You shampoo your hair and rinse it, wash your face and body and down to your feet in segments, rinsing as you go on. You dry yourself off and then scurry in a hurry to get back to your Mistress.

She smiles as she looks at you when you kneel beside her, and you maintain eye contact for a moment before your chin dips and you look down at her hips as she sits, fully decent, in a tee and shorts.

“Good fag. Lick my feet to show how much you appreciate being allowed to bathe, cum-dump,” she orders, turning her chair toward you. You immediately lower, mindlessly licking the bridges of her feet, until she lifts each foot and rests it on your face.

“Stay, fag. Still.” Your body freezes involuntarily, obedient by design, as your Mistress relaxes, humming as she uses your face as a footrest, unaware of what she's thinking about.