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I must’ve drifted in and out for hours, curled in Rachel’s arms, my body boneless and flushed with afterglow. Every time I stirred, she kissed my forehead and whispered soft praise into my hair.

“My perfect little thing.”

“My gorgeous doll.”

“You make me so proud.”

Eventually, she slipped from the bed and returned with warm towels. She lifted me into her arms like I weighed nothing and carried me into the bathroom again. The tub was already running.

She lowered me into the water, and I gasped at how good it felt. The heat soaked into my sore muscles, and she joined me, sitting behind me so I could lean back against her chest.

Rachel gently washed my hair, combing her fingers through it, then ran a sponge down my chest, across my hips, and between my thighs. Her touch was delicate but possessive—like I was a treasure she’d earned.

When we got out, she dried me off and helped me into a pair of silky soft lounge shorts and a tiny tank top that barely covered my stomach. My body looked so small now. So smooth, so dainty.

Rachel dressed in a robe and led me back to bed.

I thought she might use me again—but instead, she climbed in behind me, spooned her body around mine, and began massaging my thighs, my ass, my shoulders.

“You’ve been perfect,” she whispered. “Now I want you to just feel good. No cumming. No begging. Just mine.”

And that’s what the entire afternoon became—one long, slow tease.

She nuzzled my neck, kissed along my back, ran her fingers down the inside of my legs. She never touched my cocklet directly, but every motion made me leak. Every kiss made me moan.

By the time dinner rolled around, I was so hard it hurt—and she knew it.

We ordered food and curled up on the couch. When it arrived, Rachel placed me in her lap, one arm around my waist, the other feeding me bites of food. Her cock, half-hard again, pressed up under me, throbbing with casual dominance.

“Open,” she whispered, holding a piece of bread to my lips.

I obeyed.

“Good girl.”

I barely noticed what we were eating. My mind was foggy with arousal, submission, and warmth. She kissed my cheek every few bites, brushed crumbs from my lips, and teased her fingers along the waistband of my shorts.

She never let me touch myself.

Never gave me permission.

But I didn’t beg.

I just sat there—happy, needy, completely hers.

The next morning, I woke to soft lips on my neck.

Rachel was already hard behind me, her length pressed between my cheeks, thick and heavy. I moaned quietly and pressed back into her, still half-asleep but **** for her.

She chuckled, brushing my hair out of my face. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

I tried to respond, but she slipped her fingers between my legs, spreading me open, teasing my soaked entrance without going inside.

“Shh. I’ve got you.”

She didn’t rush. She didn’t thrust. She just held me in place and kissed along my shoulder, her fingers stroking lazily over my chest and hips. My body responded instantly, cocklet already leaking against the sheets, my insides pulsing in anticipation.

Rachel entered me slowly, inch by inch, like she was savoring every second of filling me. She whispered soft praise into my ear the entire time.

“So tight for me. So soft. My pretty little thing.”

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t fast. It was worship.

Her hips rolled in long, slow motions. Her hands cradled me, rocked me into bliss. I could feel her changes again—her cock felt even heavier, even fuller. Each thrust stretched me just a little more.

I came without warning, helplessly, gasping and trembling. She kissed the back of my neck and fucked me through it.

Then again.

And again.

By the time she came, filling me with her warmth, I was barely conscious—just a messy, aching, mindless thing in her arms.

She didn’t let go.

We stayed there for hours. Tangled, sweaty, soft. And when she finally pulled out and carried me to the shower, I couldn’t stop smiling.

I was hers. Completely.