Succumbing

"So you finally came back," Trevor said. You were on your knees, your blue contacts in, your blonde wig on, your skin perfectly tanned all over. You were practically a Barbie doll like this, less your flaccid, unworking remnant and the knowledge your time was short. Why you'd spend it with a man like this ...

The ex-con had one strong hand wrapped tightly around your junk, as he fit a newer, more restrictive, more insidious cage around your member. You could feel the jagged metal probing at you if you went just a little the wrong way. He was insistent, it appeared, on owning you, his initials scrawled out on the front of the cage.

"C'mere, you dumb bitch ... come suck on your Daddy," Trevor said, picking up the leash he'd affixed to you. You swallowed, the leather constricted tightly around your throat as you followed him. He was riddled with tattoos, his blonde hair cut short. He was everything you didn't want ... and everything you wanted.

You tugged out his limp but sizeable prick, sucking it hard while he drank a beer and watched the game. It was a test, you knew. Not to let up, not to relent, to suck your Master dry. You were his, after all. You'd wandered, but this servitude was what you deserved.