"What about my treat?"

The old man's grin grew even more sinister as he unbuckled his belt, letting his pants fall to the floor. His cock sprang free, thick and veiny with age, standing tall and proud despite the wrinkles surrounding it.

"Your treat," he said, stroking himself, "is to clean up the mess you made." He gestured to the floor, where my cum had pooled. "Get down on your knees and lick it up like a good little slut."

The thought of tasting myself, of being reduced to this level of debasement, should have repulsed me, but instead, I found myself eager to please him. I knelt before him, my face flushed with arousal as I lapped at the sticky puddle, feeling his eyes bore into me. Each swipe of my tongue brought a new wave of humiliation, yet it was strangely thrilling to be under his complete control.

As I finished cleaning, his hand reached out to cup my cheek, guiding me to look up at him. "Good boy," he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Now, let's get you dressed for the final act of the night."

He points at the green Cammy suit, and I took it from him, feeling the weight of my submission as I slipped into the costume that had brought me to this point. The fabric was cold against my still-sensitive skin, but the feeling of victory was palpable. I had won my prize, but at what cost?

"So what do you want next from me?" I ask weakly as he pump himself in front of me.