Letting Off Some Steam

Zuleika lay spread across crimson sheets, her body glistening with oil, every inch of her prepared by Simone’s meticulous hands. Her arms were bound above her head, wrists tied tight to the bedposts with silk that was deceptively soft but unyielding. Her legs were stretched wide, ankles restrained, **leaving her utterly open, utterly his.

She wore no blindfold—Garrett wanted always her to see what he did. And she loved it. Even as her breath trembled and her muscles tensed in anticipation, her eyes burned with longing. There was no fear in her submission, only hunger.

Simone sat in the corner, cross-legged in a chair, a glass of red wine in hand. She had orchestrated every detail of this moment, every knot, every rule. And now she watched, silently, her lips parted just slightly, as Garrett stepped into the room.

He said nothing at first.

He didn’t need to.

Zuleika’s body arched instinctively the moment she sensed him. The air shifted around him—his presence thickened it, filled it, dominated it.

Garrett walked slowly toward the bed. His gaze raked over her, pausing at the ink Simone had scrawled across her abdomen and inner thighs: words like "use me," "worthless,", "pain Slut", "Sleeve for White Cock", "Slut for BWC" and "property." The lettering wasn’t elegant. It was crude. Purposefully degrading. And Zuleika had asked for every word.

“You look like a fucking offering,” Garrett said, his voice low, almost amused. “And you know what happens to offerings, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Zuleika whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation. “I get taken. Used. Owned.”

Garrett smirked, sliding a gloved finger down the center of her chest. “And you love it, don’t you?”

She didn’t hesitate. “I fucking love it. I live for it. Please… take me.”

The slap came without warning—**a sharp crack against her thigh** that echoed through the room. Zuleika gasped, moaned, and shuddered as the sting bloomed across her skin.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now let’s see how far that devotion really goes.”

He moved to her chest, unclipping the clamps from her nipples with deliberate slowness. Blood surged back into the tender flesh, and Zuleika’s body arched violently, a cry escaping her lips.

“Feel that?” Garrett asked.

“Yes, Sir,” she gasped, “hurts so fucking good…”

“You don’t get to come yet,” he warned, pressing a hand between her thighs, feeling the slick heat pulsing there. “Not until I say. Not until you earn it.”

He reached for the ball gag on the nightstand—then stopped. His eyes burned into hers.

“No,” he said. “I want to hear everything. Every filthy little sound. Every pathetic plea.”

Zuleika whimpered. “Yes, Sir. I’ll be loud for you. I’ll be your dirty fucking whore.”

Garrett chuckled darkly and climbed onto the bed, straddling her chest. His cock, thick and heavy, hung inches from her lips.

“Open.”

She obeyed, tongue out, eyes wide, throat ready. He slid in slowly at first, savoring the wet heat of her mouth. But it didn’t take long before he gripped her hair and began **thrusting hard**, fucking her face with brutal precision. She gagged, drooled, moaned around him—**and never once looked away.**

"You love **** on this cock, don't you?"

She tried to nod, choked on him again, tears streaking from her eyes—but the look in them was euphoric.

When he finally pulled out, Zuleika gasped, spit trailing from her lips. “Thank you,” she panted. “Thank you for using my mouth, Sir.”

He slapped her again, this time across the cheek. Not in anger—but possession. “You’re not done yet.”

Garrett slid down the bed, flipped her effortlessly onto her stomach, and pulled her ass up high. She was still restrained, bent forward now, completely at his mercy.

“No lube. You’ve earned the stretch.”

She whimpered, a mix of pain and anticipation. “Please. Take me. Break me if you want. I belong to you.”

His cock pressed against her tight hole—wet only with her own arousal. Slowly, steadily, he pushed in. Her body resisted, then yielded. Her cry was sharp, raw—and utterly thrilled.

“Fuck,” Garrett groaned, sinking deeper. “So fucking tight.”

He began to move—slow, punishing thrusts that made her entire body jolt in the restraints.

“Say it,” he growled. “Say what you are.”

“I’m your whore,” Zuleika cried. “Your little cum-dump. I was made for this. For your cock. Please—use me harder!”

And he did.

He rammed into her, faster, deeper, until the bed shook and her moans became screams. He reached down, fingers circling her clit with cruel efficiency.

“Now. Come. Now!”

Her body exploded beneath him, her orgasm tearing through her like fire. She sobbed with pleasure, her ass clenching around him—and that was all it took.

With a grunt, Garrett buried himself deep, releasing inside her with a savage growl. His fingers dug into her hips as his climax shuddered through him.

Garrett at last withdrew from Zuleika’s trembling body, his cock slick with their shared climax. He didn’t say a word—he didn’t need to. The raw, stretched state of her ass, the mess trailing down her thighs, the broken gasps tearing from her lips… all of it spoke volumes.

He sat back on the edge of the bed, then laid himself down against the pillows with the casual entitlement of a king after war. His eyes found Simone in the chair, and he gave a short nod.

“Come here,” he said.

She rose without hesitation and slipped into the bed beside him, curling against his side, her hand resting on his chest. Her smile was content, proud, almost possessive. She had orchestrated perfection.

Garrett exhaled slowly, his voice like gravel in the dark.

“****.”

She was still on all fours, arms trembling, body coated in sweat and seed and satisfaction. “Y–Yes, Sir?” Her voice was hoarse, ragged with exhaustion and devotion.

He looked down at her, expression unreadable, tone ice-cold and commanding.

“Clean me.”

Zuleika’s eyes widened—but only for a moment. Then she nodded, her voice trembling with gratitude. “Yes, Sir. Thank you for the honor.”

She crawled toward him—slowly, reverently—and positioned herself between his legs. His cock lay heavy against his thigh, still glistening with the remnants of their union, a trail of cum slowly dripping down toward his balls.

Without hesitation, Zuleika began her work.

She licked slowly at first, collecting every drop with her tongue, her lips wrapping around the head as she suckled him clean. She kissed the length of his shaft, licked along the base, and moved lower—her tongue trailing down to his balls, then further still, until she was lapping at the sweat-dampened skin beneath them. Not once did she shy away. Not once did she question.

She worshipped.

Garrett’s eyes remained half-lidded, one arm behind his head, the other draped lazily around Simone’s waist. He watched Zuleika’s mouth work with the cool detachment of a man who expects obedience—and receives it without effort.

When she had finished, when his cock and every inch of his flesh was spotless beneath her tongue, she kissed the tip one last time and whispered:

“Thank you… for letting me serve. For letting me be your slut. Your toy. Your property.”

Garrett reached down, gripped her chin, and **** her to look up at him.

“For the rest of the night,” he said, his voice a low growl, “you’re not a girl. Not a woman. Not a person. You’re a cocksleeve. Nothing more.”

Zuleika’s eyes filled with tears—not of sadness, but of reverence.

“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Thank you for making me something so useful.”

He let go of her face and closed his eyes, already drifting into the calm satisfaction of a man who owns everything in the room—bodies, minds, hearts.

Simone rested her head on his chest, fingers idly tracing circles on his skin as Garrett’s breathing began to slow. The room smelled of sex and sweat, power and submission—a temple after the ritual.

After a moment of silence, Simone whispered against his collarbone,

“Did you get it out of your system?”

Garrett gave a low chuckle, eyes still closed. He tilted his head slightly toward her and spoke with calm finality.

“Yes. That was a wonderful idea of yours.”

Zuleika remained kneeling at the foot of the bed, still naked, still marked, still filled. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. She only stayed where she was, Mouth wrapped around his softening cock, body alert and ready—his cocksleeve, until dawn came… or until he had need of her again.