by Zoey Parker
But Milo persisted in showing her room after room that made her feel happy and, God help her, safe.
“Too bad it’s all so pastel,” she said and then clapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she said from behind her hand. He shook his head, and she felt tears popping up in her eyes. She’d ruined it already, she – had a credit card pressed into her hand. She looked down at it, then up at Milo.
“It’s in the name that goes with the house,” he said. “Do whatever you want. Make it yours.” He considered for a moment. “Okay, maybe let’s decide which house you want, and then do what you want with that one. Though if there’s something you need to be more comfortable here while you’re here, just do it. And I want you to buy yourself new clothes.”
She managed to cover her astonishment with a laugh. “What’s wrong with my one outfit?” Her stomach was churning, and she badly needed some humor. It was too serious, all of this, all of this him taking care of her.
He wasn’t laughing. “I bought it for you. You should have your own clothes, your own house, your own home. Not just because you’re knocked up. Because you’re a person, and people deserve to be safe.”
It was far more than she could handle, all this sweetness. She set the credit card down on a nearby table – she’d use it later, that was for sure, because she wanted pants that fit and bras that didn’t squish her boobs, and she’d need more clothes soon – but she needed to be filthy and used right now, not some sweet girl that deserved all of this. That would break her.
“But I’m not really a person, am I?” She stepped into him, giving him enough weight that he swayed just a bit before he caught his balance.
His expression darkened in that way she liked so much. “If you’re not a person, then what are you?” His hand came up into the hair at the nape of her neck and closed into a fist. He pulled her head back, exposing her throat. He didn’t kiss her, touch her, just made her understand what was happening.
“A whore. A toy. Something to be used.” The words made her pant with eagerness. Yes. Being used feels like the best possible thing right now.
“Mmm. And how would a whore be used? Do whores rate the bedroom?”
Her cunt was soaked already, and the light, almost conversational tone he was using was going to drive her insane. She felt his cock, hardening in his pants. “I’m not sure,” she said. “What do you think?”
He gave a little laugh, but there wasn’t any humor in it, just dark anticipation. “I think there’s a very specific reason that a dirty whore deserves a bedroom.”
Milo didn’t let go of her hair, just used it like a leash to take her to the master bedroom. She pulled just enough to make it hurt, and he glared at her, yanking her tight against him.
“I don’t know what your previous johns were like, whore,” he snapped, and she whimpered with the kind of need that traced the edges of fear. “But you do not want me to treat you like a bad girl. If you want to hurt, you use your fucking words. Are we clear? I will hurt you enough for both of us if you ask me to.” He smirked. “Or just because I want to.”
Tess couldn’t quite sort out where the play ended and where the man began, but right now, she didn’t much care. She needed this, she needed to be debased in this pretty, magazine ready house where everything was perfect. She needed the house to feel just as soiled and imperfect as she felt herself.
The master bedroom was just as pastel as the rest of the house. Idly, she wondered if Milo had just hired a decorator to create a home that he’d categorized as “one step up from neutral”. There was no personality to any of it. She wanted this house just to make it hers. She had zero idea what “hers” would look like, but she bet that like half of a decorator’s entire job was to help her figure it out.
And then her face was smashed up against glass, and she wasn’t thinking about interior design.
“Do you see yourself?” he asked, his voice one step removed from a snarl. “Do you?”
Tess nodded frantically.
Milo pulled her back just a bit, slapped her across the face, then pushed her back again. “Speak when you’re spoken to. Do you see yourself?”
“Yes. Yes.”
“Good.” A light caress down the side of her cheek. The exact opposite of what she needed. “Do you deserve to be here?”
“No.”
He pulled her back again, slapping her other cheek. “Wrong, whore. You go where I say you go. You deserve to be where I put you. Do you understand?”
“Yes. God, Milo, yes.”
His voice was a little softer then. “Is that really what you want to call me right now?”
She’d spent so much time calling Toro “sir”, it didn’t fit at all. She slid so easily back into what she’d called him that one time, absolutely by accident. “No, Daddy.”
“What a good little whore you are. Strip.”
She blinked hard for a moment, trying to catch her mental balance, and then she stepped away from the mirror. She thought about doing a bump and grind, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t what he wanted. And he would tell her if he did. She pulled off her jeans, pulled her shirt over her head, and tossed her bra and panties to the side. It had been a long time since she was uncomfortable naked.
Milo hadn’t taken his cock out yet, but based on how he was stroking himself through his slacks, he was plenty hard.
“Hands and knees,” he said, and she dropped like a puppet with cut strings. He laughed at her. “Turn around, whore, and face the mirror. See what you are.”
It was a trifold mirror, with the outer two panels curved just a little. The kind of thing where she’d be able to turn a bit and see her outfit from all sides. On her hands and knees, her makeup mussed, she looked like exactly what he’d called her; the kind of slut you’d pick up in a cheap bar, who wouldn’t even bother telling you how much she’d cost because you’d probably have it in pocket change. She groaned as he stripped down behind her. His trim, cut body was gorgeous standing over her like this. He stepped away from the mirror for a moment, and she heard a drawer open and close. She didn’t turn her head, trusting that he’d be there when he was prepared for whatever came next.
He knelt behind her, and she felt his fingers stroking the smooth curves of her plump ass. She’d expected to feel his fingers teasing into her cunt, but when she heard a liquid sort of sound and felt his fingertips probing gently as her ass, she gave a little hiss.
“Okay?” he asked, his voice closer to what she’d come to think of as normal.
“Yeah,” she said, nodding frantically. She couldn’t remember the last time someone other than herself had played with her ass, and she hadn’t thought she’d missed it until his finger was teasing her open. “You keep lube in all your fake houses?”
A sharp crack across her ass, one that made her cry out for real. The heat flooded into the skin hard and fast, leaving her gasping and desperate for more.
“Yes,” he said, his voice dark and snarling again. “So I don’t have to wait. So that I can fuck you when I want. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she gasped out, and another hard crack came across her ass. She winced and glanced at him in the mirror, saw him smiling.
“That one was because I wanted to.”
Her cunt was dripping wet, and his finger pressed inside her ass, lubed up and soft, twisting and teasing as she pushed herself to relax, ease into the incredible, invasive sensation. A second finger entered before she was entirely ready, spreading and scissoring inside of her to keep pushing the threshold of what she could take. She’d barely adjusted to that before a third finger pressed in, and she was aching she was so full, yet her cunt was so empty. She was hungry and desperate for him, wanting him more and more. She bucked her hips, trying to push him in deeper, but it only earned her another heavy slap. She found she didn’t mind that part; the heat from his hand spread easily, making her crave him.
Without warning, his fingers were gone, and she keened from the emptiness. His coc
k was there, however, before she even thought to be lonely or sad about it. He didn’t wait at all this time, just pushed into her lubed-up mess with an ugly sound of want. He was incredibly hard, achingly hard, pressing her open without mercy. He’d used plenty of lube, so there wasn’t friction, but keeping her body loose and relaxed when she was so very wanting was impossible. He wasn’t patient, didn’t wait for the tight ring of muscle around his cock to relax. He groaned as he thrust into her like it was the best part of it for him. Maybe it was. It felt incredible, but it also teased right at the edge of the sort of pain that would make her cry. She looked in the mirror and felt her body close to speeding into an orgasm. She looked so filthy. Her tits hanging down, her makeup smeared down her cheeks. She’d started crying at some point. Her hair was messy and tangled from where he’d grabbed and pulled.
“That’s right, look,” he said. She tried to turn away, and his hand was in her hair again, pointing her face at the mirror. “Look at what you are. Look at what you’re made to be.”
His hips pumped faster, driving his cock into her ass harder, and now it did hurt, but the pain made it better, drove her harder. She pushed back on him, making him hiss. One hand in her hair and the other on her hips, yanking her back as he slammed inside, and she was so close, so fucking close, she wanted—
As he let out the first spasm, he yanked out of her, pulling her hair up so hard that her back bowed, and she felt the hot spurt of his cum all over her back. He slapped her ass again, three times. She cried out, not the least because he’d pulled back just as her body came close to orgasm, pulsing at the utter peak, just in that moment before she let go. Everything inside of her was aching and twisting and needy, and she couldn’t come because all the sensation was gone.
“Please,” she said, and the sound was so lonely and sad and wanting. She loved it, loved hearing that sound in her voice because it had been put there, not because she was trying to make someone think they were sexier than they were.
“I’ll tell you when you can come,” he said, standing and pulling her to her feet by her hair. “And until then, you fucking whore, you get what I decide you deserve. Understand me?”
She groaned, her entire body pulsing. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”
He grinned and leaned closer. “Would it matter if you didn’t?”
She hissed, shaking her head, and that seemed to be enough answer for him. He shoved her backward, and she fell onto the bed, her knees and lower legs dangling off, the cum on her back making a wet, squelchy place that she hated, and loved that she hated. He disappeared into a separate bathroom for a moment, and she heard running water. He came back with his cock softer, but clean, and she made a small sound of hope that she was going to get to come after all.
He didn’t go straight into her though; she’d almost expected him to jack off until he was hard enough and then slam into her again. He’d definitely shown he had that kind of stamina, something she absolutely adored. A man who could keep up with her libido was a rare thing. Instead, he moved over her more slowly, light kisses and soft caresses that were nothing like what she’d expected. He stroked her hair and teased her nipples, bringing her into a soft, aching moan. It would be absurd to say she’d never had sex like this or had never felt like this – she was quite sure she’d had every kind of sex there was, and loving sex didn’t make her unfeeling – but it had been a while since she’d had someone move slowly over her body, exploring every inch of her with tongue and lips and fingers, instead of just pushing in hard to get what they wanted. What she wanted, too.
“How rough are you comfortable being?” he asked, tracing his hand over the softness of her belly. She knew in her head that what was growing there was tiny, nothing like a baby yet, but very real. There was no swell in her stomach, nothing for him to feel. But in her heart, there was something so sweet and gentle about that gesture. She could see Milo, suddenly, holding a toddler in his arms, showing the baby the world around them. She could see just how it would be.
“I mean, don’t punch me in the stomach or something,” she said with a laugh, knowing that was something he wouldn’t ever do in play. “But otherwise, I’m fine.”
He leaned over and took her nipple into his mouth, teasing it softly between his lips and teeth. She arched up again, and he took her breast in his hand, stroking the flesh and noticing how she cried out and gasped. “And how gentle are you comfortable being?”
She jumped a little and looked down at him, where he wasn’t quite looking. There was something nervous, maybe just a little frightened, in his expression. What was he feeling? she wondered, as he teased her body in this house he’d bought and was now talking about giving to her, her and her baby? Their baby. She reached down and caressed his cheek, catching his attention and gently guiding him up her body to capture his mouth with hers. She let the kiss be soft and deep and lingering, and only when it came to its natural conclusion did she wrap her hand around his rock-hard dick.
“As gentle as you want to be.”
Something cut loose inside of him then, but it wasn’t the sort of unleashing she generally expected in a moment like that. He scooped her up in his arms, helping her up the bed until her head was up on the pillows. He slid between her thighs, catching one leg and wrapping it around her waist. His cock was iron-hard, and he pressed into her cunt with no hesitation – but no roughness. None of the angry, harsh motion that he’d used just a little bit before on her ass. A soft, gentle rocking that had her gasping and rolling with him in moments. Her cunt was still primed from the near explosion before, and there was no doubt that he could take her over the edge just as quickly as he wanted to. He didn’t seem to be worried about speed, however, just moving in slow, steady strokes towards the inevitable conclusion. She could see his breathing change, feel the tension in his hips change, but he held himself back just enough. His hand came to her mound, however, and his thumb found her clit. He started circling in harsh little jerks, just what she needed to edge up around him, gasping. She didn’t let herself tip over though; she knew what she wanted, just what she wanted. He seemed to understand and drove into her just a little faster, grinding into her hard with a little twist of his hips that would have absolutely killed her if there were anything left of her but pure sensation.
“Ready?” he asked with a heated groan. She nodded frantically; if she said a single word, she’d lose her control and come too soon. She wanted this, wanted it so very hard. “Then come with me,” he whispered, and within seconds his eyes were closed, his hips slammed deep inside of her, and as pleasure rolled through her in harsh, gripping waves, she felt his cock pulsing deep inside of her, the spurt of his cum again and again. It felt like branding, like being claimed in the most thorough, primal way.
This time, he seemed spent; he collapsed next to her, rolling to the side just enough that she wasn’t trapped or crushed. She wiggled around until she was under the sheets; if he could afford multiple houses, he could afford someone to wash out the cum stains, and most of the mess had wiped off on the comforter anyway. She thought he might be squeamish or annoyed, but he got right under the covers with her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tight against his chest. She gave a happy little purr of a sound, and he laughed, kissing her under the ear.
“Do you like it here?” His voice was nervous, just a little shaky.
She bit back the first answer that came to her head – I like it here with you – and just nodded. She rolled in his arms, putting them face-to-face, then tucked herself under his chin. He seemed a little surprised, maybe taken aback, but after a moment his arms just wrapped around her, pulling her close.
She’d had all kinds of sex with all kinds of emotions, but this might have been the first time she let someone hold her while she slept.
Chapter Eighteen
The house became their unofficial base of operations. Tess made liberal use of the credit card that Milo had given her; she started redecorating the house, and she started rebuilding a w
ardrobe. She took her time with both; the bedroom came first. The furniture was fine, but all the linens and details just felt wrong. Once, she’d seen a magazine that did a whole bedroom in deep, chocolate brown and light turquoise. She’d loved it more than anything else that she’d ever seen, so she started there. She made herself buy one piece at a time; other, fancier, women could probably set up an entire house with one trip to Ikea, but she wanted to relish the process – and make sure she didn’t make too many mistakes because she was flying by the seat of her pants.
At the same time, she was choosing new clothes, a new wardrobe – it felt like she was choosing a new life. She found herself gravitating to two different sets of clothing. The kind of outfits that fit in at the clubs she and Milo went to every night, looking for leads on Toro, as well as the outfits she needed to dance at Assets twice a week, and the kind of outfits that fit in with the PTA and soccer mom lifestyle she’d be looking forward to in the future. She bought jeans and down vests, maternity clothes, sneakers and fleece lined boots. All the things she’d been torn between laughing at and yearning for when she’d seen them on the street.
