His hips shifted in the chair. I felt the change in angle as he tilted his lap upward, and the first thrust came from below—not the passive reception of my worship but an active, upward drive that pushed his cock deeper into my throat than my own rhythm had taken him. I gagged, briefly, the reflex flaring and then subsiding as my training caught it, and the sound I made around his shaft was wet and obscene. I could hear it carry clearly in the quiet of the den set.

“You’ve gotten so good at this, Annie,” Master Paul said. His voice had shed the last pretense of casual indifference. It sounded rough, thick with arousal. I felt a surge of wayward pride as I sensed how I had thinned his control to something that looked translucent in my suddenly abstract imagination.

My master thrust his swollen manhood up into my mouth again. His huge hands held my head steady while his hips drove higher. The rhythm he established belonged to him, not to me; harder, faster, deeper than the worshipful pace I’d maintained. “Such a good little cocksucker. You know what that means, don’t you?”

I couldn’t answer, of course, but my body still tried to. My mouth was full of him, my throat working around his thickness, my eyes streaming tears that ran down my cheeks and dripped onto my master’s lap. I looked up at him through the blur and found his brown eyes locked on mine with an intensity that felt like being held down by something heavier than hands.

“It means you’re ready,” he said. His hips drove upward and I felt the head of his cock press into the tight ring of my throat, stretching it, demanding entry, and I swallowed around him and let him in. “Your mouth learned. Your cunt learned. Tomorrow—” Another thrust, harder, and a grunt escaped him that made my pussy clench violently. “Tomorrow I’m going to take that sweet ass, Annie.”

My whole body went rigid, a full-length clench of terror and arousal so intertwined that I couldn’t have separated them with a scalpel. The memory of his thumb pressing against that forbidden place, circling, insisting, making promises his voice was now confirming, rushed through me like ice water and wildfire simultaneously.

“That tight little hole I’ve been training with my fingers,” he continued, his voice dropping. His hands tightened in my hair. His hips drove up again, and the lewd, wet, choking sound of his cock pushing into my throat filled the fictional den. “You’re going to open for me there the same way you opened everywhere else. Because you’re mine, Annie. Every hole. Every inch.”

A sob built in my chest and had nowhere to go except around the shaft that filled my mouth. The tears streamed freely now, hot and constant, and the responsive panties had become almost unbearable between my legs. Every pulse of arousal fed back to me as friction, every wave of shame amplified into sensation, the feedback loop spinning faster and faster with no release valve. My hands were occupied, my mouth was full, and my body was trapped in black lace and satin that wouldn’t let me forget for a single second what I was.

A good cocksucker… a cocksucking little whore who’s going to get it in the ass tomorrow.

“Put your hands behind you,” Master Paul commanded. His voice had gone ragged at the edges, the words coming between thrusts that had grown shorter, harder, more urgent. “Hold your little bottom for me. Take those pretty cheeks in your hands and spread them and think about what’s going to happen to you tomorrow.”