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He didn’t like trousers, or God forbid, jeans. He didn’t buy me a single thing without a skirt. Some of it tight, some of it nipped in at the waist and going out into a flowing shape. Always showing off something – my legs, my cleavage, my arms, or my back. Sometimes more than one thing. The shoes were all heels. Tall, in a rainbow of colors. Always with a strap around the ankle. Always tall enough so I could reach his lips in them. And the lingerie. Bras, thongs, stockings, garter belts. So much lingerie I couldn’t have worn it all in a single lifetime. He liked that the most, I think.
He touched me carefully now. Soft caresses that made it obvious how hard he was holding back, his fingers rigid as they slid along my skin. I let him be gentle, because we both needed it. But I knew he would break eventually, and I couldn’t wait for the moment he’d finally fuck me again.
He never touched my asshole. It had been two weeks and he hadn’t done it. My pussy, my mouth, my hands, my tits. Never my ass. It was for the better, I guess. I wasn’t sure it was helping anyone though.
With a full closet of new clothes, he took me to the hairdresser. He actually came with me and practically threatened the girl cutting it, telling her to keep it long. I giggled at the memory, how fucking intense he was being about an inch of hair. He didn’t let them color it, either. Just cut it a little and make it glossy and pin-straight. And then came my nails, and my toes, and the Brazilian wax he insisted on even though he knew I shaved every day.
“It’s not about that,” he’d told me.
“What is it about, then?” I asked him, feeling angry. “You just want to control everything, old man.”
“Of course I do,” he smiled at me, and left the room.
The wax fucking hurt, and I made him aware of that as he made love to me that night, his fingers trailing lines down my smooth, waxed pussy. I scratched his back until it made me scream in frustration because he only laughed when my nails broke his skin.
He pampered and groomed me until he thought I was perfect. He primed and probed and coiffed and glossed me over until I looked like an elevated version of myself. But he still wasn’t satisfied.
He circled me in his bedroom, and I felt exposed even though I was wearing lingerie and heels. A low growl escaped his lips as he stalked around the room.
“You’re being weird,” I said. “I look fucking amazing.”
“That’s not it,” he said. “It’s you… it’s your attitude.”
“What’s wrong with my attitude?” I put a hand on my hip and glared at him, and he laughed at me.
“That. Just that, Pet.”
He smoothed my now perfectly glossy hair and my cherry-red lips parted for him.
“You’re disobedient,” he said, and I giggled. “You fucking are. And I let you do it.”
“Why?”
He wouldn’t answer, just turned around and took something out of that chest of drawers he liked so much. Truth be told, I thought it was the ugliest fucking thing in the house.
He came back and my eyes zeroed in on what was in his hands. Just a phone. He put it in his pocket and tipped my chin back, making me look at him.
“Do you remember Angel?” he asked me, and I nearly spat in his face.
Bitch.
Bitch.
Fucking bitch.
“Yes,” I hissed, and he laughed at me.
“I want her to come over tonight.”
“No,” I said.
“Who asked you?”
“Don’t,” I said, and hated the way my bottom lip trembled. “Don’t bring her here. We don’t need her.”
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” he said, and I hated him more than ever. “And you’ll be a good girl and take it, and do what I fucking tell you to do. Isn’t that right, Pet?”
I looked away, my face burning.
“She’ll be here in twenty minutes. Do you want to have some fun before she arrives?”
“No,” I snapped.
“I think you’re lying,” he said, his hands running down my cheeks. “I really think you are, Pet.”
I jerked against his touch and he smiled at me as he ran his fingers along my jaw, down my neck and over my tits.
“Why won’t you trust me?” he asked.
Because you’ve fucked her before.
Because you want to hurt me.
Because you will fuck her again.
I didn’t answer, instead I just looked away, and he sighed in response.
I heard the sound of his belt being undone, and my eyes found his. He stared at me as he took his belt off and moved behind me. I didn’t know why, but I let him take my hands and wrap the belt around my wrists, tying them firmly in place. My chest heaved as he came to my front and made me look at him, not by moving my head, but by staring at me until I returned his gaze.
