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Chapter Five
Zel
Ilet a small grin slip onto my face as I roll over on the softest, as well as the yellowest, sheets I’ve ever slept on.
Apparently, Mr. Whittington likes his “new doll” in yellow.
Our shower/ shave/ finger fuck was followed by him cleansing me.
Every. Single. Inch.
Even the areas I’ve never let another man explore.
Using nothing but a silky, yellowy soap and his large, calloused bare hands, Elias lovingly scrubbed me down. He started at the bottom by kneading the arches of my feet and gradually worked his way up to my hair where it felt like he spent hours washing and conditioning. By the time he was finished, my entire body was too weak from relaxation to hold myself up, which I swear is what he wanted because he seemed all too eager to lay me on this bed and pat me dry with a thick, plush yellow towel before using a different one of the same shade to help tame my wet locks.
The moment my body touched the mattress he told me this would be my room for the next few months. That everything in it was mine to do with as I pleased. That every piece of clothing I come across is brand-new, just like the makeup, jewelry, sheets, and the self-care products. He firmly stated he would never give a “new doll” an old toy’s belongings. And on the heels of that declaration, came two more. Elias swore to me that he would treasure me and that his new doll would want for nothing while in his care.
Craziest shit is…I believed him.
I still believe him.
I let out a gleeful giggle and hug the goose-down pillow tighter and continue to recall the rest of our night together.
The new man in my life applied a yellow lotion that possessed the scent of pure opulence and felt like butter against my skin. His tone was so gentle he almost felt like a totally different person. Like a twin he had swapped personalities with while I was damn near dozing off to sleep. He took his time dressing me in extravagant yellow lingerie that caused his cock to swell each time he tightened a ribbon, and then even more time was spent with him combing my hair.
Complimenting it.
Promising me he’d take good care of every last strand.
The action of combing eventually led to me brushing while he watched, jerking himself off.
It was strange, yet so empowering to have a man so mesmerized by my hair.
By me.
All of a sudden, my stomach growls, anxious for another endless feast like the one we had last night.
Elias kept his word about feeding me once we were done in my room.
I ate like I had never eaten before.
Second helpings.
Thirds.
Not once did he tell me to slow down or warn me of getting “too thick” – something Dad would occasionally do as a terrible tactic to get me to consume less so that we would have more later.
No.
Elias simply watched.
Intensely.
He’d occasionally lean over, use his thumb to swipe away sauce, lick it off his own finger, and proceed to drink me in at the same time he drank his wine.
Our conversation consisted of me and school and, to my surprise, he contributed to it every time he could.
Like he was listening.
