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Master grins. He brings the glass to my face, brushing the cold material against my cheek. Then my forehead. Then my other cheek.
Against my lips.
My body mimics a sob.
Master brings the glass to his own mouth, smirking as he tilts it back and begins to drink.
Gulp.
Gulp.
Gulp.
Gone.
Master releases a satisfied, "Ahhh." His breath is cold and moist as it wafts over my face.
“Sur vos genoux,” he orders, pushing to his feet at the same time. I stare at him for a moment, not sure I can obey the order to get on my knees. But I know I have to try. He deserves a slave that will at least try for him.
So, despite the ache that seems to go all the way down to my bones, despite the cuts scattered across my body, despite my limp legs and trembling muscles and swimming head, I press my bloody hands to the rice-covered floor and push myself up with all my strength. I crash down, my chin hitting the cement hard enough to make my teeth clack. Pain spikes along my jaw.
Master stays perfectly still, just staring at me.
I try again.
And again.
And again.
“Fucking useless,” he spits. “What kind of slave can’t even get on their knees for their Master?”
I shake my head, needing him to know how sorry I am. How badly I want to be good for him. What I’d give to make him happy.
He slams the glass onto the floor, making it shatter. I force myself not to flinch. Master grabs a fistful of my hair and drags me up and forward, settling my knees in the pile of broken glass. I suck in a sharp breath but show no other signs of discomfort. I already misbehaved again. I don’t want to make it even worse by annoying him.
With his free hand, Master works his belt open, then his button, then his zipper. I know he won’t fuck me - not even my mouth. I’m too dirty for him right now. Too used. Too bad.
I’m not worthy yet. I don’t deserve his cock. A slave who can’t even kneel? Clearly, I haven’t learned my lesson yet, even if I thought I had. I deserve more punishment before he’ll give me the right attention.
“Ouvrir,” he growls. I immediately obey the order, opening my mouth.
He hooks his thumb behind my bottom teeth and presses down until my aching jaw is fully dropped. It makes the corners of my mouth rip open. We both ignore the fresh blood.
Master spits on my tongue. “Swallow.”
I swallow. It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.
Master smiles at me, cradling my cheek with his free hand, still holding me up by the hair with his other. He spits again. “Swallow.”
We do it over and over until he stops, tilting his chin thoughtfully. His thumb strokes my jaw. It feels nice. “What do you say?”
I’m not entirely sure I can speak yet, but I’m sure as hell going to try. “Merci, Master,” I manage in an awful, raspy voice. He makes me use the English word for Master because I had such a bad reaction to it when he first told me to use it. I think he likes how much pain it brings me. Master likes when I’m in pain.
“Much better,” Master says. “Not enough, not yet, but better. Do you want to be done with your punishment, esclave?”
“Only if you want me to be, Master.”
He smirks. “I think I might want you dead, actually. What do you think of that?”
