Milk, Shake

Mia had come back to Jon like a stray dog.

She wasn't afraid, nor in the least bit suspicious: throughout their long afternoons together, he'd succeeded in infusing a sense of trust and security in her. Quite an achievement, it could be said. Jon thought about Mia often, perhaps too often. But it was always like that for him.

They had talked for hours stretched out on the chaise longue in the sitting room, as usual. They lay entwined, in a weave that would have alarmed any onlooker. But there had been no caresses, no kisses, and they hadn't loved each other. This obviously didn't imply that Mia's thoughts had been of the purest kind. Her own boldness surprised her: she was distracted by the curve of Jon's jawline, by the shadow of his collarbone under his skin, by the pearls of wine on his fingers as he filled his glass.

No refreshment had been offered to her.

She gradually realised that never before had she felt so complicated by a man's presence. To tell the truth, she'd never actually allowed herself to be. But she felt safe with Jon: she would have paid whatever the price for this perfect calm. She was deeply grateful to him. Sometimes, the weight of the debt clawed at her conscience. But he had never lifted so much as a finger against her. He had merely asked her some favours: tie up her hair in a soft ponytail in his presence, wear a certain low-cut back dress more often, apply lipstick in the mirror as he watched her... little pleasures.

Jon, on the other, had never once questioned her about what exactly she was running from out there, why she desired so ardently the presence of a man who would welcome her in his home.

It was as if he already knew the answer. Jon wasn't much older than she was, but his domineering stance seemed to imply a greater age difference between them. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Jon suddenly left the room without a word. Startled, Mia called gently after him. Her voice sounded gravelly and her throat was parched because of all the talking. But Jon was already back, carrying a saucer and a bottle of milk. This troubled her at first. Surely he wouldn't offer a drink to the cats (that sometimes skulked about the house) rather than to his guest of honour? But the sudden doubt couldn't rattle her faith in him. Jon balanced the plate on the chaise longue and slowly emptied half of the bottle's contents in it. He seemed to be quite aware of Mia's ravenous gaze fixed on him, counting every single drop of milk. Predictably, the cats swarmed from the crevices in the walls meowing persistently and rubbing their backs against Jon's legs.

"Are you thirsty, Mia?"

"Very much."

"I brought you some milk, honey."

Her eyes brightened with delight and gratitude. She reached for the saucer: as usual, her trust in Jon had been rewarded. Then she halted with her fingers outstretched, thrown off guard at the unexpected withdrawal of the drink from her grasp. Jon was holding the plate firmly just out of her reach, and was studying the quivering surface of the milk with a musing look.

"Mia, would you do me a favour? Something that would make me very, very happy?"

In a moment, Mia understood that it was no longer the longing for the warm and sweet refreshment to spur her on, but the eagerness to smooth Jon's forehead from whatever it was that was troubling him. She'd started giving in to such fervour much more often than usual, she noted.

"Anything you want."

"Would you drink this milk on the ground, kneeling on the floor? The saucer is wide and shallow, if you lap it up slowly you won't get stained. Would you do this for me?"

A thousand thoughts surged behind the girl's eyes: drink on the floor like an animal? What's wrong with a clean mug? And will you be watching me? Am I thirsty enough to humiliate myself like this? Submit myself to Jon? Well, I hope the floor's not too dirty... but what will the cats drink?

Jon read the consent in her face before she even had to utter it. He placed the bowl on the floor in front of his feet and smiled indecipherably. The girl fell to her knees on the cold floor, but before leaning forward towards the milk she cast one last glance to Jon's expression. Imperturbable, at ease, indulgent. Mia went on all fours and lowered her head.

Lapping the milk cost her more effort than she'd bargained for: she smeared her chin and the tip of her nose almost immediately. Halfway through her endeavour it simultaneously dawned on her just how parched her mouth had been and how very exposed her position was. Ass raised, elbows wide open, back arched downwards, shoulder blades tense and the continuous bobbing of her head. She sneaked a furtive look in Jon's direction: her gaze swept up only to his knees, then focused back on the saucer.

She finished drinking up the milk with what she would have later considered as decorum, given the circumstances. She succeeded in wiping away the droplets of milk from her lips before straightening up and noted with a streak of pride that she hadn't made embarrassing noises even when she had licked the bottom of her bowl. Crouched on the balls of her feet, refreshed by the drink and with Jon's tender stroke on her cheek, Mia allowed herself a victorious grin.

The abrupt, piercing awareness that Jon had not finished with her knotted her stomach into a ball of yarn.

"Sweetie, you were so thirsty! Surely you want some more, don't you?"

Before Mia could object to the excessive kindness, the saucer had been filled yet again with the remaining milk. Jon planted it purposively before her bended knees, clipping the ceramic on the floor with more stubbornness than strictly necessary. Mia had captured every scrap of Jon's attention. The man was sitting on the edge of the chaise longue, his hands clenched around the armrest. He was literally stretching out to her.

Mia slowly lowered her face to the platter. She wasn't at ease anymore. She glanced vainly at Jon, but from this angle she could no longer see him. All she could do was dip her tongue in the cursed drink. This time it was easier, she'd got the hang of it. She noted with sudden glee that there was much less milk than the previous helping. It would all be over sooner than she'd dreaded: her tongue was already brushing against the bottom of the saucer. Her haste betrayed her: a loud gurgle escaped her lips, and in mortified embarrassment her head snapped up.

The man seemed enchanted by the sight of her. His hand was clenched around his crotch, languidly stroking himself.

Mia froze, eyes and mouth wide open.

"Bend down as if to drink again, Mia."

His tone was smooth, as if he's asked her what the weather was like. Yet it would have been impossible not to notice the intense jab of control, his voice laced with power. It was an order, not an invitation anymore: it was irresistible, that was the truth of it.

The girl slowly did as she was bid. She flinched at the sound of Jon slipping off the chaise longue and kneeling beside her. He pressed the palm of his hand on the nape of her neck, then slowly traced his way up her back in one long caress towards her proffered ass. His hand kneaded firmly first one cheek, then the other. Jon angled himself behind her. Mia's eyes were tightly shut, all she was aware of was the pungent scent of the milk less than five centimetres away from her nose. He lifted her dress, tucking up the skirt in soft folds that fell over the girl's back. He ran a fingernail over the hem of her panties, grazing the outline between lace and skin. Jon brought his face closer to her sex and inhaled deeply. When he let out the breath, he blew obstinately over the now slightly wet fabric.

"You smell delicious, Mia."

Usually, Jon didn't ask the girls he chose (and he chose many) to humiliate themselves before him with little games such as the milk saucer one. If he wanted a girl he'd take her even with the most pathetic excuse: they all gave in to him, anyway. Jon knew how to single them out, he could distinguish the self-assured from the fragile ones. He had refined a subtle touch with which to fondle the sinews painted on their frail skins. Mia was one of those girls. But what had really thrown him off guard about her in particular was exactly how much she craved to be humiliated.

Jon had no regrets: sure, he had taken advantage of her naïve trust. And yet sometimes he was still struck by the pleasurable doubt that Mia had known exactly what she was getting herself into, right from the very start. Even now that the cards were down, in all their sordid eroticism, Mia was still unable to run away. She was begging to be caught, she was begging to be fucked. But she wasn't about to admit to it out loud, not just yet.

But Jon had high hopes. He even expected that there would be no need for the handcuffs he had judiciously stuffed behind the chaise longue cushions, earlier that day.

He slightly spread out her legs. The girl was scarlet with shame. She dared not adjust her painfully exposed position. Her shoulders screamed for respite: she'd been tensely crouching for almost ten minutes.

Jon settled between Mia's thighs, stroking the whole length of his erection still concealed beneath his pants. He admired the fold of her panties that stretched right between her ass cheeks. He bent forwards, retracing the same line of silk with his fingers.

In that moment, Mia's arms gave way and she struggled to rise. Jon's reaction was completely unexpected. In a flash he'd pressed her head downwards, crushing her face into the saucer. The leftover milk spurted everywhere. With his other hand he landed a powerful slap on her ass. Mia collapsed under the force of the attack. Jon's arm held her up by the waist, forcing her to resume her position on all fours.

"You don't move a muscle without my permission. Do you understand me, bitch?"

He hissed at her through clenched teeth. Mia didn't answer, she only nodded. She was overpowered. She guessed that perhaps she could have fled, slipped from his grasp and made for the door like a bolting animal. But she wasn't so sure of the successful outcome of her bid for freedom. Even worse than capture was the threat of abandon: what would become of her without Jon? If she evaded now, never again could she savour the intoxicating sense of safety that man exuded.

Mia could not tolerate not being in his power. She remained silent and still.

Jon kicked off his trousers, without releasing for a second his menacing hold on the small of Mia's back. He slid his cock first over her sex, then between her tendered ass cheeks. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He could feel the girl melt beneath his touch, he could sense her get wet from an arousal she had no control over, her legs shivering in anticipation rather than from exertion. Pressing down on her back, he made her lie face down on the floor with her arms crossed under her chin and legs only slightly parted. He descended on the stretched out body, taking advantage of her silky panties to slip effortlessly along her ass again: he loved this sensation. Jon slid his fingers in her mouth, certain that she wouldn't bite. She sucked and licked them, compliantly.

He pushed them deeper until she gagged a little, forcing her throat adapt to an unfamiliar presence. His hand snaked under Mia's panting stomach, hooked his fingers under the panties and down over her burning sex. He appreciated the care she dedicated to shaving her pussy, leaving only a trim strip of soft public hair above her clit. He cupped her arousal in the palm of his hand, then slowly slid a single finger along the length of her sex. He relished the almost imperceptible arching of her back, to get closer to his touch, to ease his caress. Now was the moment.

"Mia?"

She was listening.

"I can feel you like this. I know it excites you to make me happy: I've read it in your face countless times. I have put you for a test for a long time, asking you to help me, to serve me, to satisfy me. Now I'm asking one more thing of you. I have a feeling you'll enjoy this just as much, because it's something that would please me very, very much. I am now going to sit on the sofa. I want you to come to me, crouch between my legs and lick my cock. Then, when I say so, I want you to suck it. I want you to take it deep into your mouth, I want to feel your tight little throat clench around my hot cock. I want to see the tears in your eyes as you struggle to swallow me. Would you do this for me?

Jon stood up immediately and settled in the chaise longue. He gazed into Mia's eyes, daring her to bolt for the door.

"Would you?"

The girl joined him almost at once: she couldn't' resist the assertiveness of the invitation. She started to lick him slowly, first only with the tip of her tongue, then encircling the head of his cock with her lips. Mia did exactly as she had been told. She didn't look directly at his face: her eyes were shut. He was tempted to tell her off for it, but restrained himself.

He'd been in similar situations so often that his whole life seemed to break down to a long image of his hands kneading a girl's ass, like butter softened in a microwave. He fondled the familiar quiver down their thighs, he felt it melt into terror when he started to undress them, into self-hate when they started to get excited, into pleasure when they started to enjoy themselves in earnest. Personally, Jon preferred the second kind of shiver. He adored - simply adored - forcing a girl to cum against her will. It was like fucking her up twice, in body and in mind.

He wanted to push Mia to the limit, arouse her to the point that she'd be begging for is cock as if there were nothing in the world she craved more. Jon could feel the contour of the handcuffs concealed behind his back: their quiet presence stole a smile from his lips. He wove his fingers in her hair, closing them in knotted fists. He started to guide the movement of Mia's head with increasing impetuosity, until he could feel her tears running down his thighs and her throat throbbing on his cock. Jon shut his eyes and threw back his head, in ecstasy. He allowed the girl to take over the rhythm once again for a brief while, then he left her mouth. He made her sit beside him and wipe the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"You're doing well, Mia. Now I want to see just how wet you are from sucking me: I want you to take off this nice dress for me and give me your panties."

Suddenly, the girl wasn't as compliant as she had been only a moment before. Jon asked himself (as he often did) what was the damn problem women had with undressing before a man, why having their mouth fucked was fine but exposing their soft flesh was not. He didn't want Mia to be uneasy, he wanted to encourage her. He drew her close, running his hands over every new centimetre of skin her clothes revealed. He kissed her full breasts, traced her curves with the tip of his tongue, breathed in greedily her luscious sex.

"You are beautiful, my god, you're so beautiful."

Mia was calming down, she undressed with growing ease: she was falling back into his trap. The panties were handed over to Jon, along with an appetizing blush on her cheeks: the fabric was soaked with her need. Jon felt his hunger brim over and snarled his impatience.

In a heartbeat he'd grabbed her by the waist and slammed her violently on the sofa. He crushed her body under his, grinding her breasts with the weight of his chest. Mia struggled, terrified by the suddenness of the attack. Jon drew back just far enough to smack her full in the face, snatching a cry from her.

"Shut up: this is what you want, this is what your body wants. You're as wet as a hungry bitch, you love humiliating yourself for me. Don't deny it."

Seizing a fistful of her hair, he sank his face in her neck and bit her shoulder. It wasn't a deep bite, but it was furious enough to quieten her. Mia froze beneath him, suddenly very aware of the imposing erection pressing against her hip.

Very slowly, his eyes shackled to hers, Jon beat his cock a couple of times against Mia's thigh, growling in pleasure as she flinched.

"I want you to say please, Mia. I thought I'd have to ask you to play with yourself so you'd be just as wet and ready for me as I like, but you're already begging for it. You're panting at the very thought of being fucked. So, I want you so say 'please, I want to feel your cock inside me'."

Mia's eyes were wide open: Jon seemed to have read her mind rather than merely decoded her eloquent body language.

"Jon... Jon, please. Please, I want it."

"What do you want, Mia?"

"I want you to fuck me."

"With my fingers, perhaps? Do you think it'll take only two little fingers to satisfy you now?"

"No, no... I want you to fuck me with your cock. Please."

Even though Mia's legs weren't spread very wide, Jon penetrated her slowly, savouring the long stroke and the tight welcome. It was like sinking in a warm balm, in a silk glove. He didn't stop when Mia uttered a single yelp of pain as he stretched her to the limit. Jon halted only when his engorged cock was completely embedded into Mia's pussy. He even permitted himself the luxury of glancing down between her thighs, enraptured by the sight of each other's pubes entwined.

He pulled out abruptly, spread her legs with a rough motion and started fucking her with deep, racing strokes. Mia's sex caught fire, gushing at every thrust. Their chests, now beaded with sweat, clapped loudly together. The girl's eyes were squeezed shut and her cheeks flushed crimson: she was concentrating on something. Jon smiled through clenched teeth. A delicious suspicion had just crossed his mind. The damn bitch was desperately trying not to cum.

He drew back, flipped her over on the chaise longue and yanked her by the hair until she was on all fours. They had resumed the same position they'd started with when Jon had offered her the violence she deserved and desired. He rammed into her once again, ignoring the moan of pain his frenzy ripped from her. Jon bent forwards, skimming over her breasts and running purposefully down to her sex. Just as he's imagined, as soon as his fingertips brushed against her clit she jerked back. Jon attempted to touch her once more, and again she recoiled.

"Mia, Mia... do you really believe you can get away with this, not give in to me? Can you truly resist your orgasm? Can you kid yourself that your body will listen to you?"

"You can't force me to cum."

Mia had growled. The umpteenth smack crashed down on her ass, followed by a volley of violent blows. The spanking left both breathless, but Jon stared pumping into her with even greater rage. The girl inadvertedly picked up and then increased the rhythm, desperately swaying her hips to meet Jon's cock. Demanding him.

"You're right, I can't force you: I'm going to leave that up to your body. All I have to do is coax it out of you, and enjoy the show."

The handcuffs, concealed all this time just a few centimetres away, caught her totally by surprise. One moment her hands were free, the next her wrists were cuffed to the sofa's armrest. She groaned. Jon allowed himself a smug snort. He fingered the shudders coursing through the bound girl's body: he could feel terror, loathing, uncertainty, arousal, madness. He was completely breaking her down, not just in body but especially in mind. Mia was battling against the contrasting emotions he'd inflicted on her with those simple shackles.

Jon had to concentrate in earnest so as not to cum all over her back. He twisted her around, gratified by the sight of her bruised ass. He stroked himself furiously, rubbing the head of his cock over Mia's clit. The girl writhed about, arching her back and panting like an animal.

"I know you like it, I know you're holding back. I can feel you fight it, but you're dying for it. Oh god yes, you're cumming, there's no stopping now..."