The Contract Chapter 5 (Final)

He kept me there on the couch for a long time, cheek pressed to his thigh, his hand resting in my hair. My cunt still pulsed from the forced orgasms. Wetness had soaked into the leather beneath me. The collar sat heavy around my throat. Every slow breath reminded me how empty I felt now that his fingers and the vibrator were gone.

When he finally moved, he stood and gave the chain a short tug.

“Up.”

I pushed myself off the couch on shaking arms. My legs felt weak. Cum and my own wetness slicked the insides of my thighs. He walked me down the hallway, still on the chain, back toward the bedroom. I crawled when the tug told me to crawl. I walked when the chain loosened enough to let me. He did not speak. He did not need to.

Inside the bedroom he pointed to the low bench at the foot of the bed.

“Kneel on it. Chest down. Arms behind your back.”

I climbed onto the padded surface and settled into position, ass high, cheek against the cool leather, wrists crossed at the small of my back. He took soft rope from the black bag and bound my wrists together, then looped the rope around my upper arms so my shoulders pulled back and my heavy tits hung free and exposed. The position forced my back into a deep arch. Cool air touched every wet part of me.

He stepped in front of me and looked down at the picture he had made.

“You’re dripping on my bench,” he said.

“Yes, Sir.”

He reached down and dragged two fingers through the mess between my legs, then pushed them into my mouth again. I sucked them clean without being told. The taste of my own cunt and his earlier cum made my stomach tighten with fresh need.

He walked behind me. I heard the soft sound of the flogger being lifted from the bag.

The first strike landed across both ass cheeks. Sharp heat bloomed under the skin. I gasped but stayed in position. The second followed immediately. Then a third. He worked steadily, covering every inch of my ass and the backs of my thighs until the skin felt hot and swollen. Each strike made my cunt clench. Each strike made me wetter. I loved the way the pain sank deeper and turned into something that made my clit throb.

When he finally set the flogger down, my ass was burning and my thighs were trembling.

He stepped close behind me. I felt the blunt head of his cock press against my soaked entrance. He did not push in. He only rested there, letting me feel how hard he was, how ready. My hips tried to push back. He held me still with one hand on the rope that bound my arms.

“Beg.”

The word sat heavy in the quiet room.

I swallowed. “Please, Sir. Please fuck me.”

“Louder.”

“Please fuck your whore. Please use my cunt. I need it.”

He thrust in to the hilt in one hard stroke.

I cried out into the leather. He fucked me with the same steady, relentless pace he always used—deep, controlled, no mercy. The rope kept my arms locked. My tits swung hard beneath me with every thrust. The burning skin of my ass stung every time his hips slammed against it. The wet sound of him driving into me filled the bedroom. I came quickly, cunt clamping down around him, a broken moan tearing out of my throat. He did not stop. He kept fucking me through it, forcing a second orgasm out of me before I had even finished shaking from the first.

Only then did he pull out.

I felt empty the second he left me. A soft, desperate sound slipped out before I could stop it.

He gave the chain a short tug so I turned my head. He was standing beside the bench, cock glistening with my wetness, still hard.

“Open.”

I opened my mouth. He pushed in deep, holding the chain so I could not pull back. He fucked my throat with the same steady control, using me until spit ran down my chin and tears pricked the corners of my eyes. When he finally came, he held himself deep and let me swallow every pulse. I took it all, moaning around him, loving the way he used every hole like it belonged to him.

He pulled out slowly and wiped the head of his cock across my lips.

Then he untied the rope from my arms. My shoulders ached as the blood returned. He left the collar on.

He pointed to the floor beside the bed.

I slid down and knelt.

He sat on the edge of the mattress and rested his hand on the top of my head again, fingers moving once through my hair.

I stayed there, naked, throat sore, ass still burning, cunt throbbing and empty, the taste of him still on my tongue. My body felt used and owned in a way no amount of money had ever bought before.

He kept me like that through the night—sometimes using me again, sometimes simply making me wait on my knees while he worked or slept. I dozed in short stretches on the floor or at the foot of the bed, always collared, always ready. Every time he reached for me I opened for him without hesitation. Every time he finished I cleaned him with my mouth and returned to my place.

Monday morning came grey and quiet.

He unclipped the collar himself. The sudden absence of the leather around my throat felt louder than anything he had done to me all weekend. He handed me my folded clothes and watched in silence while I dressed. My body still carried the marks—faint bruises on my knees, the lingering heat in my ass, the tender ache between my legs.

At the front door he stopped me with a single look.

“The money is already in your account,” he said. “You may keep it.”

I nodded, throat tight.

He stepped closer, close enough that I could still smell myself on his skin.

“But you won’t need it the next time you come back.”

Something in my chest pulled tight and sharp.

I walked out to the waiting car on unsteady legs. The gate closed behind me. The city felt too loud, too bright, too empty.

By the time the car reached the highway I already knew the truth.

I did not want the thirty thousand.

I wanted the next time he allowed me to kneel.