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*Standalone Chapter from* [*my novel Little Degradations*](

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As she swirls her fingers around in the cum on my stomach, I experience the last waves of orgasm tingling through my feet. Reeva is a fucking miracle.

She kisses my chest, then feels through my hair with her free hand. My thoughts grow hazy, then stop. Minutes later, my slumber is cut off by a warm, wet towel, as she wipes my stomach clean.

“Daddy, look! I changed into my cleaning outfit.”

My heavy eyelids beg to stay shut, but I manage to lift them.

She’s wearing the leather corset I got her when she moved in. It’s a vague version of a French maid’s outfit. The skirted bottom covers little of her legs, but the top goes up to her neck, concealing any cleavage in an attempt at modesty. She steps far enough back for me to have an easy, complete view of her being a goddamn revelation.

“A good woman is always ready to serve in matters of cleanliness. She’s ready with her duster, her vacuum, and her towel. She will clean up crumbs or wipe off cum – no task is too big for her if she puts her mind to it.” She curtsies. “Oh – citation. That’s from Creed Three on page 33 of the Little’s Bible.”

I sit up on the edge of the bed, but I wait to speak until her foot starts tapping and her sighs grow louder. My pulse is racing.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” I say.

She takes two skips to me, then presses her forehead against mine. “Is that a good thing, Daddy?”

I put my hands around her waist and spin her to sit on my lap. She perches on my left leg as we start kissing.

Our lips break off a minute in.

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“How do you make so much cum?”

I glare at her. “You’re fishing.” I slide a finger into her mouth. She sucks on it, then pulls it out.

“You’re too smart–ugh. You’re supposed to say that I inspire you, and I make you feverish with lust and hungry to impregnate.”

“Oh?” My cock firms up. “And do you think that it’s okay to say what I should say?”

“I don’t care.”

“Now you’re fishing for me to spank you.”

“Fuck you, Daddy!”

I press her off my lap and stand, showing no expression. I unzip her corset and toss it to the side. She’s entirely naked, and I’m stunned in a sense of surrealness, unmoving for a good minute. She still fucking does it to me.

She stays behind me at my command as we walk downstairs. At the bottom, I nod at the green abstract painting in the living area.

She unlatches the side, and the frame opens on hinges like a door. There are two rows of 15 hooks across the backside of the painting. Each hook across the top has one collar. The second row – a foot below the first – has all the leashes, some of the longer ones looped a few times to fit.

Reeva points at the first collar, a vinyl, neon green one that is one of the least comfortable – and therefore gets plenty of use. But I shake my head.

The sixth option gets my nod. It’s one of those dog collars with prongs pointing into the neck, ready to dig into flesh with any tug on the leash. And the leash I choose is more chain than leash with its giant, medieval links.

“Come here.” She walks over, and her shoulders hunch with a shiver almost slight enough not to notice. She catches my stare and lets her shoulders fall down her back, even as the goosebumps grow big enough to see. She hands me the collar. The loop is large enough to go over her head without touching her face. Then there’s a clip to connect links and tighten the prongs around the neck. I leave it unclipped.

“And the padlocks.” She grabs two from a drawer in the credenza. “Let’s go.”

She lets the chain drag on the floor and stairs as we go to the basement, and part of me hopes it will leave marks.

In the basement, I nod at the pole that we installed last year. It’s been used more for this than any sort of dancing. She fastens the chain around it by locking two links to each other in a loop, similar to the collar. She chucks the key at me, hitting my chest. It clatters to the ground, and I show no reaction as I pick it up.

She holds out the second padlock, and I take care of cinching up and locking her collar tight.

“How long, Daddy?”

I walk away in response. When I turn back, halfway up the stairs, she’s standing, holding the chain with her face contorted in wondered. It’s probably heavy enough to make the collar dig into her neck if she doesn’t hold it up. She’ll end up on the ground soon enough.

She’s indeed sitting against the pole when I bring her dinner an hour later. I set her plate of chicken almost out of her reach.

“Don’t move the plate.” She’ll have to put up with the collar’s bite in order to eat.

She ends up finding some relief by eating on all fours with the chain resting on her back, though she winces as she chews. I sit in the corner on the couch and watch TV, pretending to not give her a second fucking wondered. When she finishes, she uses her napkin to wipe up the floor.

“Seems like you’re done being a brat.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I walk over to her and slide my thumb in her mouth. “Don’t fucking speak. I don’t want to hear your voice tonight.”

She sighs and sits against the pole again.

Two hours later, she’s in the same spot, going in and out of sleep. I have blankets and a pillow, and I change out her collar for the neon green one.

“Am I –”

I cut her off. “You are not speaking tonight.”

Her stupid-gorgeous eyes dart around the room as if she’s looking for something, then she seems to have an aha moment. She points at her belly, stands, and acts out pissing.

I go into the Little Room and grab a trash can, a small, copper one with a foot pedal to open it. I tie off the bag and pull it out, then set the empty can within reach.

“You can piss in there.”

I sleep in the next morning, Saturday, waking up sprawled all over the otherwise empty bed. I discover her downstairs snoring lightly, almost cradling the pole. She did end up pissing, so I empty it in the toilet upstairs and come back down.

I unlock the leash from the pole, then sit next to her and pull her head onto my lap. Her hair tickles on my exposed belly and lower thighs.

I unlock her collar and set it to the side, then I sit her up and start massaging her back and neck.

“Did I do good, Daddy?” She whispers.

“You were very repentant. I’m proud of you. I’m awarding you one link for showing true remorse and accepting great punishment.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“You’re welcome.”

She looks for the trash can, then down at the ground. “I’m so embarrassed. I can’t believe you cleaned up after me.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it up.”

I continue rubbing her body down, the silence lasting for several minutes. She breaks it up.

“Daddy.”

“Yes?”

“You’re making me wet.”

She guides my hand to her pussy and rubs it against her clit for a moment, then brings my middle finger inside her. I press in and out a few times, then pull it out and suck on it.

“You taste fucking amazing.”

“Thank you.”

I press the finger inside her mouth, then pull it out and kiss her.

She wobbles a bit when I guide her to standing, as if she’s forgotten how it works. I walk her to the wall and start massaging her again, telling her to be still.

I keep one hand massaging while taking my boxer briefs off with the other. My hands then move down her back until I’m massaging her ass. Her right hand goes to her pussy, and she rubs her clit. I eventually tilt her pelvis to lift her ass enough for me to surprise her by sliding my cock into her dripping pussy.

I waste no time sinking all the way in.

I rarely fuck her this hard, even though she claims it’s one of her favorite things when I do. She was begging for it last night, so I did the opposite. Catching her off guard now feels fucking perfect.

“Jesus Christ, Daddy. Jesus fucking Christ. Holy fuck. Don’t stop. I can take it harder. Lift me off the ground. Fuck me into this wall. My God – fuck, fuck, fuck Daddy!”

She continues her string of profanity between bouts of moans and screams.

“Make me fucking pregnant, Daddy. Please, please, please. I’ll do anything. Fill me up.”

I slow down, but my thrusts stay deep and sharp. I pound into her, let her go still, then pound again.

“Stop” – jolt – “telling,” – jolt – “Daddy,” – jolt – “what,” – jolt, jolt – “to do!”

“I’m sorry!” she screams as I start fucking her harder. “So fucking sorry!” My legs shake, and I can feel the sweat building on my back as I continue throwing her into the wall every time my cock pushes in. She begins slamming her fist, and I worry she’ll either break her hand or punch a hole in the wall.

There are three final bangs – my hips on her ass, her body against the wall, her fist on the wall – then her pussy tightens around my cock while her whole body shivers in my arms.

She goes slack, and I grip tighter. My cock twitches until a warm orgasm floods my body as well.

When I pull out, she turns around and kisses me, almost knocking me to the floor. Soon she’s alternating from kneeling, sucking my cock clean, and standing, kissing me in a way that makes my lips tingle with their own version of an orgasm.

This lasts for a good five minutes, then we force ourselves onto the couch and fall asleep, too exhausted to care about how hot and filthy we are.

NSFW: yes

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