Jessica woke up alone, cocooned in warmth. The smell of coffee tickled her nose and she heard the clicking of a keyboard being jabbed at repeatedly. When her eyes opened she saw her master beside her, seated up on the bed and propped up by a mess of pillows, trying rapidly, a serious and concentrated frown on his face. He was so engrossed with what he was doing he did not even notice that she had awoken. For a few moments she watched the words as they sprang up in his email. Whatever it was he had planned for the day, she was not entirely up for it. Her head hurt and she was tired still, despite having such slept for another considerable stretch of time. She hoped he meant only to lay in bed and cuddle. That she could do with some ease.
“Fotze,” he muttered as he hit enter. She watched him begin to grow angry. He had this ability to work himself up, thinking up scenarios in his own mind where women had done him wrong. She was terrified of facing his wrath for something another woman probably hadn’t even done, and reached up to reveal she was awake. He looked down as her slender fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt and she smiled timidly at him. Yesterday, when she awoke to him angrily rambling about women, she had thought the best course of action was to be timid and demure. That only seemed to feed into his anger. This time, she hoped feigned obliviousness might subdue him.
“Good morning, master,” she whispered.
“Good afternoon, slave,” he replied. She did not like the word he used and her eyes lowered, but he did not seem angry. She gently stroked his chest, snuggling closer to him. She turned her gaze back up toward him and found his eyes were back on the computer. He pulled up a graph and she watched him work silently. He seemed to like the feel of her fingers gently stroking his collar bone. She stopped once and he grunted. She resumed her motions and he fell silent.
He liked obedience but more importantly he liked being worshipped. He wanted a woman to look at him and see a God. She was beginning to believe that as long as she did that, he would be happy with her. The thought filled her with warmth and she turned her gaze from the computer to him. She kissed his shoulder and shifted, choosing to run her finger over his bicep.
“It is getting cold out,” he suddenly mused. She was not entirely sure what to say. For a moment, she thought he was on the phone. If he had a blue tooth in she wouldn’t be able to see it. He looked down at her with lifted eyebrows. “When I speak to you, the general rule is that a response is permitted. Unless I give the specific order I want you silent, you have no reason to worry.”
“I like the cold,” she said softly. “Autumn mostly.”
He nodded slowly and looked back at his computer. He paused and scared at the screen.
“I get very sad in the winter,” he murmured. She looked up at him. “Very lonely.”
“I’m here now,” she offered and he looked at her. A small smile came to his lips.
“Yes, you are,” he replied. He moved his laptop to the side and lifted an arm, pulling her into his arms. She nuzzled his chest and leaned into his warmth, ecstatic that the affection had continued. She would do anything this man asked of her, so long as it continued. He stroked her hair gently, pressed his nose to the top of her head, and breathed in deeply. “We’re going to be so happy.”
He whispered it softly, almost to himself, and squeezed her more tightly. He tilted her chin upward and placed a soft kiss to her lips. He gave one more little smile and then extricated himself from her arms. She watched him as he rose and walked over to the wardrobe. He grabbed a thick gray cardigan and put it on, gazing at her.
“You are a good girl?” he asked.
“I am,” she responded, sitting up in the bed. She held the blankets to her and he nodded slowly.
“Come with me,” he ordered and she slid out from beneath the blankets. Though his bedroom had been warm, the rest of the house was cool and she wrapped her arms around herself. Her stomach did a little turn as he came to the stairs that lead to the basement and he blocked her view as he put in the code. With the door open he ordered her inside. She walked down the stairs slowly, anxiety beginning to build up inside of her once more. The heard the beep as the door locked and looked behind her. His eyes found hers and he motioned with his chin for her to continue down the steps.
She obeyed, but her apprehension began to grow. She gnawed on her lower lip and turned as she entered the room, hoping for a smile or an encouraging word. She was met only with grim determination. She reached up and touched her collar. She used it as a shield. A pathetic attempt to try and remind him how much he cared about her. His eyes watched her fingers close around the tag. His lips twitched but he seemed un-swayed.
“There is food in the fridge,” he told her. She followed his gaze to the corner where a fridge suddenly appeared. She frowned and looked at him. He turned to leave and she called out.
He turned to face her and raised a hand, voice calm but stern.
“You do not speak to me again until I say you may. That is a direct order. Do you understand?”
She nodded slowly. He did not smile.
“Good. Go lay down.”
Like a dog, she thought and her lower lips trembled. She felt horribly dejected as she slowly moved over to the pillow bed. She laid down on it and looked to the door, hoping that one last forlorn look might weaken him and bring him back to her. But as she turned her gaze to the door he was gone, the door shutting behind him. She listened as he walked up the stairs, trying to figure out for the life of her what she might have done to anger him.
Nothing, he’s just a strange man, she told herself, but the discomfort lingered. The desire to start calling for him welled up within her and her lip trembled. She felt suddenly very alone. She cried for a little while and she wasn’t sure why. Being apart from him should have brought her peace. Instead, she could think of very little but having him come back.
She fell asleep and awoke a few times. There was food in the fridge as he said. Some fruit and yogurt mostly, fresh cold cuts and milk and orange juice. She ate twice before he came back down the steps and she waited anxiously. She touched her collar, reminding herself that she had to trust him. Still, there was that sickening fear in her stomach that the man might be coming back. What if he had simply decided to wait until she did trust him to let his friends come rape her? How funny they would think it is. A tear fell down her cheek as she waited.
“You have to trust him,” she whispered. “Obey, please, serve, worship, trust. Obey, please, serve, worship, trust.”
The door opened and silently thank God that it was only her master stepping through the door, looking as handsome as he always did. He wore tan pants and a long sleeve, white cotton shirt. She dropped to her knees almost immediately and then crawled toward him. She kissed his feet, excited to hear his praise and feel his kiss to her lips. Instead, the black, polished shoes moved away from her lips and he walked into the room.
“Come stand here,” he ordered. She got to her feet and walked to the place he pointed to. It was with a long, thin cane that he pointed to the spot. She hesitated a moment, lower lip still trembling. He walked around her and his hands gently pressed to the small of her back. His other hand pressed to her collar bone, gently moving her so her breasts stuck out. He took her hands and moved them behind her back so her fists were pressed together. He nudged her feet part with a gently tap of his foot to her calf. Lastly, he placed a hand to her chin and gently tilted her face up. He stepped back, circling around her slowly and examining her.
“Presentation one,” he said simply. “Feet together, bend at the knees. Back straight. Hands on knees.”
The cane smacked down on her bare bottom with shocking force. Her eyes immediately watered and it took her a moment to realized what had happened.
“Did I say you could speak?” he asked. The tone of his voice hurt more than the reddening stripe on her bottom.
Obey, please, serve, worship and trust, she reminded herself. That was what made him kind. It would do it again.
“Orders are obeyed,” he continued sternly. She gave a little nod and remained silent.
“Back straight. My girls have good posture.”
Her nose crinkled at the use of the word girls. He had always spoken of her as though she were special. She knew others had existed. To be spoken of as though she was just one of them… ones he had not kept…
Obey, please, serve, worship and trust, she told herself again. Whatever she had done, she would prove her worth again to him. She was better than the others.
“Presentations two,” he said. He gently trailed his fingers over the burning streak across her bottom. The remnants of the affectionate touch encouraged her. “Presentation one.”
She moved into the first position. He looked her over carefully, walking around her slowly. “Presentation two.”
She bent her knees, bringing her feet together, and got into the position he had described. “Presentation one,” he said again and once she was in her position and he was pleased she was doing it appropriately he snapped his fingers at her.
“Bend,” he ordered but as she moved to get into presentation two he swatted at her with the cane, landing a stinging glanced to her thigh. It was nothing compared to the strike from when she spoke. “Crouch,” he corrected himself anyway. She lowered herself down, balancing on the balls of her feet. “Hands behind your head.”
He spoke casually and moved to her left. She struggled to balance, thighs already burning, and he dragged a chair into view. About ten feet in front of her he plopped down the chair, taking a seat and crossing a leg. He leaned back and examined her thoughtfully.
“Endure,” he told her. Her body trembled. “Used for punishment.”
She said nothing, rolling her lips inward as she tried to stay on her feet and keep her back straight.
“Presentation one,” he ordered again. She obeyed. “Presentation two.”
She obeyed again.
She moved into the position and he stood.
“Women are naturally wicked,” he told her. The cane traced her bottom, down her thigh and she trembled. “If they don’t have a firm hand to guide them… they will do evil things.”
He came to stand before her and placed the cane beneath her chin, bringing her face up toward his.
“If another man was here right now… that would offer you pretty things, money, jewels, cars… you’d get on your knees for him…” she began to shake her head, eyes swelling with tears. “You’d suck his cock and take him in your ass like the vile little whore you are.”
“No,” she whispered.
“Don’t speak!” he bellowed. She flinched, eyes closing, and then looked back up to him. His fingers touched her cheek. “But you see,” he whispered. “With the proper guidance and discipline, I can make you a good woman.”
He moved away. “presentation two,” he said as he walked back to the chair. “Endure.”
She did her best as he rattled off the three positions, but he seemed totally unfazed. He watched her with icy, critical eyes.
“Drop down to your knees. Toes together, but knees spread, yes, hands still behind your head.”
He stood and circled around her. He swatted at her back. “Straighten.”
“Expose,” he said. “Knees together, on your ankles, hands on your thighs.”
She obeyed. She whimpered as he swatted at her hip.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered on impulse and she received a harder smack.
“Speak again and you go in the standing cage for a week.”
She swallowed thickly and closed her eyes. She nodded and took in a shaky breath. She did her best not to cry, but that was all she wanted to do.
“Kneel,” he said simply. She remained in the position, trying to commit them all to memory.
She got to her feet, almost went into the first position, and then bent down, correcting herself. She made sure to keep her back straight.
“Expose.” She moved into the position. “Endure.” “Presentation one.” “Expose.” “Presentation two.” “Endure.”
The only thing she could say for certain is he was not trying to trick her. He repeated them close enough together that is was easy enough to remember them.
“Now, leaned forward, balance on your elbows and knees, back on a line,” he ordered.
She got in the position, but her body trembled. Her muscles ached and her limbs hurt. When her body collapsed and her belly and abused breasts hit the floor she waited for the beating. She waited for the shouting. She waited for the abuse. She had already begun to cry, but it was not the physical abuse that frightened her so. She wanted to apologize but she knew better than to speak. When she was greeted with only silence she pushed herself back up on trembling arms and forced herself into the position.
“Punishment,” he told her as she finally managed to keep herself in that position. “On your hands and knees. Crawl to me.”
She crawled to him.
Once she was on her knees he grabbed the back of her hair in a tight fist and began to unfasten his pants. She looked up at him with teary eyes and he leaned down. Her lips parted, her heart soaring, and she waited for the kiss. Instead, he spit into her face. She closed her eyes just in time and felt the hot saliva trail down her cheek. A hand cruelly rubbed her face, spreading the spit into her skin, and then he spit again. Before she had time to recover his cock was in her mouth and he was pushing her head back and forth with his grip on her hair.
“Oh, ja,” he breathed, brushing her hair up so he had it all in a single fist. She gagged as he forced his cock to the back of her throat, panting for air when he finally removed himself from her mouth. “Do you want me to stop?”
She turned her tearful gaze up to him and shook her head. He forced his cock back into her mouth, fucking her face cruelly, fistful of hair in his right, a firm grip to her face with the other. He fucked her until she thought she would throw up and he pulled back again, letting her breath.
“Such a good girl,” he breathed as he grabbed her back and put his cock back down her throat. “Such a good girl.”
Her heart soared and she did her best to look up at him. His eyes were hot as he stared down at her. He pinched her nose and forced his cock back into her mouth. Her throat constricted and he swore, a laugh leaving him, and he released her again. She fell to her bottom, trying to catch her breath and he leaned down again, pulling her back up the hair.
“You’re such a pretty whore,” he murmured to her affectionately. He wiped away the water leaking from her eyes. “You’re such a good little cunt.”
He spit again. She was thankful it was just saliva and her lips parted on instinct. He let out a low, breathy laugh, almost one of disbelief, and slapped her cheek gently. He then pinched her chin, forcing her mouth open more widely, and spit again. She wanted to say his name but she fought the urge. He leaned down and kissed her. A hard, bruising kiss. One that knocked the wind out of her. When he released her she collapsed again, exhausted.
“Get up, slave,” he ordered. “Your master is not done with you.”
She got herself up back in the kneeling position, trying to keep her back straight. She was panting, tears doming from her eyes but from the gag reflex, not any certain level of distress. His praise helped calm her.
“Good girl,” he breathed as she opened her mouth for him. He collected her hair in his hand again and tilted her head back. “Gutes Maedchen,” he purred but he did not kiss her. He pulled back and forced himself back into her mouth.
He’s not angry. It just turns him on, she reminded herself.
“Suck,” he ordered, this time being more gentle with how far he forced himself inside of her. She did her best to obey and he moved her head back and forth, groaning in appreciation as she moved. Her scalp hurt from the rough hand in her hair, but it was nothing like the pain she had experienced in the past. She was almost grateful for his treatment of her. He had told her he enjoyed such things but promised he would never hurt her again. With tug of her hair, little slap to cheek and spit to the face, she felt her trust grow for him. He finally released her and she crumpled to her hands and knees to catch her breath. His erection still strained proudly and he stroked himself as he looked down at her.
“Are we done yet, slave?” he asked her. She shook her head. “Answer me now.”
“No, Master,” she croaked. He purred and moved to examine her from the side.
“That’s right, liebchen,” he answered. “Over to the bench with you.”
She looked up to see where his cane was directing her and then crawled over to it. She waited for her next order but he picked her up by the hips in with ease and lowered her across the padded bench on her stomach. She had trouble classifying his manner. It was not the brutal treatment she had experienced in the past. No rockets of pain coursed through her body. But the word gentle in no way could be used to describe his conduct.
“I was at a party once slave,” he told her as he shackled her right ankle to the platform. “Paul strapped his girl to a bench just like this.”
He shackled her other ankle.
“She was lucky though. There were only fourteen of us.”
A shiver coursed through her and her arms were seized. He shackled them out in front of her, connecting to a long bar. Her arms were stretched and she could move none of her limbs with any real freedom.
“I say that not to scare you,” he told her, slowly circling the bench and trailing his finger tip down her spine. “But to impress upon you the sheer vulnerability of your position.”
He moved behind her and trailed a finger along a stripe on her bottom.
“What would you do… if Ulrik were upstairs, and I called him down to play with you?” he asked. She pressed her face into the bench, unsure if she had permission to respond or if it had been limited. “What if I had other men upstairs… and let them come and go as they pleased… what would you do? Answer.”
Nothing. Was the response that make to mind. She pulled at her restraints gently to test them. There was absolutely nothing she could have done. But when she opened her mouth and let out the soft broken murmur she surprised herself.
“What was that, slave?” he asked. “Speak up.”
“I trust you,” she answered. She twisted her wrists around so she could wrap her fingers around the chain attaching her shackles to the poll. There were a few moments of silence and then his hand gently slid up her back.
“Say it again,” he said, voice a strange combination between a whisper, a croak, and a murmur. It was throaty, but controlled.
“I trust you,” she said more loudly. It wasn’t really an answer to the question. Not the answer he was expected clearly, not the one he had necessarily wanted in that moment, but the one he wanted deep down, the one needed but could never voice allowed as it would diminish his control over her. It was the one he needed.
“Completely,” she answered. She felt him settle behind her, finger tips ghosting over her ribs. They closed around her hips hard and pulled her against his erection, but did not enter her.
“Under what circumstances, can you refuse me?” he asked her.
“Never,” she answered, straining anxiously against the restraints.
“Answer the questions properly,” he scolded sternly. “Under what circumstances is what I asked, not when you may say no.”
“Und-under no circumstances.”
“Under no circumstances,” he agreed. She felt his cock at her entrance. He rubbed the head against her slick entrance. She marveled a moment, how could she possibly be wet after what he had just done to her? A moan escaped her as his head rubbed against her. He slid him the tip inside of her and pulled out as he spoke. “When do you say no?”
“Never,” she breathed out almost reverently. She felt empty. It almost hurt. She pressed her breasts into the bench, arching her bottom toward him in an offer.
“And why is that?” he asked.
“Because I belong to you,” she answered. “You’re my master. Of my body and soul. You own me.”
He slid deeper inside of her this time and then retreated again.
“Master, please,” she begged and he moved to the side.
“What brings you pleasure?” he asked. She paused. Was she allowed to feel pleasure? Surely he could not expect otherwise.
“Y-you… when you, when you use me –”
His cane smacked down on her bottom and she yelped softly, pressing her face to the black leather.
“Did that bring you pleasure?”
She squeezed her eyes shit and tried to think but another swat went to her bottom and her mind blurred.
“Did that bring you pleasure?”
“Yes,” she answered, thinking it was what he wanted.
“Yes?” he asked in surprise. He hit her harder this time. The swats did not stop, but they were not a flurry. Measured, controlled strikes to her bottom meant to cause pain, but not to cause damage.
“Sto-please,” she said instead, terrified how he might react to the word stop.
“It brings you pleasure,” he responded, smacking the back of her thighs.
“It doesn’t. It doesn’t!” she cried and the swats stopped. His hand gently moved to caress the burning red skin of her bottom. His hand was warm and gentle as he brought it across her skin.
“It brings me pleasure,” he told her. “How does that knowledge make you feel?”
“I want… I want to make you happy,” she managed to respond. “I want to bring you pleasure.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you’re my master –”
“I know who I am. Why does my pleasure bring you pleasure?” he asked.
“Because…” she panicked as her brain clouded, but his hand continued the gentle stroke to her stinging flesh. His fingers slid down her wet pussy, spreading the remaining juices over her skin before slipping his fingers inside and pulsing slowly. “My… purpose…” she began questioningly.
“Very good,” he purred. A smile came to her face. She was encouraged and continued.
“My purpose is to bring you pleasure and… when I do…”
“Do you feel proud?” he asked. She paused.
“Yes, but…” she tried to look back at him. He was looking down at her bottom as he slowly moved his fingers in and out of her, a thoughtful look on his face. He wasn’t trying to trick her, at least she didn’t think so. Obey him, he’ll be good to you. He might have to hit you if you don’t understand, but only to teach you. It won’t be like before. He promised. You can trust him. “But… it’s not pride really...”
She knew he wouldn’t want her to be too prideful. This was about him. His finger left her but continued to rub at her. She was slick from the ministrations, juices sliding down her thighs. She felt a lightbulb go off.
“It’s not about me,” she continued. “It’s about you.”
“It’s about me,” he agreed.
“And I know that you’ll take care of me,” she whispered. Because he promised. “Please, master, take pleasure in me.”
“It will bring me pleasure to strike you right now,” he informed her. She closed her eyes.
“Please, master, strike me?” she whispered. It caught in her throat but she got it out smooth. One hand went to rest on her back to steady her and then he stepped back. He struck her twice with the cane. Hard, quick strikes and then paused.
“How badly does this hurt?” he asked her. “Be honest.”
“It hurts,” she answered.
“Very bad,” she answered. It was true, but she was afraid he would think she was lying to get out of it. He touched the area where the cruel man’s strike had split open her skin. He had been careful to avoid it. He tossed the cane to the side and she watched it rattle to the floor. Before she had time to be relieved he slid into her with no warning and a moan left her. His hands were hard on her hips, the feel of his pants brushing up against her red bottom painful. “Oooh, thank you Master,” she moaned, voice rising and falling with each thrust. His hand went back into her hair and he forced her head back. She could look at him, but it was with some difficulty.
“My fuckin’ pussy,” he gritted out. “Oh, you’re a good little bitch.”
One of his hands went to her cheek, his finger moving into her mouth, pulling the side of her cheek back. She panted, eyes wide as she looked up at him. There was nothing she could do but lay there and be used. It was degrading, demeaning, put her in a position of terrifying vulnerability, yet her pussy drenched her thighs, her belly burned and her heart pounded.
“You’re a good little slave, aren’t you, baby?” he asked. She tried to nod, difficult with his hand fisting her hair and the other holding her face. Spit dribbled down her chin as his thumb kept her cheek pulled the side. He nodded at her, his own eyes wide. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re such a good little slave for me. So obedient for me. Good little girl.”
His words made her chest burn. She wanted to kiss him. A moan escaped her as she felt pleasure well up within her. She did not want his kind words to stop.
“You going to come for me, Schatzi? Meine Süße?”
She nodded, panted hard.
“Please,” she mangled. “Please, master.”
“Come for me, slave. Show me how good I make you feel?”
As if on command an orgasm ripped through her. He barred his teeth as he continued to fuck her. He finished a few minutes later, pulling out and spilling himself on her abused bottom. Slowly he refastened his trousers and then went about releasing her from the shackles. She was relieved she would not be left there for a significant amount of time.
“Presentation one,” he suddenly said. She paused a moment, confused, and then moved to obey. “Presentation two.”
She hesitated and he picked up the cane. She sunk into the position she remembered and he walked around her slowly. His hand was gentle when pressed it to her back.
“Back straight. I want good posture from you.”
“Yes, Master, thank you,” she whispered. He walked around her again, face stern and nodded slowly.
She obeyed, focusing on her back. He tapped her chin with the cane and she raised it.
“My girl has a good memory,” he praised. She smiled proudly at him as he walked around her. “Punishment.”
She moved to obey and he nodded slowly. She watched his shoes as he walked around her slowly. She wanted to kiss them, anyway to show him she respected his position, but she knew better than to move. He crouched down before her and looked over her bottom and thighs.
“DO you remember Endure?” he asked. She moved to get into it but he halted her with a gentle press of the cane to her shoulder. “Do you remember it?”
“I do, Master,” she replied.
“I believe you,” he answered. “I don’t want you to get into that right now.”
“Thank you,” she breathed.
“Over to the bed,” he ordered and stood. She crawled, looking over her shoulder to see what he was doing. “On your stomach!” he called casually as he grabbed the first aid kit. He walked back over, a small frown to his face, and applied the creams without a word. Next, he offered her something for the pain.
“Understand, what you just experienced does not warrant medication,” he said severely. “But for the previous injury and your breasts, I am giving you some.”
“Thank you, Master,” she said and took the water bottle he had retrieved with the first aid kit.
“Alright. Be a good girl now,” he ordered and softly shut the first aid kit shut. “I will return soon.”
He rose and went over to the locked cabinet, putting the first aid kit back inside.
“You are leaving?” she asked softly. He moved over to the door and glanced back at her.
“I am leaving,” he answered. She bit her bottom lip, a small frown coming to her face, but, perhaps luckily, before she could ask him why, he was out of the room with the door shut behind him. She stared after him a long while, thinking he would return. When she finally settled herself down into the blankets it was with a strange and painful gnawing at her chest.
Max plopped down in the living room with a beer in his hand and a smile on his face. He put up his feet and stared up at the ceiling. He already missed her and he had not left her five minutes ago. He needed to be strong though. He needed to be smart. Everything was so close. She was so close to being perfect. He could see it in her eyes, the budding devotion.
He checked his watch. She had to sit there and long for him a short while. She had to know how much she missed him when he was gone, to understand how much she valued his presence.
“I trust you,” he murmured in English. He brought the beer bottle up to his lips and laughed as he took a sip. He was overcome with happiness he had not felt in sometime. In truth, no woman had ever made him feel so good, so happy. And her trust did not something he had not foreseen. It inspired within him an unyielding desire to prove to her he could be trusted. The opportunity of losing her high opinion of him was not something he wanted to entertain. It was a level of responsibility he had never felt toward a slave, but it was not at all unenjoyable. It gave him warmth.
He checked his watch again. With a groan he rose and walked into his office. He smiled at his desk. She was becoming a part of his home. His kitchen, his living room, his bedroom and bathroom, his office, they all now had memories of her attached to them. His affection for her swelled.
“I will never let her go,” he breathed in German, waiting for his computer to start up. He hummed happily and took another sip of beer. “My pretty, Jessica. Oh, Jessica, Jessica. I love you, Jessica.”
It didn’t frighten him the way it might some men, because frankly, she was never leaving. His only pressing issue was to be the master that would inspire her love in return. Earn her respect and her love. He could do that. He just had to be smart. She’d want to stay with him. She’d worship him and love him and everything would be so perfect.
He leaned forward and signed in.
“Pretty Jessica,” he smiled and went through his photos. The ones Belko had sent him before she as taken. Shopping at a market. Coming out of an old church. Giving an old man a euro. He closed his eyes, reminding himself he owned her.
“Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine,” he whispered to himself as he reached for his drawer. He pulled it open and retrieved from of his credit cards. Soon, within a few years, he would be able to bring her to his meetings in Berlin, Paris, Prague. He’d be able to bring her into hotel suites and shower her with gifts, and champagne, and fine meals. And she’ll worship you. Her eyes, always on me. The center of her world.
He typed into his computer and slapped the enter key. As he waited the next few hours until he could go back down to Jessica, he passed the time purchasing her some lingerie and dresses.
That she’ll wear for you, he thought as he added each item to his cart. All for you.