Page 47 of His Holy Chaos

I shatter.

The orgasm tears through me, violent and bright. I feel myself clenching around him, feel him groan against my neck, and then he follows me over, burying himself deep as he comes with a low, guttural sound.

We stay like that for a long moment, both of us panting, both of us trembling. His hand is still wrapped loosely around my spent cock, and he gives it one last gentle squeeze that makes me whimper.

"Thank you, Daddy," I whisper, and my voice sounds like it's been dragged over gravel.

He presses a kiss to the back of my neck, lingering, tender. "You're welcome, baby."

Then he pulls out slowly, carefully, and I hear him reach for the tissues he keeps in the second drawer. He cleans me up with attentiveness, wiping me down, smoothing his hand over my lower back in slow circles until my breathing evens out.

"Now," he says, and I can hear the smirk return to his voice, "get dressed. We're going to be late, and I still need to decide what you're wearing."

"Can we shower first?"

"No. I want you to wear my cum inside you."

"Fu…" I start, but I catch myself. "I mean. Fudge. Or something."

He laughs. "I told you you'd learn."

I turn around, leaning against the desk on wobbly legs, and grin at him. My whole body feels loose and warm. "You're picking my outfit?"

"I'm always picking your outfit when we go out. What part of being my toy for me to play dress-up with don't you understand?"

He's watching me from the closet now, pretending to be all business. I grin at him, loose-limbed and still catching my breath.

"Stay," he says, and I do, which is probably a record for me. The miracle of obedience.

I know he's been plotting this since I first mentioned BratWorld three days ago. I could see the gears turning. He comes back with an armful of leather: pants, butter-soft and black, tailored to fit me; a harness with silver O-rings. No shirt. He doesn't want anything getting in the way of his handiwork.

He adds the heavy black boots with the buckles. They're my favorite part. He brings everything to where I'm still leaning against the desk, and I watch him with eyes that can't decide if they're amused or turned on.

"Arms up," he tells me, and I raise them, because I know what's good for me. He fits the harness over my chest himself, adjusting each strap, tightening the buckles until they bite against my skin. His fingers follow the leather where it crosses my sternum.

"The pants," he says, handing them over, and I shimmy into them with a little extra wiggle that's entirely for his benefit. They fit like I knew they would. Like he knew they would. Like I've been painted in black, nothing left to the imagination. He steps back to look, assessing, and the way he's eyeing me is enough to make me squirm. Almost there but not quite. “I’m leaving you unlocked, as you haven’t showered yet, but no touching.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I say, rolling my eyes. He gives me this amused look.

"Wait here," he says again. This time he goes to the bathroom and comes back with a slim black pencil between his fingers.

"Is that…?"

"Eyeliner," he confirms, uncapping it. "Sit on the desk."

I'm up there. He looks at me like he's handing me some kind of treasure. So precious.

"You want me to wear eyeliner?" I ask.

"Yes. I want you to be devastating. More than usual," he says, stepping between my knees. He cups my jaw and tilts my face up. "Hold still. Look up."

I obey, and my lashes flutter as he brings the pencil to the waterline of my left eye. He's careful. I blink when he pulls away, and he tilts my chin to the other side.

"Oh my God," I whisper, barely moving my lips. "I love this. Being your little doll."

"I know you do." He traces the liner along my right eye, smudges it slightly at the corner with his thumb, giving it that lived-in, dangerous look. "I know exactly what you need."

When he's finished, he steps back to look and smiles.