“No, no, no,” he admonished. “Look up at me and thank me properly. Say, thank you, Sir, for fucking this worthless slave.”
She drew in an audible breath and then slowly lifted her head. She started to speak, cleared her throat, and then repeated the words with all the enthusiasm of a dead fish. They would have to work on that. For now, he let it pass, eager to get on with his plans for the morning.
“You’re welcome, cunt. Now, get up and wash your hair. Then get out of the shower and dry off. I’ve got plans for you.”
~*~
Damon’s disgusting jism dribbled down her inner thigh. When he stepped out of the stall to dry himself and dress, she quickly washed it away. Then she reached for the shampoo and squirted a large dollop onto her palm.
Callie’s arms felt like lead as she lifted them to wash her hair. She was weak with hunger and utterly exhausted. She supposed she should be grateful he’d bothered with lubricant, but he’d still hurt her when he’d shoved his big, hard cock inside her.
She wanted to stay under the spray forever, rather than step out to whatever “plans” he had for her. She didn’t dare, however.
She had to keep herself focused. Her number one priority right now was to make him believe he’d broken her. She’d taken too many risks already, and he was now doubly on his guard. She had to behave like the meek, docile mouse he seemed to want, desperately eager to please.
The really terrifying thing was that she felt meek and docile at the moment. She would do anything for something to eat and the chance to rest in a real bed.
Hair and scalp clean, she turned off the shower and stepped out of the stall, accepting the towel he held out to her.
“Dry off while I grab something from the bedroom,” Damon ordered. He returned a moment later holding a small bundle of clothing and a pair of black stiletto heels. “Put this on.” He thrust the things at her.
She took them, staring down with dismay at the black fishnet stockings and garters, tiny black satin apron and an open cup lace shelf bra. Seriously?
Remember, you’ve given up. You’re his obedient slave girl. He has to believe that.
She tied the tiny apron around her waist, looping the long satin sashes into a bow at her back. The lacy Lycra bra covered only the lower half of her breasts, her nipples on full display. At least the welts were no longer bleeding, but the sight of the long red lines marring her skin upset her, and she looked quickly away.
Her hands shook as she put on the garter belt and stockings. How long before she totally lost her mind?
Stay strong. Don’t give up.
She slipped her feet into the high heels. They were a half size too large, and she wondered how she was expected to walk in the damn things.
When she was finally dressed in the ridiculous getup, Damon thrust a feather duster into her hand. Reluctantly, she took it.
“We’re going to engage in a little role play,” he said with a sly grin. “Here’s the story—you’re a French maid and you’re applying for a position as my housekeeper. I have asked for a demonstration of your dusting skills. You are to dust all the furniture in the bedroom. No matter what I do to you, you have to keep dusting. If you get distracted and stop what you’re doing, not only will you not get the job, but you’ll be punished. Got it?”
Callie bit back a wail of fury. If only she had the strength to shove the fucking feather duster down his throat. Instead, she swallowed her rage as she composed herself. “Yes, Sir,” she managed.
Then, unable to stop herself, she added, “Please.” Her voice cracked. “Please, Damon. I want to do what you want, Sir, but I’m so hungry. I’m not sure I have the strength to do this right now. I’m afraid I’m going to faint again.”
He frowned, crossing his arms over his muscular chest. “You should have thought of that before you tried to escape.” He took her elbow and marched her into the bedroom. She tried not to stumble as he led her to the bureau.
“After our game, then you can have something to eat, as long as you do a good job. Now, get to dusting, little maid. And remember, don’t get distracted from your task.”
Blinking back tears, Callie lifted the duster and ran it over the top of the bureau. He’d left his wallet there. She scanned the already-polished wood for something she might use as a weapon, or perhaps a key, but there was nothing else on its surface.
As she dusted, Damon moved up close behind her. Reaching around her, he cupped her still-sore breasts and rolled her nipples between his fingers. Remembering the rules of his stupid game, she gritted her teeth against the pain and forced herself to focus on her task.