Page 31 of Break Me
I consider for a moment as she sits there. Usually, I only keep her in my office when I don’t have girls there, which is only a few hours a day. But with the muzzle, I can have her there without her interrupting me. I can explore the effect she has on the other girls—and explore her reaction to helping me like that. And most of all, I can have her at my side most of the day.
“Tomorrow morning, I’ll come back here,” I tell her, stroking her head. “You’ll eat your breakfast on the floor and kiss my boots, and then I want you to ask me to put the muzzle on you.” I pause to gauge her reaction. Her eyes widen, and her fingers tighten against her thighs, but she’s a good girl, keeping her eyes down—keeping quiet. “As a reward, you’ll get to spend the whole day with me.”
Her eyes flit up, and I sense a surprisedreallyhovering on her tongue just before she stops herself and lowers her gaze back down.
“Would you like that?” I ask. She’s getting it either way, but I find that I want to hear her opinion. I want her to confirm what I think I’m seeing.
Her brows furrow as her eyes flicker to the muzzle that remains on the floor, where the guard who took it off her must have put it. So I make the question easier for her. “Would you like to spend the whole day with me?”
She looks up and bites her lips as she nods eagerly.
“Speak up,” I demand.
“Yes. Yes, I would,” she gushes between eager breaths.
I crouch before her and wrap my hand around her chin. The answer to my last question isn’t enough. I want it all: her eagerness to please me and her dark desires that she’s hiding from me. She finds the muzzle humiliating, but I know part of her wants it. I felt it in her earlier today. So I ask, “Would you like to wear the muzzle while you’re with me tomorrow?”
Her eyes dart down, but I tighten my fingers, forcing her head to remain in the cup of my hand.
“Look at me and tell me the truth. Would you like to wear the muzzle?”
Her throat bobs as she gulps, and an upheaval of conflicting emotion seems to rage in her eyes as she lifts them again. She breathes hard as she struggles with herself, lips opening and closing as she tries to form an answer. But as I keep holding her gaze, the unease in her settles. She seems to resign herself to the answer she’s about to give me. When she finally speaks, her answer is brief but clear. “Yes.”
My lips draw out in a wide, proud smile. I can’t help it. It’s the best thing I’ve seen all day—her rosy cheeks and wide eyes as she admits to something she finds utterly wrong and humiliating.
“Good girl. Then you shall.” I lean in to reward her with a swift kiss on the lips before I pick up the muzzle and leave to hurry upstairs and take care of my raging hard-on.
19
EMMA
With the muzzle comes a new routine. Dax starts bringing me to his office almost every day, making me wear it as he works. I even get to stay there while he has women on his table, and he lets me comfort them with my touch as he waxes them, gives them enemas, piercings, tattoos, contraceptive implants, and tends to wounds and broken bones. He even asks me to assist sometimes, making me stand at his side and hand him various implements as he asks for them, and he teaches me how to clean new piercings and tattoos, so I can do it on my own while he retreats to his desk.
It’s scary how quickly I grow accustomed to both the muzzle and seeing the things Dax does to the unwilling women. With each passing day, it bothers me less and less. As I sink deeper into my new routine and lose track of the weeks, I realize that it rarely bothers me anymore. If anything, I find purpose in being in there with him, providing some comfort to the women in a situation where they wouldn’t be given any if it wasn’t for me. Without me there, they would only have pain and suffering, but I can ease that pain, and that seems to be more than enough for me.
Sometimes, I remember the world I came from, and disgust wells inside me for what I’m partaking in. But then I turn my attention to Dax, his magnetic power and compelling authority, and I remember why I’m here. To submit to him. With that thought at the front of my mind, the rest of the world and its many morals don’t matter as much.
The guilt, I can somehow handle. But what is much harder for me to cope with is the jealousy. It prickles in my skin whenever Dax aims his focus at another woman. I want to be the very center of his attention, and sometimes, I even find myself wanting to be the victim of the pain he delivers just to be the only one he sees.
But as I notice the way he actually sees the women on his table, the jealousy becomes easier to handle. Because Dax doesn’t see a person when he’s working. He sees a thing that he needs to perform a task on. His gaze is always detached, his expression impassive and uncaring. There’s no concern for the well-being of the women on his table—no effort to ease their pain or attempts to give them pleasure. It’s the complete opposite of when he lifts me onto the same table at the end of a day. His expression is full of life as he straps me down, and his eyes burn as he demands my full attention while he pulls out the plug in my ass—which he makes me wear more and more frequently—and replaces it with a narrow vibrator. Then he makes me come repeatedly as he fucks me with it while rubbing my clit.
“I can’t wait until you’re ready to take me down here,” he often says, but even as the dildos grow bigger over time, he doesn’t fuck me. It’s disappointing, to say the least, but I’m also grateful, knowing how big his cock is. I’m not even sure he could fit in my pussy, and getting him inside my ass would split me apart.
But he doesn’t let me go without the feeling of his cock. He’ll often let me suck him off until he comes in my mouth or over my face. One day, he even jerks off in front of me and comes in the water bowl he keeps for me in his office, then orders me to lap it all up.
Seeing the stark contrasts, I can handle the jealousy for the most part. But one day, when he’s shoving toys up a girl’s ass to train her like he does me, it becomes too much.
Gluing my eyes to the floor, I try to shut the scenario out, but her moans echo in the room. It doesn’t matter that she’s also whimpering “stop” and “no.” The jealousy itches with each unwilling moan. I want to cover my ears and hide my face, but I can’t disobey Dax. All I can do is sit there on my knees with my hands pressed to my thighs, growing more tense with each second.
“Are you jealous, my sweet sub?”
Dax’s voice makes me lift my head. He’s smirking, seeming amused, and it almost hurts as much as seeing him toy with another girl. So I shake my head.
A deep scowl knits his brows as he gets up from his stool and discards his gloves, attention honing on me as he approaches.
“Are you jealous?” he repeats in a stern voice as he crouches in front of me and grabs my jaw.
Lowering my eyes, I nod my head. Because there’s no way I can lie to him when he’s boring his command into me like that. If my mouth was free, I’d ask him if I could wait in the hall. He sometimes sends me out there to wait when doing something particularly severe that he doesn’t want me to witness. I kind of hate being out there, away from him, but anything is better than this gnawing feeling.