Chapter 7: The Reward

The soreness lingered for days.

Walking, sitting, even standing still—none of it let me forget what Sean had done to me. What he’d put inside me. What he’d taken out. I could still feel the slow stretch of him, the way my hole had ached after, the strange weight of him leaking out of me in the Uber like some quiet, private badge of ownership. I never reached for my cock anymore. Couldn’t. The cage throbbed constantly against my trousers, too tight, too present, too full of reminders. And the taste—faint traces of salt and sweat and power—never quite left my tongue.

But it wasn’t just the physical reminders that haunted me.

It was the silence.

After he dismissed me that night, Sean didn’t text. Didn’t call. Didn’t even look at me in the halls at work. Days passed like that—nothing but cold distance and the cage throbbing against my skin. No release. No reassurance. Just emptiness shaped like a man I couldn’t stop needing.

By Tuesday, I couldn’t focus on anything. Every spreadsheet blurred into nonsense. Every meeting was just a countdown until I might catch a glimpse of him. And when I did—when he passed by in the hallway or stepped into the elevator, flawless in his tailored suit—I’d catch a faint trace of his cologne and feel my knees weaken. I didn’t even want his attention.

I needed his use.

I needed to be reminded of what I was.

The message came at 3:07 p.m.

Come to my office. Now.

That was all it said.

Just reading the words made my breath catch. I stood up too quickly, nearly knocking my chair back. My hand trembled slightly as I adjusted my suit. The short walk to his office stretched before me like a gauntlet—every step heavy with anticipation, humiliation, and heat. I couldn’t wait, I wanted nothing more.

His door was already ajar, just slightly. Open enough to invite me. Open enough to make me sweat.

I knocked once, lightly.

“Come in,” came Sean’s voice—smooth, unhurried, absolutely in control.

I stepped inside. He was rising from behind his desk, slow and deliberate, and when his eyes met mine, it felt like being pierced. Stripped.

“Close the door,” he said. “And lock it.”

My fingers fumbled against the latch, the click of the lock loud in the silence. When I turned back around, he was already walking toward me.

“On your knees.”

There was no edge to his voice. No impatience. Just quiet command. That made it worse.

I dropped instantly. The carpet pressed against my shins, my hands resting on my thighs. I lowered my eyes, already flushed, my pulse pounding in my throat.

Sean stopped in front of me. His presence loomed—solid, inevitable.

He was every inch the man who had dominated my thoughts: tall and imposing, his six-foot-two frame filling the room effortlessly. His tailored slacks clung to powerful thighs, the crisp white of his shirt stretched just slightly across a broad, athletic chest. Sunlight from the window caught in the tousled strands of his blonde hair, making him seem almost impossibly sharp-edged, golden. His tie hung loosely at his throat, a subtle hint of carelessness that only made him more devastating.

He reached down and tilted my chin up with rough fingers, forcing my gaze to meet his. His thumb pressed firmly into my cheek, not enough to bruise, but enough to claim.

“You’ve been an obedient little slut lately, haven’t you, Blake?”

His voice was thick with derision, but somewhere in it—barely audible—was something close to approval. Maybe. Or maybe I was just desperate to hear it.

“Yes, Master,” I whispered. My throat felt dry. My voice shook.

Sean took a step closer. His crotch was directly in front of me now. The outline of his cock strained clearly against the fabric of his trousers.