Georgia wiped my messy face clean with a damp cloth, her touch deceptively gentle—tracing my cum-smeared lips, chin, and neck, soaking up the sticky remnants of her load with slow, deliberate swipes.
She untied my ankles just enough to manoeuvre me, hoisting me onto her lap like a prized pet, my bound wrists still pinned behind my back.
She is playing mind games with me. Hurting me, and then taking care of me—Georgia thinks that I will start to trust her, and act as her pet.
The heat of her body seeped through her pants, her spent cock a firm bulge pressing against my thigh.
A laden tray appeared—plates piled high with food—juicy roast chicken dripping juices, buttery mashed potatoes heaped in generous mounds, fresh salads bursting with crisp greens and cherry tomatoes, warm bread rolls steaming from the oven, fruit platters overflowing with sliced mangoes, grapes, and strawberries, even decadent chocolate pastries glistening with glaze.
