orion

Hendrick was familiar with sex work, of course. Although, he could never privy prostitutes; the expectation, the skinship. The frustration. It was too much.

But you, you were perfect. Just out of reach. Painfully delectable. Of course, he had all the resources in reach to find you, keep you. If he wanted to. Only he didn’t, the screen was a nice precaution. It’s a lot easier to pretend when you can’t see him, debase himself behind the screen, and once your sessions over, he’ll be the director once again. A doctor, a professional. 

He curses under his breath, painfully pushing his nail back on his desk in anticipation. The private session should be starting soon. And before he can kick the screen off in frustration, there you are. 

Like a heel lifted off his chest, Hendrick feels like he can breathe again; you ignite in him something akin to want, the realization nearly makes him nauseous. Despite the lurching in his stomach, he’s very aware of the tightness in his loins. 

You’re in a more delicate get up this time; soft and lacey, with socks riding up to your knee, ribbons dancing along the hem. 

“Hi, hi. I ran into some, uh, technical complications. How are you, Doctor?” 

SpyderILamb: How darling of you to ask. I’m doing fine.

SpyderILamb: And what did I tell you about calling me Doctor? 

A smile stretches on your face, a meek giggle sounding past his screen. “Oh, I’m sorry, Daddy.” Positioning yourself on your back, Easterman gets a delicious view of your delicates, so teasingly hidden behind white lace. “Is that better?”

SpyderILamb: My name would’ve been just fine. Although, I’m not so opposed to being your Daddy. 

SpyderILamb: I do take care of you, don’t I?

“Mm, yes. Yes you do.” You stutter, a sigh breaking past your lips. He does take care of you. Good care of you. In fact, when he first became your top donor, you were almost concerned. He’d been tipping leagues past what your previous top donors could. There couldn’t be any competition. Finding out he was a doctor alleviated some of that worry, at least his job paid well, you’d be burdened with guilt otherwise. 

You’ve had a taste for the finer things, thanks to him. He had you living comfortably, you figured, it’d be nice to treat him, too. Private sessions with Doctor. Easterman quickly became an arrangement - and not that he’d ever admit it to himself, but it’d become something he damn near needed to function.

He sighs, palming his groin. Applying more and more pressure, slowly. Slowly. 

SpyderILamb: Feeling shy, Lamb? 

“Maybe.” Through the soft lace of your underwear, you gently rub at your clit. Hips bucking up in want. “I’m not really sure.” 

SpyderILamb: Sweet, lost Lamb. I can be your shepherd. 

SpyderILamb: Do you need me? Tell me you need me. 

“I need you, please.” You sob, a broken noise lost between a sigh and a giggle. “Tell me what to do, Daddy.” 

SpyderILamb: So desperate. 

SpyderILamb: You can touch yourself. Do it slow.

Easterman winces, the tip of his cock flushing red from how tight he’s gripping it. He wishes he could be there, touching you. Doing the touching for you. A limp doll to tease and touch and mold. To take care of. He’d run his fingers over yours, guiding you to please yourself nice and slow. 

He watches, the tension in his eyebrows nearly painful when he squints. Iron coating his tongue when he bites at his lip. He watches you pull your panties aside to touch yourself. Focused in on your fingers as they sink into warm wetness. Your other hand coming down to play with your clit. 

If only he were there. He would leave no inch of skin unattended, nothing untouched. He’s nothing if not thorough. It would be ecstasy. It would be torture. 

SpyderILamb: Beautiful.

SpyderILamb: You can speed up now, Lamb. I know what you like.  

You’re mumbling to yourself, a picture of madness, slurring thank you’s and need you’s. A beautiful spiral. 

From the corner of your screen, he can see your toys readily laid out on a towel. It looks almost surgical. 

The sounds of your slick ring out in his ears. A familiar, thick wet sound he’s heard in piles of guts and bodies, only with you it’s different. Delicious. A different sadism.

SpyderILamb: So wet. Sounds like you’re ready.

SpyderILamb: Well? don’t keep me waiting.

“Yes, yes. I’m sorry, Doctor.”

Hendrick sighs, shaking his head as if you could see him. He ought to be more firm. 

SpyderILamb: Silly girl.

“Daddy. I’m so sorry, Daddy.”

If only. If only, if only. If he were a better man; he’d have you here. His darling girl, bent over his lap. He’d show you some strongarm. Teach you discipline the way you need it.

I have to get my shit together, he thinks.

SpyderILamb: Father forgives you. 

SpyderILamb: Go ahead and make yourself feel good. Make Daddy proud.

He watches as you pick up your dildo. A smaller variety from your collection that Hendrick had chosen to accommodate to his…grievances. It still did the job, no less.

His own cock is twitching, dripping with pre despite a lack of any stimulation. He’s content simply suffocating himself. His fist still squeezing near the tip. Restraint is good. 

Tremors run down your spine as you tease yourself, pushing the dildo past your hole and bumping it against your clit. Sometimes, you try to picture him; Doctor. Easterman. Each and every time he only comes to you in a blur.

Darkness eating at the corners of your eyes, a glimpse of gloves and a metallic tang in your mouth. He never told you what kind of doctor he was. You’re never given enough to come to a conclusion. Only that he’s loaded and has an odd fixation with being your Daddy; taking care of you, guiding you and the suchlike.

Despite everything he leaves unanswered. He’s decent. Nice. You might even say you like him. 

Easterman pulls his fist back, watching as his cock twitches at the slightest brushes of cold air. You whimper each time the rubber tip bumps your clit. So sensitive. Following your lead, Easterman rubs the slit of his tip. Tempted to taste himself on his pointer finger: no doubt, it’d be the taste of defeat.

He can’t believe himself. He displayed more restraint pissing in potted plants. This was beneath him. 

He grits his teeth as you finally sink it in, a broken grunt tearing from his throat as you moan. He pumps himself, agonizingly slow, squeezing himself tight and then tighter. 

SpyderILamb: Wonderful.

You keen at his praise, smiling at your screen as you continue to fuck yourself on rubber. Angling it just right to push against that sweet, gummy spot inside of you. “You’re so good to me, Daddy. Always taking care of me.”

Easterman chuckles in self-satisfaction, stroking himself just a bit faster. 

“Am I making you feel good? Daddy?”

SpyderILamb: Of course. This is the best I’ve felt in a long time. 

You seem almost dizzy at his praise, your head lolled back where he can briefly make out your lips breaking out between a smile and an open moan. “I’m so glad. I wanna take care of you, too.” 

You spread your legs apart wider so your fingers have more room to roam, finding your clit. The added stimulation churns more heat in your lower stomach. 

Hendrick can’t help himself when his hips buck up to meet his fist, a poor caricature of a warm and waiting hole. Your warm and waiting hole. He’s stuck wishing as he follows your pace. More blood pooling on his tongue the harder he bites down on the skin of his lip.

“I’m so close, Daddy. Fuck- Are you gonna cum? Wanna cum with you.” You whine, the hand pumping the rubber into you stuttering the more you approach release.

SpyderILamb: yes

SpyderILamb: m getimg there.

You giggle to yourself. He’s lost himself, you’re sure of it. “Fuck- Cum with me, Daddy.” 

Behind the screen, Hendrick nearly sobs. Fucking his one fist while the knuckles of the other dig into the tender skin of his forehead. Pain and pleasure. 

He finishes with you, the symphony of your sobs and whines are tuned out by his own heartbeat in his ears. 

“Did- Did you cum? Daddy?” Hendrick looks back up to see you pouting at your camera, a pool of your own slick dripping out of your pussy and onto the towel beneath you. “I'd be so sad if you didn’t.”

SpyderILamb: I did. Thank you.

SpyderILamb: You were wonderful. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” You grin. Sitting back up, you sigh as you lay back down on your stomach. Batting your lashes back up at your webcam. “I’ll be seeing you again at the same time next week hopefully.” 

SpyderILamb: Rest assured, you’ll be hearing from me again, Lamb. 

SpyderILamb: I had a lovely time. Alas, work calls.

“I understand, Doc- Daddy. If it ever gets too much for you, you could always send me a private message.” 

SpyderILamb: I’ll keep that in mind.

SpyderILamb: Goodbye, for now.

The sound of him slamming his screen down is resounding. He picks up a cigarette, his pants still around his ankles. The smoke filling his lungs.

He shakes, pressing the cigarette into the skin of his inner thigh. Sizzling, burnt flesh overriding his senses. This is a new feeling, entirely.

It feels as though the ground is pulling at your feet. Walking through the hallway to your personal cell is much harder than it should be, despite your trial having gone well. You got an A+ as expected, but it felt much more exhausting than it should have. Dragging your battered body into your cell, you pull at the handle of the door to pull it shut, stumbling towards your bed and barely landing on it. You roll onto your back with a pant, your eyes finding the ceiling. Tracing the little dark speckles of the concrete.

"Tired, aren't you?" A crackled voice rings out. You turn your head, eyes traveling to the lonesome radio on your desk. The one that endlessly spouts pre-recorded praises from Doctor Easterman to keep you motivated. You've long since learned that everything here is pre-recorded. Nothing is real. Pulling your gaze away from the lifeless hunk of metal, you press your head against your pillow. "Don't turn away from me. You know better than to ignore father." Now you turn back to face the radio. "Good. Now, as I had previously asked, you're tired. Aren't you?"

"Yes, Doct-" You begin, only to be cut off by another crackle.

"Daddy." Easterman commands, his order clear even with just one word.

"...Yes, Daddy." You answer fully now. You hear a scoff, or maybe an amused huff, ring through the damaged radio speakers.

"Good girl. Learning so quickly, just as you always did." His voice pushes past your ears, moving through your brain as if to alter your very being. You nearly melt for him. Your training tells you to obey. To be good. To follow blindly.

"Thank you, Daddy." An automatic response ripped from you without any thought. That's how Easterman believes it should be. Responses without thought, obedience without begging.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm in love with you." Easterman states abruptly, interrupting your internal contemplation. "I feel like a teacher watching my prized student put the things I taught her to use." He hums. "You are my muse. My standard for the others. Did you know that? You've always been the best. Always had that fight in you."

"You say this to everyone, don't you?" You accuse. Silence follows, but you don't let it stretch. "You praise them when they start getting weaker, hoping to get an ounce more use out of them. This is all pre-recorded too, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't, as a matter of fact." Easterman's voice replies, an underlying pent-up frustration slipping through the typical calm. "I'd threaten to have you tortured, but you wouldn't care. You're already a mess." He insults. "You want something real? Work for it." He nearly growls. Then, you hear him take a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "...I want you to show me how obedient you are. I'm beginning not to trust you anymore. You're being a brat." Easterman says condescendingly.

"I don't need to show you my obedience." You insist, glaring daggers at the radio.

"Glaring any harder will make your eyes pop out." Easterman forces out. A groan leaves the radio. "Why don't you just listen? You always perform perfectly, but you never listen to a word I say."

"I listen." You cut in, not letting him speak again. "You just have to be a better commande-" "I am in control here." He stops you. You don't get a chance to reply. "Arguing over mindless issues is below me. You are a peasant. I am your father. Your god. And you listen to me." Easterman pauses, letting the words sink in.

Something in his tone digs deeper. It feels familiar, though you're unsure why. You don't have very much time to think before he speaks again.

"I understand you. You yearned to meet my expectations, and once you met them, you got bored. You gave up. You stopped being my how-high." He pauses, seemingly getting closer to his microphone, as his voice becomes clearer. "Maybe I should tie you up, bend you over my knee, and spank you until you know not to be rude to your daddy. Maybe I should go in there myself and let you feel my belt." His words don't feel like threats. There's a smoothness in his voice that wasn't there before- one that makes his words feel like invitations. Your eyes begin to soften with confusion and curiosity.

"..What are you implying?" You ask, frowning. Easterman laughs softly, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he speaks again.

"I'm implying a lesson. To help you relearn how to obey me. You've clearly forgotten." He explains, then pauses, taking a breath. "Take them off."

"What?" You squeak.

"Your panties. Take them off." Easterman's voice sparks out of the radio. You can almost smell the cigarettes on his breath, which would be impossible, but you can imagine it. Facing the camera in the corner, you hesitate for a moment, then remove them. "Good, you still know how to obey. Just like I taught you. The rest, now." His voice reaches you again. And again, just like a machine, you follow his command. The chill of your cell's stale air hits you, hardening the buds upon your chest almost instantly. Your E.S.O.P. device conceals them from sight, though you're not sure whether to be upset or thankful.

"Don't speak." Easterman starts again, silencing the words that were about to spill from your lips. He waits a moment, then chuckles. "Good girl. Always obeying father. Lie down." The radio crackles, the noise leaving it sounding like a low groan, or maybe even a sigh. "Touch yourself. Touch yourself as you do so many nights in a row." He growls, his voice getting heavier. "Don't penetrate yet," Easterman commands, seeing your fingers creep too close. "Only rub. Rub until I tell you otherwise."

A weak whimper leaves you upon the first contact. Your nerves are especially sensitive after being shocked by Coyle so many times today. It almost feels like his electricity lingers on your fingertips, and it shocks you every time you touch your own clit. You push through it, circling it slowly, pressing your lips together in order to avoid being too loud. Your legs fold slightly, and you're unsure whether to spread them and be provocative or press them together and be modest. You go for something in the middle.

"Good.." Easterman pants into his microphone, the noise coming out clearly on the radio. "Good fucking girl. You're being so obedient.. Fuck." You can imagine him humping his own hand already. Pumping his cock into his calloused hand. "You'd love to be tied up, wouldn't you? The rope would rub your skin raw, but.. Fuck, wouldn't that feel good." He groans again, this time lower, more withheld. "Put them in now. Fuck yourself. No, don't curl them. Just thrust." A laugh leaves him. He's almost in disbelief at your obedience. You're doing everything he says as he says it. "Such a good girl. Keep going. Don't go faster or slower, hold your pace." His rumbling voice and stern instruction make it hard to focus. He makes it hard to hold anything in.

"Doctor.." You breathe out, the word a shudder of restrained pleasure and need. This time, Easterman doesn't correct you.

"That's right," He breathes, his voice coming out almost desperate through the radio. "Imagine it. Imagine me. Imagine that it's me thrusting into you. That it's me holding your legs spread. That it's me fucking you." A clatter, maybe a pen, escapes through the radio. Doctor Easterman seems to stand now, the sound of wheels rolling against the ground faint in the background. "Close your eyes. Curl your fingers, only halfway. Good, so good for your daddy."

Closing your eyes only enhances the feeling of everything even more. The sound of Easterman's voice echoes through your mind, vibrating off of the walls of your brain, engraving itself into your memory. With your senses being turned up this high, it almost feels like you're flying. You push in further, much to Easterman's delight.

"There. Found that spot, haven't you? Rub it. Don't stop rubbing it." And you don't. Your fingers, slick with your own transudate. "You're beautiful. An angel on the brink of satisfaction. Take it. Find it, and reap your reward. I told you to jump, and you asked, how high?" His voice lingers on the edge of insanity. There's a certain breathiness in his words that tells you that he's close, too. "This. This is how high you have to go. Take it. Cum, now."

The exquisite feeling of release follows those words. Your body feels as though something else had taken over. You arch your back, you find your legs folding, and your mouth forms an 'o' shape. The moan you let out is almost laughable. It was pathetic. A loud, pinched squeal that hardly even made it out of your throat. Then, silence. Hard, lonely silence. Until the radio crackles for the last time.

"Good. Always so good. My star pupil." Easterman purrs with a pant in his speech. "Rest. Ready yourself for the trials to come. I'll be watching."

The radio silences. Desperately, you pull yourself out of your bed and reach for it, pressing the button that usually lets you hear him speak.

"I give you permission to love yourself."

Pre-recorded. As always. But what can you do but take it? You can't do anything but that.

So, obedient as ever, you drag yourself back to bed. You rest, as Doctor Easterman commanded you to. His star pupil. His How-High.

You can only try to survive the trials to come.

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Silence beats through the air for a second - an innocent pause. you breathing in deeply through your mouth, small whimpers slipping through your lips. It’s hard to ignore the throbbing of cecils girthy cock as you clench around him. It consumes you, drowns you like an alarming wave, and you whimper as he shuffles slightly, his hand holding you in place while his other hand rummaged through files and papers.

There’s a shuffling of hips, followed swiftly by quiet grunts of frustration and the feeling of cecils fingers digging into your thighs.

“Can- can I move now? Please?” You wimped behind him. Your hands gripping on the collar of his shirt, clenching around him in desperation. "Pleaseplease I need it,"

He sighed dramatically, “No, how many times do I have to tell you?"

"Now you need to stay quiet until I am done,” he scolded, putting a firm tight grip on your thighs.

"Now you need to stay quiet until I am done,” he scolded, putting a firm tight grip on your thighs.

“Sorry, ‘ts just hurting.”

You involuntarily clench around him again when he slides his finger on your puffy clit. Cecil tuts, his hot breath heavy against your neck. You’re so tight. so fucking tight. your cunts restraint on him so constricting it feels like you’re trying to milk him again.

And maybe you are. “fuckk." Cecil groaned from the overwhelming pleasure, leaning back slightly on his office chair. On the inside, he was grinning to himself as you mewl and readjust your legs. There’s a dull pain which is numbing your senses - perhaps it’s caused by the antagonizing throbbing of his cock inside of you every few seconds.

It’s dreadful how his cum leaks out of your pussy so slowly. Dreadful how he watches, his thumb smearing his cum over your cunt, trying to keep it as close to your hole as possible. You moan in result, bucking forwards, your breath sharp as his cock presses wonderfully against the sensitive bud inside of your pussy.

Your head lulls against his chest. “I want more,” you whimpered desperately. You could feel his cock pulsate inside you, slightly twitching as you milk his cock. squirming against him, wanting to finish locking in place, eager to please him.

At this point, he didn't even care about his papers or the work he was doing anymore. His work can wait. It was gonna have to.

"Well, you're gonna have to wait until Daddy's done."