Chapter Text
It wasn’t unlike Thomas Shelby to take a long lunch. In fact, he frequently locked his door, shut his little shutters, and smoked his cigarettes to the filter while he read his paper. His little glass of whiskey (Irish) sat unbothered, rimmed with perspiration, with a cigarette propped up on its side. And Mr. Shelby, as he frequently did during his extended lunch, was in his office. His new secretary, Y/N, was running through stacks of accounts, books, pay stubs, all sorts of secretary-like duties. Smoking her cigarette, she rummaged through the files that Mr. Shelby had ordered her to double-check, triple-check, then throw into his fireplace when the sun got low and the house would grow too cold for the stillness of the night, but not cold enough to throw a log into the furnace. She was not interested in whatever it is that the Shelby’s did. She was offered substantial pay in exchange for a thorough job, and so she minded her business while sifting through his, until an unfortunate week in which Mr. Shelby had one too many whiskies during his extended hour of lunch and rejuvenation-or whatever he decided to do that day- and forgot to lock his door. And poor Y/N, just crossing the items of the list of things she needed to do for Mr. Shelby, brought a stack of documents for revision from her employer. With an armful of clutter, she barged in, only to find Mr. Shelby three whiskies in.
And he was masturbating.
He frantically tossed his newspaper into his lap to cover his crotch as if Y/N hadn’t already seen his desperate cock pumping into his rough hand. “Can I help you, Y/N?” he choked out, eyes averting hers as if any contact with them would poison him.
“Here are all the numbers you needed me to look through. Would you like me to leave them on your desk?”
He paused, looking down, and scooted his chair inwards as if to avoid the possibility of any eye-to-erection contact. “Yes, thank you, Y/N.”
She stared for a minute, waiting for him to look up and offer to take them and sift through them, but he sat there with his forehead and temples cradled between his fingers, pinching at the headache that his autoerotic mishap had brought him. “Just, leave it on the desk. I’ll look through them now…I need a minute.”
She set the stack down with hesitation, peering down at his impatience. His leg was bouncing up and down, and yet his desperation and embarrassment was somehow even more apparent on his face. His eyes were plastered to the floor. Ruddy cheeks adorned with a serious, cold pair of pursed lips. She knew she saw him jerking off. And boy, it made him feel like quite an ass. As long as she didn’t know what he was thinking about, it would be fine, and no one else knew but him. So they both chose (almost telepathically) not to talk about it, because if they did, then Tommy would have to hire another secretary. And another secretary with credentials like hers would be hard to find. Before she walked out, she paused at the doorway and turned to meet his eyes again. “I’ll knock next time.” His cheeks, ruddy with humiliation, buried themselves back into his hands and he smoked his cigarette to ease his racing mind. She made sure to lock the door behind her, so God forbid Aunt Polly or Arthur or even any old coot that wandered in wouldn’t catch him cumming into his fist the way he’d do every so often, especially when he thought about her.
The following weeks she continued to knock, wait a minute before he called her in, and another minute so that he would repeat himself, but she so desperately wanted to see it again. His glistening hand, slick with spit and pre-cum and desperation. She wondered what he thought about. A man like that must have many women, but only one woman would have him masturbating in the middle of the day after three whiskies in between stacks of betting stubs and paperwork. She had fabricated all these inappropriate scenarios in her mind, all of them just of him jerking himself off like an insatiable degenerate, too desperate to cum. Oh, how she’d want to make him cum. She was smitten with that man, becoming obsessed with the thought of him for the following days. How he’d stand by his desk, seething at his family’s slick remarks, hunched over with his palms pressed into the edge of the mahogany. But nothing drove him wilder than the sight of her staring. And he’d catch her staring, she’d avert her eyes with haste and pretend that she wasn’t fantasizing about sitting on his face. The tension between them became apparent, even to Polly, who told him off for not looking at her when he asked her a question. “You’re quite the charmer, Tommy. Don’t tell me I never taught you manners,” she’d say. He’d roll his eyes, disappear into his office, and slam his door. He had the temperament of a teenage boy “Boys,” Polly would say as she shrugged it off.
Y/N came to the conclusion that the work environment was much too tense for her and had written a letter for Thomas about her “potential resignation”, given unforeseen circumstances that have made it difficult for her to work for the Shelby family. Y/N slipped it under his door and continued on with her tasks, anxiously awaiting a conversation with him.
But Tommy knew how naïve she was, and she had nothing but sweet innocence- something the Shelby’s could learn a thing or two about. So, he felt… guilty, almost, for letting her do such a stupid thing. She was a good secretary, one that could keep a secret. So what’s a few more? he thought. Business continued as usual the day after she slipped the letter under his door. She was confused as to why he hadn’t said a word to him the entire day.
On the upside, things seemed to be getting better for the Shelby family. More paperwork to burn, more notes to take. She was always invited to their reunions at the Garrison, as well, as the boys had taken quite a liking to her. She was beginning to feel the camaraderie between the matriarchs of the family, confiding in Polly with each other’s frustrations, opinions, and routines. And this made it even harder for Tommy to cope, seeing her fitting right in. “I’ve got something for her to fit right in” he thought to himself. No, no. Can’t. The girls had stayed late one night, just Y/N, Polly and Esme while Tommy took Arthur and the rest of them to get shit-faced at The Garrison. The women were to join them later, but the dancing’s no fun until the liquor gets to your knees- according to Esme-so they had been waiting an hour to finish preparing for the following day. Gossiping, but working nonetheless. And Esme had gone; she and Polly were sitting on their table, preparing the books for the openings. “You know,” Polly started, between puffs of a cigarette, “I can finish these up. Why don’t you two go on and join them at the pub?”
“No, I’m not in the mood for that tonight. Why don’t you two go on? I’ve some papers to sift through in Tommy’s office anyway.”
Esme insisted-oh she begged her-to come out, dance and drink vodka tonics with the girls. But oh, Y/N simply “did not have it in her” to spare a second at the pub, especially if Tommy would be there. They had not spoken much since the incident, not like Mister Shelby had much to say otherwise, but his orders were curt, apathetic, quiet. More than usual, anyways. His eyes rarely ever met hers, and when they did, she would look away with a burning heat in her cheeks. She thought he was embarrassed and couldn’t face the thought of her having that knowledge over him. The fact that she held that in her mind had been bothering him for days now. But she simply found it enticing.
Defeated, Esme and Pol continued to The Garrison to drink and celebrate…well, they went down every other day, so Y/N genuinely did not understand what they could possibly have to celebrate again. Nonetheless, they staggered off, already giddy from excitement. Y/N continued on with her work, enjoying the dim fire in the furnace and warming up to it as she wrote away.
—-——-— —-——-— —-——-— —-——-— —-——-—
She had awoken to dim lamplight, newfound warmth from the furnace, and a creak in the floorboards.
“What are you still doing here?” Thomas’ gentle timber shivered through her, jolting her awake as if she had drunk five cups of coffee and had cold water splashed down her back in the span of three seconds. She had been splayed out on the table, arms around her nestled head.
“I guess I must’ve dozed off,” she said, stretching back on the chair and arching herself like a cat. Yawning lazily, she settled herself back into her chair. Her eyes never met his, as his were focused on his glass of whisky.
“Came back here for a nightcap.” He motioned to his office, slurring slightly and beckoning coyly with his head. “Would you like to join me?”
This had been the first time their eyes had met intentionally since she found him in his office. There was something in his eyes-lust maybe?-that she so desperately wanted to get lost in.
“Did you drink the bar dry?” Y/N said with a chuckle, snapping her notebook shut and recollecting herself. He did not find it amusing and simply shook his head. She knew he was at least slightly drunk and could smell the liquor on his breath along with the tobacco staining his lips from feet away.
Something was different about him, aside from the usual mild buzz of nicotinic static in his despicable little mind. He was up to something, but she couldn’t prove it, she simply felt it in her gut. He didn’t smile, didn’t raise his voice, simply stared, and beckoned.
His invitation wasn’t really an invitation. It was more of an order.
“Come to my office.”
He didn’t wait for her, only started on his way into his office to start his fireplace, pour two glasses of whisky and light himself his 12th cigarette of the day.
She conjured up a habit of counting how many cigarettes he had throughout the day. The swiping back and forth on his lips before buckling the filter between his teeth, it made her feel some type of way. It was just this little ritual, a little habit, but it was so…Tommy.
“Come here and watch the fire with me.” he looked her up and down before taking a sip of his whisky, standing in front of the ornate fireplace behind his desk. His eyes were ablaze with intention, but body stiff and stoic as still water, shifting his weight to his arm as he leaned on his chair.
Y/N meekly approached him. She wasn’t scared of Thomas Shelby, but she was intimidated by him.
“I want you,” he pointed his finger at her, gripping his glass of liquor with the other four, “to tell me what that letter was about.” His glare was harsh and his gravelly voice was hostile, almost like a threatened animal, but he seemed sincere, almost as if he was being curt with a friend who he was concerned about. Y/N had a feeling that he knew exactly what he wanted to hear that night.
“Please don’t lie to me, Y/N. I can always tell if you lie.”
Fuck.
Her spine had been completely immobilized, as if it had been struck by lightning and stuck in the position it was in when those words had left his mouth. She couldn’t look him in those eyes, oh those angry, fucking, eyes. And almost like he was a mind-reader, he demanded her eye contact.
“Look at me.” He said in a low whisper. Approaching her, bringing himself closer to the fireplace. The light flickered between their faces, leaving shadows dancing between their faces. Fuck, she looked like a sweet little lamb, and Tommy Shelby was a big, bad, wolf, opening his arms up to her and relishing in the embarrassment he had caused her. It had made him even harder than the time he pictured her little doe eyes fixed on his stiff, worked cock and shifting hips.
She looked up at him with hesitation.
“I saw you masturbating, Mister Shelby.” Y/N looked back down, almost embarrassed to say those words out loud.
Silence, then a hum from him. He raised his eyebrows, nodded intently, then sighed.
“You’re a fine secretary, Y/N.” He was towering over her short stature with the intention of making her earnest with fear and understanding. He was so close to her that she could smell the liquor on his tongue. Oh, that sinful tongue.
“You, however, have put me in a very difficult position, haven’t you?” he looked down at her with something devilish in his eyes. Something so sick, it enticed her. The humiliation of him having to lift her chin up, holding it firmly between the pads of his thumb and curved index just made her want to give herself away to him. “I would hate to let you go for such a shameful act of mine. Such a good assistant…”
“How old are you, Y/N?” he started again, noticing the reddening splash in her cheeks.
“…just turned 20, sir,” she muttered meekly under her breath, not looking at his eyes but at his feet, which were encroaching on her slowly.
“Speak up.”
She lifted her head slightly higher, meeting his gaze with bravery. “20, sir.”
“Young… but you’re a smart girl, aren’t you, Y/N?” His deep voice felt like molasses in her, and it felt as if it was saturating her dry mouth with saccharine desire. She nodded silently, relishing the calloused fingers brushing against her gentle jaw and moving on the nape of her neck.
“Mmm..” he hummed, moving her jaw side to side to examine her features, grazing at her cheeks with his thumbs, as if he hadn’t had the chance to see Y/N this close in the prior weeks she had been working for him.
“So little Y/N saw me masturbating…” he scoffed, taking one drag from his cigarette and allowing it to billow into his nose.
And then again, in defeat and embarrassment, Y/N’s face fell back to her feet. Fuck, why did he say that? That dirty word. Masturbate, Masturbate, Masturbate… fuck. and in her head, all she could see was his flushed face, with his open mouth and staggered breath, desperately pumping himself into abandon. For just the split second she had seen it, it had immortalized itself in a place in her mind forever.
“Did you tell anyone?”
Y/N shook her head and he hummed in approval. “Good girl.”
“Is that why you didn’t come to the pub tonight? You were embarrassed to be around me?” He dropped his hand back to his side, leaving room for her to writhe around in discomfort.
He was sick for letting this turn him on.
“Mister Shelby,” she began timidly, fumbling with her fingers. “have I made you upset?”
He began to pace, cig bouncing along his lower lip with each footstep, thinking of the correct words to say to someone so naïve, yet so charming as to resign from her overpaid position from embarrassment.
“You have to understand that you caught me in a moment of weakness, Y/N.” he took a long drag of his cigarette, huffed greedily, and continued. “But there’s no reason to resign. I should have apologized-“
“I wanted to resign because...” she looked at him, shy and with an audible, humiliated, tremor. And when she spoke, it hit Thomas like a bullet to the head. “Mister Shelby, I wanted to watch.”
He paused, contemplating the permission he had just been granted, thinking about everything that could go possibly wrong if he continued to do exactly what he had thought of the day he had a few too many and fucked his own fist in his own office. When she walked in, the disgrace of not making her watch him finish haunted him. Nothing pained him more than not knowing what she wanted that day. Whether she thought he was a sick animal who couldn’t control himself, or whether she wanted to stand in the doorway and watch him finish, then clean it off his desk with her own tongue, he had a feeling the answer was somewhere in between. But the question of not knowing ate away at him, shame fighting carnal desire within his mind day after day after day, it broke him that night, at The Garrison, and then it shattered him, right there in his office.
“And I’m embarrassed of it… frankly, Mister Shelby I don’t think I can keep working for you if you’re going to be so cold as you have been to me since I... saw you.” She felt prideful in her articulation if only for a second. But his rebuttal was quite impressive, and it almost had her bent over the desk offering herself in a moment of weakness.
Y/N could sense that Mister Shelby was in no mood to relinquish control tonight.
He shook his head silently. “Maybe you are right. Maybe you should.”
He approached her quietly, pressing her back against his chest and wrapping his hand around her slender neck. She whimpered, and he fucking loved it. "But I guess you won't get anything from me if you do."
While moving his hands up to her hips and toying with the fabric of her soft dress, her back arched as he reached the soft cloth on her breasts. They sat so perfectly in that dress, and how they felt just as soft as silk. He wanted nothing more than to tear it from her like a wild animal would tear the skin of a fawn. But for now, he felt the softness of it on her curves.
He pushed Y/N’s hair to the side and breathed down her neck. Gently, he brushed his lips against her soft skin and sent electricity down every nerve ending he touched with them while pressing wet kisses to the side of her jaw and slowly moving her hips back into his erection, which grew quite painfully from the quiet shudders that left her mouth.
He thought about the way whiskey would taste on her skin, about how his fingers would feel in her, and if he could have her during a late lunch, or a late night at the office, or underneath his desk at all times, like a pet.
But between his doubt lay intuition, and her language, her coquette backtalk that drove him to the point of drunken insanity, her fucking body, it had sent his mind to the Garrison that night, and the Garrison drove him back to her. And he was fucking right about her need for him, because she was feeling him up just as he was her.
His fingers grasped for the buttons on her dress and slid each one through the slit on her sage green garment, fantasizing about her breasts, which here peaked with excitement. Then two, three, four, five, and that’s all he wanted her to have. Her breasts were right there, sitting beautifully and waiting for him to push the fabric apart and expose her bodice to the light from the fireplace. She whined beneath his touch, like a pathetic little animal- and he was in control of her now.
He was gentle, touching her neck and collarbones with the lightest touch of his fingers. With his lips, he pressed a gentle murmur behind her ear. Every now and then, an instruction. A whisper of “Keep your hands there” and murmurs of “quiet.. don’t move.” Bossy as always. He arched his hips into her, pressing the mound his erection created into her small hands.
His hands pushed the upper part of her dress off her shoulders. She had her sleeves halfway down her arms, skirt still fully secured, and her naked chest completely exposed. She held her wrists behind her back brushing against his hard-on while it twitched, relishing her squirming resistance. She felt so fucking depraved. It was humiliation in the best way.
He grazed his fingertips along her breasts while maintaining his composure. Silent, stoic, brooding, bossy as always. Not one second of the day
“Mister Shelby, please…” she looked up at him, eyes pleading with the rhythm in her twitching hips.
“Please what?” He grazed her nipples with his fingers again, so sensitive that she arched her back wildly and let obscenities roll out of her delicate mouth when he did. Fuck, oh he thought while he watched her eyes close and shudder against him. “Mister Shelby…” She breathed, feeling his fingers tweaking cynical circles around her sensitive nipples. She felt him up with her hands, fondling with his belt in an avail to free his cock from the confines of his pants.
“You’re going to have to learn how to use your words, Y/N,” he breathed into her ear, almost in a low whisp of a mutter. “Not all of us are mind-readers. Tell me what you want.”
She whined again, her responses growing impatient and louder, sluttier, he thought.
He hummed again into her, letting the tip of his tongue lick from the base of her neck to the skin behind her ear. “So good for me… wearing that little dress around the office… the one you wore when you caught me… did you just want me to do it all over again?”
She nodded hastily, feeling the pressure of his fingers increase on her nipples, pinching and tugging them to the point of a meek yelp. “Fuck, Thomas please-“
“No, no. You call me Mister Shelby.” He rolled them around his fingers, aching, red and hard. He was so close to her neck, but he did not look at her. He stared at his fingers, tugging her pretty nipples into a stinging sadistic length. “You work for me, correct?”
She nodded, allowing him to abuse her nipples to his desire, and obediently taking it. After all, that’s what a good assistant does. But it became unbearable, and the desire to have him in her only grew between her legs. She wanted more, not just her tits. She wanted all of him to break her.
“Mister Shelby,” She pleaded, breaking her hands away from behind her back to grip his away from her chest. She loved the way he had her wrapped around her finger, using her pretty tits to discipline her. “Fuck, please,” she hissed, letting his mouth lay comfortably on the crook of her neck while his hands held her breasts now gently, using his thumbs to play with the sensitive nubs.
“Watch your language.” he hissed lowly while he moved his calloused fingers from her nipples, cupping her breasts and feeling her up.
She felt dirty, like some depraved whore. But she was Thomas Shelby’s whore, and he was obsessed with her. Jerking off into his hand in the middle of the day- obsessed. She felt like nothing in his arms, like she was useless without his control or direction. And as he let go of her breasts and heaved a handful of her hair, she felt as if he could be used for anything he needed. She would fantasize about this moment, although she pictured it a lot simpler. She loved his hands, relishing every inch of them when they pulled her face down on his lap, bent over his thighs in his chair-the same chair he had whacked off in so shamelessly.
She gasped, feeling his hands bunch up her dress in the back to reveal her ass. Humiliatingly, he pulled the soft fabric of her sage-colored dress above her ass, running his hand against the soft flesh of her full thighs. He hummed, almost in surprise, to find her clad in lace undergarments. He toyed with the hem, resisting the pressure of her incessant squirming against his cock. She whined, pleaded, arched, kicked, begged him to fuck her. She was sobbing, crying out “Please, Mister Shelby, I need you to touch me!” until he took his handkerchief and stuffed it in her pleading, drooling mouth.
“Shut up,” he spat, making sure their eyes met when he said it. “Be a good little whore and take it.”
She obliged, but his hand had a relentless grip on her hair, so the choice wasn’t hers at this point, it was Tommy’s. She nodded softly, letting his hand guide her head back down to the side of his thighs.
His other hand returned to lift up her dress, his free one pulling down her underwear. He felt her gasp, let her feel his hands on her, and planted a firm smack, right on her ass. She cried out, wailing against the handkerchief in her pretty mouth. He loved the way she flinched against his cock, which was aching to be inside of her mouth. He wanted her nose to touch his navel, fantasized about the way her tight throat would feel around the tip of his thick cock, and he felt his erection tightening once again. He continued, slap after slap after slap, reddening her thighs and ass until he deemed she had had enough.
He pulled the handkerchief out of her mouth; it was sopping with drool and spit. She gasped, letting obscenities roll out of her heaving mouth. “Count for me,” he ordered, and in desperation allowed his finger to venture to her cunt.
She whined incessantly against his orders to be silent while he teased her desperate slit. “I didn’t know you were such a well-behaved whore… You’re so fucking pathetic when you whine like that,” he teased her, dipping his finger into her tight entrance, but not penetrating. He pulled away his hand from her sex, planting another slap on her ass. And he went on, making her count every single one.
She was at number five and was sobbing, squirming, gagging and choking on the bundle of numbers tangled in her throat. And it seemed that Mister Shelby had no intention of stopping until the 20’s. He continued, making sure she enunciated every single time he ordered her to count which number they were on. And past 20, he persisted. Her ass was bright red. Even Thomas was surprised at the speckled bruises spreading to her thighs, adorning her like small constellations.
When his erection began to burden him, he shoved Y/N to her knees and with his free hand, undid his black, leather belt. Staring intently, she marveled at the sight of his hand (almost as red as her ass) which unraveled his cock from the confines of his boxers. “Watch,” he ordered, pulling a fistful of her hair so she could see his fingers wrapped around his leaking cock. “You wanted to watch, so you can watch now.”
He shoved his foot between her leg and ordered Y/N to lift up her dress. “Get off on my foot. That’s all you deserve tonight.” And with a wince, she picked up her dress and hesitantly cradled his leg, rubbing up against his shoe just as she ordered. Her underwear grew saturated with her slick.
Embarrassed at her depraved desperation, she wrapped her arms around his leg, let him twist her hair into his hand and guide her head back to watching his cock. He groaned, watching her lift her dress and pool it in her lap while she wiggled her inexperienced hips.
He started jerking himself off, spurting little droplets of pre-cum out of his throbbing tip. “You ever had your pretty mouth fucked?” He rasped, panting at every tug of his needy cock. She shook her head, not breaking contact with his eyes while she hopped. Little gasps and murmurs escaped her lips when he pulled her hair. She kept bouncing, growing wetter with deprivation and humiliation.
“Please,” she whined needily, rubbing her sensitive, needy, swollen clit against the curve of his leather shoes. “Please fuck my mouth Mister Shelby.” She grasped for it with her hand, allowing her fingers to snatch a trickle of precum. She had wanted a taste for so long. Even if it wasn’t good, she still wanted him to be the first drink of cum she had ever swallowed. Greedy like a succubus, she licked her fingers clean, causing Tommy to let out a shaky expletive and pull her closer to his cock. She was kneeling between his legs with her hair surrendered to his relentless grip, struggling to move with him as he stood up from his chair.
“I’m gonna cum down your throat,” His free hand wrapped around his heavy cock, pushing the beading tip onto her soft, delicate lips. She whined, but licked every little bead right off. “Say it. Tell me what you want, greedy girl. Hungry little whore,” He groaned from the touch of her tongue, gasping as she hummed and pleaded “sir, please cum in my mouth,” and when she wrapped her mouth around him and suckled on the sensitive skin, he almost lost it then and there.
“Fuck Y/N… ‘ts so good” he gasped, letting her try to fit her whole mouth on it. It could only go so far before she needed to use her hands, spitting and swirling and sloppily trying to get all of it in. He was breathing hard, letting her take it, pushing her head around but his cock wouldn’t allow her to fit that pretty mouth around it. With both hands, he gripped her hair, wiggling his hips and aligning himself to the center of her tongue. He felt her bobbing her head up and down on him, regardless of his shifting, so he matched her speed, and when she went down on his cock, he pushed all the way in. She gagged, loud, and it made him want to do it again, and again, and again. He felt her tight mouth salivate around him, creating a wet, sloppy little vacuum for his cock to pump into. And she looked up at him, with those innocent little eyes, as if she had nothing to offer to him than all of her holes. And that’s what she was that night, a hole for Mister Shelby to dump a mouthful of cum into, whenever he felt like it.
She gripped his thighs when he pushed her nose to his navel, letting her feel it in her own throat. She cried, but it was stifled by his heavy member, which continued to pump in and out of her mouth. There were thick ropes of spit clinging from her mouth and drooling all over Mister Shelby’s floorboard. “Im gonna use you- ah, fuck- like this whenever I fucking want” he panted aggressively, coming undone by the tightness of her hollowed out cheeks. “And my cum, that’s all you are. A hole- fuck.. a pretty little fuckhole for me.”
She felt his precum spilling more and more, the metallic taste surrounding the mass of her tongue. She wanted him to cum so desperately, she would have done anything for him to cum down her throat and give her no room to taste it, only to consume it. But he had another plan for her, and he pulled out his cock against her protests.
“Mister Shelby please-” she pleaded, watching as he started to pump himself dry onto his hand and shoe and it had dripped down onto the floor. She grasped for his tip amidst teary eyes, all fucked out, but he had already finished. She looked onto his shoes and saw the gossamer liquid, wasted on the floor instead of her mouth, or even better, her own cunt.
“You want my cum so bad,” he chuckled, softening cock in his hand. “then clean it up.” He slacked back down into his chair, leaving her on her knees, now bending to scoop the rest of his seed from his shoes and back into her mouth. She hummed when it clinged to her throat, relishing the viscosity that Mister Shelby had so kindly allowed her to swallow, and then moved to the floor to do the same. When he looked down at his shoes, they were spotless and polished with the trace of her tongue. She stared up at him, awaiting approval and he showed her his hand. One thick, short stream clinging to his finger.
She opened her mouth for him, resting her chin on his thighs. “good little whore, cleaning up after me.” He pushed his finger into her mouth and she sucked obediently, pulling and swallowing the remaining cum from his thick finger. “C’mere.” He motioned to his lap, where she obediently settled into. He took head into the crook of his neck, gently cradling her thighs against his. They sat in silence. The only disturbance that was heard was Y/N’s whimpers when Mister Shelby would gently flick at her still-exposed, awfully-sore breasts. In a small whisper, he pressed against her ear a sinister murmur. “You’re not going to cum for a long time, Y/N.”
She nodded, willing to do anything for him. She was his now, whether he intended to fuck her again or not.
He pulled the sides of her exposed dress together, allowing her to button it back up. “You wear that dress again next Friday, or you don’t get anything at all. And my sweet girl wouldn’t like that, would she?” He pulled her chin up to meet his gaze and she shook her head ‘no’. Dried drool adorned the sides of her cheeks after her generous face-fucking, and yet Mister Shelby was so intrigued by her meek nature, how obediently she did everything he told her. He watched as she buttoned her dress, wondering if she had ever done that for any other man, and questioned whether or not he was the first. Mister Shelby wanted to corrupt her into his personal little pet, one malleable enough to fuck at his disposal, but her innocent little eyes- how he loved those eyes- made him feel so… depraved for wanting nothing more than to own every inch of her.