He owns her body, and now he wants to take that ownership to the next level.
“Holy shit, they’re doing Kiss Me Kate for the next show.” He looked up from his phone, and tweaked a dial on the soundboard. The lead soprano’s midrange quieted from the stage below us.
I popped his cock from my mouth and sighed. “Ugh… that means everyone needs two costumes. Gods, what a fucking pain.”
“Shh,” he soothed, putting his hand on the back of my head and pushing me back down. “You’re forgetting the best part of the show, babe. There’s a spanking scene, remember?”
I stopped mid-suck, as I felt my pussy clench. I had forgotten about that scene.
Public spanking… on stage.
I hummed appreciatively at the thought, making him groan. I was grateful that we were alone in the sound booth today. That scene was going to be fun to watch.
“I should make you try out. You’d make a fantastic Kate, don’t you think?” He smiled wickedly.
I felt my eyes bulge out of my head. “Don’t even joke with me. I can’t. I cannot. I do not sing.”
“Of course you do. You sing in my car all the time; I love your voice.”
“But that’s just you! I don’t mind if it’s just you.”
The soprano’s microphone cracked, and he sighed and adjusted another slide. “You’d give me less trouble than her, I’m positive of that.”
“I can’t do it. No. I don’t sing for…” I searched for the right word. “People.”
“Well you’re going to, because I’ve already decided. You’re trying out. Now get back to sucking my cock.”
This was all so fast. My head spun, I couldn’t do it, couldn’t fathom it.
I was not an actress, I was not a singer. I designed the costumes, safely backstage, out of the limelight.
My heart hammered in my chest.
I couldn’t believe he was even suggesting this. Tears began to well in my eyes.
“Oh, baby, you know that crying’s just going to make me cum. You know the rules, you can’t make me cum until after the show.” He smiled darkly. “Remember what happened last time you made me cum early?”
I nodded, now not sure which scenario I was more afraid of: actually being cast in a musical, or his punishment. Both were equally terrifying.
“You’ll be great, babe.” He groaned, pushing himself past my lips again. “I can’t wait to hear you squeal under Petruchio’s hand. I’ll bet they rehearse that scene… I don’t know. Dozens of times, probably.”
“I can’t,” I whined, the words escaping between the cock in my mouth. I couldn’t hold the tears; they spilled down my cheeks. “Please don’t make me. Please, I’m begging you.”
He wrapped his fist through my hair and pulled me up, so I was looking into his face. “Who owns your mouth hole, whore?”
“You do, Sir.”
“Say it.”
My eyes burned. “You own my mouth, Sir.”
“That means I can use it however I want, right?”
The battle was lost, and won. I could feel my insides, hot and syrupy.
“Yes, Sir, please use it however you want,” I replied quietly, the ache in my scalp becoming painful.
He looked at me with his bright, intense eyes. “So, I want to hear it sing.” He pushed me down. “Now get back to work.”
Photo by Igor Rodrigues on Unsplash