Page 19 of Brutal

“Don’t you fucking bite me,” I warn. “I’ll let you up when I let you up. Now fucking suck, Mimi.”

There’s a flash of something in her eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly. She stops struggling, and I can hear her inhale through her nose in a desperate attempt to get air.

As amazing as it feels, the last thing I need is to kill her by accident. Imagine explaining that to Hunter: oh, I fucked her throat too hard, my bad. I pull back, letting her suck in a few breaths of air before plunging right back in.

I fuck her like that, bringing her to the edge again and again as I get closer, and when I’m on the precipice, I abruptly yank back. A few strokes, and I’m coming on her face, spraying it white all over her eyes, her nose, and her mouth.

All she’ll be able to smell and taste is me.

She coughs, and some of my cum lands on her tongue. She makes a disgusted expression and tries to spit it out, but I reach down to clutch her jaw.

“Swallow it all. In fact, lick your lips. Show me how much you love my cum.”

Mimosa blinks quickly, and after a few seconds she swallows. Her tongue darts out to lick all around her mouth, which does barely anything to clean her face, but I love that she finally, finally, seems affected by all this.

So all it takes is a little bit of humiliation.

I’m flying high, and I finally start to calm down and cool off. I’m not feeling particularly kind, so she’ll go back into the cage tonight, but she’s at least earned herself a meal.

I watch her clean her face and tell her, “No running off to wash yourself off. Now come on. I’m sure you’re hungry.” I’m not, but I know I need to eat — and like she’s my pet, I have to remember to feed her.

I never have been very good with pets, so a part of me wonders what the fuck I’m doing, but at least this one can sort of tell me before anything too bad happens.

Mimosa starts to stand up, and I shake my head, placing a hand on her shoulder. “No, crawl. Like the filthy little bitch you are.”

I hear her huff, but she doesn’t say anything as she gets on all fours.

“Good girl,” I mock her, but luckily for her, she doesn’t argue.

I lead her into the kitchen, my pace brisk, and she lags behind me. I wish I had a leash with a choke collar so I could make her crawl faster. I add that to the mental list of supplies I have running in my head.

I head to the fridge, where I have a steak marinating. I’d almost forgotten about it. Hunter and Chase would mock me for it, but I always keep some sort of meat on hand. They might not mind living like rabbits on occasion, but I need the additional protein.

“If you were a vegetarian or whatever, you aren’t anymore,” I tell Mimosa bluntly.

“Okay,” she answers calmly. Her nose twitches, and I’m sure the cum drying on her face is itchy, but none of that is affecting her.

It pisses me off, and I don’t know why. I think it’s just too easy, but at the same time, I know she’d run for the door as soon as she got a chance. She isn’t tame, no matter how meek she’s acting right now.

No.

Not meek.

She’s acting like she’s just biding her time, like she can wait me out. I don’t fucking like it, but I can’t punish her for things she’s not doing…

Well. I can. But I’m hungry, and she’s behaving for now, so instead of kicking her in the side like I want to, I start heating up my favorite cast iron pan.

I cut up some potatoes, which are the closest I’m willing to get to veggies these days, throwing salt and pepper on them and putting them on a sheet tray. That goes into the oven, and as I get into the groove of cooking, I forget Mimosa is even there.

I season the meat before I put it in the pan, and I’m watching it sizzle when Mimosa suddenly says, “You have the temp too low.”

I nearly burn myself on the cast iron, then I turn and glare at her. “Excuse me? I know how to fucking cook steak. Do you want to come over here instead of backseat cooking?”

Not that I’d trust her with anything hot or heavy.

Mimosa points over to the oven. “Your potatoes are going to be soggy. They need higher heat.”

I stare at her. “The potatoes will be fine.” So what if she’s right that they’re usually a little less crisp than I like? It’s not like I really care if I’m feeding her something subpar. “I can fix you instant potatoes if you’re going to be a little potato snob.”

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