The plug was already in when he opened the door.
I’d pushed it in the second I locked the apartment behind me—small, black, slick with lube and the mess still clinging inside me from yesterday. Then I’d knelt on the kitchen tile, naked, knees spread, hands behind my back, feeling it shift every time I breathed. By the time Caleb walked in at 5:09 I was dripping around the base, c**t swollen, desperate, and trying not to clench hard enough to come before he allowed it.
He locked the door, looked at the plug seated in me, and smiled like I’d passed a test.
“Good girl. Stayed stuffed. Didn’t touch your c**t. That’s discipline.” He crouched, gripped the base, and f****d the plug in and out of me twice, slow and mean, watching my face while more slick ran down onto the floor. Then he pulled
