Becoming His Expensive Plaything (11/12)

Samantha sat at her vanity, the soft click of her long acrylic nails tapping against the surface. The salon had done an amazing job—her new set gleamed with muted mauve polish. She leaned in closer to the mirror. Her lips, still flushed and full from the recent injections, shimmered under the soft glow of her ring light. She touched up the gloss with care, making sure every inch of her pout looked irresistibly kissable.

Her brows were already perfect—neatly sculpted with a soft arch that framed her eyes. A dramatic wing of black liner swept out from each corner, making them look even wider, even brighter. Pale shimmer sparkled on her lids, blending seamlessly into soft neutrals. Her cheeks were kissed with blush, her skin smooth and glowing. One last spritz of setting spray, and everything was locked into place.

She stood up and turned toward the bed, where her outfit waited—tight, skimpy, and impossible to ignore.

The top barely contained her new breasts. Still sensitive, still a little sore, but undeniably hers now. The push-up crop top hugged the swollen curves, framing the deep valley of cleavage she hadn’t had just days ago. She bit her lip as she cupped them gently, still amazed at how heavy they felt.

The skirt came next—a skin-tight, micro-length scrap of fabric that clung to her hips and left nothing to the imagination. She didn't bother with panties. There wasn’t room for them. Her tiny, tucked penis sat uselessly between her thighs, soft and still, barely hidden by the hem of the skirt.

Then came the collar—pastel pink with a little bow and a delicate bell that jingled softly as she fastened it around her neck. It made her feel so naughty, the tiny sound making her thighs press together.

Finally, she stepped into the heels—seven-inch clear stilettos that forced her into a perfect arch, each step a wobble of submission. They were hard to walk in. Unforgiving. But that’s why Victor liked them. And tonight, she needed him to like her.

She headed over to Victor’s house and rang the bell, heart fluttering in her chest, lips already pushed into a pout. Her skirt rode a little higher with every shifting step, the heels forcing her into a posture that practically begged for attention.

The door opened, and she didn’t say a word—just minced toward him, hips swaying, arms pulled in to frame her cleavage. Her breasts pressed into his chest as she leaned up on tiptoe, the bell on her collar giving a soft little jingle.

“I need you,” she breathed. “Please, Daddy… I need you so bad…”

Victor’s eyes darkened with hunger as he grabbed her without hesitation, lifting her by the ass and pulling her tight against him. She gasped, arms wrapping around his neck as her legs clung to his waist.

Their lips met hard—wet, hungry, messy.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t put her down. Just turned and carried her inside, still kissing her, the soft jingle of her collar echoing down the hallway as he walked straight toward the bedroom.

Victor sat down on the bed with her still in his arms, settling her into his lap, facing him. He fumbled with his pants, just enough to free his thick, throbbing cock between them. Samantha reached between them with her dainty fingers, guiding his cock to her hole with a soft gasp.

Then he was inside her.

Victor began to move, slow at first, his hands coming up to squeeze her big tits, thumbs brushing over her nipples as she whimpered in his arms.

“I’m so glad you did this for me,” he murmured. “You’re perfect now.”

Her eyes rolled back, mouth falling open in a silent gasp as her back arched. Her tiny tucked cock began to sputter, helpless little orgasms shaking through her body with each of Victor’s deep, steady thrusts. She clung to him, moaning softly against his neck as the pleasure rocked her to her core.

Victor growled low in his throat, pulling her hips down one last time as he finished inside her.

They stayed like that for a moment, breathless and tangled, his hands still gripping her ass. Her cheeks were flushed, her body trembling softly against his.

“You’re perfect,” Victor murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’ve given me everything I wanted.”

She blinked up at him, eyes glassy.

“Do you want to marry me?” he asked. “Be my little trophy wife?”

Her heart fluttered—and then it hit her.

Her eyes fluttered shut as her tiny cock twitched one last time, dribbling weakly across her stomach. “Ughhh… y-yes… yes—yes!” she moaned, body shaking. “I’d love that, Daddy… so, so much.”