She was drowning in need—helpless and aching—watching him take what he wanted without hesitation while she was forced to wait, to watch, to burn in silence.
Julian didn't need words.
The way he moved—relaxed, confident, utterly unbothered—was a language of its own.
Leaning back in the chair, he spread his legs wider, cock still wrapped in his hand. His eyes met hers for a heartbeat, then they drifted back down to his cock, as if to say, This is what you don't get to touch.
Her thighs squeezed together. The ache had become its own pulse, deep and needy. She shifted slightly, almost unnoticeable—until his brows lifted the slightest bit, amused by her current predicament.
She had confidently walked in, hoping to seduce her way into his bed, hoping to curry some favors after selling herself, but here she was reduced to nothing but dust, nothing but a lowly whore.
He slowed his pace, drawing out the moment.
Running his thumb over the swollen tip, he smeared the cum across his skin. He watched her watching, and a wicked smirk spread over his lips. He spread the mess lower, savoring the slickness while her breath hitched in her throat.
Eliz's lips parted.
The dryness in her mouth made it feel like she was drowning.
Her fingers curled on the floor beneath her. Every instinct screamed at her to move, to crawl forward, to do something—but his silence was louder than a command.
He shifted in the chair just enough to spread his thighs wider, letting her see everything. His cock twitched in his hand, veins deep, the sight mesmerizing to needy, kneeling Eliz.
The message was clear: look all you want. You'll never be invited.
Her cheeks burned, not from shame—but from the humiliation of how badly she needed to be part of this.
She swallowed hard, her eyes glassy with need.
He leaned forward a little, still stroking himself—closer now, not to offer, but to taunt. His cock hovered within reach, just a breath away, and yet still so impossibly out of bounds.
Eliz didn't move.
Couldn't.
Her body was locked so tightly that she could almost feel the pain. Her chest rose in shallow, trembling breaths. Her panties—if you could still call them that—were soaked thoroughly, clinging closely to her heat.
But Julian remained silent.
And she? Just the audience to it.
Every second dragged her further into madness.
Every second said, You want to touch.
But every second told her, You can't.
She bit down on her lower lip hard enough to sting, but it did nothing to quiet the fire inside her.
Julian didn't look at her anymore. He had closed his eyes, head tilted back slightly, as if he were alone.
As if she didn't matter.
That broke her.
Something in her cracked, clean down the middle.
She crawled forward before she realized she was doing it. Her hands trembled as they found the floor, knees dragging, drawn forward by nothing but the unbearable weight of desire.
Her voice was barely a whisper: "Please…"
Julian's eyes opened slowly.
She froze beneath that gaze, but her mouth moved again anyway.
"I—I need…" She swallowed hard, shame coating her tongue. "Please, my lord. I'll do anything."
He didn't speak. Didn't move.
She shifted closer—inch by aching inch—until her face was level with his cock. It throbbed, so close now she could feel the heat radiating from it.
"I can't take it," she breathed, her voice breaking. "Please, let me touch you. Let me serve you."
Julian's lips curved into the faintest smile.
But still, he said nothing.
Instead, his hand resumed its motion—right in front of her. Slow. Cruel. Just out of reach.
Eliz let out a soft, helpless sound.
Then she dropped to the floor, lying flat in front of him. Her cheek touched the ground, and she held onto his ankle tightly, like it was the only lifeline.
"I need it," she whispered. "I need you. Let me prove it. Please…"
And still—no command came.
Only the filthy, wet sound of his pleasure and the choking silence of her desperation.
She had given him everything.
Her pride.
Her shame.
And he hadn't even touched her yet.
Meanwhile, Julian looked down at her, his smirk widening as his eyes fell on the collar around her neck. He reached out and hooked two fingers on the metal ring at her throat.
A gentle tug.
"Ah—" she gasped—not from pain, but from the rush of being claimed, pulled forward like an animal led to service.
She let herself be pulled forward, crawling those final inches until her face hovered over his lap, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him.
"Mmm…" Another soft moan escaped her lips without her even realizing it.
Julian leaned back again, his hand still in her collar.
And then, he spread his legs, giving her the full view of what she so desperately wanted.
Eliz whimpered. Her mouth hovered above his cock—so close she could smell him, that heavy, intoxicating mix of his cum and skin.
But when she leaned in—
He tightened his grip on the collar.
A warning.
Her breath hitched.
He didn't need to speak. His fingers alone told her, You don't get that yet.
Instead, he tapped two fingers on his inner thigh. Right beside his cock.
Start here.
Eliz's lips trembled, her body shaking with humiliation as she leaned down and kissed where he commanded. A soft, reverent kiss.
He tapped again, higher this time.
She followed.
"Mmh…"
His scent was intoxicating as she kissed her way along his thigh, inching closer and closer to his cock.
But never on the cock.
He made sure of that.
Every time her mouth hovered too close to the tip, his grip at her collar would tug her back just slightly.
She was panting now. Hands clutching his knees for balance.
Unable to control herself, her tongue flicked out once, licking just beneath the base of his cock.
His grip on the collar tightened. A sharp yank.
"Ahn!" she cried, pulled back like a disobedient pet.
Every nerve in her body screamed at her to move higher, to taste, to suck, to take what she had begged for—but she didn't. Couldn't. Not until he allowed it.