#i've tried to clean my house like 3 times since the weekend started then ended and i just | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

i-mushi · 2 years

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Chapter 3 of Cumpounding Debt is up!

I don't think the updates will be as quick since I've burned through the initial fire under my ass (55,000 words later!!), but I've got lots of ideas and bits and pieces written. I start my psychiatry rotation on Monday though, so it'll be back to the daily grind and studying for an exam, cutting into my writing time. Is it any consolation that I've already written the happy ending?

Warning for hitting, dirty talk, unhealthy relationship, cockwarming, you get the idea. Ao3 has all the tags and content warnings and is the best way to read this.

When the Salesman wasn’t home Ivy didn’t have much to do, so as she settled into her second week living with him she was getting bored. There was only so much cleaning a house of two people needed, and she made sure to put together a rotating schedule to cover all the chores so she couldn’t be accused of not doing half of her job.

She read books on her computer since he had one bookshelf of Korean books, all heavy classical literature and other stolid titles she struggled to interpret. She’d considered cooking but he didn’t have many ingredients in the kitchen, and Ivy didn’t know how to cook any Korean dishes—or American ones for that matter. Her mother hadn’t cooked much so she’d never learned. She would have liked to have plants maybe, or tried knitting or something, but she had to make her installment payment on Friday so she was out of money.

The Salesman worked long hours, usually gone before she woke up and often returning for a late dinner. When he came home late sometimes he’d do no more than kiss her and make some comment on her outfit or squeeze her ass. Other times she’d suck him off while he sipped a drink or, as he had last Friday, taken her in his ridiculous shower. That had been hot, and Ivy had almost come without permission since he hadn’t otherwise let her orgasm that week.

She never thought she’d be so aware of how often she climaxed, but when all she got was a few teasing touches while wearing sexy outfits it seemed so much more relevant. Especially when he walked off the elevator undoing his cuffs and his tie after a long day of work, lighting a fire under her libido. She’d hadn’t instigated sex but some days, especially that one day he’d worn the vest under the suit, she’d been sorely tempted.

At least the first weekend together had been good, though not as crazy as her first. He’d been in and out all day and had late night meetings with people in other countries based off the English he answered his phone with. When he’d taken breaks though he’d fucked her up against the kitchen counter, coming inside her and then surprising her with a small plug. She’d had to wear that for several more hours until he’d summoned her to his office with a sharp call of “Pet!” Then he’d made her lick him until he was hard, pull out the plug, and seat herself in his lap. She didn’t get to see what he was working on, but he’d made her come before filling her and plugging her back up.

He’d taken her one more time in the shower that night, after he made her stand there naked and remove the plug while he watched all his spend and her wetness drip down her thighs.

That Sunday she’d jerked him off once and that was it, he otherwise was reading through contracts or some other paperwork at the dining table, and ignored her. When she’d timidly asked if she could go out to lunch he’d waved her off and she’d taken that to mean she could.

Ivy still had no real idea what his work was exactly, except it had to be something with an international company. She wasn’t sure if it was always as busy as this, but after ten days she felt like she knew when to expect him home at least—until she didn’t.

He came home Thursday afternoon at 4pm and found her listlessly scrolling through his cable channels. He didn’t subscribe to a single streaming network, so she was trying to find anything on TV that looked interesting and she’d be able to understand.

“Is this what you do all day?” he asked as Ivy started and then scrambled up, discreetly dumping the sweater she’d been wearing, her cheeks turning as red as the teddy and matching stockings she was wearing. She wasn’t used to so much free time and there was still an anxious little knot in her stomach as she tested what she could and could not do in the apartment that he’d just magnified tenfold.

He walked over while undoing the cuffs of his white button up, his wrists narrow and elegant, fingers well manicured and long, and stopped behind the couch. The lingerie today has strategic cutouts for the bottoms of her breasts, and he pushed the red lace up on one so her nipple popped free. Ivy hissed when he flicked it cruelly.

“Get a hobby, pet.”

“TV is a hobby, sir.” He pinched her nipple for that one, twisting until she let out a small yelp. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m sorry.”

He released her nipple and considered her. “Wait on the floor.”

She sat there for over an hour, watching the lights come on all over Seoul through the massive windows, listening to the sound of the shower and then the silence as he dressed. Ivy was so painfully bored that she’d actually snuck up to return her sweater to her room, wishing she could at least scroll her phone while she waited.

When he came out she was back on the floor, elbows on the couch in front of the powered off TV. She hurriedly sat up as he sat down at the other couch with a book in hand.

“Come here.” He indicated the floor by his feet. Ivy stood up and his voice snapped like a whip. “Crawl.”

She slowly got back down on the ground and put both hands on the floor. The memory of the last time she’d done this sent a hum of arousal down her spine straight to her pussy. She crawled out of the sunken area where the TV was and over the hardwood to the main couch, her breasts nearly falling out of the cutouts. When she reached him he settled his book in his hands and ignored her. Ivy leaned against the couch and tried to adjust her breasts back into the lingerie but he growled, “Leave them.”

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there now, almost dozing off, eventually leaning on his leg, which he didn’t seem to mind. She thought about a lot of things, like how dawn must look so pretty in the living room with this huge wall of east-facing windows, and what his job could possibly be. She thought about what he did in his free time, which apparently included reading—she glanced up but the title was Hanja—and… nothing else? She hadn’t seen him do any other leisure activities except maybe work out. His life was his job. At least she wanted to do something else with her time.

That got her thinking about how to do a hobby in her free time. She could buy knitting supplies and plants, maybe even sneak a streaming service on to the TV, but he might be willing to pay for her to cook. That wasn’t part of their agreement but he didn’t seem to cook much so if she did that maybe he’d pay her more? And she’d actually get to learn something useful.

The more Ivy considered it the better that seemed. She glanced up at him but he seemed absorbed in his book. If he didn’t want her to just sit on the couch all day then she needed to ask.

“Sir, um…”

“Hm?” His eyes flashed to her, dark and prettier than they had any right to be.

“Um, I’d like to practice cooking, sir, during the day if that’s alright.”

His head titled to the side and that stubborn lock fell over his head. “That’s fine, pet.”

She bit her lip and he waited, staring down at her. Her cheek had been against his warm thigh until she’d spoken and that side of her face felt oddly cold now. He was no doubt waiting for her to ask for something so he could exact a price.

“May I add to the grocery order?”

He pretended to think about it for a moment and then he uncrossed his legs, deliberately leaving them wide enough for her to sit in between.

“I could take everything you add to the order out of your paycheck,” he mused petting her hair as she crawled between his legs, then his hand was hot against her cold cheek, turning her chin up to him. “Or you can be very good for me. You’d like that, love, wouldn’t you?”

Ivy nodded and he gave her that slow half smile.

He untucked his soft dick from his pants, still long but less intimidating this way, and tapped her cheek. “Open wide.”

He fed her his cock, the taste of him clean and musky on her tongue. She choked a little as he encouraged her head further, almost at the back of her throat as the neatly groomed thatch of hair at the base tickled her nose.

She breathed harshly through her nose, trying desperately not to gag as he stoked her cheek with such painful tenderness. “Just hold nice and still, pet. Keep it warm for me and you’ll get your wish.”

He hardened a little, thickening on her tongue, but he didn’t move again and he’d returned to his book when she looked up through her lashes. Ivy’s rough breath was the only sound in the room as she struggled to hold still and not choke or gag, her hands not touching him, throat tight. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes and wet her cheeks as she tried to count her breaths, anything to distract from the fullness in her mouth.

Drool collected on her chin and she couldn’t do a thing about it, just like how she sat frozen, knees aching, jaw open wide, the taste and smell of him all around her. She kept counting her breaths as a few more tears escaped, and finally her breathing began to slow, syncing to his, and as she focused on only that and not the ache in her mouth or the unnatural position of her tongue she felt a haze pull slowly over her. Her eyes were still wet and a puddle of drool was forming under her chin, but she barely felt the way he tilted her head to the side, pillowing her cheek against his thigh. Her tongue rested under his cock, mouth so full, and she only had to breathe, to be here, be good, and she’d get what she wanted. She wasn’t even sure if that was the ingredients for cooking or maybe a little pressure against her clit because there was a slow, stretching arousal pulling from her cunt up her spine.

Ivy wasn’t sure how much time passed as she held his cock in her mouth, but she finally woke to the deep purr of his voice and the sound of his book closing. “A good little hole, as I thought. Hollow your cheeks, love, that’s it.”

The urge to gag was there but Ivy was better able to control it even as the Salesman hardened in her mouth, growing until she had to shift her jaw and soreness from her knees to her face blossomed into her awareness. Somehow it magnified the banking coals of want in her stomach too, and she realized as she shifted her weight that she was wet.

He grunted as he positioned her head and thrust deeper, hitting the back of her throat and startling a cough from her. He kept going anyway, holding the back of her head tight enough to hurt, and Ivy tried to time her tongue and sucking to his rhythm and mostly failed. She did get a tight hiss from him when she tongued his slit but it was fleeting. When she looked up at him his eyes were fixed on her.

“Pretty little cocksleeve,” he murmured, his unrelenting dark gaze holding her eyes. “I can see how hot it makes you, my cock in your mouth. Your face is wet, pet, crying and drooling and making a mess of yourself. Swallow it all or I’ll spank your ass raw.”

His voice got more guttural as his thrusts got a little harder, Ivy moaning as she stared up at him, the heave of his chest, his nipples just visible through his shirt, the tight line of his jaw as he got closer and closer to his peak. Ivy wanted to touch him, lick and kiss that throat, wanted him to touch her, wanted him to come in her mouth.

The last few thrusts his breath went ragged and with a low groan he came, choking her with salty semen as the tip of his cock pulsed at the back of throat. She tried to pull back when he was done but he held her there a moment longer, staring at her, lips red around his cock, lashes wet with tears, hair mussed, flushed and well used. His pupils were blown, the well of his eyes pulling her in until he blinked and released her.

She pulled off feeling achingly empty in her mouth, not sure what really just happened except that she was so wet. She put her cheek back against his thigh as she got her breath back.

“Good girl,” he soothed, voice rumbling, his thumb tugging down her bottom lip. “Put a list on the fridge by Monday with what you want for the week. If it’s good enough maybe I’ll let you put housekeeper on your resume, hm?”

Ivy blinked slowly, startled by that but no longer surprised. He seemed to know everything about her. “Thank you, sir.” Her voice was hoarse and he chuckled.

He put his hand on the back of her neck and coaxed her on to the couch, her knees thankful for it. He kissed her, licking his taste from her mouth, uncaring how her jaw hurt to move. He tasted good as always and Ivy placed her hands against his chest, wanting to feel the curve of his muscle, the hardness of his nipples, explore him the way he did her. But he pulled away and guided her head to his thigh. She stretched her legs out on the couch, thankful for the break from sitting, and he returned to his book, his free hand playing lightly over her body.

His fingers would brush the bare undersides of her breasts, trace the edges of the lace, even dip around the edge of the panty to trace her lips, always toying never doing more. It was a different kind of torture, especially because he didn’t seem to care if she squirmed a little, if her hips tried to follow his hand when it moved back up her belly, if she gasped at some touches. Ivy wanted to ask him what he was reading, but she really wanted to ask him if he’d touch her properly.

The summer sun on the walls moved lower as another hour passed, Ivy could see that now on the face of his Rolex watch. He tugged her nipple free of the lace and started plucking it, rolling and tweaking it, and Ivy had never considered herself to have sensitive breasts but clearly she’d been wrong. She moaned when he pinched it and tugged up, making her arch her back.

“Sir.” Her voice was no longer hoarse, but she definitely sounded turned on.

His nail dug into her nipple when he pinched this time, and Ivy hissed when it pushed past pleasure into pain.

“Sorry, sir,” she whispered, and he let go, returning to his gentle caresses.

She spent the rest of the evening on edge, lightly touched and teased. Even when she spread her legs like the whore he always called her, hoping he would bring her off this time, he just petting her folds, flicked her inner lips, or passed a single finger along her clit to stroke the side of his thumb on her mons. It was maddening, frustrating, and when Ivy mouthed at his cock in the hopes that would encourage him, he’d taken his hands entirely off of her. Only when she looked back up at him, panting and cheeks flushed, apologetic, had he resumed the teasing touches.

Finally, when it got so late in the day that the light made it hard to read, he closed his book and cupped her pussy with his long fingers, making a considering hum. She’d wet the entire crotch of the panties through the evening of being toyed with and on to the couch itself, and he murmured in approval as he kissed her.

“I wonder, pet,” he said, bunching the material between her legs and slipping it between her lips to cruelly rub against her clit. Her hips thrust helplessly against it and he chuckled. “Should I let you come tonight, since you’ve been so good? Or is it more fun to let you go to bed just like this?”

“Please sir, I’ve been good, please don’t punish me.”

“Oh this is not a punishment, just a reminder.” He rubbed the material against her clit again, a little groan escaping her despite the harsh rasp of the fabric. “This is mine. Your cunt is for me to use, not you. I control your pleasure.”

Ivy nodded, biting her lip. “Yes, sir, you do, sir, but— ah— you do like to watch me come. Won’t that be nice, sir?”

He smiled at her, amused and, if she had to guess, proud. “Sneaky little slut, hm? You are beautiful when you come, but you beg even prettier when I deny you.”

“I’ll beg sir,” she promised immediately, and he laughed. “Please sir, it’s been hours, I’ve been denied. I want to come, your fingers feel so good, and your cock in my mouth, sir, please,—“

He pulled her up to kiss her, cutting off her begging. She immediately kissed him back, squeezing his shoulders, sighing helplessly as he slid his fingers back over her cunt, soaking and swollen as she had been for hours.

“Sir, ah, thank you sir, oh—“

“I wouldn’t thank me yet, pet,” he warned, but he slid two fingers inside her, curling them as she bowed her back, breasts jutting up. She moaned and writhed on the couch, head in his lap, as he working the fingers inside her, thumb circling her clit. Ivy wiggled the panties off leaving her in the teddy and garters.

He plucked at her nipples and strummed her clit, playing her like an instrument, her compliments and pleading the lyrics of the song. The Salesman considered leaving her like this, edging her again then sending her to bed wet, but when he noticed the reflection of the city lights on the sheen of sweat on her skin, making her glow as he bent her body to his will, he found himself focusing out the huge living room windows for a second.

He could feel the emptiness of his home, the long nights when he simply sat and his mind wandered, eventually leaving to prowl the streets or bars for something to hold his attention, to make life interesting. Now he could see the reflection of Ivy in the window, all red lace and pale limbs, arching and panting for him in his lap, distracting him, entertaining him. He hadn’t been sure he wouldn’t just throw her out in the first week if the risk wasn’t worth the reward. He’d expected he’d have to keep a constant eye on her or for the sex to dull into mediocrity. She’d either follow his orders like a listless doll or turn it into a constant fight, which was far more aggravating than fun if it happened more than a few times. He’d kept whores from fancy agencies for a few nights before, but they’d bored him with their inauthentic orgasms and rote begging from pornography. The debtors who offered the other way to pay with their body after a ddakji loss weren’t worth the effort either, assuming they were even attractive or clean enough to touch. They thought a spank on the ass and hole between the legs was all it took to please him.

Ivy moaned long and low as he added another finger inside her, rubbing at her g-spot so her head thrashed against his thigh, worked up from a couple hours of his touch and warming his cock, trying to keep quiet and failing miserably. She’d been worth the risk. He now had this wanton siren in his home who could be coaxed out with a few touches and soft words, and who would probably keep him on toes as soon as she got comfortable enough.

He brought her to climax as he watched her in the reflection of the window, her whole body shaking and shuddering through the sensations, quivering on his lap, panting his name and breathlessly gasping for a god who didn’t exist. He watched and felt a twist of a different kind of pleasure, the kind that didn’t make him hard. It was a bit alarming how she’d grown on him so quickly.

“Spoiled brat,” he told her, pulling his hands free and making her lick them clean. She didn’t make a face or complain, even when he wiped the rest of her saliva off on her breast and then slapped it lightly, making it bounce and her yelp. He shifted to stand and she was already moving, long legs curling under her on the couch, no worse for wear, if anything better since he’d let her come.

He ignored her as he heated up leftovers in the kitchen for dinner. She sighed and pillowed her head on her arms on the back of the couch, watching him move for awhile before she gained the confidence to leave without his explicit permission. He watched her hips sway as she walked away, sensual and lax after an orgasm. The curry on the stove started to bubble and he idly switched off the heat, eyes still on the corner she’d long since turned. He shouldn’t get so attached, it was probably making him soft. She might be worth the risk now, but would she be in the future?

Ivy was on her second week of cooking and finally feeling like she was getting the hang of it. Kind of. Mostly she watched videos of how to chop things, how to cook eggs properly, and what various terms meant, and there was a learning curve. So far among the things she’d tried to make were two types of kimchi that were, well, fine. She didn’t think they were very impressive, and her attempt at bulgogi had been bland despite adding the correct amounts of spice—she wasn’t really sure how she’d managed that. Other dishes had come out okay and were mostly edible, with the glaring exception of scallion pancakes, which refused to hold their shape, brown evenly, or either cook through or not burn. She had a ways to go before she shared any of her cooking with the Salesman.

Tonight she had pulled out the ingredients for pan-fried fish and was working on a simple cucumber side salad. She was adding chili powder to taste, taking it slow as the recipe advised, when she heard the footsteps in the foyer and wondered not for the first time if he’d disabled the bell on the elevator on purpose. He did seem to enjoy spooking her.

“Welcome home, sir.” He was back earlier today than usual, only a little after five. She glanced up when he came out of the foyer, and he stopped short at the sight of her.

“Take that off.”

Ivy had been about to put a little more chili powder in and froze. “Sir?”

“I am not repeating myself.” He undid his tie and Ivy guessed it hadn’t been a good day at work.

She unsnapped the back of the pink, fluffy bra, surprised to see the Salesman striding into the kitchen. He roughly yanked down the matching frilly panties and then tossed them into the trash, unsnapping the collar too. Ivy hurriedly pulled the cuffs and thigh piece off too.

“Sir?”

“I may be many things but I’m not a pedophile.”

With the offending outfit in the trash and Ivy completely nude in the kitchen, he flashed her a satisfied look, eyes flicking over her, before he turned away.

Ivy watched him go to the master bedroom nonplussed. While that particular outfit has been girlish with its frills and weird padding, and the pale pink color has definitely made her feel younger, his visceral response surprised her.

Ivy wanted to get some other sort of clothes, but she wasn’t sure she could. Maybe just a robe? Underwear? The chill of the air conditioning made her nipples hard, and the longer she stood vulnerable and naked in the kitchen the more parts of her started to tingle. It also just felt wrong and dirty to make food in the nude.

She headed back to her room to at least put on a sheer robe, but the Salesman was leaving his room too, now in a tank top and shorts like he wore for working out.

“Did I say you could get dressed?”

Ivy stopped short, resisting the automatic urge to cover herself. Her nipples were hard for all the wrong reasons now, and she felt that traitorous tingle between her legs worsen.

“I’m cold, sir.”

“So you’d like to wear something?”

Frustration warred with arousal at the way he looked at her, eyes roving over her breasts and down to her bare mound. Ivy shifted uncomfortably and his lips quirked up.

“Please, sir.”

“Hmm.” He made a twirling motion with one finger, and Ivy felt her cheeks burn as she slowly turned around in place. “I have just the thing.”

She heard him go back into the master bedroom as she stood facing the living room. Begging for clothing? She wanted to be disgusted but the seam of her pussy lips was sticking together from her slick.

She heard his bare feet softly on the floor and then felt the heat of him behind her, so big and broad. If he was getting it from his room it had to be special, or maybe just his shirt? She’d never worn another man’s clothes before, and the thought made her flush uncomfortably.

His hands came around her waist and she felt a cool metal against the sensitive skin of her stomach, resting just below her naval. Glancing down Ivy saw it was a simple silver chain. From the center of it dangled another shorter chain with a dark blue tear-shaped stone. He arranged it so it hung just over her shaved mons.

“Spread your legs.”

Ivy bit her lip and parted them, mortified when he tapped the inside of her thigh with one long finger.

“Wider pet, I want to see those lips part.”

She drew in a sharp breath because they wouldn’t, not with how sticky she was. His hand gently teased at her cunt, petting over soft flesh, the tip of one finger grazing her hole which clenched at the light touch. His chuckle was dark as sin.

“Oh pet, as I thought, an exhibitionist streak. You’ll like this then.” His finger slipped inside, just the tip, and he kissed the side of her neck. “Move your hips.”

She did, grinding on the little that he gave her, putting her head back against his chest. The stone from the belly chain tapped her mons and then, when she moved just right, lightly against her clit. She moaned and his finger made a wet, sucking noise as he went in deeper. He let her move a few more times, enough to get that tiny tap on her clit again, and then he pulled his hand out and offered it to her.

She licked it clean as his other hand cupped her breast, giving it a rough squeeze. When all traces of her taste were gone he used that wet finger to trace a cold line along the path of the belly chain, her stomach contracting at the chill. “Well?”

The chain was apparently it as far as clothing, and she hated that she could feel her pussy getting wetter at the thought. “Thank you, sir.”

“Go finish your dinner, then find me in the gym in an hour.”

The salad alone wasn’t enough for dinner, and Ivy wasn’t going to pan fry fish in the buff, so she heated up some leftover stir fry instead. It was hard to enjoy her food though when she kept shifting on the kitchen stool, afraid to sit on the couch and find a wet spot when she stood up. She ate quickly, nervously, and then escaped to her room, pussy tingling at the strange feeling of walking around nude. As she waited for him to finish his hour-long workout, something he did every day he wasn’t working late, Ivy tried to act normal despite her lack of any clothing at all.

As the hour mark approached she adjusted the belly chain to hang the way he wanted it, able to feel the moisture on her pussy lips that she couldn’t control. How did he know what would turn her on so much?

The private gym was past the kitchen and the balcony, abutting the master bedroom from the other side of the penthouse. Like every room it had a wall of windows which the treadmill faced, and on the opposite side were sets of weights with a few machines in between. The Salesman was standing by the weights toweling off, his sweaty hair fluffed up in all directions when Ivy pushed open the ajar door. He dropped the towel on the weight rack and pulled his shirt off, walking toward her.

He was all lean muscle, abs defined after the exercise, his skin flushed with warmth, and the starkness of his tattoo jumped out as it always did to her. Ivy licked her lips unconsciously, eyes straying over his bare chest, the muscles taunt, and her cheeks turned pink when she glanced up and saw he was watching her admire him, a cocky, knowing smile on his stupidly handsome face. Normally guys that were arrogant because they knew they were hot wasn’t something Ivy liked, but clearly the Salesman broke every rule in her book—and probably a lot of actual rules in the wider world. Somehow she didn’t care about that right now, not when he tugged on the belly chain, pulling her hips into the considerable bulge in his shorts.

“Take them off.”

Since she wasn’t wearing any clothing he must have meant his. She undid the tie and pushed them and his boxer briefs down, his hard cock springing free. The shorts dropped and he tugged again on the chain, leading her over to the massive windows. It felt like he was tugging on every nerve in her body, lighting them up as she followed, obedient pet on a leash.

“Don’t worry my pretty whore,” he told her as he put her palms against the cold window and then pressed her whole body against it, her nipples immediately pinching tighter from the shock of the temperature. “You’ve got more clothing on than I do.”

Ivy actually laughed as he tugged her hips back, thumbs rubbing the top of her ass.

“Have you ever taken a cock here?” he asked, thumbs roving lower, petting the cheeks of her butt now. She shook her head. “Use your words, pet.”

“No, sir.”

“I look forward to breaking you in then,” he murmured, and Ivy was sure he’d used those words deliberately. She shuddered.

His cock slid between her legs, nudging up against her pussy lips. He thrust a few times that way, between the tightness of her legs, then tapped her thigh. She spread them and he hummed approval. “Spread those lips for me too, pet, get me nice and wet.”

With her breasts pressed to the glass still, she snaked her hands down, fingers grazing the chain and to her sticky center, parting her labia and groaning as his cock rubbed against the sensitive inner layer, tip hitting her clit. “O-Oh.”

“Do you see all those people down there?” he asked, thrusting a little harder and catching her clit again. She moaned, feeling the silky steel of his erection against her fingers too. “We’re fifteen stories up love, so maybe they can’t see your tits against this window.” The people were small points of color walking around on the street, the cars like toys, as Ivy stared down at them, feeling his cock catch at her hole. “The other buildings though? They can definitely see you getting taken from behind. Maybe once I’ve broken you in I’ll take your ass in front of this window.”

Ivy felt her pussy clench at that, the thought of someone glancing over across the street and seeing her molded to the window, moaning and begging. She hadn’t noticed how close the next building was from this side of the penthouse. Her breath came in a harsh pant, fogging the window.

He pulled her hips back a little more and pushed the head of his cock in, holding just the tip there for a moment. Ivy tilted her hips more, using her fingers to help nudge him inside her, and he laughed. “Needy thing, all worked up over a chain and a window. You’re dripping wet and I’ve barely done a thing.” He pushed in a little more and Ivy’s hands hit the window a little harder than she meant to.

“Maybe if you’re good I’ll get you a pretty jeweled one,” he told her, still not moving. Her hole clenched around him and she moaned even louder when he tapped her clit lightly with the pad of his finger, not rubbing the way she needed. “Or maybe a jewel for here? You’d like that, wouldn’t you, pet?”

“Yes, sir,” she said breathily, gasping when he tapped her clit again and sunk in maybe an inch more.

“A jeweled clamp, I think, to crush that little clit just before you come just to hear you scream and beg me to take it off.”

“O-Oh god, sir.”

His fingers pinched her clit and she groaned, but when he squeezed tighter and tighter she started to thrash a little, hips moving against him. “Sir, please, oh god sir, please let me go, please.”

He drove in all the way with a muffled groan, lips on her shoulder, still holding her clit hostage. He pulled it a little and she let out a cry, fighting the hand that held her hips against his as he laughed when she started to babble for him to stop.

“Sir, sir, please, it hurts, sir, I’ll be good, sir, oh-oh god—“

He let go and she slumped, gasping. He idly thrust into her a few times, pulling her hair away from her neck to nip at the curve of her throat.

“Yes, a clamp will do nicely,” he murmured, laughing as she shook her head. “You beg so prettily, pet, how can I not? And I did like leading you by that chain, maybe a leash should be on my list too.”

He kept moving in her, enjoying the sound of her wetness, the slap of their skin, and her panting breath, breasts mashed against the glass.

“You are mine after all, a collar is hardly creative. I could clamp one of those pink nipples and lead you around by that, would you like that?” Ivy moaned, and he drove in a little harder, fingers bruising her hip. “Or go straight for your favorite spot and lead you around by your clit. Can you imagine? A chain dangling between your legs, your tears and cries with every pull.”

His fingers were back at her clit, rubbing slow circles around it, his pace leisurely as Ivy groaned. It sounded awful, cruel, painful, and yet she kept grinding on his cock, hips moving back to meet his, imagining a delicate silver leash in his aristocratic hand. When he pinched her clit between two fingers a hair too tight Ivy keened.

“Beg me to hurt this, Ivy. Beg me to punish you, to lead you naked through the streets of Seoul by a chain out of your pussy. Beg me to take you in front of their staring, wanting eyes. You’re mine to do with as I please. This clit is mine, this cunt is mine.” He was pounding into her harder now, rubbing her clit with exacting, brutal pressure.

“Please sir, I-I’m yours. My, my cunt is yours.” She could barely even hear the words, the roar of his arousal drawing out everything except the drag of his cock, hitting spots she never could. He circled and squeezed her clit as his voice painted dirty, humiliating, intensely arousing pictures. She wanted to come so bad she’d say anything, do anything. “Please, let me come sir, let me— let me squirt on this window, suck you off in public, f-follow you on a leash, sir, please, ah.”

“A leash attached where?” he demanded, voice lower and rougher. His balls slapped her in time with each thrust, breath harsh in her ear. He pinched her clit hard and her voice went high.

“My clit sir! A leash from my clit! Sir, please, please take me outside by the leash, please own me, please let me cum in front of all those people, sir, please, sir!”

“Not yet,” he ordered roughly. He was pounding into her so hard his nails dragged on that tiny bud and she screamed, gasping roughly as he let go and really drove into her, the glass banging with each thrust. She could just barely see the people outside, the other apartments across the street, could hear the wet, obscene noise as she leaked all over her legs and the floor.

“Sir, I’m so close, sir, please, ah, may I— may I come?”

“Not until I say so, slut,” he ordered, holding both her hips and thrusting so hard into her she was pushed to her toes each time, the cruel drag of his head against her g-spot making her shake as she tried not to convulse.

He bit down on her shoulder as he came, hips jerking against her before finally stilling as he finished. Ivy’s hips twitched against him, searching for friction as he softened, panting in her ear.

“Is this bud red and swollen?” he asked, lightly touching her clit and laughing at the way she moaned raggedly, immediately babbling for more.

He pulled out of her and she felt his seed dripping down her leg, her thighs quivering with the need to come.

“On the floor, hips up, legs spread.”

Ivy scrambled to obey, dropping to the floor and rolling on her back. She spread her legs and he tapped her butt with his foot, urging her to roll her hips up until she was exposing herself to him.

“I know you can go wider than that, legs straight.”

Ivy did, cringing at how vulnerable she felt, her pussy lips spread so wide, swollen and well-used, the breeze in the room enough to make her twitch. The position was humiliating, impossible to hide from his assessing gaze, looking at her like a buyer might a new horse.

“I was right, red and swollen,” he said, crouching down. He tapped it and Ivy’s toes curled as she struggled not to shake.

“Please sir, haven’t I been good?”

“I do like you in blue, maybe a sapphire for that clamp.” He rubbed just once over her clit and she cried out, hips jumping. She just needed a little more.

He traced that finger over her quivering hole, then pushed a little of his semen back inside her. “You want to come?”

“Yes sir, yes please, please sir!”

He finally, blessedly, rubbed her clit, not touching her anywhere else, and Ivy’s head thunked on the floor as her hips rose up, little noises escaping her with every breath. It didn’t take more than a few strokes to get her there. “Sir, thank you sir, ah, I’m— sir!”

Just as she tipped over the edge he removed his hand, and Ivy bucked on the floor, hole rhythmically clenching and unclenching, crying out because it wasn’t the freight train of ecstasy she’d been promised, just a short, tiny pop of pleasure for all that work. As the high slid out of her grasp as fast as holding water, she felt tears slipping from her eyes and into her hair.

He cupped her cheek and helped her sit up, playing at being nice when he’d just ruined her orgasm for her, the first one in days. She hiccuped a little, horrified and upset and her clit hurting something fierce. She wasn’t sure she could even bring herself off again, all the intensity and arousal sucked out of her by that non-climax.

“Shh, you’re fine pet, that was lovely, what a perfect position for you. And you looked so pretty as you came.”

“But, sir, I- I didn’t. I don’t understand.”

“We don’t always get what we want,” he told her the way he might tell a child. “And sometimes what we wanted isn’t as good as we thought.” He gave her a fake smile, like he was happy or proud to offer such a cruel lesson, and Ivy felt a real surge of anger in place of the post-coital high. She wanted to spit in his face or kick him in the dick. He probably always got what he wanted, and if it wasn’t as good as expected then he probably ruined lives.

He laughed at her bitter expression, the way he’d laughed at her all day, at every word out of her mouth. He stood up, soft cock swinging, and snapped his fingers to get her attention.

“Clean me up, pet.”

Ivy wanted to say no, wanted to laugh in his face, but she didn’t dare. Her clit was still smarting from him pinching it, she had no doubt he’d do worse in anger. She tasted the tacky saltiness of his drying semen as she took him in her mouth and licked him clean in a few perfunctory strokes, not playful like usual, but as she pulled back she wasn’t careful with her teeth. She snagged the sensitive tip of his dick with them, and when he yelped Ivy felt a thrum of satisfaction rush through her.

Then he backhanded her. She hit the floor stunned, tasting blood from where her teeth had nicked her cheek.

“Do not do that again, slut.” He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her upright. Her cheek and scalp burned and she felt a bizarre betrayal. He’d hit her. She’d never been hit before, and somehow she’d really thought he’d never do that, never sink to the level of a common abuser. The taste of the blood in her mouth overwhelmed the taste of his spend.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Her voice was small, scared. He was big and strong and he had everything over her. She was such a fool.

He sneered and dropped her, walking away into the master bedroom and leaving her in a huddle on the floor. She heard the shower start as she touched her smarting cheek, and she got up and went to her own shower, ripping off the chain and turning the water on extra hot, letting it wash away her tears and the evidence of him between her thighs.

Ivy called Granny K the next day while the Salesman was at work. She didn’t have a bruise thankfully, at least not on her face. Her hips were another story with the shape of his fingers turning blue on them, and her clit was still sensitive from his abuse. She felt all jumbled up inside, hurt and betrayed and confused. She’d thought maybe things were settling in, that she was doing okay, that he would only be cruel in the heat of sex or if she did something wrong. Cruel but well, a sexy cruel, she had to admit to herself. Clamping her clit sounding horrifying in daylight, but from his mouth while he held her pleasure in two fingers, crooning to her about leashes, as his cock filled her, it had sounded hot.

But he’d hit her. There was nothing to stop him from doing it again, and she was inevitably going to make him mad again at some point. She’d been living here for a month and every time she left the penthouse and walked the neighborhood he lived in, wore the clothes he gave her, ate the food he bought her, and paid her loans with the money he paid her, she couldn’t forget how close she’d been to the complete opposite. Without him she’d be in the dirty back streets in her last pair of clothes, vanishing into the underbelly of Seoul, enslaved to more and more debt. A slap in the face was nothing compared to the stories she’d read about online when she’d desperately looked into her options.

“Hi Granny K,” she greeted, curled up on her bed. “How are you?”

Granny K didn’t slow down her Korean so phone calls were hard, but Ivy did her best to understand her. The old woman complained about her nosey neighbors and the quality of the fish at the market, and talked about her latest doctor’s appointment and how the surgery would be in two weeks. She kept saying how thankful she was for such a good doctor and that’d she’d have her own room to recover in at the hospital, and Ivy listened hard and tried to keep herself together.

“And you, Ivy! You are okay on Wednesdays? No troubles?”

“Um…” she bit her lip. “Granny K, I, uh, the Salesman, he offered me another job.”

“Ohhhh,” she made a noise, a pained, sad one. “Oh, you need to come here. You can sleep here. I will call my friends, there is other work.” She kept saying more, and while it was hard to fully understand her Ivy knew she knew, or at least guessed what this other work was. Ivy felt unspeakably grateful for the offer, but she was also afraid Granny K’s excellent surgeon and fancy hospital would evaporate if she left the Salesman to sleep on her couch for a bit. Not to mention the inevitable trouble when she fell behind on her payments.

“Granny K, thank you so much Granny but I, um, I said yes.”

“Oh no, that is— Ivy, you hurt my heart. You are too smart for this.” She was calling Ivy by some name she didn’t know, hopefully affectionate and not the equivalent of the idiot she had called herself all night.

“Granny K, I’m okay, really. He’s… he’s fine. I’m okay. Safe.”

Safe from everyone else.

The older woman clearly didn’t believe her, and Ivy had to endure a few more rounds of reassurances, chastisements, and offers to help her find other work before the old woman seemed to give up. “It’s a good deal,” Ivy told her, trying to justify it to both of them. “I can pay off my debt here, I’m okay.”

Granny K sighed on the phone, a weary, sad one, and Ivy regretted saying anything at all. Maybe she should have just pretended she only worked Wednesdays and hoped Sun-Hee never told her grandmother that Ivy was a live-in housekeeper somewhere else. “You cannot change him. If you are staying make him happy.” The old woman actually said that part slowly, enunciating every word. “Do as he says. Do not get on his bad side or you will disappear.”

Ivy wondered if Granny K knew more about the Salesman than she’d told Ivy, based on how she emphasized that last word. Her throat was very tight as she listened to the old woman’s advice.

“I know, Granny K, I will do my best. Please, um, please don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to get in trouble, but I did not want to lie to you.” She knew she was breaking the rule about telling anyone else about the arrangement, but she hadn’t actually given any detail or said exactly what this other job was.

“I am blind and deaf,” she told her, old voice creaking like a tree in a hurricane. “You should do the same and then forget.”

Ivy couldn’t choke back the soft noise at that. She knew Granny K thought she was just enduring this, and today she was, but some days she almost enjoyed herself. That just made it harder when she remembered that this wasn’t a good situation. Ivy just needed to survive this, make her payments, and when the debt was gone run and never look back.

It was two days after the gym incident, a Friday, when she saw the Salesman in more than passing. He’d already told her this coming weekend was her free one, and she’d made plans with Sun-Hee. She’d hoped he might leave her alone until next Monday, when Ivy was refreshed and ready to be his little pet again. Today she was physically recovered, but after talking with Granny K yesterday she felt prickly, unwelcoming, and she’d spent almost the entire day out of the apartment trying to escape the walls of the deal she’d struck. Now it was 5:30pm and she couldn’t be out without getting in more trouble, so she was curled on the couch with her new book.

When she heard the snap of the shoe organizer close Ivy buried her head in her book to avoid looking at him, wishing it could have been a late night at the office. While she didn’t have a bruise she still had a little bump in her mouth from where she’d bitten her cheek, and she was nursing some healthy fear of him now.

He no doubt was staring at her as he went to the master bedroom, but he didn’t say a word and Ivy’s shoulders relaxed only when the shower went on. She weighed going to her room and closing the door, but she had a feeling that would only invite his ire and make it obvious she was avoiding him. Make him happy.

Despite that, when he came over on silent feet after showering and stroked her hair, she still flinched.

“I’m not going to hit you, pet, unless you’ve earned it. Or ask for it.” He sounded pragmatic, like this was just a normal conversation. Like two normal people when one had hit the other in the face a couple days before.

“It was an accident, sir.” She didn’t look at him, her grip white-knuckled on the book. She’d read up on domestic abuse, about the cycle of violence and apology, violence and apology.

“I made you mad and you lashed out,” he said evenly. “I don’t think it was an accident, and I won’t tolerate that from you.”

Ivy sucked in a sharp breath. The unfairness of the double standard made her angry all over again, and the pages in her book crinkled under her fingers. She wasn’t sure which part of what he’d said made her more incensed, but she decided to start at the beginning if they were going to have this discussion. If he resorted to violence again then she’d know exactly the kind of man she was dealing with.

“I was mad because you— you ruined it for me. On purpose. For no reason.”

“A lesson.”

“I was good, sir.” She looked up at him, willing him to remember it as clearly as she did. From his dark promises of jewels and clamps to forcing her to degrade herself on the ground in that position, she’d gone along with all of it. She’d even found it hot, as insane as that was when she wasn’t mindless with arousal. “I did everything you asked. I would have let you— let you put that jewel on right there if you’d wanted. But you still punished me. That’s not fair.”

His eyes were so cold as she looked at them, staring into the heartless monster he didn’t hide when he was here with her. She plowed on:

“I’m sorry if you learned that lesson about not always getting what you want and being careful what you wish for in a horrible way, that shouldn’t happen to anyone. But please don’t take it out on me, sir. I know I don’t always get what I want or that it’s as good as I hoped, otherwise I’d still be in school and not here being— being struck by a man whose name I don’t even know!”

It had all burst out of it in a torrent that wasn’t nearly as deferential or well thought out as she’d hoped, and Ivy flinched again when he put his hands on the back of the couch. He squeezed the cushion tightly for a beat, then turned and abruptly went to the bar, pouring himself a glass off the top shelf. He knocked it back in one swig, then poured himself a second. Ivy considered whether she should try to run as the amber liquid filled the heavy crystal, but that would only worsen the punishment—or beating, if she was going to call it what it was.

When he looked back at her his gaze pinned her in place.

“If I give you an impossible task and punish you when you fail, is that fair?”

“No, sir.” Ivy was so sure he was going to strike her in a fit of cold rage that she didn’t think anything else she said was going to make this worse. She had the weekend off with Sun-Hee, if she didn’t come her friend would probably call the police.

“And yet that happens all the time in this world.”

“In this world, the one in this apartment, it doesn’t have to, sir. You make the rules. You can be fair.”

And nicer and more considerate, but Ivy was only going to push so far. He was staring at her with an expression she couldn’t interpret, like he was weighing and manipulating her words and also very far away. He lifted the second glass of whiskey to his lips and took a sip, and Ivy wasn’t sure he was really tasting it.

His eyes sharpened on her and Ivy’s shoulders hunched in a little, like that could protect her. “If you disagreed with my interpretation of ‘fair’ would you still accept it? Or would we end up here again, Ivy?” He clearly didn’t want that anymore than she did. She was being difficult, and she could feel that her stay here was in jeopardy.

“We could discuss it, sir,” Ivy offered as he took another sip of the whiskey. “Agree on what’s fair. If I— if I deserve a punishment I’ll accept it. We won’t end up here again.” She hesitated, and he watched her with those razor sharp eyes. “If you hit me again I— I’ll leave.”

“You can leave anytime.”

Ivy shut her mouth, not able to say she didn’t want to leave, even though he debased her during sex and had actually hit her. She was tied to her own crucifix by his money and her debt, but she wasn’t totally powerless here, at least she didn’t think so.

Sex was a two-way street as was their deal, and Ivy wasn’t blind and dumb like Granny K advised. She was banking on him telling her the truth when he was close to climax, the compliments he’d repeat about being good for him and better than anyone else. There were a lot of women in the world, but maybe she was a little difficult to replace. Maybe, in his own twisted way, he liked her, the way she, in a twisted way too, didn’t not like him.

They stared at each other across the room. She didn’t say she’d leave and he wasn’t making her, and they were both aware of that.

“You will not get a better opportunity than what you have here, pet, remember that.”

The endearment was a relief, a sign they’d crossed an invisible threshold.

“I know, sir.”

He raised a brow at her. “You think I can’t find another desperate whore out there? I see them every day, pet.”

Ivy lifted her chin but didn’t say anything.

He walked over and gripped it, anticipating her flinch as he forced her to look at him. “Some would beat that cocky attitude out of you.” Ivy stared up into his eyes, trying to see if he was that ‘some’, but he was an impenetrable wall as usual, gaze flinty and hard.

He let go of her chin and grabbed her hair, tugging her head back sharply and making her wince. “Remember, the day I get bored you won’t leave, slut, you’ll be kicked out.” He pulled on her hair one more time hard enough to make her cry out, and then he released her. It was a real threat, Ivy knew, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that was him lashing out at her for striking him where it hurt.

Fair’s fair, sir.

#fanfiction #cumpounding debt #salesman/ofc #salesman x ofc #squid game #the salesman #salesman/oc #salesman x oc #gong yoo

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completely-zucked · 3 years

Text

I've been homeless and immobile for a while, but I'm in danger of losing my accommodation and wheels (again).

Mentally and spiritually, I have been homeless for nearly two decades. I have once again been threatened with eviction because I don't have enough money in my bank account to pay my rent or meet my car repayment and other loans. Each time it happens, things get worse and there's no negotiating.

This time around, though, I might call their bluff, because I was already being driven mad (quite literally) by the restrictions, manipulating and gass-lighting (being called a cold, uncaring self-centred, irrational, illogical, lazy, stupid, narcissistic and paranoid sociopath — enough to make a guy with self-esteem and motivation issues suicidal). What's changed is that now I've been banned from using, cleaning and/or performing any maintenance on any room in the house except my bedroom (including bathrooms and toilets), which was previously one of my responsibilities. I have to use outdoor ones/the old servants' quarters, which doesn't have a door on the bathroom. )I live in the southern hemisphere; it's winter here.) I'm not allowed to hang a curtain or take material to make one, so I use an old chlorine bucket in the passageway/corridor outside as an indicator that I'm in there. I'm not allowed to be out there past 21:00 and am not allowed to move my stuff to the servants' quarters or garage because they are being used as storage space for tools and, occasionally, as a home gym by/for my landlord. I'm also not allowed to use any tools or appliances (including vacuum, cleaners, brushes, brooms, dustpans and cloths), because no maintenance. Everything of mine that I don't keep hidden and locked away has been confiscated. Of that, everything that I bought myself has been discarded or claimed as belonging to my landlord and landlady. (My soap, of all things, was the first casualty, which is what tipped me off and prompted my buying locks for those things I could lock away.) I am also not financially able nor permitted to buy more tools, containers or locks (and replacements for those) since my finances are being scrutinised and my choices, decisions and purchases criticised.

My broom is a paintbrush, my dustpan a plastic shopping bag and my duster a roll of paper towel. My vacuum cleaner is a cardboard tube glued to a Pringles can with a PC fan inside. ... And they wonder why I've taken to doing DIY projects that repurpose recyclable household items ; how irrational of me ... Le sigh.

That means no fridge, kettle, microwave or stove. I also don't get cooked meals. That would be fine on its own if I weren't subject to restrictions. I live off powdered milk, coffee, cereal, peanut butter, marmite, bread, orange squash concentrate, syrup, biscuits and bananas. Sometimes, I skim a couple of tablespoons of yoghurt out of the container when they're not around, or dilute fruit juice with water at a ratio of about 1:3, just to have some variety/luxury. I had some meal replacement shake powder too, just to keep me from starving, but that's gone and I can't afford to replace it. If I ask for more, I'll have to pay it back; they keep track of everything they buy for me (including a bottle of vitamins) that I'll have to pay back if/when I get a job again. I already owe about $220. It was, of course, a big deal when I bought myself twelve beers on special for $9 the day I got paid for the first lot of contract work I'd done in nearly six months since losing my job, despite the guy underpaying me by just over $100 because I hadn't insisted on a written agreement and was in no position to haggle/negotiate; the last time I do favours for friends, especially those who're religious. (The fact that I'm rationing out the beers at one a week and am only on my sixth one next weekend doesn't have any relevance to my landlady, who tried to confiscate a couple with intent to give them to my landlord and made an almighty fuss about how selfish I was being when I said I'd be fine with sacrificing them if either of them had just asked for one, how she'd noticed my ex always bought the wine despite our having agreed on certain divisions of costs when we were together, and a whole lot of other irrelevant bullshit.)

I need help getting out before the end of June, assuming I find a job and somewhere to go by then. Otherwise, I'm quite likely to end up on the street or attempting to off myself again. Currently, I have no job, nowhere to go and not even enough money to buy a cheap bicycle for $175. Even if I take my car to a dealer who'll settle the balance of my loan with the bank, I get nothing for it because it's an old model which I haven't been able to afford to take better care of and is pretty much a lemon four years after I drove it off the showroom floor. (I should have traded it in after two, before the new model came out). That's the best deal I've been offered. The alternative is to either trade it in for something else and extend my loan or take an amount that's less than it's worth and continue paying off a loan for a vehicle I no longer have. Hooray for death by a thousand cuts under Consumer capitalism.

Apparently, it's all my fault for not learning my life lessons, growing the fuck up, sorting my life out and GTFO of the family home a hell of a lot sooner (by at least a decade, nearly two), when the physical abuse by my peers first started in small and subtle ways. I thought that would all be behind me when I left high school, then varsity, then two corporate jobs. But no, I'm the kind of person who attracts bullies and toxic, abusive relationships.

The moral of the story

If I had known what I now know and the lessons I have learned when I was a padawan/young twenty-something, I would have taken my education seriously and applied myself to obtaining both CS and EE degrees instead of a crappy, near-worthless diploma, moved into my own two-room shoebox as a priority and bought a bicycle instead of a car. Anywhere I can't reach by bike probably isn't worth going and a car is an immovable liability/waste of money two years after purchase. At least I would have my own space (which I so desperately crave). At least then, I could be an allegedly horrible, reprehensible and repulsive degenerate of a person all by myself without anybody to hurt or hurt me. I'm fucking done with living with other people for a while. Fuck that noise; I want a thousand days of solitude, even if it's in a corrugated iron shack in an informal settlement. I'm prepared to cook my supper in a three-legged potjie over a wood fire and boil collected rainwater in a cast iron pot while I wait for my orchard and mielies to grow.

Honestly, at this stage, I'm prepared to live on a camp bed with a sleeping bag and a camp chair and folding table in somebody's garage, undercroft or old servants' quarters (as long as there's a plug point and running water) just to be able to get away from here. I just want some space of my own to be myself (horrible or otherwise) again and keep my interaction with people to a minimum while I figure out how to cope with/manage my shitty life situation, get back on my feet and out in the world again without being scrutinised, criticised, judged, condemned, restricted, rejected and ostracised. That shit is literally making me crazy and suicidal. It is not in any way conducive to me so much as thinking of an action plan/way forward, let alone pursuing it. Yet, somehow, I still manage to restrict the time I spend buggering around on social media (still too much), which I apparently need to succeed in the modern world, hunt for jobs, write, make music and try to flog my Patreon to disinterested parties. Oh, and I'm also writing a proposal for a social media site for someone who's attempting to gather funding.

Seeing my shrink for two hours a month (which costs me a month's wages from my part-time weekend job) and the afore-mentioned job is not enough, as much as I love animals.

So if you can spare between ten and twenty-seven dollars a month to help keep me afloat, please subscribe to my Patreon. Your support will be greatly appreciated.

#homeless #immobile #I need money #finance #abuse #gaslighting

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