Wanted For Pleasure: vol 3

|65| The preparation

𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙣
⊱ ─────────── ⊰

I wake up the next morning, my stomach growling fiercely.

I'm still tied up to the bed posts, though, it's no point in trying to free myself.

In walks Tate, scratching his balls.

"Ugh." I grouse, closing my eyes.

"Oh good, you're up." He beams brightly.

"What?" He asks about my disgusted facial expression.

"Don't act like you haven't seen a dick before. You weren't complaining last night, enjoy the show?"

"I've seen better." I return to strike his ego.

"Hm," he intones.

"How did you like Chris to fuck you? He spank you and tell you you're his little whore, or does be make love to you?"

I can see that Tate wants to get a rise out of me so I don't give him the satisfaction.

Instead, I tear my eyes away from him.

As I suspected, he doesn't bother to taunt me anymore, backing away from my body.

Tate goes and puts on a pair of boxers.

My stomach grumbles again, this time, louder than before.

"I guess you do gotta eat, huh?" He supposes, lighting a cigarette.

"What do you want?"

I scoff. "As if you're actually going to feed me."

"Anything, you name it." He insists.

"Belgian waffles, turkey sausage links, and scrambled eggs." I order.

"Of course," he charms.

"You can hold the drugs." I suggest.

Tate laughs through his nose before exiting the bedroom.

✕

It seems like forever before Tatum comes back. Finally, though, he does.

"Breakfast will be ready shortly, Darling." He lets me know.

Tate sits beside me in bed and turns on a game of golf.

It's funny, the way Tate offers me to hit his joint as if he is some sort of gentleman for asking.

My eyes roam the walls of the red bedroom.

The room is like any other: bed, a rug, a ceiling. Nothing stands out except for one family photo.
It's Tate, his father, and some woman I've never seen before - his mother, I assume.

"She's pretty." I whisper.

Tate blows smoke away from the bed and looks down at me in my restraints.

"What?" He asks me to repeat myself.

"Is that your mom, she's beautiful? What happened to her?"

Tate starts to laugh. "No. No, we're not doing that."

"What, you can tie me up and ejaculate two centimeters away from my face but you can't share a story about your mommy?"

There's a long silence before Tate says anything.
"She was like you," he speaks up. "pretty, smart, blonde, outgoing. Her smile could light up a whole stadium, and it did, she was a professional football cheerleader when my father met her."

"What's her name?" I whisper softly.

"Connie."

"Where is she now?"