"You can still get horny after that?" Zhao Xuan kicked the limp body of Lin Jingjing sprawled on the bed, signaling her to hurry up and get out.
Fighting off the weakness after her climax, Lin Jingjing crawled off the bed and started getting dressed.
Zhao Xuan had blown a huge load — even though she'd secretly swallowed some, her mouth was still stuffed, cheeks puffed, struggling to hold it all. Saliva kept leaking, testing the limits of her oral capacity.
Because clause seven of the slave contract (about clothing rules) had been added by Zhao Xuan, Lin Jingjing hadn't seen it yet. So she just threw on a T-shirt and shorts, ready to head out.
But Zhao Xuan — now a full-blown control freak — wasn't about to let his beloved slave walk outside in a crop top and hot pants.
"Long sleeves and long pants. No skin showing when you go out. You're already sexy enough — dressing like that's just asking to make me a cuckold." He stopped her as she reached for the door.
Her mouth was too full to speak, so she turned, knelt, and bowed low in obedience. Then she opened a small travel bag, pulled out a long-sleeved shirt and ankle-length jeans, and quickly dressed. She opened the door and practically bolted downstairs.
The fact that she didn't even put on panties or a bra showed she thought she could take care of business in the lobby — but Zhao Xuan knew that was impossible.
There was no self-service printer in the hotel; she'd have to ask the front desk to use their computer. But Lin Jingjing couldn't speak, and the staff wouldn't let her anywhere near their workstation.
The nearest self-service printer was in a supermarket about 300 meters away — something Zhao Xuan had noticed while grabbing breakfast, but Lin Jingjing couldn't have known.
Zhao Xuan knew she wouldn't risk having the front desk print something so private, so she'd have to go out with his cum still in her mouth to find a printing shop.
Outside, Lin Jingjing's face burned red, her heart raced, and her legs wobbled from the recent squirting. The slightly salty semen mixing with her saliva excited her masochistic side.
Walking those dozen meters to the elevator, she felt her lower body getting wet again. Leaning against the wall, waiting for the elevator, she thought, Guess I really am a slut…
Strangely, she didn't hate that thought.
She'd known since school she had a natural M-side — watching women punished or trained in videos didn't scare her, it fascinated her, especially when beautiful women were treated like animals or objects; she'd even climax from it. But no one had ever conquered her mind and body until she met Zhao Xuan a few days ago.
He wasn't handsome, but he was clean-cut, young, and loaded. When he'd hinted at keeping her, she'd already been tempted.
The "butler" thing was just a money-for-sex game, calling him "Master" was part of the fun — but after that first night, she felt she'd found her conqueror. When Zhao Xuan filmed her taking a facial, she couldn't say no.
Last night, when he ordered her to write the slave contract, she'd climaxed over and over while writing it, forgetting how many hours it took to finish those twelve clauses. The bed ended up soaked with sweat and juices — that's the faint musky smell Zhao Xuan had noticed in the room this morning.
At first, she'd treated it like roleplay, but once she wrote her name and the first clause, she'd mentally slipped into the role of a true slave. Each new rule deepened her immersion. By the end, she was fantasizing wildly about Zhao Xuan training and developing her.
When she reached the part about recording herself reciting the contract, she experienced her first-ever squirting.
When Zhao Xuan had deflowered her, her juices had coated his cock in one burst, but this was a full-on gush — love fluid mixed with pee sprayed for over ten seconds.
She'd been too weak to move for half an hour afterward. At that moment, she fully accepted she wasn't just playing a role — she was giving up all independence to become his possession.
Ding— The elevator arrived, snapping her out of her thoughts. She leaned on the wall and struggled inside.
As saliva built up, her mouth could barely hold it all. She swallowed a tiny bit, then guilt crashed over her.
I disobeyed Master… Even though he wasn't there, she glanced around like a student caught cheating. Luckily, she was alone.
The elevator stopped, and two men got in, sizing her up.
Her killer curves and tight-fitting long-sleeve shirt (buttons threatening to pop) drew attention, but she held her breath, praying they wouldn't notice her mouth.
Another stop, two flashy women boarded, glanced at her, and curled their lips.
Are they onto me? Heart pounding, she wasn't sure, but the thrill made her lower lips so wet that the fabric between her thighs was damp.
Finally reaching the lobby, she forced steady legs and walked out — only to realize she'd have to talk to the front desk to use the printer.
In her current state, speaking was impossible. Even from a distance, the faint odor was noticeable — two squirting sessions plus a messy deep-throat, no cleanup, and now she couldn't let anyone get close.
Pacing for a few minutes, she typed on her phone and showed the note to the receptionist:
Hello, may I borrow your printer?
The clerk looked confused, then assumed Lin Jingjing was deaf and started gesturing in sign language.
Lin Jingjing had no clue, so she typed:
I have a sore throat and can't speak. Just talk to me normally.
The clerk apologized. "Sorry, ma'am. Give me a USB, and I'll print it for you."
Lin Jingjing wasn't about to let anyone else see that file — it'd be social suicide. She typed:
Can I use your computer myself?
The clerk hesitated, then politely refused: "Sorry, we can't let guests access the workstation."
Lin Jingjing shook her head — no big deal — but inside she was panicking.
Searching her phone, the nearest print shop was nearly two kilometers away. In her condition, there was no way she could walk that far. Wearing no underwear, the rough fabric constantly brushed her sensitive spots — every step was a jolt of pleasure.
Just as she despaired, her phone rang — Yan Qing. She hung up, texting that she couldn't talk, to wait in the lobby if she arrived.
Lin Jingjing prepared to call a cab to get it done faster.
Another call came — she assumed it was Yan Qing again, went to decline, then saw it was Zhao Xuan.
"Mmm—" She answered, but couldn't speak.
"Little slut, why aren't you back yet? Jerking off downstairs for strangers?" His cold voice hit her ears.
She couldn't explain, thought he was mad about the delay, and let out rapid, muffled denials.
"After printing, go buy a water-based marker. You've got twenty minutes — be back." Click.
Lin Jingjing froze, but couldn't disobey. She stepped out of the hotel and jogged, hunting for a nearby convenience store.
Her phone showed a mall a kilometer away, but that was too far in 20 minutes. She scanned for smaller shops not on the map.
It was a scorching sunny day — Lianhai, a coastal city, wasn't blistering, but it was close to 30°C.
In long sleeves, long pants, and 6cm heels, jogging was torture, especially after squirting earlier. She was soon panting, her shirt soaked, face flushed.
Unable to open her mouth, she breathed through her nose, one arm clutching her chest so her 32E breasts wouldn't bounce loose — otherwise she'd trend on the internet for sure. The constant friction on her chest and inner thighs sent wave after wave of pleasure; she felt like she was about to break.
Exhausted, she collapsed onto a bench by a flowerbed. Thankfully, her shirt was light blue, not sheer — if it were white, her bare nipples would've been obvious to anyone.
Fifteen minutes left.
After resting for two minutes, the pressure of thirteen minutes remaining forced her to search again. Her stamina was decent — she'd aced PE in college — but this abuse left her unable to run, only walk briskly.
Realizing she couldn't keep this up, she tried typing questions for passersby.
Her hair was messy, sweaty, and her shirt was clinging to her chest, two hard peaks visible. Anyone paying attention would see she was completely braless.
Afraid to ask men, she approached women. The first pair of stylish girls locked eyes on her chest, smiled like they "got it," then walked off after she showed her note. Over their shoulders, Lin Jingjing overheard them talking about "that woman not wearing a bra" — her.
Trying not to hear, she asked a middle-aged woman with a kid. The woman gave her a disgusted look and hurried away.
Third try — a quiet student-type girl with glasses and a backpack. She pointed out a small shop 200 meters away and offered help.
Lin Jingjing shook her head, typed "thanks," and prepared to dash — ten minutes left.
The girl, getting close, smelled the odor. Lin Jingjing hadn't worn perfume, was drenched in sweat, and the underlying musk was obvious. The girl just frowned and turned to leave.
As she turned, her long hair brushed Lin Jingjing's face. Already breathing unevenly, Lin Jingjing's nose tingled — she was about to sneeze.
Oh no.