The maid, whose name I never bothered to learn, returned to the study, a fresh glass of scotch in hand. Her eyes, wide and doe-like, scanned over me with a mixture of fear and trepidation, as if she were a small animal cornered by a predator.

As she approached, I reached out, grabbing her slender wrist before she could retreat. I could feel the rapid pulse of her heartbeat against my fingertips, a drumbeat of fear that only served to heighten my own arousal.

"Let go of me," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the sound of her own ragged breathing.

I ignored her plea, instead using my grip on her wrist to pull her closer, until she was standing between my legs. My other hand, moving with a will of its own, reached out to cup her breast, feeling the hardened peak of her nipple through the thin fabric of her uniform.

"You know what I want," I growled, my voice low and filled with dark desire.

She didn't respond, her eyes locked on mine as if she were trying to convey some silent message. But I wasn't in the mood for words, for polite conversation or meaningless platitudes. No, all I wanted was to feel her warm, wet mouth wrapped around my cock, to lose myself in the sensation of her lips sliding up and down my shaft.

Without a word, I reached down, my fingers fumbling with the zipper of my pants. With a quick, fluid motion, I freed my cock, the hardened rod of flesh springing free and slapping against my stomach with a sound like a gunshot.

The maid's eyes widened further, her gaze locked on the throbbing member before her. I could see the fear in her eyes, the knowledge that she had no choice but to comply with my demands.

With a rough, forceful motion, I grabbed her head, my fingers tangling in her hair as I pulled her closer. She resisted for a moment, her body tensing as if she were preparing to fight back. But in the end, she relented, her lips parting as she took me into her mouth.

I closed my eyes, my head falling back against the plush leather of the chair as I savored the sensation of her warm, wet mouth enveloping me. Her tongue, rough and wet, slid against my shaft, teasing and tormenting me in equal measure.

But it wasn't enough. I wanted more, needed more. I wanted to feel her throat wrap around me, to force myself down her throat and into her willing, submissive body.

With a growl, I tightened my grip on her hair, pulling her down onto my cock with a force that left her gasping for breath. I could feel her gagging, her body fighting against the invasion, but I didn't care. All that mattered was the sensation of my dick buried deep in her throat, the feeling of power and control that came with dominating her in such a primal, animalistic way.

I used her like a device, not a person. A fleshlight toy instead of a mouth. My thrusts grew harder, more forceful, until I could feel my balls slapping against her chin with each rough, brutal stroke.

And when I came, it was with a force that threatened to shatter me. I could feel myself emptying myself into her, my hot, sticky seed filling her throat and stomach. And still, I didn't stop, my hips continuing to thrust as I forced myself deeper and deeper down her throat.

When it was over, I pushed her away, leaving her to collapse onto the floor like a discarded toy. I stood, my legs shaky and weak, and adjusted my pants, tucking my now-flaccid cock back inside.

Without a word, I turned and walked away, leaving her there, alone and humiliated, in the study. I didn't look back, didn't spare her another thought as I made my way to my father's guest room and crawled into bed, my dreams haunted by the image of her face, contorted in pain and pleasure as I used her for my own twisted desires.