I couldn't believe it could talk. In two years of abuse, The Child said its first sentence to me when I was fifteen years old.
“I'm sorry, Yalda.”
That was all it said. I had just tied it to a chair and fucked its cock. I orgasmed three times, and then left him tied up. As I dressed, I saw out of the corner of my eye that the Child took it's free hand and started rubbing its penis. I pretended not to notice it at first, but it only grew more vigorous. Obviously, it believed that I couldn't hear it. I finally turned to it and said, “What, you disgusting animal? Did I ride your cock too hard, and now you want to cum?” I spit in his face.
That's when he apologized to me. I was taken aback. I asked him, “What did you say?”
He told me, “I just want to cum. May I?”
I didn't know what to say. He'd never asked me for anything before. I was kind of curious. I had never seen a man orgasm before, so I said, “Yes, you may masturbate for me.”
The child nodded and I drew up a chair. I untied him, and silently watched him as he moved his right hand up and down, up and down his cock. It was almost sacred looking, the silent intensity to which he assigned this chore. Gradually, the pace got faster and faster, and at last, he smiled for the first time when a whitish fluid came from the tip of his penis. It puddled at the base of the chair. I approached him, when I thought it was over, and picked up the fluid with my left index finger. I painted his face with it, and he moaned as I did so.
I pressed my index finger down onto his tongue, and without asking or forcing him to, he licked it. I got a chill in my spine all of a sudden, and I left him there.
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