Setting: 8:12 a.m. / The safehouse / Day six of "cooperation"
Hailey's tits bounced when she reached for the cinnamon.
She wasn't doing it on purpose - not yet.
She still believed in modesty as a currency.
But these ridiculous bikinis he was making them wear didn't believe in anything.
The olive green halter strained against her chest, two damp, wobbling triangles barely containing tits too heavy, too lush, too brazen to ever be hidden properly.
Dry three hours ago and now clinging darker at the base, the thin fabric outlined every shivering curve underneath - the weight of her breasts dragging the top lower each time she moved, threatening to spill her out completely.
She smelled like sleep, sugar, and sex, both forced and withheld.
Golden blonde hair curled loose and wild over her shoulders, clinging faintly to flushed skin already gleaming with the beginning of sweat.
Her stomach was slim but soft, the kind you wanted to leave bite marks on, tapering into the tight, tanned curve of her hips.
Her thighs flexed unconsciously as she shifted, muscle and surrender knotted together.
She looked like something stolen from a yacht party - manicured, pampered - but stripped of every illusion now, standing barefoot in a kitchen that was already eating her alive.
He sipped his coffee. Didn't speak.
Let the weight of his eyes do the instruction.
Next to her, Reese flipped a pancake like she was punishing it.
Where Hailey was soft and rich, Reese was taut and defiant - a leaner build, but no less sexual.
The rust-orange bikini she wore flattened firm, high tits that would have looked perfect braless under a loose tank top, the kind of body meant for slow, accidental undressing.
No accidental undressing here.
Her bikini top was stretched tight across dense curves, making her nipples stand out - stiff and sharp, cutting against the fabric like accusations.
Her waist was a sleek, hungry line down to narrow hips and toned thighs, her stomach flat but twitching faintly with every clench of tension she couldn't hide.
Her dark brown hair hung damp against her neck from the cold shower she'd begged for last night - strands stuck in places, framing high cheekbones, a rigid jaw, a mouth too set to ever look soft again.
He hadn't said no to the shower.
He'd said, "Cold water only."
She had taken it - seething, silent, nipples hard as thumbtacks against that thin,
stretched fabric.
She hadn't spoken since.
She was perfect.
Hailey tried to break the silence.
"Do you want syrup or-"
"Stop talking."
It wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Hailey froze - the syrup bottle clutched awkwardly between shaking fingers, the tendons in her wrist taut, her thighs squeezing together like she could somehow trap modesty between them.
He waited.
A long sip. A breath.
Let the power stretch like a yawn.
"Reese," he said without turning his head. "Tell Hailey what she's for."
Reese didn't flinch.
She just flipped the second pancake - her shoulder rolling with lean, stubborn muscle under damp, sun-kissed skin.
Waited.
Then spoke, each word sliding out like a knife being pushed between ribs.
"She's for sucking cock."
The air seemed to tighten.
Hailey blinked.
One tear slipped, trailing wet across the flushed curve of her cheek and the fuller swell of her breasts, but she didn't move.
"And what are you for?"
Reese turned.
Looked directly at him for the first time all morning.
Her face was sharp with contempt.
Her lips curled, disdain twisting her beauty tighter.
"I'm for watching," she said. "Until I'm not."
He smiled.
This was the real work.
No handcuffs.
No paperwork.
Just a couch, a stare, and two ruined little trophies in bikinis making pancakes with shame slicking the inside of their thighs.
This was cooperation.
--------
Hailey didn't move right away.
That was the part he loved most.
Not the tears.
Not even the obedience - but the seconds before she obeyed.
That tiny, beautiful fracture where her soul still thought it could claw its way back to the surface.
But it never did.
Her fingers dropped the syrup bottle.
It thudded dully onto the counter.
She pressed her thighs together, but the movement only pulled the already damp olive bottoms tighter, creasing into the swollen seam of her cunt - printing it shamelessly through the fabric, the dark line of it visible even in the muted kitchen light.
She turned to him, head bowed, voice smaller than it had been when she first walked in six days ago.
"Do you want me to-"
He tilted his head.
Just a little.
She cut herself off.
Good girl.
Reese plated the pancakes in silence.
Her arms trembled faintly with restraint, the muscles of her back shifting under sweat-damp fabric.
She hated the feeling of the bikini top clinging tighter with every breath - hated the drying crust at the edge of her bottoms where last night's failures had soaked through and then stiffened - hated him for making her wear it like a brand.
Hated Hailey.
Hated herself.
Hated the way her own cunt still fluttered, betraying her even now.
He finally spoke.
Calm.
Casual.
Just another morning in the safehouse.
"Crawl."
Hailey didn't speak.
She just dropped.
Palms to the cold floor.
Knees down with a wet slap of skin to stone.
A tiny whimper broke free when she shifted - the roughness kissing the delicate undersides of her thighs and knees, leaving little scrapes of pink.
She crawled.
Slow.
Ass swaying as if remembering the attention it would draw - every movement dragging the drenched bikini bottoms tighter against her ass, the small triangle at her front already losing its battle to cover anything at all.
Her tits shifted and jostled inside the olive top, one heavier breast already slipping out from under the sagging triangle with every jolt forward, the tip of a pink nipple visible, trembling.
The straps of the halter dug into her shoulders.
The tie-strings rode into her hips.
She left little invisible smears of warmth on the floor with every shuffle.
Reese didn't look at her.
Didn't need to.
She'd memorized it already.
The bob of her ass, the tremble of her knees, the way her tits dragged across the floor in helpless, filthy offering.
The way the olive green fabric darkened visibly with every breath as her body soaked through it from the inside out.
The fucking sound of Hailey's wet knees slipping over tile.
She was going to dream about that sound.
Hailey reached the rug.
Sat back on her heels.
Eyes up.
Lips parted.
Trembling.
Her knees splayed naturally wide - too wide - a ruined little prayer.
The crotch of her bikini bottom was glistening now, a visible wetness spreading outward, darkening the olive cotton where slick was leaking freely from her cunt.
He didn't speak.
