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The first sign that your master has arrived home is the sound of his footsteps on the cold tile floor. It's enough to send goosebumps racing across your bruised skin as you listen to the smart tap-tap-tap of Luca Kaneshiro moving from room to room. The quick, staccato rhythm tends to be a portend to the kind of mood he'll bring into the bedroom, and as he paces to and fro, muttering all the while, you can't help but to grimace with the knowledge that today is probably not going to be a pleasant one for either of you. Eventually, it becomes clear what he's up to when the smell of food reaches your dulled senses- pasta, perhaps? Your stomach rumbles hungrily, but before you can even begin to hope that you'll be permitted to have a bite of real, home-cooked food, Luca storms into the room and sits heavily down on his bed with a long, aggravated sigh. He doesn't bother greeting you- but then, why would he- and as the silence stretches on, you can't help but to fidget in place.
The cold metal links of the chain looped in place of a collar around your throat clink softly as you move. This, it seems, is enough to set him off.
"Here," he says, snapping his fingers for emphasis. You jolt at the sudden sound and nearly fall over yourself to comply, crawling towards him on sore knees and shaking hands and hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe, he'll be in an agreeable mood despite all signs to the contrary.
Luca is an imposing man at the best of times, and even with your vision occluded, it's easy to be overwhelmed by his sheer size as you softly rub your face against his clothed thigh and seek affection in the only way you've been permitted to try. Luca emits a dissatisfied sound like a man realizing he's stepped in bubblegum and reaches out to push you away, inconvenienced by your attempts at consoling him. But the feeling of leather gloves against your skin is tantalizing, and the soft catch of his ring along your skin makes you shiver, so you persist in seeking his attention. With your eyes covered, every sensation and sound is heightened to a needle's fine point, and as he reaches back out to grab your head, turning it this way and that as though appraising cattle for auction, for just a moment, you can pretend he gives a shit about the person at his mercy, and not just the integrity of his newest toy.
There's a rustling of fabric, then, the sound of a zipper coming apart. When Luca roughly grabs you face and shoves it against the warming flesh of his half-hard cock, you don't need to ask to figure out what he wants. Your mouth falls open automatically, taking in the length and letting it plump up in your plush warmth with an agreeable hum. Luca lets out a shaky sigh like a man finally getting off of his feet after a long day on the job and holds himself in your throat for a long moment, basking in the sensation, before abruptly he grabs the back of your head and starts thrusting. It's rough, uncaring, and his size is enough that your jaw aches within seconds- but at this point, you've become accustomed to the burn of oxygen deprivation and the simple friction of his cock down your throat. Every time you gag, he yanks you down harder like he wants to punish you for reminding him that you're a living, breathing person and not just a sentient hole he can rut himself into.
"Fuck... are you even trying? Just why, the hell, should I have to do all the work? Huh?" He complains, grabbing you by the cheeks and pushing you off of his cock with enough force to add to the numerous bruises colouring your cheeks. "You're not- you're not even good at being fucked! I know we took you in to settle a debt, sure, but between you and me," he breathes, voice thick with accusatory contempt, "I think your father managed to pull one over on us." Even if you can't see him, you can feel Luca's disapproving gaze as he looks down at you, and shame burns hot in your cheeks. "Honestly? What good are you if you can't even make me me come... what, are you gonna- gonna cry? As nice as I've been to you, and you want to sit here and cry? Well, I don't really care, but if you're going to do something, at least... try to make yourself useful while you're doing it?" As you feel the blunt head of his cock pressing back against your lips, you kiss it as though in reverence- and this, if nothing else, gets Luca to exhales a short bark of laughter.
"That's it, c'mon, open up." He says, and it's almost praise- almost appreciation- before he grabs a snarl of your unkempt hair and shoves himself back in. If you weren't so used to it by now, you could cry. Instead, you do what you can to please his outsized cock with your tongue and throat and you drink in every faint scrap of appreciation you can rip out of the man, each a tiny victory against the stinging rejection of his perpetual apathy towards you.
On some level, you wish he would touch you- would desire you, even, see you as an individual, and someone worthy of the attention and devotion he lavishes on others in his life. Perhaps, if you're good this time, he'll use your other end later -- at least then, you might have a few moments of euphoria in the inevitable release he'll force out of you for the sake of his own pride. It's not enough. It's not much at all. But it's better than this breathless ache as the callous mafiosa begins to pulse and throb against your tongue.
Luca's nails dig into your scalp as he shoves himself deeper, forces your face into his unwashed pubes and makes you take what he has to give.
As Luca finishes down your throat and pulls back to wipe the sticky dribbles at the end across your tear-streaked face, you try to remember what life was like before this became your reality. Before you were sold to cover a debt and wound up here, the penthouse pet of the head of the Kaneshiro mafia. But as Luca tucks himself away and takes a moment to catch his breath, you realize the memories have grown distant with the passage of time. There's only Luca now, your sore knees and aching jaw and sticky face taking place of things that used to have meaning to you, filling the void in a way that should horrify you.
But your capacity to care was fucked out of you a long time ago.
Whoever you were before doesn't matter anymore. All that matters now is keeping the Boss happy. Because as long as Luca Kaneshiro's happy, you can continue to survive. And any life, even one like this, is better than none at all... right?
"Right," Luca says, as if he can read your thoughts. He claps his hands together and gets to his feet. "I have things to do, so..."
He leaves you there, cum-stained and discarded, just another tool in a long list of things to be used and discarded at his discretion. Distantly, you hear his boisterous laugh and the clinking of silverware as he wines and dines the people who actually matter in his life. Privately, you allow yourself to curl up and rest, exhausted by another ordeal.
You wonder what it would've been like, if only you could have been one of them instead.