"Fuck… How are you still so tight? Don't get me wrong, I love how you feel on my cock, but I thought I would've loosened you up a little by now." Brahms grunted, rocking his hips gently, relishing the sensation of his captive's slick cunt stretched around his thickness. He moaned softly and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Her scent had always captivated him, from the moment she had arrived at the manor. It drifted down its hallways, lingering, disrupting the musty smother of slow decay which surrounded his parents until they had left. The girl trembled in his lap, whimpering. He had a tight grip on her, his knees holding her thighs apart, one hand around her waist and the other caressing her long neck with calloused fingers.

"Haa… you must like something about this, I can feel you twitching around me. You keep getting wetter. It's so, so… Good…" he crooned, nuzzling her neck, cool porcelain shocking hot, aroused flesh. "I want all of you. Please. I've been a good boy, I haven't hurt you this time. Please…" he continued, deepening his thrusts, the girl gripping the sofa cushions, his shirt, anything within reach, tighter in response.

"I only want you to feel good, too. Pretty girl…"

She mumbled incoherently, eyes drowsy from the intensity of her umpteenth orgasm. He had fucked her all day with scant breaks for water, let alone anything else, and was exhausted. But protest was a dangerous thing. He was a master manipulator. Surely it was easier to give him what he wanted? Not if it meant being used like this daily.

"Brahms… we should stop soon… You… You do make me feel good, I promise, but I'm so sore now. Please… " she managed to whisper, falling back against his firm chest. "Please." His thrusts slowed, finally stopping, and he held her tighter still, nuzzling even closer into the crook of her neck. ''You really want to stop?''

The girl nodded meekly. Her body ached, her mind dulled from the layered orgasms and intensity of Brahms' physical affection. Breathing shallowly, she melted in his arms, her nudity contrasting heavily with his mostly clothed state. She'd been cornered coming out of the shower that morning, and fucked relentlessly for the remainder of the day, dripping wet, pink and clean, to reeking of sex and pheromones not long after. Brahms sighed with contentment and slipped himself out of her, still holding her awkwardly in his lap. He knew she was tired; for the last half hour she'd been limpid in his arms, only responding verbally, and squirming far less than she had when he'd initiated their session four hours earlier. His mask was digging into her collarbone, but she hadn't the energy to protest anymore.

''Kiss?''

She grunted, an unclear answer. Brahms took her chin in his hand and pressed the cold, unfeeling porcelain lips to hers, sucking and kissing at the other side of his mask, imagining, pretending, they were really kissing. The girl didn't react, she simply accepted it, playing at being his very own doll. ''I kissed her once. She cried after.'' He said quietly, now stroking her hair. ''She didn't follow the rules, either. But you? You've learned quickly.''

''I try to be good.''

''You're very good. And I'm a good boy for you.'' He giggled, inhaling deeply; he enjoyed the mingling of their scents. ''Aren't I?''

The girl hesitated, her answer a little too slow. ''Aren't I?'' He didn't move, merely holding her waist a little tighter.

''Yes, yes you are…!'' She whimpered. Brahms slipped his rough fingers down to her abused folds and began caressing them without skill, simply anticipating any contact would bring pleasure, as it did to his cock. ''Thank you!'' He moaned, grinding his hips against her. He was relentlessly hard, his arousal still unsated, and uncompromisingly rough, no matter how many times she protested or expressed her discomfort. Every brush with his thumb or fingers stung her overstimulated clit; even if he focused his attention on her nipples or elsewise her broader body, it would be a relief.

''You know I know when you're lying.'' He whispered, voice dropping low. ''You think I'm cruel. A monster. A murderer. And I know you just hate it when I fuck you.'' His voice changed again, twisting, mocking. Brahms stopped his feeble attempts at pleasuring her, moving that hand from her cunt abruptly to hold her neck in the crook of his bicep, the other hand roughly gripping the length of her hair in his fist and pulling, to force her to look up and back. He looked down at her through the holes of his mask. ''You hate it almost as much as you hate it when I make you cum.''

It sounded as though he was smirking behind that porcelain facade; she was almost positive he was at least smiling, a cruel smile stretched over his scarred face. ''But, that's your problem I suppose. I'm bored now.'' He sighed, pushing her out of his lap quickly, tucking his softening cock away into his trousers. ''I'm going to my room. Finish yourself if you like. Or not. I don't really care.''

His curly hair and large frame disappearing through the doorway into the darkness of the corridor was the last she saw of him that night, though she was sure he'd come for her again soon. How soon, she couldn't say. But her mind would never be ready, even if her body ached for the dull, pleasurable soreness of being played with Brahms Heelshire, made his pretty cock-sleeve more quickly than she'd like to admit.