Shehnaaz's cheeks were still red and sore where he'd slapped them when she came back from the fridge with his beer. He took it (without thanking her, of course) and touched the cold glass of the bottle to her nipple. She flinched and he let out half a laugh as he took a drink.

"Let me look at you," he said, as if she needed the instruction. She was naked and at his mercy, her mouth crammed with his stinking socks. She realised her mouth had been occupied one way or another ever since he arrived; first with his cock, then kissing his shoes, then stuffed with the socks. It turned her on that he was using her mouth so much, all so dehumanising; like she wasn't a person who got to talk and have ideas and desires but a hole for his pleasure, and her suffering. She liked being less than human for him.