Competition Breeds Excellence in Captivity

I was making breakfast while Zarina was on her knees, gently caring for me through my first refractory period of the day.

I asked, “Do you want some coffee?

Zarina’s jaw dropped as fast as it could.

“Wha…? Aman, yes. I’ve forgotten what coffee even tastes like.”

I am not much of a coffee drinker anymore, since these days I do not have to stay awake or work into the night. I am trying to be better about getting away from the dependency we all accepted on the trading floor, where everyone took for granted towers of energy drinks and Zyn. But I still have my old burr grinder and an Aeropress for when I crave the taste from time to time. I weighed out precise grams of coffee and water with a scale, and set one of the timers on the wall. Zarina watched me out of the corner of her eye, while she traced my soft cock and loose balls with her tongue and fingertips.

“That’s a pretty fancy setup. I’ve never tried coffee from one of these before,” Zarina salivating more than usual.

Zarina explicitly had the freedom to talk around my cock if I was not about to get hard. She spent so much of the day with my cock in her mouth that it would have been hard to expect any conversation with her otherwise.

“It works on air pressure and produces coffee with the concentration of espresso. Hope you like your coffee strong.”

“Sure, I usually do. I’m tired all the time now….”

I unlocked Zarina’s ring gag, told her she could take a pause from her oral service to drink it, then handed her the coffee in a paper cup. She had not lashed out at me in a while, but it did occur to me that she could try to scald me, so I went and sat on the other side of the dining table. Zarina blew to cool it down and then took a sip.

“Wow, this is good coffee. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Were you a big coffee drinker?”

“Not always, we’re almost entirely a tea culture in Azerbaijan. I only know of one little specialty coffee café in Baku, the kind I think you in the West you used to call a hipster spot. But I got into it in Switzerland. They drink a crazy amount, like espresso after dinner culture. I also really liked Turkish coffee. Drank a lot of those little shot cups. Ever had them?

“Yeah, and Greek coffee, which is pretty much the same thing, as best I can tell. The naming dispute strikes me as thousands of years of nationalism.”

Zarina smiled and nodded in agreement.

I asked, “Where have you been in Turkey?”

“Ankara and Istanbul several times. Liked going to Izmir for vacations and the Anatolian coast. Did the day trip to Pergamon.” 

Zarina’s gaze was lost in what must have been happy memories, but she stopped and looked directly at me, “Why are you being so nice to me right now?”

“Would you rather be tortured…? Don’t answer. That’s a rhetorical question. I don’t expect any girl to be that good of an actress.”

“You’ve never given me anything to drink besides water out of a dog bowl. Now we’re talking about vacations?”

“There’s no trick here. You’ve earned it this morning. That first throatfuck put me in a particularly good mood and you tightened up and suffered beautifully through the beating while I pounded your ass. I haven’t had to correct you on any of the little things either. Believe me, when I woke up I didn’t plan that coffee would be your reward if you pleased me. But when I’m happy with you I probably will show you a little spontaneous kindness. Your life now is influenced by carrots and sticks, not just sticks anymore.” 

Zarina winced as I mentioned of the day’s painful memories, but nodded slightly as if that made sense. It probably dismayed her to recall her former life. 

“Well forgive me for not trusting you completely. It occurred to me that you might ‘give’ it to me by pouring hot coffee on my face or up my ass or something.”

“Keep up those kind of suggestions,” I winked at her.

We drank the rest of our coffee in silence. I told Zarina to wash my coffee equipment and then I locked it away. She sighed a little when I picked up her ring gag, but dropped to her knees and opened wide.