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With your collar chained to the underside of his desk, you had little chance of escape when Easterman shoved your head between his legs. Not that you wanted to.
"Daddy had a stressful day at work", his voice dripped into your ears, thick like honey, coating your brain and blocking all thought. His hand held the leash back firmly as if he had to hold you back not to bury your face in his crotch immediatly.
Your eyes met his cold gaze and the metallic sound of his zipper sent a shiver down your spine. He was already hard, just like most days. You wondered how many hours he spent bricked up infront of the TVs from watching you run through his little torture chambers.
"You want to help me relax, right my dear?"
You stuck out your tongue obediently. Dogs don't talk. The doctor shuddered ever so slightly at the contact with your warm, wet mouth. Just a hole for him to use, just a toy he kept readily under his desk. His precum coated your tongue as he tapped his cock against it, almost as if testing you to bite it, but he had muzzle trained you too well.
"Greedy puppy", he whispered as he finally allowed you to take him in. Your soft lips felt like heaven wrapped around him, so subservient and kind to him. Leaning back, he lit himself a cigarette as his other hand ran through your hair, pulling you in deeper.
Your knees were padded from the paw print dog bed he had gotten you. A little bit of comfort tied to the humiliation of the cleaning staff seeing you sleep in it naked, because dogs don't wear clothes and they are not allowed on furniture.
The chain from your collar was obsolete. Easterman knew if he'd forget to lock it, you would still wait for him here, wagging your metaphorical tail. This was your reward now. Between trials and cold, lonely sleeping quarters, existing under his desk as his special little pet was a gracious gift in your eyes.
As his grip tightened in your hair, he started jerking up his hips, feeling the vibrations of your muffled moans against his hard shaft. He didn't care how much air you got, it was enough for you to keep going, to stay latched onto his cock like a rodent on it's feeding tube. "Feel it. Feel Daddy's cock hitting the back of your throat", he groaned, blowing out the smoke of his cigarette and watching your nose bury in his pubic hair. The smell of sweat and cigarettes assaulted your senses.
You hollow in your cheeks, creating this sweet vacuum that never failed to get a gasp out of him. "Ride it," Easterman commanded, his boot finding it's way to your dripping cunt.
Another muffled moan, a needy whine and fluttering eyelids. The pressure on your clit was welcome and thanked for with eager bobbing of your head. A smile crept onto the doctor's lips, watching his puppy hump his leg with saliva and precum dribbling down your chin. His own breath grew ragged and heavy. The grip in your hair now painful and sharp
And that's when it happened; just a slip of your jaw, your gagging reflex telling you to shut your mouth. He had been so adamant about keeping your teeth in check. You felt a twitch in the thigh you've been holding onto. The simple act of having your hand in his lap now seemed like a priviledge you should not be allowed to have.
Easterman yanked your head back. It was hard to decipher who was more upset about this, his angrily throbbing cock or you with your wide open puppy eyes. "I'm sorry-" you began but he shut you up with the back of his hand.
"Pathetic", he murmured with the cigarette between his lips and the hand on your jaw forced you to open up again, "Give me your tongue."
You hesitated and he hooked his thumb into your jaw until you stuck it out, fear starting to swell in your eyes. Dr. Easterman's slender fingers took the cigarette from his lips, methodically slow and sadistically sexual.
It burned. You could swear you heard the sizzling of meat. The smell of burned flesh filled the room, the taste of burned ash filled your mouth. Burning pain burned into your mind.
Your cry was choked out when he rubbed his boot up against your sex, brushing against that special spot and confusing your nervous system.
"It is my fault really, I have been too soft with you", he talked you through it, holding the short glinting stump firmly on your tongue, "You lacked guidance, leadership. I was a fool to assume you'd be anything without your father's firm hand on your back."
Your cries had already subsided to defeated, pitiful whines and your hips still jerked against the boot, now shiny from your slick. It took all of the doctor's self discipline not to fuck you stupid on that little dog bed of yours. He loved you, but you had to learn a lesson. His hand wrapped around the girth of his, stroking it tight and fast as his thumb brushed around the wound on your tongue.
There was little as arousing to him as watching tears run down your cheeks while knowing you'd still look at him like a saint, a patron, a father.
There was no helping his little pathethic puppy.