Egbá: A Gentle Femdom Novella

TEN

"I'm a millionaire," she says with a smirk as she moves the knight on the chessboard. "This coochie's pricy."

"Millionaire coochie," he repeats, smiling widely. He's not really paying attention to the game. She's going to wipe the ground with his arse, anyway. "How much would I pay to hit it?"

She bursts into laughter. "You're horrible."

"And yet, you laugh. Checkmate."

Every trace of humour on her face disappears. Egbá is not a sweet loser, even though her hair that is in two huge pigtails and her eyes that look bigger than usual from the way her hair is dragged away from her face might deceive you otherwise. She's bloodthirsty. "No fair. That one surprised even you, didn't it?"

He scoffs. "I'm Marcos de Alba. A puny woman can't defeat me in the game of chess."

This time, she laughs so hard, her eyes turn red. "You're playing this misogynistic role too well, Marcos."

"This is what you signed up for. Hey, let's make this chess shit into a game." Before her disapproving glare could turn into a rant about how disrespectful it is to equate chess with excreta, he pounces in. "We go five times. If I have the highest number of wins, I'll take your Ashton Martin out for a day. I've always wanted that sweet baby beneath me. If you treat me right, I'll let you come along for the ride."

"Just buy your own damn bike."

"And miss the chance to give you a high blood pressure from how fast I'll ride yours? No, thanks."

She growls. "And what if you lose?"

He lets his eyelids droop seductively. "I'll do anything you want for the rest of day."

She archs an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You're already doing everything I want without that condition. Why should that be my prize?"

He sighs, dropping the face rapidly. She found out too early that he enjoys doing things for her, and like he knew she would, began to capitalize on it. He has cooked a total of six times since the first time, and has become her hair stylist. He's getting used to meeting a barefooted, ratty-haired Egbá, hair brush in hand, at the garage everytime he comes over.

He has also become her human vehicle, carrying her up and down her room, because of her newly developed aversion to stairs.

He also hasn't been able to say no to any of her most recent demands. Today, for example, Marcos, what does churro and beans taste like together? Come try it.

Lemme hear what your inner chauvinist is thinking, Marcos, even after he said a million times that he's not a misogynist.

Hey. Play chess with me. Let me see what you look like when you lose.

He would hate it if he didn't love it so much. "It's just one week in, and you're already spoilt."

She archs her back into a cat-like stretch that pushes her tits forward, then cracks her fingers. "It's not everyday you have an influential man cook for you. Sue me. It's intoxicating."

He likes that she's addicted. He wants her to take it to the next level, and order him to take out her trash for her. Pick up her laundry for her. Wash her hair for her. This influential man wants to get his hands dirty for her.

Everytime she makes him do something, or orders him in that sultry rasp to carry her downstairs, or won't you get me a glass of wine, Marcos? he gets so worked up, it's a wonder his cock hasn't upped and retired from lack of use.

"Don't get used to it," he replies, meaning the complete opposite. "I'm only here because I'm on leave."

"Oh," she snorts. "That's why you've been clinging on to me for days now."