22. Kenzo
CHAPTER 22
KENZO
“What is this?” Vi asks. Her voice is airy and high-pitched; it’s getting harder for her to stay calm.
I guide her until she sits on the mirrored chair.
“Let’s play a game,” I say.
I grab some rope from the corner of the room. It’s balled in the shape of a ring, and I toss it from hand to hand. Vi’s eyes bounce rapidly around the room, then back to me. She bites her bottom lip. She’s nervous, and that’s a good sign. Vi is smart. A liar, maybe. But liars are usually smart.
And that lying ends today.
“Okay?” she says hesitantly.
“A get-to-know-you game,” I clarify. “I’m going to tie you to this chair. If you’re a good girl and you tell me the truth, I’ll let you come.”
Her lips and thighs part for a second, and those words swim inside of her already filthy thoughts. I lick my lips, blood rushing to my cock, but then she stiffens, coming back to her senses.
She’s not supposed to be a dirty girl like this, but my wife can’t help herself.
“You’re forward, aren’t you?” she quips. A flash of amusement courses through me.
“I showed you the kind of man I am the first night we met,” I say. “Is there any reason to be subtle?”
Her forehead wrinkles. I crouch down before her, our eyes meeting at the same level. Her blue eyes sparkle like raw sapphires, and my stomach drops.
I should feel betrayal, but I’m only intrigued, and I don’t know why. Why did she pretend to be a virgin? What does she want from me? And how do I get her to trust me and stop pretending to be someone else?
“If you lie to me, then there will only be pain,” I say slowly.
Her eyelids flutter. “But if I win this game by telling the truth…” She rubs her palms down her skirt. “Then you have to tell me the truth too. Anything I ask.”
My temperature spikes. I like a girl who can hunt for what she’s after.
“Deal,” I say.
We shake hands, more like business partners than husband and wife, but I like it. It’s real.
I tie her ankles to the chair, and her chest rises and falls, anticipation simmering under her skin. It takes everything I have to stay focused, to not give in and fuck her on the floor, but I stay emotionally distant. I tie her wrists behind her back, then use the length of the rope under her breasts, putting them on a pedestal for me. Fuck me—with her fancy blouse, skirt, and all of that rope, she’s a damsel in distress. A helpless goddess in human flesh. Perfect blue eyes. Heavy breasts. The skin on her neck is a shameful shade of red.
I get the feeling Vi wants to be in distress.
My mind wages battle, desire and integrity fighting for dominance, but I need this. I need to know her truth before she betrays me or my family, and I’m forced to take care of her.
As the final preparation, I kneel and move the skirt to the side. Then I cut off her underwear, letting the blade tease her skin, leaving faint white lines on her pussy lips. She gasps, and I chuckle. The tattered remnants hang around her hips.
I stand back up and convince myself I don’t need to eat her pussy right now. It’s killing me to restrain myself, but this is important. Her uncle brought her to me, and I need to know why she’s lying for him.
The Endo-kai comes before everything else. Even her.
“Have you had sex before?” I ask.
“You made sure I had last night,” she says. The smart ass smile on her face makes me burn. I want to smack the look off of her just to see what she’d do. Instead, I lick my lips, beaming down at her until she squirms—finally uncomfortable—and her smug attitude drops.
I step forward, then I spread her knees so wide her skirt is completely bunched at the sides of her hips. The tease of fabric like that kills me.
She turns away, but it’s an act. I straddle her, pressing my weight into her thighs. Finally, she peers up at me.
I make the question so precise, she can’t avoid it. “Have you had sex before me?”
Her eyes glance down, her lips parting in hunger. My cock twitches. I pull a thin white rope out of my pocket, pulling it taut between my fists. I’m crafty with torture, and my little wife obviously likes being choked. She’ll like this, no matter how hard she tries to deny it.
“You really want to test me?” I ask.
A shiver rolls through her, but she keeps her eyes on my bulge growing thick in my pants. My little slut likes being choked, and it drives me fucking mad.
“All right,” I say.
Standing up, I walk toward the corner of the room, open a drawer set covered in mirrors too, and remove a vibrator. I turn it on, letting it buzz between my fingers; it’s powerful, like a song shaking through a concert sound system. I hold it to her pussy, and she flinches, bucking backward in the chair. I pull her hips forward, making her clit rest on the toy, then I press her thighs together, keeping the vibrator there.
Her eyes follow me until I’m behind her. I point toward the mirrored wall.
“Look at yourself,” I say. “Such a pathetic, greedy little cunt.”
My dick tents my pants as I wrap the white cord around her throat. Dominance sings through me like a power ballad as I search her reflection. She’s at my mercy, and it thrills us both. I pull the rope snug around her neck; her face blooms into a deep red, blood filling her cheeks, her eyes widening with lust and fear. My dick flexes, so fucking ready for her warmth. She humps the vibrator, and it rattles along her thighs and the chair.
Her eyes are on me. Not on herself.
I let go of the cord, and she gasps, air filling her lungs. The vibrator clatters to the ground, and a tear rolls down her cheek. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s adrenaline. The need to fucking run.
But this isn’t where Vi leaves me. This is where she commits. I’ve just got to get those words out of her.
“You want to keep playing this game?” I tease.
She nods, too intoxicated by the head rush and stimulation to give a verbal answer. My chest tightens. I’m damn ready to fuck her, but this isn’t about my dick; it’s about getting her truth. I put the vibrator back between her legs.
“Give me a verbal answer, baby,” I tease. “Are you ready to tell me the truth?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
I cinch the cord around my hand until my fingers go numb. “Why did you lie about being a virgin?” I ask.
“Because I have to.”
“Why?”
“Because I?—”
I flip a switch on the vibrator, increasing the intensity, and she jolts like I’ve sent electricity through her core. I growl; I’m jealous of the device—I want to make her do that by myself—but this is about her. About business. About getting what I want out of her. That way, I can figure out what’s going on in her sly little mind.
“Who told you to lie to me?” I ask.
“M-my—” she stutters, then finally, she adds, “My uncle.”
“And why did you lie?”
Her eyes fall to her lap. Keeping the vibrator on her clit, I press her legs together.
“You let this vibrator drop again, and I’m going to make you wish you hadn’t,” I warn.
Like an obedient little slut, she keeps it pressed between her legs. And I step around, twisting the white cord around her neck again, admiring the red line on her throat. The rope is thin like a clothesline, and I’m sure that’s what most people would use it for. But when I see rope, I want to tangle flesh inside of it. And her freckles are so damn pretty against the rope.
“You like jewelry, baby?” I ask. “You want another red necklace?”
She blinks at her reflection. “I?—”
I pull the rope closed around her, cutting off her words. I move myself so I’m pressed against her body, my dick bobbing into her neck.
“Why did you lie?” I ask again, but there’s only panic drowning in her veins. She can’t speak, even if she wants to—the rope is too tight—and I love the power. She has no choice but to obey me, to give in to every one of my fucked-up desires. But even through the pain coursing through her, she keeps her legs forced together. Sweat drips down her face, and my dick pulses, seeing her struggle like that. I’ve got a thing for making women panic and whimper, but when I see the expression on Vi, it unlocks something inside of me.
It can only be me.
Even if this doesn’t work out—even if she betrays me and I have to get rid of her—no one will ever touch her or see those blue eyes like I do right now. I will make sure of it.
Finally, I let go. This time, she cracks, the sobs wailing through her. I’m not going to kill her right now, but she doesn’t know that. And yet I love the tears. I love seeing her panic. It’s such a pure, physical response.
I circle her, facing her once again. “Last time I’m going to ask. You give me this answer, and we’re done,” I say quietly. “Why did you lie?”
“For my family,” she says in a bittersweet tone.
That’s enough of an answer for now. I hold on to it.
“Good girl,” I say.
I pull her hips forward on the chair and turn off the vibrator. I finger-fuck her with one hand and massage her throat with the other like I’m getting her supple and ready to take my dick. The tears stream down as she lets go, convulsing and groaning like a madwoman, and I’m barely able to keep myself straight. I need to make her come; otherwise, neither of us will be able to do anything.
Another finger. Then another. Three digits in, and I’m curling against that sweet spot, forcing my fingers against her until she gushes like a waterfall, soaking the chair and me in her warm liquid.
It smells like pussy, like sweat and sugar. I suck it in, satisfaction rolling through me. Then I cut the ropes. Vi stays seated, gawking down at me, her eyes half-closed, full of exhaustion and lust. My eyes gravitate to the indentations in her skin, red and sore from struggling against the rope. I rub them, working out the bruises.
I’m not supposed to take care of her like this. Not after we’ve played this game. I want her to know, without a doubt, who’s in control. Even if I have to literally strangle the truth out of her, she will obey me.
I stop massaging her. I stand and peer down at her.
“Clean up your mess, slut,” I say.
She blinks a few times, but finally, she uses the fabric of her shirt to soak up the juices. But that’s not what I meant, and she knows it.
I grab the back of her hair and wrench her down to the seat.
“Lick it up,” I growl. She doesn’t hesitate. She licks it up, and again, I’m jealous of her. I want her come in my mouth. I want to taste her. All of her. But I have to establish our power dynamic. She needs to know it will always come back to me.
Her tongue and face smear across the mirrored surface, sloppy and wet, her harsh breaths fogging against her reflection, and she moans while tasting herself. Strain leaves my muscles, and I’m lightheaded with lust. My filthy little slut likes cleaning up after herself.
“Hurry up, cunt,” I demand.
My slutty girl licks up her filthy mess, and a primal urge, filled with anger, bubbles under my skin.
I don’t like this. This feeling. This desire. This lack of control. My dick is so hard, I can barely keep myself contained around her.
She stands and blinks at me. A shiny, clear liquid dampens her lips and cheeks, and she absentmindedly wipes it with the back of her hand.
My chest stiffens. She was just supposed to be someone to marry. A person to go to charity events with. To help me create the image of normalcy for Samurai Corporation. Someone to entertain me until I was bored with her.
But she’s already more than that. She’s my wife.
I grip the crown of her skull, my fingers entwined in her hair, and she melts into me. I kiss her, the sweetly tangy taste of her come coats her mouth like a drug, and desire swells inside of me.
I got what I needed: she’s lying for her family.
But this isn’t enough. I need more. I refuse to hold back from what I want now.
I pick her up by the hips, forcing her to straddle me, then I lay her down on the mirrored ground. I push up the skirt again and crawl down, sucking on her pussy lips. She’s slippery and tastes tangy and sweet and so fucking delectable that for a few seconds, I don’t care if it feels good. This meal is for me alone. I lick her like a beast ready to devour its prey.
“Kenzo, please,” she whimpers. “I can’t do it again. I can’t?—”
But she pulls my head in closer, grinding on my face. My greedy little fuck slut is already so close. Her sweetness runs along my tongue as I explore her folds—every crevice, every sensitive piece of flesh—and I lay on one of my hands, fisting my cock and humping the mirrors. I lift my head, locking eyes with her briefly. Her blue eyes are glossy, drowning in desire.
“Look up at the mirror, baby,” I say. “Watch as I devour your sweet little pussy.”
I suck on that bundle of nerves, swirling my tongue around it, and she moans, arching her back, thrusting her cunt into my face, giving it to me. I hump my fist, growling into her pussy, and those vibrations send shivers across her skin. She moans and lifts up, pulling my free hand until it’s closer to her neck.
My little slut wants me to choke her as I eat her pussy?
It makes me burn. Burn with lust-filled rage. Like a fucking wild fire. I don’t care if coming makes me more attached to her. I want to come with her.
I breathe cold air on her skin. She wriggles like a worm, and I want those words. I want to hear her admit to being a filthy little slut.
“What do you want, baby?” I ask.
“I—”
She’s red and embarrassed, and I know what this is. She can’t say it. It’s too much to admit she likes being held at the brink of death.
And I want her too much right now to force it out of her. I give her my words instead.
“You want me to choke you while I tongue fuck your pussy, baby?” I ask. “A good girl like you is supposed to hate something like this. A born-again virgin sold off to the big bad wolf. But let me tell you something, wife. ”
I sit up and fold the white rope in half, then hitch one end through it, making a ring. I slide the rope around her neck, and when I pull, it grips her like a leash. I yank her down as far as I can.
“You’re not innocent; you’re fucking depraved. The first time we fucked, I choked you while you creamed on my dick. And now, I’m practically head deep inside of your pussy, and all you want is for me to choke you again.” A demeaning laugh rips through me, but god, it turns me on too. She’s such a hot little bitch, and she’s all mine. “My wife is just a nasty little fuck slut, isn’t she?”
She moans and cries, and fuck, if it wasn’t for the fact that she tastes so good, I’d be face-fucking her right now.
“Beg me,” I demand.
“Please,” she whines, but her voice is low. “I want you. Please?—”
“That’s not good enough, slut.”
I lean down again, slowly licking around her swollen clit, teasing her until she howls. Her fingers twist in my shaggy hair. She’s loud but incomprehensible, like she’s too strung out on sex to say actual words. Her hips gyrate, her sloppy pussy drenching me. I relax the tension on the rope even more, and she groans.
“Please,” she whines. “Choke me while you tongue-fuck me. Please?—”
The words come out before I can stop them: “And who am I to you?”
“My husband.”
As soon as the answer leaves her mouth, I suction my lips to her clit, swirling around, and I pull the corded leash taut around her neck. I don’t know why hearing her say “my husband” does things to me, but I can’t stop my hunger. I pull the rope so hard she curls up toward me, gripping my head like she’ll pull it off of my body. She comes, and it pushes me over the edge too. I pump my dick hard as she closes her thighs around my neck, and I lick and lick and lick, and I come all over my pants, drenching them. She falls apart at the seams, her come leaking everywhere again, and I lick her up. Every last drop.
Now I’m cleaning up after her.
Electricity buzzes through me. I don’t know why I asked that—why I needed to hear her say I’m her husband—but it changes everything. It’s almost like we’re family now.
Legally, we are family, but we’re not when it comes to loyalty. Not yet, but soon. This game was proof of that progress.
I sit myself up, looking down at my disheveled wife. Red, sweaty skin. Come-drenched clothes. Bruises around her neck. Glossy blue eyes. It’s glorious. I gave into desire, but I still got what I wanted out of her. I still won.
And technically, she won too.
“Now, was that so hard?” I tease. “You got a question for me?”
She smiles, and if she wasn’t exhausted, I’m sure she’d have a smart question, but right now, I doubt she hears me. She tries to sit up, but I motion for her to lie down. I run out of the room and grab a pillow for her head and some water bottles out of the fridge. She’s got to be dehydrated with how much she came.
She gulps the water down, and I think over her words: For my family.
Her answer is everything and nothing at the same time. She admitted to lying, but at least I have confirmation now.
Still, I’m in awe. She went through all of that, and she’s still here, letting me take care of her. She finishes off the first water bottle, and I hand her a second.
In a way, I admire her answer. It’s loyalty. I’m not the best son, but I do whatever Tomo says. Vi must do the same for her uncle.
So why did her uncle tell her to lie to me?
I can ask, but when I see her, completely exhausted and satiated, with damp red hair and a bruised neck, I want to scoop her up and take her to bed.
But she’s no good to me if she’s passed out. I need her replenished before we do something like this again.
“Let’s get you to sleep,” I say.
She lets out a sigh and leans against me. My muscles go rigid.
She’s starting to feel comfortable around me. To trust me.
Honestly, I like her even more now, now that I know she was never a virgin. Vi knows what she wants.
And she wants me.