Chapter 25 #2
The vibrator hums to life, a low, hungry sound in the quiet room. He traces the cool tip along my inner thigh, and my whole body shudders. Then his mouth is on me again, his tongue working in slow, deliberate circles while the vibrator teases, circling, promising.
He slides it inside me, and I cry out. The deep, resonant pulse is a shockwave, radiating from my center. He grips the chain above my head with his free hand, a puppet master taking control. He gives it a deliberate push, sending me rocking in a controlled arc.
“Fuck,” I breathe. He times the deep pulse of the vibrator with the apex of each swing, the motion driving the vibrations deeper, turning the pleasure into something sharp and electric, so intense it borders on pain.
He presses a button on the vibrator remote, and the low hum deepens, the vibrations becoming a frantic, desperate thrum inside me. The swing keeps me suspended in that perfect, agonizing space between control and surrender.
“Show me,” he commands, his voice a rough growl against my skin. “Show me how you break.”
The orgasm hits me. A white-hot wave starts in my core and rips through every nerve ending.
My back arches, my body pulling against the leather restraints as pure, unadulterated pleasure courses through me.
Calloway doesn’t stop. He holds me there, riding the edge of the wave, extending the sensation until I’m nothing but a trembling, shattered thing.
As the last aftershock fades, leaving me breathless and boneless, he withdraws the vibrator. The swing slows to a gentle, hypnotic sway. I remain spread open before him, watching through heavy-lidded eyes as he reaches for a bottle on the bedside table.
The obscene, wet squelch of lube being squeezed into his palm is the only sound.
“I want to try something else,” he says. He moves lower, his thumb circling my rear entrance, a gentle but insistent pressure. “Have you ever let a man take you like this? Would you like to try it? With me?”
The crude question, spoken in his refined voice, sends heat rushing through me. The way he watches me—like I’m both his prey and his salvation—makes my breath catch.
My body responds before my mind does, pushing against his touch. “Yes.”
“And what about both?” His free hand strokes my thigh. “The toy and me, at the same time?”
The image floods my mind, so vivid it’s a physical sensation. Me, filled, stretched, taken in ways I’ve never imagined. The thought is a terrifying, exhilarating jolt.
“Both?
“The toy in your ass,” he whispers, his voice a dark promise. “Me in your pussy.” He holds up the vibrator. “Or we could reverse it, if you prefer.”
“Yes. I want to try it,” I say, watching his expression darken with desire. “All of it.”
His finger pushes deeper, the initial discomfort melting into a new kind of pleasure. “I’ll go slow,” he promises. “Tell me if anything hurts.”
“I’m not fragile,” I remind him.
He leans forward, his lips brushing mine. “No, you’re certainly not. You’re the most dangerous woman I’ve ever met.”
“And don’t you forget it,” I whisper against his mouth.
He works a second finger inside me, and the stretch is a sharp, electric thing. I gasp, my hips trying to pull away, but the swing holds me in place for him.
“We’re a perfect fucking mess.” He withdraws his fingers, leaving me empty and aching. He reaches for the vibrator. “Ready for the other half?”
I can only nod, my eyes fixed on his as he coats the silicone with a liberal amount of lube. The anticipation is a tight, coiling knot in my stomach. He positions the cool, slick tip against my ass, applying gentle, insistent pressure.
“Breathe out for me, Jiya,” he instructs, his voice the calm command of a director. I obey, and as I exhale, he slides the vibrator in inch by inch.
The fullness is strange but not unpleasant.
“How does that feel?” Calloway asks, and I hear the strain in his voice, the ragged edge of his own control.
“Full,” I manage, the word a poor substitute for the sensation. “It’s…a lot.”
He turns the vibrator on, a low, deep pulse that seems to vibrate through my entire body. My back arches, and I cry out.
“Too much?”
“No.” I shake my head.
He pushes the swing, and the slow, gentle rhythm becomes a hypnotic metronome for the chaos unfolding inside me. Each sway sends a fresh wave of sensation through me, the deep thrum of the toy a stark contrast to the tight, stretching pressure inside me.
My breathing shatters into a series of sharp, ragged pants. Sweat beads on my skin.
“Good girl,” Calloway says, stepping back to admire his handiwork.
He undresses, unbuttoning his shirt with the same methodical patience he’s shown all evening. As he removes his pants and underwear, his erection springs free, the metal of his piercings catching what little light filters through the blinds.
He walks around the swing, leaving the deep, resonant hum of the vibrator a constant, throbbing presence inside me. The suspension leaves me powerless, a spectator to my seduction. My world is inverted; my hair hangs down, a curtain of silk that sways with the gentle motion of the swing.
His fingers twist into my hair, gathering it at the nape of my neck. He gives a single, firm tug, pulling my head back, exposing my throat.
“Now make it wet,” he commands, his voice low and rough.
He guides himself to my mouth. I open for him, and he slides in slowly, demanding pressure.
His hand remains tangled in my hair, a fist of control, dictating the depth, the pace.
I work my tongue around him, tracing the line of steel barbells, the taste of him clean and male, mixed with the warm, alien taste of metal.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, pushing deeper. “Take all of me.”
Saliva pools in my mouth as he thrusts. Unable to swallow properly in this position, it spills from the corners of my lips, running down my face toward my hairline. The wet sounds fill the room, mixing with the low hum of the vibrator still working inside me.
My jaw aches, but there’s a dark, thrilling purity to this. To be suspended between pleasure and service, completely at his mercy, while my body is being pleasured by a machine.
His breathing grows ragged; his control frays. His grip on my hair tightens, a possessive, grounding anchor as he pushes deeper into my throat. I relax as much as I can, my body going limp in the swing, letting him take exactly what he wants.
“Good girl,” he praises, his voice strained. “You’re doing so well.”
His breathing hitches, his grip tightens for a single, sharp moment, and then he’s gone, pulling out of my mouth.
“More,” I moan. My lips feel swollen, bruised. The vibrator still hums its relentless, deep thrum inside me, a constant, agonizing tease.
His face appears in my inverted vision, a devil’s smirk playing on his lips. “Patience,” he says with a laugh. He wipes the corner of my mouth with his thumb, a gesture that is both tender and proprietary. “Don’t be greedy.”
His fingers trail across my suspended body as he moves around the swing. I twist my head, trying to follow, but the restraints hold me fast. The chains clink, a cold, metallic sound in the heated air.
“What are you—” My question dies in my throat as he positions himself between my spread legs. His cock, slick and hot from my mouth, presses against my entrance. But instead of pushing in, he reaches up and gives the swing a firm, deliberate push.
I swing backward, away from him, the momentum making the vibrator shift deep inside me. Then gravity takes over, pulling me forward, back toward him. He doesn’t move. He waits, a statue of intent.
As I swing toward him, he grips my thighs, his fingers digging into my flesh, and meets my momentum with his own, thrusting forward in a single, brutal, perfect motion.
“Fuck!” The cry is torn from me as he impales me, his cock and the vibrator filling me simultaneously. The dual penetration is a shockwave, a feeling that rewrites the boundaries of my body. It is too much. It is not enough.
The metal of his piercings drags against my inner walls, creating a thousand points of exquisite friction.
The swing continues its hypnotic rhythm, pulling me away from him only to have gravity bring me crashing back, driving him deeper with each pass.
My muscles clench around both intrusions, the line between pleasure and pain dissolving into a single, overwhelming sensation.
“God, you feel…” Calloway groans, his voice a raw thing. His fingers dig into my thighs, guiding the swing, mastering the rhythm.
My body is a live wire, every nerve ending screaming.
“Don’t stop,” I beg, my voice unrecognizable.
“Look at you,” he says, his voice strained, guttural. “A beautiful wreck. Completely undone for me.”
The chains above us creak, a frantic, rhythmic protest. I am suspended in the dark, anchored only by his hands and the places where our bodies are fused. Sweat makes my skin slick, the leather straps biting into my thighs.
“Calloway, I’m—” The words shatter as the orgasm builds, the pressure building to an unbearable, exquisite peak.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his pace becoming frantic, desperate. “I can feel you.”
The world dissolves into white noise and blinding light. My body convulses, a helpless puppet in the swing, muscles clenching and unclenching around him. I cry out his name, the sound raw and animalistic.
He grips my hips, his own control shattering. “Fuck, Jiya—I’m right there with you.”
Through the haze, I watch his face contort, his head thrown back, the strong column of his throat exposed as he drives into me one final, desperate time. He pulses inside me, his whole body shuddering with the force of his release.
For a long moment, the only sounds are our ragged, gasping breaths and the steady, indifferent hum of the vibrator. He withdraws, and the emptiness is a physical blow. He turns the toy off and removes it before unbuckling the straps.
My legs are useless. The moment they touch the floor, they buckle. He catches me, his body as slick and trembling as my own, and guides me to the bed. We don’t walk; we collapse, a tangle of limbs on the cool silk sheets.
“That was…” I trail off. There are no words.
“Yeah,” he breathes, his voice a raw whisper in the dark. “I know.”
I curl against Calloway’s chest. The silk sheets are a cool shock against our still-damp skin. I listen to the slowing rhythm of his heart under my ear, a steady, grounding beat in the room's quiet.
“You’re going to be sore tomorrow,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, already thick with sleep.
“Is that a threat or a promise?” I whisper back, tracing the sharp line of his collarbone.
He laughs, a soft, breathy sound that vibrates through me. “Both.”
His breathing evens out, his arm a heavy, grounding weight across my waist. For the first time in years, the hyper-vigilant part of my brain, the part that is always scanning for exits and threats, goes quiet. There is no danger here. Just the steady, slow beat of another killer’s heart.
A sharp knock at the apartment door startles us both. Calloway sits up, alert.
“Are you expecting someone?” I whisper.
He shakes his head, reaching for his discarded pants. “No.”
The knocking comes again, more insistent this time.