Chapter 57
IVY
“Igot this for you,” Soren smiles, handing me a box with a baby pink satin bow wrapped neatly around it.
“What is it?” I ask, turning it over in my hands. It gives no clue to its contents. Just a cube, elegant and discreet. Kind of like Soren, in a way.
I untie the bow and it falls away.
I lift the lid.
Inside is a jeweled object. Round at the top, sparkly. It’s like an over-sized ring. A Blow-Pop. But made of metal.
I pull it out. The underside is bulbous.
I gasp. I’ve only seen these online before. Maybe in the odd video. I blush at the thought. “Is this what I think it is?”
He smiles. “Yes. It’s exactly what you think it is. And I can’t wait to see it in you.” He pauses. “You like it in your ass?”
“I don’t know,” I say, suddenly shy.
“You haven’t tried?”
“No,” I look down.
“An ass virgin. I like it,” he smiles, approval apparent as his eyes darken—subtle, but there.
My chest swells, embarrassment blooming into some kind of pride. Pleasing him by having this part of me untouched—until now.
My heart races with anticipation. I’ve always wanted to try one of these. Always too shy. Never knowing how to broach it.
Not that I’m a prude. It’s just… one of those taboo things that isn’t easy to casually drop into conversations. At least, with partners who aren’t openminded like Soren.
I could almost predict the judgment on their faces.
Or the fear that they would use this against me later.
Tell other people, or turn around and call me derogatory names for being open to trying it when they were feeling angry at the world.
A lack of safety in the most intimate parts of our relationship.
So I put on an act there, too—just like everywhere else.
Until Soren.
If they were vanilla, I didn’t ask for more. If they wanted to explore, I went along. To make them happy.
If they asked if I wanted to do something—to try something new or different—it felt like a test. That if I actually suggested something, I’d be calling out a deficiency on their part. An area that was lacking. So instead, I’d just smile shyly and say, “No, this is great.” Accepting whatever I got.
It’s not that every experience I’ve had of sex before this has been bad. There have been good times. I’ve just never been able to truly express myself.
To feel safe and like anyone actually gave a shit about what I wanted, what I needed. What makes me feel good beyond an orgasm. At least I learned to stop faking those a long time ago. Because that doesn’t help anyone at all.
With Soren, though, it’s different. I intuitively know that I could tell him the freakiest stuff and he’d be up for it. Because I know, unequivocally, that if something brought me joy—if I wanted to do something just for the sheer enjoyment of it all—he’d be all in.
Especially if it brought me pleasure.
“Thank you!”
He smiles back, pleased at my reaction. “I knew you’d like it.” Certainty, as usual.
And he does know me. He doesn’t guess.
“Just let me know when you want to try it,” he says, his gaze dropping to it, then back to me.
I look up at him through my lashes, heat blooming deep in my core. “How about now?”
He beams, unable to hide his reaction. His eyes darken with lust, and I can barely distinguish the pupils from the irises.
He grabs a bottle of lube that was sitting in the box, discreetly underneath the plug, and smears some over the plug itself and then my back entrance. I shiver at the cool drag of it as it makes contact with my bare skin, a little slipping deeper than expected.
I tilt back, moaning as he inserts the plug, pushing past my tight resistance.
The sensation is new, different. The same sense of being filled up and stretched as when he enters my pussy. Tighter.
Then his tongue. I whimper as he uses it to nudge it in further. He runs his tongue around the rim of the plug, and it turns, changing angle, teasing different parts of my inner walls.
“Fuck. This feels… so fucking good.”
“Mmmhmm, you like it being stretched?” His voice vibrates against my cheeks, causing more pleasant tingles against my skin.
“Ye—yess,” I manage.
“Just wait until its my cock, then.”
I moan at the thought. That’s so much bigger than this. And the piercings, what they’re going to feel like buried deep in—my whole body shudders. His pierced cock stretching me there, those metal barbells dragging against sensitive flesh never touched by anyone before him.
“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, his hand sliding up my spine. “Excited or afraid?”
“Both,” I admit, my voice barely audible.
The plug shifts as he adjusts it, sending a jolt of pleasure mingled with pain through me that makes my knees weak. I’m exposed, vulnerable. The jewel must be catching the light, winking between my cheeks.
“Perfect.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Keep it in for a while. Let your body get used to it.”
He helps me turn over, careful not to dislodge the plug. The movement causes it to press deeper. I gasp, eyes widening at the strange fullness.
“There she is.” He brushes hair from my face. “My beautiful girl, always willing to try new things for me.”
Not just for you. For us. Because I want this too.
But the distinction blurs when he kisses me, his tongue claiming my mouth with the same possessive certainty with which he’s claimed the rest of me. When his hand slides between my legs, finding me soaked, I arch into his touch.
“So responsive,” he murmurs against my lips. “Just from having your ass filled.”
I should be mortified—I would be with anyone else—not at what we’re doing necessarily, but for what it could lead to and be used as.
But shame has no place here. Not when pleasure is coursing through me.
Not when every slight movement sends new sensations rippling outward from where the plug sits heavy inside me.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper.
“That’s why you have me.” His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. “To show you all the things you never knew about yourself.”
His fingers circle my clit with expert precision, and I feel myself clenching around the plug, intensifying the sensation. It’s overwhelming—too much and not enough simultaneously.
“Please,” I beg.
“Not yet,” he says, withdrawing his hand. “I want you desperate first.”
I whimper at the loss of his touch, my hips lifting involuntarily, seeking friction. “Soren—“
“Patience, little poison.” He moves back, eyes roaming over my body like he’s cataloging every reaction. “Stand up. I want to see you move with it inside you.”
My legs tremble as I rise from the bed, the plug shifting with each tiny movement. The weight of it feels strange, foreign, yet my body is responding with a hunger I’ve never experienced before.
“Walk to the window,” he commands, his voice low.
I take hesitant steps across the penthouse floor, imagining the jeweled base glinting between my thighs, how my face must be flushed with desire and embarrassment. Each step brings a new sensation—the plug pressing against sensitive nerves, reminding me of its presence, of how exposed I am to him.
The floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the city spread out below us, lights twinkling in the darkness. I wonder briefly if anyone can see me—naked, trembling, filled.
“Does it hurt?” Soren asks, coming up behind me.
“No,” I breathe. “It’s... intense.”
His hands settle on my hips, and he pulls me back against him. I can feel his erection pressing against my lower back, hard and insistent. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re taking it so well. Better than I expected for your first time.”
Pride blooms in my chest at his approval. It’s ridiculous how much his words affect me, how they make me want to please him more.
His fingers trail down my stomach, dipping between my legs again. This time when he touches me, the sensation is amplified by the fullness in my ass, and I cry out, my knees nearly buckling.
“I’ve thought about this,” he confesses, his voice rough. “Watching you discover new pleasures. Seeing your face when you realize what your body is capable of.”
He turns me around to face him, his gray eyes burning into mine. There’s something there—beyond lust. Beyond possession. A vulnerability that makes my heart stutter. “You’re mine to protect,” he says. “Mine to pleasure. Mine to teach.” His thumb brushes over my bottom lip. “Tell me you understand.”
The words hang between us, weighted with meaning beyond the bedroom, beyond this moment. Part of me recognizes the danger in them, the same part that’s been screaming caution since the day we met.
But with the plug inside me, his hands on my skin, and the safety of his penthouse surrounding us, that voice is easy to ignore. “I understand,” I whisper, and something shifts in his expression—satisfaction, relief, triumph.
He kisses me then, deep and consuming, backing me against the cold glass of the window. The contrast of temperatures—his hot body pressed against my front, the cool glass against my back—sends shivers racing across my skin.
“Now,” he says, “let’s see how many times I can make you come before I replace that plug with something much more substantial.”
The glint in his eyes tells me exactly what he means, and my body responds with a clench around the plug that makes me gasp. My imagination runs wild with the thought of him replacing it, of feeling him there instead.
“You’re thinking about it,” he says, not a question but a statement of fact. His fingers trace the curve of my jaw. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“Please,” I breathe.
“Not yet.” He leads me away from the window, back toward the bed. “On your knees.”
I comply, sinking down onto the plush carpet at the end of the bed. The position changes the angle of the plug again, and I bite my lip to stifle another moan.
Soren stands before me, unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness. “I want your mouth first.”