Epilogue I
KENNETH
Their anniversary
The bedroom is dimly lit, only the soft glow from the bedside lamp casting shadows across the space.
I'm lying on my back, completely naked, watching Royce set up what they've only vaguely referred to as "a surprise" all week.
They move with purpose, and the way they're dressed that tells me this isn't going to be a gentle evening.
The red lace nightie barely covers their ass. It definitely doesn’t cover their cock, which sways proud and free with every step they take.
"What exactly are you planning to do with that?" I ask, my eyes following the machine they've just placed between my legs. It's sleek, expensive-looking, and frankly, intimidating. I've seen similar things in very specific corners of the internet, but never in person.
Never directed at me.
Royce glances up with a smile that can only be described as predatory. "You know I like having you completely at my mercy. This facilitates that."
"That's ominous," I say, but there's no real protest in my voice.
We've been together long enough that Royce knows exactly what I want, even when I'm not entirely sure about it myself.
The fact that they've thought about this, planned it, and invested in equipment sends a thrill through me that's part anticipation, part genuine nerves.
"You can use the safe word if you need to," Royce reminds me, attaching a silicone attachment to the machine. It's designed specifically for internal stimulation, and I can feel my pulse quicken just looking at it. "But I don't think you will."
"You're very confident," I say.
"I know you," Royce replies simply, and that statement alone makes my cock twitch with interest.
They do know me. They know exactly how to push me to the edge of control, exactly how to make me beg without ever having to force it.
"Now, are you ready?"
I nod, not trusting my voice. Royce moves to straddle my hips. Not sitting fully, just hovering above me, their weight balanced on their knees. From this position, they can see my face clearly, and that's deliberate. It's always deliberate with them.
"I want you to watch me the entire time," Royce instructs, reaching out to grip my chin gently, forcing my eyes to meet theirs. "No looking away. No closing your eyes. You keep your eyes on me, or we stop. Understood?"
"Yes," I say.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I understand."
Royce's expression shifts, becoming even more commanding. "Yes, what?"
Oh. They want the honorific. "Yes, Your Majesty.”
"Better," they murmur, and lean down to kiss me all slowly and deeply and absolutely controlled. When they pull back, I feel unmoored, already anticipating what's coming next.
They reach over to the machine and power it on. It hums to life, a low vibration that fills the room, and I feel the attachment press against me in a tease of what's to come.
Since Royce controls the speed with a remote, they start me off slow.
Impossibly slow.
I’m already prepped. There’s no reason to drag things out. No reason except they love to see me squirm.
"Oh, fuck," I breathe out as the machine begins to move, a steady rhythm that's barely more than a suggestion. It's shallow, barely inside me, just enough to create an excruciating tension without providing real satisfaction.
"Eyes," Royce reminds me sharply, and I realize I've let my head fall back. I force myself to look at them, and they're watching me with an expression of intense satisfaction. They're enjoying this. Enjoying my struggle, my inability to simply lie back and receive. "That's right. Keep them on me."
"This is torture!” My voice comes out strained as the machine continues its maddening pace.
I want more.
I want it deeper, faster, harder.
I want something to push me toward release.
Instead, I get this controlled, measured stimulation that keeps me hovering in this space between arousal and desperate need. I feel like I’m losing and winning all at once.
"It's not torture if you're enjoying it," Royce says. "And you are enjoying it, Little Menace. I can tell."
They're right. My cock is hard against my stomach, leaking precome, and despite the frustration, there's something about this situation that’s incredibly hot. Maybe being completely at Royce's mercy, having to maintain eye contact while they control my pleasure, is the reason.
Royce shifts slightly, their own arousal evident in the way they're breathing, the way their pupils have dilated. They're getting off on this as much as I am, which somehow makes the denial even more intense.
"You know what I love about you?" Royce asks conversationally, as if we're not currently engaged in an incredibly intimate power exchange. "Your willingness to give me control. Most people would have trouble with this. With the helplessness. But not you. You're so good at surrendering."
"Royce," I say, the word coming out almost as a plea, though I'm not entirely sure what I'm pleading for.
"Not yet," they say, and I feel the machine shift slightly into a barely perceptible increase in depth. It's still not enough. It's still this agonizing middle ground. "We have all night. And you're going to give me everything you have."
The tempo increases again, and I can feel my thighs tensing, my hips wanting to move, wanting to take control of the rhythm and push toward something more satisfying.
But I can't. I'm pinned beneath Royce's weight, trapped by the parameters they've set, forced to accept exactly what they want to give me.
"Please," I hear myself say.
"Please what?" Royce asks, leaning down so their face is inches from mine. I can feel their breath on my skin, and it takes every ounce of my willpower to keep my eyes open, to maintain the eye contact they demanded. "Use your words, Kenny.”
"Please… more," I say, hating how desperate I sound. "I need more."
"I know you do," Royce says, and there's genuine sympathy in their voice, which somehow makes it worse because it means they're choosing this. They’re choosing to keep me in this state of suspended desire.
"But we're going to go slowly. We're going to build this. You're going to feel every second of it."
They reach down and wrap a hand around my cock, stroking it slowly while the machine continues its relentless, measured pace. The combination is enough to make me gasp, enough to make my hips buck upward involuntarily.
"Stay still," Royce commands, and I force my body to comply, even though every nerve ending is screaming for more friction, more speed, more everything.
"I can’t!”
"You can," Royce says firmly. "And you will. Because I own this. I own you right now. And you're going to take exactly what I decide to give you."
Hearing Royce say that with confidence makes me want to surrender even more completely. I nod, unable to form words.
The machine's speed increases again, fractionally.
The attachment moves deeper inside me, and I have to bite my lip to keep from closing my eyes or looking away.
Royce's hand around my cock continues its lazy pace, and the contrast between the internal stimulation and the slower touch on my shaft creates this maddening tension that I can feel building in my core.
"That's it," Royce murmurs. They're watching my face so intently, as if cataloging every small reaction. "You're doing so well. Look how good you are for me. How willing you are to let me control you."
I want to respond, but I don't trust my voice. All I can do is maintain the eye contact and try to breathe through the building pressure inside me.
Royce shifts again, and now they're straddling one of my thighs, and I can feel how wet they are, can feel the dampness against my skin. The knowledge that Royce is already prepped too sends another surge of need through me.
"You want to know what I'm going to do?" Royce asks, and they increase the speed again.
The machine moves faster now, deeper, and I have to clench my jaw to keep from making too much noise.
"I'm going to keep you like this all night.
I'm going to edge you over and over until you're begging.
Until you're so desperate that you'd do anything for release. "
"Royce," I say, and it comes out as a whimper.
"Not yet," they repeat, their voice brooking no argument. "We're nowhere near done."
They pull their hand away from my cock, and I want to protest, but I don't because I know they're in control here.
I gave them that control willingly, and we both know what happens when I respect the boundaries they set.
Royce reaches up instead and traces a finger along my jaw, down my neck, across my collarbone.
It's a light touch, almost casual, which somehow makes it more intense than if they were touching me directly.
"Do you have any idea how beautiful you look right now?" Royce asks softly. "All spread out for me, completely vulnerable. No walls. No defenses. Just you and your need."
I can't answer. I can barely breathe. The machine continues its steady rhythm. It’s still not fast enough, not deep enough, but building something inside me that feels like it's going to explode if Royce doesn't allow me release soon.
"I love you like this," Royce continues, and there's a tenderness in their voice, that creates a strange juxtaposition with the power dynamic we're engaged in. "Completely surrendered. Completely mine."
"I'm yours. Completely yours."
Royce smiles, and it's devastating. "I know you are."
They increase the speed again with a more significant jump this time. The machine moves faster, deeper, and the pressure building inside me becomes almost unbearable. I can feel myself getting close, feel the edge approaching, and I try to warn them.
"Royce, I'm going to—"
"Not yet," they say, and suddenly they slow it down again. The speed drops dramatically, and I'm left panting, right at the precipice but not allowed to fall over it. "You come when I say you can come. Not before."
"Please," I beg, and I don't even care how desperate I sound anymore. "Please let me come."
"Not yet," Royce repeats, and there's a note of finality in their voice that tells me there's no negotiating this. "You're going to stay right here—right at this edge—for as long as I want to keep you here."
The machine hums on, moving at the pace that keeps me hovering in this space between intense pleasure and desperate need. Royce is watching my face, watching every expression, clearly enjoying the torture they're inflicting.
And the worst part?
The absolute worst part?
Is that I'm enjoying it too. I'm enjoying the loss of control, the complete surrender, the knowledge that Royce is going to do exactly what they want with me and there's nothing I can do to stop them.
"We have all night," Royce says again, and I believe them. "And I have so many plans for you."
The machine continues its relentless rhythm, and I'm trapped in this beautiful, agonizing space of Royce's making. Unable to move, unable to look away, unable to do anything except exactly what they've told me to do.
Surrender. Wait. Endure.
It's the most intense thing I've ever experienced.
And they’re nowhere near done with me.